Elena was last. Everyone wanted to protect her, but she took the camera and looked at the image. She sobbed softly but shook her head.
Shit, thought Court. It has to be someone; why go to all the trouble if we don’t even know the poor bastard? He asked everyone to make sure, to look again; he found himself pissed off that they couldn’t figure out who’d been murdered just to get to them.
But no, no one in the room knew the face.
He wondered if it could have been someone related to the Corraleses. The Black Suits could not know for sure who had been killed in the house, maybe they just—
No. That’s not it.
It dawned on him slowly; he wished he’d considered it before forcing the poor people in front of him to look again. But he thought of it now, so he sent Laura up to Ramses’s position and Diego to Martin’s post. He told Elena and Luz and Ernesto to go to the cellar and try and get some rest.
A minute later the two GOPES officers sat in front of him. Court explained the situation, and both men understood. Ramses took the camera roughly from the American, held it in his good arm, looked at it while Martin stared over his shoulder. Court just watched their faces; he caught himself wanting to see recognition from one of the hardened military men.
And he got his wish. Martin Orozco’s face reddened and his eyes shuddered, lowered as his mind left the present and thought back on a memory. Gentry could see it all in his face. It was someone he knew, someone close, someone he’d known for a long time.
A loved one. Just from the expressions on Martin’s face Gentry said, softly, “He’s your brother.”
“Pablito.” Martin sobbed the name. Tears ran freely from his eyes as he muttered, in Spanish, “Oh my God, the sons of whores killed my little brother.” The federal commando’s face flickered between rage and horror and utter despair. “He is just . . . he was just a merchant in Cuernavaca. He was not a soldier . . . He was nothing to them.”
Ramses Cienfuegos hugged his compadre with his uninjured arm, shook his head in sadness and disgust.
“But you are something to them,” said Court. “You are here.”
Martin nodded, his face distant.
“They know you are alive.” He turned to Ramses. “Which means they probably—”
“Know I am alive, too,” Ramses said it gravely. Court could only imagine what was going on in his head. Surely, he was thinking of a wife, brothers, sisters, parents, children.
Times like these Court Gentry appreciated being alone.
“Those pendejos are going to pay,” Martin said, still looking at the photo of his young brother’s torn face.
Gentry thought over the situation for a moment as he took back the cell phone. He quickly made a determination and put his hand gently on Martin’s shoulder. “Listen carefully, amigo. I need you to leave. I need you to go protect the rest of your family.”
The Mexican shook his head forcefully. “No. I am here to protect Major Gamboa’s—”
“You know that you are compromised. If they can get to one member of your family, they can get to them all. I can’t have you in here, thinking about what’s going on out there. I can’t worry they will do something that will make you turn on us—”
“I will never—”
“I believe you. I believe you believe. But I will not allow you to stay in this operation. You can best help this operation by getting away, taking away the leverage of the enemy. You know that, my friend.”
Martin understood. Nodded slowly.
“You need to try and escape immediately,” Court said.
Martin nodded. His eyes remained distant. “Thank you.”
Court looked to Ramses now. “You, too, amigo. If they know Martin survived the yacht explosion, then they probably know you did, too. They can’t patrol the entire perimeter all the time; if you can make it to the wall without being seen, if you guys go to opposite sides of the hacienda, you can wait for the right moment to climb over and make a run for it through the agave fields.”
Ramses shook his head. “Joe, you and the Gamboas won’t survive one hour after nightfall. No one else has any training or ability to—”
“It doesn’t matter. Look. They’ll go after your family if they haven’t already. They will kill them, torture them; you know how these fucks operate.”
“I will not leave you to die.”
“I need you to make a run for it.”
“What are you going to do?”
Gentry said, “I have a plan, but I can’t tell you in case you get caught by the Black Suits.”
Ramses thought it over, nodded slowly. He took a phone out of a pocket of his chest rig. He winced with the movement, the bullet wounds in his arm clearly painful. He handed his phone to Gentry. “I want you to keep this with you. If I get out of here, I’ll get to a phone. I’ll make contact with the guy at the American embassy who can get the Gamboas visas into the United States. If you can get to Mexico City, I will set up a meeting.”