A black Yukon is slowly approaching us. There’s no visible sign that this vehicle contains my family or Pelayo, but I can sense something odd and evil about the large black four-wheeler coming my way. Its windows are all tinted, not allowing me to see inside.

Thinking as fast as I can, I say, “When the time comes…and if I have my husband and daughter, run for it. I’ll try to protect you.”

He shrugs. “Run where? This complex…it is completely owned by Pelayo, and the people here work for him. Even these tourists…they are either workers of his or family members, here on a holiday to repay their work in assisting Pelayo to climb his bloody hill of bodies.”

I reach over and grab his hand, give it a squeeze. “I’m so sorry…I’m so, so sorry.”

The Yukon pulls around so that the passenger’s side is facing us. The Yukon is blocking traffic but I’m sure nobody here is going to complain.

“What’s your real name?” I ask.

He chuckles. “It makes no difference. I like Archie. You may keep on using it as long as you wish.”

A breeze comes up, and I freeze in terror. No, not a wind, not now. Please God, no wind. Make it remain still.

I see a rear door on the driver’s-side open up, and a confident-looking man wearing a seersucker suit with no necktie casually walks around the front of the Yukon, placing himself so the engine block is a shield.

Archie whispers, “There he is. Again, don’t trust him, not at all. He has planned this, all of it, and the plan does not include any of you coming out alive.”

“But we’re in a public place.”

He says, “His public. Don’t forget that. There are no innocents around here. May God help you.”

“And you, too, Archie.”

I step forward and hold out my arms, to show I’m not armed.

“I’m here!” I call out. “And so is the old man you wanted.”

Pelayo clasps his hands and smiles. “So he is, so he is. Well done, Captain Cornwall.”

When he passes the driver’s-side door, Paco—even with his impressive bulk—slips out and is now kneeling beside him, by the Yukon’s big front tire.

Pelayo whispers to Paco, “Are you ready?”

Paco is holding an H&K MP5 9mm submachine gun at his side. The weapon looks like a toy in his huge hands.

“Yes, jefe.”

“Good,” Pelayo whispers back. “When I’m done talking to the old man, and say, ‘It is finished,’ then kill the bitch.”

“What about the old man?”

Pelayo waves again, smiling. “The old man is mine.”

CHAPTER 83

THE MAN called Pelayo is smiling at me, his expression that of a butcher eager to start his day, standing in a wooden chute, ready to kill cow after cow with a bolt to the head. I see his lips moving but don’t hear anything, which tells me there’s someone else nearby, heavily armed.

He calls out, “Captain Cornwall, why don’t you come closer so I don’t have to yell?”