The Governor's Wife (58 page)

They sat quietly for a moment. Bode knew that his forty-seven-year career called life had come down to this one big play: saving his wife.

"Harvard Med School did not prepare me for this," the doctor said.

"Nothing prepares a man to die."

They stood and climbed the embankment, fighting their way through thick juniper and brush. They broke through to a four-lane east-west roadway, then quickly ducked back into the brush as cars sped past.

"
Bulevar Luis Donaldo Colosio
," the doctor said. "It leads directly to El Diablo's compound."

"Let's go."

"No. There is too much traffic on this road.
Federales
and cartel patrols. We must take the side streets."

He looked both ways.

"Now!"

Governor Bode Bonner and Dr. Jesse Rincón jumped from the brush and ran across the four lanes and into
Ciudad de Nuevo Laredo
, determined to save the woman they both loved. Or to die trying.

And one of them would.

"
Calle Nicolás Bravo
," the doctor said. "This street runs parallel to the boulevard. It will take us to El Diablo's compound. Maybe, a dozen blocks west of where we stand. And the traffic is one-way toward us, so we will see cars approaching. But we must be careful. When it is dark, Nuevo Laredo is a very dangerous place. Here, you are either predator or prey."

"I'm armed and dangerous, Doc."

"
Mi amigo
, this is Nuevo Laredo."

They walked down the cramped street past ramshackle residences so close to the street you could spit through the windows. Corrugated tin sheets and wood pallets fashioned fences that corralled chickens and goats. Old American cars were parked halfway onto the narrow sidewalk.

"I always wondered what happened to all the Oldsmobiles," Bode said.

"Governor, what if she is not in the compound? What if we cannot find her?"

"She'll be there. He wants me to find her."

Bode stopped and retrieved the handheld GPS unit from his coat pocket.

"And I can track her on this."

Bode activated the GPS and got a signal. Good girl.

"How?"

"Her cell phone. I can track it."

"But he would have taken her phone."

"She hid it where he wouldn't find it."

"Where?"

"You're a doctor, figure it out."

"Oh. How do you know she would do that?"

"Because I've been married to her for twenty-two years. She's smart, and she's tough."

He turned the GPS off and put it back in his pocket.

"Let's go get her, Doc."

They continued west on
Calle Nicolás Bravo
and crossed
20 Noviembre San Antonio
. Bode glanced down the side street and saw several groups of tough-looking men gathered outside cheap
cantinas
.

"Do not look at them," the doctor said.

They walked fast down the south side of the street and crossed another intersection. Bode looked up at the road sign:
José de Escandón
. When he looked back down, a man jumped from the shadows and tackled the doctor like a linebacker flattening a quarterback. He apparently hadn't seen Bode behind the doctor. Bode pulled his six-shooter and put the big barrel in the man's face. His eyes were suddenly wide. Bode spoke through clenched teeth.

"Get off my friend!"

He got off.

"Now git!"

He got.

The doctor stood and said, "So I am your friend?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"If we get her out alive."

They hurried on. The streets were lit with neon signs for
Corona
and
Tecate
and
Pesos-Dolares
and all-night
Farmacias.
Late-night partiers stumbled down the sidewalks until they fell over or were beaten and robbed. Hookers plied their trade for a few
pesos
. Austin's Sixth Street could be a bit wild at times, but the biggest danger was getting puked on.

Nuevo Laredo was the goddamn Wild West.

Headlights appeared in front of them, and the doctor abruptly grabbed Bode's coat and yanked him off the sidewalk.

"Governor, this way!" he said in a hushed voice.

He pulled Bode down behind a small adobe wall with a sign for
Misíon Pentecostal
. They remained hidden until a military-style truck with armed soldiers in the back drove past.

"
Federales
," the doctor said.

They stood and headed west again, faster now. They crossed
Pedro J. Méndez
and
Santos Degollado
streets. Each intersection seemed busier than the previous one.

"We are getting closer to the city center," the doctor said.

The structures were low, and the tall white compound loomed over the buildings like a castle on a hilltop, so they had no trouble maintaining their bearing. They went through the
Jesús Carranza
and
Leandro Valle
intersections and past small auto repair shops with cars jacked up on blocks in the side yards and more
cantinas
and more … headlights coming toward them. They ducked behind a small
Tacos y Taquitos
stand and waited for the vehicle to pass. It was another truck with armed men in the back.

"
Federales?
" Bode asked.

"Cartel
soldados
," the doctor said. "Looking for a fight with the
federales
."

The Wild West.

They jogged down the street. They had entered a bar district:
El Paso del Norte, La Cascada, Aguilar Ladies Bar
, and other such establishments lined both sides of the street.

"We are close now," the doctor said.

They came to the intersection at
Avenida Melchor Ocampo.

"We go north here. The next intersection is
Vincente Guerrero
, a very busy street. This street is not so busy."

They hurried up the west sidewalk, which was shielded by cars parked along the street and shade trees. They were in a better part of town. Bode felt a sense of relief come over him—until he was slammed up against a building and a knife was jammed against his throat. A large Mexican man with whiskey breath put his weight into Bode.

"
¡Tu dinero o tu vida!
"

"Our money or our lives," the doctor said.

