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“Eric, drop it. Right now,” the chief said.
He’s scared too.
“Hey, Chief, no problem,” Cesar cut in. “It’s not like we haven’t got enough work. Right, drop it, national security business, need to know, eh?”
The two suits looked at each other and then Salvador. He nodded himself.
“Okay,” he said. “I wasn’t born yesterday. Curiosity killed the cat, that right? And unless I want to go meow-oh-shit as my last words . . .”
“You have no idea,” the woman said, looking past him. “None at all.”
Then she turned her eyes on him. “Let’s be clear. There was no fire. There is no such thing as a Brézé family. You never heard of them. You particularly haven’t made any records or files of anything concerning them. That will be checked.”
“Sure,” he grinned. “Check what? About who?”
Salvador waited until they were back in the office before he began to swear; English, Spanish, and some Pushtu, which was about the best reviling language he’d ever come across, though some people he’d known said Arabic was better.
“Let’s get some lunch,” Cesar said, winking.
Yeah, Salvador thought. Got to remember anything can be a bug these days.
“Sure, I could use a burrito.”
When they were outside Cesar went on: “How soon you want to start poking around, jefe?”
Salvador let out his breath and rolled his head, kneading at the back of his head with one spadelike hand. The muscles there felt like a mass of woven iron rods under his hand, and he pressed on the silver chain that held the crucifix around his neck.
“It’s fucking Eurotrash terrorists now, eh?” he said.
“Yeah. Eurotrash vampire terrorists. Maybe Osama bit them?” Cesar said, still smiling.
“Or vice versa.”
“What sort of shit is going on?” Cesar said, more seriously.
“Our chances of getting that from those people . . .”
“. . . are nada.”
Cesar looked up into the cloudless blue sky. “Maybe these Brézés are just so rich they can shitcan anything they don’t like? Call me cynical . . .”
“Nah,” Salvador shook his head. “You can’t get that just with money. Not with those people, the spooks. You need heavy political leverage. Whoever they were, they were feds, and not your average cubicle slave either. They’re not going to tell any of us boondockers shit. The chief didn’t know any more than we did; he was just taking orders.”
“You sure?”
“I’ve known him a long time.”
“So . . .” Cesar said.
He leaned back against a wall. “How long do you want to let it cool before we start poking in violation of our solemn promise?”
“Couple of months,” Salvador said. “First thing, get all the data on an SD card and make some copies and let me have one. Scrub your notebook and anything you’ve got at the office. None of this ever goes on anything connected to anything else.”
Cesar grinned. “I like the way you think, jefe.”
DREAM.
The sense of sick dread got worse as the flames erupted through the door and he was flung back to lie helpless. This time he could see the figure who walked through the fire.
