After the Execution (18 page)

‘Get up.’

His office was through the open door. It was surprisingly small but tastefully furnished. There was a large teak desk and bookshelves on two of the walls. He copied out Garcia’s address for me from a
leather-bound
book.

‘He lives alone,’ he said. ‘A house just outside the city.’

I slipped the piece of paper with the address on into my pocket.

‘Where’s the safe you mentioned?’ I said.

He bit on his lip and didn’t answer. So I asked him again more forcefully.

‘It’s in Ray’s office,’ he said.

‘Then let’s go get that money you offered.’

He hesitated. ‘But I’m not sure I can remember the combination.’

I grabbed his arm and pushed him towards the door.

‘You’ve got a choice, Cruz,’ I said. ‘Open the safe and live or clam up and die.’

It was a wall safe and it was hidden behind a large framed photo of San Antonio that had been taken from the air. It took Cruz four turns of
the dial to get it open.

My eyes lit up when I saw that it contained bundles of hundred dollar bills along with various documents.

‘How much is there?’ I said.

‘About eighty grand.’

My heart bounced in my chest.

‘Why so much?’

‘It belongs to Martinez. It’s for paying off officials, including the cops.’

Even back in the day when Sean and I were on the rampage I had never laid eyes on so much cash.

‘I’ll need a bag,’ I said.

‘There’s a holdall in my office.’

We went back into his office and he took a leather holdall from a cabinet. Then I told him to lie on the floor while I snatched two power cables from the back of his computer and used them to hogtie him. He didn’t try to resist. He was just relieved that I wasn’t going to end his life.

‘You gonna tell me who you are?’ he said as I prepared to gag him.

‘No point,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I did.’

I packed the money into the holdall and then searched Garcia’s office. But I found nothing of interest and I wasn’t savvy enough with the computer to see what was stored on it.

Finally I ripped the rag from my face and let myself out of the front door. The sun had broken through the clouds and steam was rising from the street. I checked my watch. It was just after eleven. With luck Garcia would be in when I got to his house. And I’d hopefully move a step nearer to finding out what the hell I was caught up in.

R
AYMOND
G
ARCIA LIVED
in a development of large and small detached houses. It was a cosy upscale enclave – the perfect habitat for bankers, lawyers and media types.

By the time I got there the sun was a blazing ball in the sky. Only shreds of cloud remained. I drove past Garcia’s house at school-zone speed to get a look at it. When I reached the end of his road I doubled back.

The house was a two-storey grey-brick property with bay windows and a double garage. All the houses had short driveways. But quite a few cars were parked along both sides of the road and I guessed they belonged to people who were staying with friends and relatives for Thanksgiving.

There was no car on his driveway and no sign of life. The only way I was going to find out if he was in was to take the most direct approach. I got out of the vehicle and removed the coat and hat so I’d look less conspicuous. Then I strolled casually up to the front door and rang the bell. No answer. I tried again, but there was still no answer.

I stood on his porch and wondered what to do next. I heard a child laughing along the street. Two cars drove slowly by. After about a minute I went back to the SUV and settled down to wait in the hope that he would show up. I knew I couldn’t wait for long. Michael Cruz would eventually be discovered and would alert his partner and the Syndicate. But I reckoned I had a couple of hours.

It gave me time to think. And there was a lot to think about. The money for one thing. Eighty thousand dollars. It really hadn’t sunk in yet, but it was going to make a big difference to my situation. It meant I could pay my way to a new life, maybe over the border in Mexico. With
that kind of cash I could buy a fresh identity, even a passport. I could lie low in some godforsaken town until the heat was off and then try to carve out a future for myself.

Every instinct I had screamed at me to hit the road right now and head south, to seize the opportunity and flee the danger zone. But it’d mean never knowing what it had all been about and never finding peace because I’d be leaving Kate and her daughter to an uncertain fate. So I knew I couldn’t do it.

Raymond Garcia would be able to help. I was sure of it. Not that I expected him to volunteer any information. It would have to be dragged out of him. I knew Garcia’s type even though I’d never met him. He’d be a self-serving rat with no morals. Like all those other briefs who feed off the proceeds of organized crime.

I sat for a while mulling over all the questions I was going to ask him. But as the clock ticked the doubts began to form in my head. Who was I kidding? I was up against the titanic forces of the federal
government
and a powerful and ruthless criminal organization. I didn’t stand a chance.

I was so inwardly focused that I didn’t notice the silver Mercedes until it slowed to a crawl in front of me. As I watched it turn onto Garcia’s driveway I felt a bolt of adrenaline. The car stopped in front of the garage and a man I assumed was Raymond Garcia got out of the driver’s door. He was wearing chinos and a sleeveless red shirt. He went to the trunk and took out a set of golf clubs. That was when I got a good look at him. And realized that his face was familiar.

