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“They take your friend to Cartagena,” Miguel explained, drawing on his cigarette and flicking the ash to the ground, as though he had all the time in the world.
“What? Why?” How was Francis supposed to get him back or get to Cartagena?
“Ransom.”
“Ransom, I…” Kidnapped and sold to the highest bidder… This was bad. He didn’t know what to do, where to go, or how to save Vitari. “Who?”
“Very bad man.”
Of course it was. Francis could feel the hysterical laughter bubbling up his throat. No good man was going to kidnap Vitari and demand a ransom. He was beginning to wonder if there were any good men left in the world.
His heart raced, panic trying to push him into demanding these people do something. “How do I get to him?”
“Go to Cartagena.”
He said it as though such a thing was even possible. “I don’t know how. I don’t know…” He threw his hands up, then sighed and focused on breathing. He needed to think. What did he have? What could he use? There had to be a way… He was alone, but he wasn’t without resources. “I have money, and I can get more. I’ll pay the ransom?”
“How much?” Miguel drawled.
He had no idea how much Vitari had stashed under the church. What was a good kidnapping amount? Tens of thousands? A hundred thousand? More? “Enough. How do I reach this bad man, what’s his name?”
“Serpiente Diablo.”
“What?” Francis said automatically, even though he knew its meaning. “Devil Snake?” What kind of name was that?
Miguel nodded. “Bad man.”
“Serpiente is a local cartel boss. He controls the drops,” Mia added. “And much of San Blas.”
“‘Drops’?” Francis asked. Maybe it was a language thing because he had no idea what any of this meant.
Miguel glanced at Mia and frowned, they shared a few words, and Mia snuffed, looking up. “Drugs, Padre.”
“Oh.” Serpiente was a drug dealer. So, if he was a drugs man, all he wanted was money? This wasn’t revenge or a hit. It wasn’t personal. It was business, as Vitari liked to say. Which meant Francis could get Vitari back. “I want to talk to him, how do I do that?”
“You’re going to get yourself killed, Francis,” Mia said.
“No, it’s fine, I just need to talk to this Serpiente man and explain I can pay.” His thoughts spilled out of him as words. “He has to bring Vitari back. I’ll pay the ransom. Whatever it takes. I know people, bad people. He can’t just… take Vitari. Vitari is… He’s L’ Angelo della Morte. This Serpiente man has no idea who he is dealing with.”
Miguel smiled, then chuckled and said something that sounded derogatory at Francis’s expense.
Francis stopped pacing and dug his heels in the soft jungle floor. “You think this is funny?”
“You are amusing,” the old man agreed. “Serpiente will kill you, take your money, and ransom Angel to Battaglia, yes?”
“I’m not that easy to kill.” He had a gun. He meant it. If they wanted to come for him, let them. He’d killed before, and he’d do it again. Nobody here understood the lengths he’d go to—he maybe didn’t even understand it himself. Vitari had nobody. But he had Francis, and Francis would never abandon him.
“Padre Blanco.” Miguel chuckled. “You should leave, while you can. Go back to England.”
“Go?”
“Leave Panama, go north? Get away. This business is not for you.”
Just like that? Just walk away? No. That wasn’t an option. “You don’t know me.”
“I know you, Padre, do not want to be here. This not your fight. Your Angel will survive, or not. But a gringo like you will not?—”
Francis pulled the gun, cocked the hammer, and aimed at Miguel’s chest. He saw, in his mind, how he’d pulled the trigger and blown Luca Espinosa away. He saw, in his memory, how he’d held the gun on Montague and would have killed him too, eventually. He’d do the same to this man. “Call this Serpiente, tell him I want to speak with Vitari, tell him I will get his money and buy Vitari back.”