"I'm the governor. I don't carry cash."

The doctor dug in his pocket and produced a handful of coins. The man took the money then threw the coins on the sidewalk.

"
¡Más dinero!
"

The doctor shook his head.

"
No más dinero.
"

The man pulled the knife back as if to stab Bode, but his body suddenly clenched and his eyes bulged and he groaned. A hand—a white hand—emerged from the darkness behind the man and clamped over his mouth. The man dropped his knife and slowly crumpled to the ground. A shaggy figure leaned over the man a moment then stood and faced Bode.

"What the hell are you doing here, Governor?"

"
Eddie?
"

He stared at Eddie Jones' face in disbelief.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Saving your life."

"Thanks, but why are you in Nuevo Laredo?"

"'Cause you're paying me a million bucks to kill El Diablo."

"I am?"

"Jim Bob is. Campaign expense."

"Can you do it? Kill him?"

"Yeah, I can kill him. That's not the problem. Getting back across the river alive, that's the problem. So, Governor, what brings you to Nuevo Laredo?"

"He took my wife."

"From the
colonia
," the doctor said. "This morning."

Eddie nodded. "Using her as bait. It's working. So what, you and the doc here figure on walking into that compound, killing the baddest drug lord in all of Mexico, rescuing the little lady, and then hightailing it back across the river before daybreak?"

Bode shrugged. "As a matter of fact, that is the plan."

"Well, Governor, as plans go, it sucks." He glanced around. "Come on, let's find a place to make a new plan."

Bode pointed at the man lying on the ground.

"Is he dead?"

Eddie kicked the body.

"Oh, yeah, he's dead."

"Maybe we should move him. A dead body on the sidewalk might attract attention."

"In Nuevo Laredo?"

Enrique de la Garza did not sleep well alone. So he often worked late at night, after he put Carmelita to bed and read her a story in the
inglés
so she too could attend Harvard. He was in his office now, nowhere close to sleep, not with the governor's wife just one floor below in bed.

"You bring any weapons?" Eddie asked.

They had found a secluded alley around the corner between
Farmacias
where the doctor said Americans cross the river to buy cheaper prescriptions. Bode now pulled his dangerous game rifle off his shoulder and showed it to Eddie.

"Jesus, Governor, you'll wake up all of Nuevo Laredo with this thing."

"One of those three-seventy-five caliber slugs, guaranteed to ruin El Diablo's day."

"True, but we need to be a little stealthy."

"I'm a good shot."

"No doubt, Governor, but this ain't the turkey shoot back in Comfort. What else you bring?"

Bode pulled the six-shooter from his waistband.

"Colt Walker .44-caliber six-shooter. It'll blow a hole the size of a bowling ball through a full-grown man."

Eddie blinked.

"A six-shooter?"

The doctor held his six-shooter out.

"I have one, too."

"Anything else?"

Bode pulled his right sleeve up to reveal the small pistol rubber-banded to his wrist.

"A Derringer?"

"Forty-one-caliber double-barreled."

Eddie shook his head. "How 'bout you, Doc, you bring anything?"

"This."

The doctor reached into his pocket and came out holding a scalpel.

"A scalpel? What else you got in there, a catheter?"

Bode was getting a little annoyed.

"So what'd you bring?"

"Just these."

Eddie pulled a gun.

"Nine millimeter Glock. Fifteen-round clip." He screwed a long tube onto the barrel. "With a silencer."

Eddie opened his ratty jacket to reveal a sawed-off shotgun slung under one arm and a small weapon under the other.

"Uzi," he said.

He lifted his pants leg to reveal a long knife with a serrated blade in a leg sheath. Taped to his other leg was an ice pick.

"You bring a can of Mace, too."

Eddie chuckled.

"You came prepared."

"This is what I do, Governor."

"I thought you were a gopher?"

"I am. I get what I go for."

Could the governor's wife love him if he killed the governor? Some women might be offended by such an act. But she had been working in the
colonias
for five months, perhaps she had left the governor, as the rumors on cable suggested. And he had cheated on her; she could not feel that strongly about him. If Enrique had cheated on Liliana, she would have killed him herself. With the governor out of the picture, certainly Enrique would be the front-runner for her affection. Who else would be in the race? There were no eligible men for her in the
colonias
… except Dr. Rincón. Yes, he was also educated and quite handsome. But he was quite poor. A woman such as the governor's wife was accustomed to certain things in life, things that only a man such as Enrique de la Garza could provide. Perhaps it was the wine he had with dinner or the brandy he had after dinner—or perhaps it was his lack of sleep—but he actually entertained the thought that one day the governor's wife might be his wife.

The
federales
and cartels had set up competing roadblocks throughout the city manned by heavily armed men.

"And they wonder why tourists don't come no more," Eddie said.

They evaded the roadblocks by backtracking and taking a longer route around, cutting through alleys, and even maneuvering through a side street of small motels manned by women dressed in lingerie. Shortly before 3:00
A.M.
, they arrived at the street on which the white compound was located. They ducked into a dark alley between two buildings. Bode accidentally kicked a beer can; it sounded like a siren as it careened down the concrete. Eddie put a finger to his lips.

"Shh."

At each end of the street stood a man with a rifle slung over his shoulder.