In fact it was a face I would have known anywhere.

S
EEING
R
AYMOND
G
ARCIA
came as a massive shock. I stared across the road in disbelief as he lugged his golf clubs into the house.

My breath slowed to nothing and every muscle in my body seemed to freeze over. I just didn’t know what to make of it and for several minutes I couldn’t move.

I sat there with my heart beating ferociously in my chest. For the first time since waking up in the FBI facility I was bleeding for a drink. I felt I needed a shot or two of something potent before confronting the lawyer.

There was no doubt in my mind that he was going to be as surprised as I was. Maybe even more so.

I started to think about how I’d approach him. He was bound to be a cautious guy. So if he checked first to see who was at the door there was no way he would answer it.

But then something happened that I didn’t expect. The front door opened and Garcia came back out. He walked to the garage, unlocked it, and lifted up the slide-over door. Then he got into the Mercedes and started to nudge it into the garage. I saw my chance. He’d left the front door open.

I was out of the SUV in a flash and dashed across the road. The angle was such that he couldn’t see me in the rear-view mirror. I hurtled through the door into a white-walled hallway. It was wide and bright, with a high ceiling and carpeted stairs. Ahead of me the hall opened out into a sunlit living room. I saw large windows and a sofa. There was a closed door to my right. Perfect, I thought. I could hide beyond it until Garcia came back into the house. Then I’d pounce.

I grabbed the door handle and pushed it open. Then I slid into a
shiny, modern kitchen. It had marble countertops and stainless steel appliances. There was a breakfast bar and a dining area. I eased the door shut behind me and stuck my ear to it, listening for Garcia.

But I heard something else. Something that lifted the hairs on my arms.

A low, menacing growl.

I turned around and felt my system flood with fear.

A dog.

It was standing not seven feet away, having stepped out from behind the breakfast bar. It was a big, black Rottweiler, and it was looking at me like I’d invaded its territory. Its dark lips were pulled back in a
ferocious
snarl, revealing teeth like razor-sharp fangs.

I didn’t move, not even to blink. I sucked in my breath and held it there. Why the hell hadn’t it barked or howled when I rang the bell? Wasn’t that what dogs were supposed to do? Maybe it had been
sleeping
. Or maybe it was deaf.

The animal stared at me. Its eyes were large and bloodshot, and thick muscles strained beneath its silky coat. I knew the breed to be one of the strongest and most dangerous, with powerful jaws and a vicious temperament.

I should have known that a guy like Garcia would have some kind of protection. And this killing machine was the ultimate fucking bodyguard.

I heard the garage door slam shut and realized I was done for. If I moved the dog would go for me. If I didn’t move it would go for me anyway eventually. But I couldn’t just stand there like lunch waiting to be eaten.

The dog stepped forward. Saliva foamed at the corners of its mouth. The growling got louder and I sensed it was about to attack.

The sound of the front door closing spurred me into action. I reached for the gun in my waistband and managed to get a grip on it. But as I pulled it out the dog threw itself at me with lightning speed.

It rammed into me with the force of an express train. I crashed against the door. The dog’s jaws clamped over my arm, but I whipped it back before its teeth sank into the flesh. The gun fell from my hand and clattered onto the hardwood floor, but I somehow stayed on my feet.

As the dog tried to take a bite out of my thigh, I delivered a savage punch to its nose. It yelped like a human and one of its front legs gave way. It staggered sideways and I took the opportunity to jump clear and
hurl myself across the room.

I wouldn’t have made it if the door hadn’t swung open at that point. The animal was momentarily distracted by the sudden appearance of its owner. It gave me the precious seconds I needed to reach the sink. Next to it I had spotted a knife rack.

I managed to pull a knife out just as the dog came charging at me. I heard Garcia cry out, but I wasn’t sure if he was telling the dog to go for me or hold back.

I stood firm as the Rottweiler leapt at me. But in aiming for my face it left its broad, heavy chest exposed. And that’s where I plunged the blade. Right up to the hilt.

It didn’t stop the solid, grunting mass of fur and muscle from
smashing
into me. Its weight sent me sprawling backwards onto the floor and its teeth came to within an inch or so of my face. But thankfully death was instantaneous and it stifled even a final, pathetic whimper as the dog went limp and rolled onto its side.

A wave of relief and exhaustion washed over me. But there was no time to appreciate the fact that I hadn’t been seriously hurt. I needed to brace myself for a new threat.

In the form of Raymond Garcia.

As I struggled to sit up he came into the room and stood over me, holding my gun. I couldn’t tell from his expression if he was upset about the dog because he looked totally stunned. We shared a long moment of silence.

