Fox Uno recognized him as a killer, too, born out of one of the americanos’ many wars. Like Fox Uno, he probably no longer remembered how many men had died by his hand—women and children as well, since that was the way of war. Even this guerra contra las drogas, as the americanos liked to call it. The sheriff was a man who might kill, but he took no joy in it. But this Danny was no different from the legions of sicarios who had murdered on Fox Uno’s orders—killing came easy to him, and he was just as dangerous as those that might now be on their way to them.

Coming, a second time, for him.

The ambush had failed at San Carlos, but those who had planned it would plan another, and then another. Was this their next chance, here at this distant americano ranch?

If it was, it did not matter that he was in Los Estados Unidos—this country of so many laws—or at the home of an oficial de policía.

It would not have mattered to him.

He did not know if Gualterio or Martino—or both—had betrayed him, but whoever it was would send as many men as it took to kill him and Zita and anyone else in their way.

Men like the one called Danny, or worse.

He watched Sheriff Cherry and America and Danny make their preparations and plans.

He watched them hesitate when his phone started to ring again. They still did not trust the voice on the other end, and neither did he.

Not after all these years, and all the things he himself had done.

He admired them, though, and like Zita’s mother had once done for him, he prayed for them.

Even if he did not believe it would do any good.

SIXTY

Amé answered it, listened, and then looked at both Chris and Danny.

“It is time,” she said.

“I guess it is,” Chris said. He hadn’t heard from Bartlett at CBP; he hadn’t heard anything from Till or Dale. He’d wanted to do this during the day, but in so many ways they were still stumbling around in the dark.

“Ask how many,” he said, “and put it on speaker. I want to hear it, too.”

He looked over at Fox Uno, who had joined them. “And you, too, in case you recognize anyone.”

Amé switched on the speaker, and a sudden voice—scratchy and distant on the other end—started talking in rapid Spanish. It sounded like more than one person, but Chris could still generally follow the conversation. Amé held up three fingers for Danny, confirming what Chris imagined he’d heard.

“Two people, plus her mother,” Chris said for Danny’s benefit.

“What are they driving?” Danny asked. “How will we know them?”