“¡Alto! ¡Alto!” shouted one of the men as he dropped a screwdriver and gave chase. His partner stared for a moment, then retrieved his cell phone and made a frantic call.

Pitt caught a break in the traffic and quickly outdistanced the pursuer. Some tools and wire bounced out the back of the van until Pitt stormed over a speed bump and the rear doors slammed shut.

“Those boys are going to have some explaining to do in the morning,” Giordino said.

“You don’t think their supervisor will believe that their truck was stolen by a pair of mad gringos?”

“Perhaps. But I think we should be a little gentle, all the same,” he said, patting the dashboard.

Pitt promptly hit a deep rut, jarring both men out of their seats.

They had lost sight of the four-door pickup, so Pitt drove anything but gently. He kept the pedal glued to the floor, bursting around several slower cars on the narrow road. He braked hard to avoid striking a woman, who had darted across the road with a pair of caged chickens, then narrowly avoided a pack of stray dogs at the edge of town.

The avenue meandered up a hill, leaving behind both traffic and roadside businesses—and also any lighting. Passing a rusty Volkswagen Beetle, Pitt caught sight of the truck a half mile ahead. The utility van’s small engine howled in protest as he kept the accelerator floored, while the small tires lapped up the asphalt. The road curved sharply, and Pitt screeched through the turn, spraying a cloud of dust on a blue Dodge Charger parked on the shoulder. The Charger’s headlights instantly popped on, and it eased onto the road.

“You still feeling sorry for those utility men?” Pitt said.

“A wee bit. Why do you ask?”

“I think they went and called the Federales on us.”

“How do you know?”

Pitt glanced in the rearview mirror as flashing lights exploded on the Charger’s roof.

“Because they’re right behind us.”

Chapter 17

17

THE CHARGER’S ROOF-MOUNTED LIGHT BAR BATHED the parched hillsides in alternating rays of blue and red. A short distance ahead, the pickup truck’s driver clenched the steering wheel when he saw the lights behind him.

“Pablo! It’s the police. They were waiting at the last bend.”

Sitting in the truck’s rear seat, Pablo glanced over his shoulder at the lights, then looked at the speedometer.

“You were not speeding?”

“No more than a kilometer or two over the limit, I swear.”

Pablo showed no signs of concern on his bullish face. “Lose them before we get close to the airport,” he said without emotion. “If necessary, we’ll ditch our weapons. And the girl.”