Then he mouthed a single word: ‘Jordan?’

I didn’t answer, just continued to stare up at him as my heart went wild in my chest.

‘My God,’ he said. ‘You could almost be my twin brother.’

He was right. It was almost like looking in a mirror.

H
E WASN’T EXACTLY
my double. His eyes were blue and mine were brown. His lips were slightly thinner and his nose just a little wider.

There was also a bit more flesh below his chin. And his hairline had receded further back on his forehead. He was carrying a few more pounds than me and was at least two inches shorter.

But from a distance it would have been difficult to tell us apart. Especially given the fact that our hair matched and we both had a tan.

‘You must be Garcia,’ I said.

He studied me through squinting eyes, assessing something – maybe my level of desperation. Or maybe whether or not I was real.

I shook my head in bewilderment. My thoughts were coming too fast to articulate.

What did it mean? Was this guy my doppelganger? They say
everyone
has one – a man or woman who looks almost exactly like them. But if so, then what were the odds on me meeting mine in these
circumstances
? A trillion to one maybe.

His eyes shifted from me to the dead dog and I felt a cold panic tighten in my throat. Had he been attached to the beast? Had it been a treasured pet as well as a guard dog? I hoped not.

His eyes moved back to me and I noticed them focus on the dog’s blood that stained my T-shirt.

‘I’m sorry about the dog,’ I said.

His mouth tightened a little.

‘No great loss,’ he said. ‘He stank and kept shitting. It means I won’t have to pay a vet to put him down.’

I sat up straighter with my back against the cool surface of the fridge door. Garcia seemed unsure of himself. The hand that held the gun was
trembling. His heavy breathing seemed to crackle in his throat.

‘What are you doing here?’ he said.

‘Looking for answers,’ I told him.

A knot appeared in his brow. ‘How did you find out where I lived?’

‘Your partner. I called in at your office at the same time he did. He took some persuading, but he eventually opened up.’

‘What else did he tell you?’

‘That you’re probably stealing from the Texas Syndicate.’

He parted his lips in surprise.

‘I don’t give a damn if you’re ripping off a good-for-nothing crime lord,’ I said. ‘That’s not what I want.’

‘Then what do you want?’

I held his gaze. ‘I want to know why I’m not dead. Why the FBI took me to a restaurant to meet Martinez, but then set me up to be shot outside. Why your business card was in the pocket of the suit that Aaron Vance gave me to wear. And why my sister had to die.’

He took a deep breath through his nose.

‘Your sister and the two agents should not have been killed,’ he said. ‘They would still be alive if the Feds had put a bullet in you outside the restaurant.’

‘That much is obvious,’ I said. ‘It’s the rest I’m interested in.’

I could see him turning it over in his mind, running through his options.

‘On your feet,’ he said.

I did as I was told. He motioned with the gun and stepped to one side.

‘Into the hall. And then onto the living room. I have to call Vance. Let him handle this.’

I shuffled forward and canned the urge to turn around to try to wrest the gun from him. Any sudden movement was bound to spook him and cause him to squeeze the trigger even though he probably didn’t want to.

In the living room he told me to stand with my back to a set of French windows. Beyond them was a large garden with a flat lawn and some trees. The room was L-shaped and sparsely furnished. Two sofas, a coffee table, a flat screen TV and a drinks cabinet. There was a house phone lying on the table. Garcia picked it up with his free hand.

‘Look, before you call him will you tell me what’s going on?’ I said. ‘I don’t want to go to my grave not knowing.’

He ignored me and punched a number into the phone.

A moment later he cursed under his breath and I figured he’d got Vance’s voice message.

‘It’s me,’ he said into the phone. ‘Call me straight back.’

Then he switched it off and licked his lips.

‘Come on, Garcia,’ I said. ‘What does it matter if you come clean? I won’t be telling anyone. Just start at the beginning. Tell me why they faked the execution.’

He thought about it some more, then shrugged.

‘They did it because a few weeks earlier your picture was shown on the news,’ he said. ‘Aaron Vance saw it and realized that there was a striking resemblance between you and me. So he came up with a plan to fake the execution and make the world think you were dead. They knew it was possible because they’d done it before apparently. So guys like you could be experimented on.’

I felt the blood rush to my head. Could it be true that I’d been allowed to live because I looked like some crooked lawyer?

‘They wanted to keep you alive so that they could kill you all over again,’ he said. ‘But the second time it had to be in front of Julio Martinez. That’s why I arranged to meet him at the restaurant.’

I felt my heart rate spike as the penny dropped.

‘They wanted Martinez to think it was me who was shot,’ he said. ‘That was the only way to convince the bastard I was really dead.’