The old man shoots back, “Then I’m proud to be here, to face a creature that pretends to be my son. Betray you? I was merely going to tell the world of how you were always a twisted, evil child, and that your despised life has caused death and misery to thousands.”

“You have no right!”

The Army captain, looking ridiculous in a skimpy suit perfect for a woman half her age and weight, is standing close to his father, as if she is trying to reassure him as he yells back at Pelayo.

“A father always has the right to tell the truth about his son, especially when he has a heart and soul as dark as a rotten gourd, forgotten in the field at harvesttime.”

“It is because of you, old man, that I am like this!”

He grins back. “You have been an adult for many, many years, my son. Are you so weak that you continue to blame me, your mother, and the Church for how you turned out? Like your despised cousin, you have the face and body of a human, but the soul of a monster.”

Enough is enough, Pelayo thinks, and he yells out, “It is finished!”

There.

He reaches under his coat to grab his Glock .40-caliber pistol, and then like a jack-in-the-box, Paco leaps up next to him, submachine gun in hand, and as Pelayo brings the pistol up to shoot the old bastard, there’s movement and—

The Army woman is pointing at pistol at him!

How is this possible?

Where did she get it?

Where was it hidden?

He warns Paco, “Faster, faster, she’s armed!”

And then the bitch shoots first!

CHAPTER 84

CHAPTER 84

AS PELAYO and my friend Archie yell at each other, I’m ignoring the words and instead looking for the threat. I’m looking at the Yukon, knowing there has to be at least a second or third gunman back there. There’s no way this cartel leader has come to this supposed swap by himself without extra firepower right next to him.

Movement.

I’m looking for movement.

And here it comes.

Now it’s my time.

A wind comes up, and I don’t care anymore if the breeze reveals the slit I earlier made in the rear of Archie’s suitcoat, which gives me easy access to my SIG Sauer pistol concealed in his rear waistband.

I grab it and it’s in my hands as Pelayo whirls out with a pistol, and a beefy-looking guy pops up with a cut-down H&K MP5—Nice intelligence work there, Amy, says a voice inside me—and I’m presented with two threats: I go to the deadlier one, the man with the submachine gun, and open fire.