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Corbett took over, pulling up a chair next to his boss. “It’s OK, I’d trust Ridge with anything. Look, Ridge,” he said, rubbing his eyes, “this ain’t easy to contemplate for us in the DEA, but it’s becoming clear we have some kind of informant operating on the inside, feeding information to the cocaine traffickers who run things in Corpus Christi.”
“Jesus.” Ridge frowned.
“That ain’t the half of it. Right now, as things stand, we have nofuckingclue who it is. Not even a sniff. So we have to behave as though it could beanyone.” He glanced down to his boss. “Present company excepted, sir.” Gomez waved him on. “If we went big, brought in a bunch of different departments, and then something bad happened, we wouldn’t know where to begin the investigation. I’ve thought about it all day, and we’re gonna do this small.”
Ridge was nodding. “Plus,” Gomez said, “the mayor has asked me to avoid attracting media attention to San Antonio’s crime problem.”
“You care what thepoliticianswant?” Ridge scoffed.
“It ain’t just him, Ridge,” Corbett countered. “If this thing gets all over the papers, then Raven’s name gets linked with Hank’s, and that’s never gonna end well. And how long will it be untilyourname and the peaceful town of Pendale wind up in the papers? You want busloads of paparazzi climbing over the picket fences?”
“Small is beautiful,” Gomez concluded. “Hell, Ridge, I like a big noise too, but this calls for kid gloves.”
Ridge nodded, convinced, and let the matter go. “What are those guys doing?” he asked. The team of three agents in the corner were deep in a sustained, quiet discussion.
“They were able to grab a partial print off the phone they left at the church. You never know, it might be their first slip-up.” Corbett went over to check in with them, but seconds later his phone rang. “Hey... Oh, good... Jimmy? Talk to me, man. I never needed good news more than I do now.” Corbett began writing on his legal pad and didn’t stop for three minutes. “That’s the damnedest thing I ever heard,” he said, incredulous. “Well, Jimmy, you hit one out of the park. Next time I’m down there, we’re going to Norma’s. I swear it. My dollar.”
Corbett called for the room’s attention. “Guys? Hey, I think we got a break. Anyone know anything about steel?” There was silence. “OK, that makes me the room’s leading expert. The lab hasfinallycompleted their analysis of the clothes from the two airport murders. The only thing which stood out was a tiny — and I’m talking justmicroscopic— amount of a metal filing. They dismissed it first time around, but I hollered at them until they came up with something.”
“What kind of filings?” Lewis asked.
He glanced back at his legal pad. “A kind of steel called E4130. It’s a molybdenum-chromium steel alloy, whatever thefuckthat means, and it’s only — and I meanonly— used in aircraft manufacture.”
“An airplane factory?” Lewis asked, spurred into thought. It took only five seconds. “Fairfield?”
Corbett snapped his fingers. “You got it,” he confirmed.
“Who?” Gomez asked.
Lewis fairly shoved the three agents off their laptop and began typing. “Fairfield Aviation. They closed their San Antonio plant a few years ago. They used to make business jets, some military stuff. The factory’s been empty since then, unless I’m wrong...” Five minutes’ research found what they needed. Then they started making calls.
San Antonio, TX
9:45 p.m.
“Absolutely not,”Gomez insisted.
Lewis persevered. “But, sir... He’s a material witness.”
“No,” Gomez repeated firmly.
“Sir, the hostage is his sister. What if something bad happens? Besides, I can’t even guaranteehissafety with such a small fire team.”
“And think about this,” Gomez said. “We hand him over to San Antonio PD, and they stick him in a holding cell. What if someone sees him? What if one oftheirofficers is on the fuckin’ take? What then?”
Lewis knew better than to argue. “OK. I’ll keep him with me in the van, but if it all goes to hell, Hank will be on his own.”
“So give him a weapon.” Lewis stared, disbelieving, at his boss until Gomez said, “OK, I’m not serious about that. But... just look after him, OK?”
“You got it. Shall I save you a seat in the van?” Lewis motioned to the plain white-sided Ford parked in the narrow alley.
“I’m going to be at the field office, keeping my ear to the ground,” Gomez explained, returning to his Land Cruiser. “Chances are, if this informant is going to stick his head out, now would be the time. The net’s closing in, and he’ll want to let his bosses know.” He started the engine. “Good luck, Lewis. Stay in touch.”
The detective watched his boss leave, and then slid back the door of his vehicle. “Evenin’ fellas. Everyone set?” It was a strange sight, even Lewis had to admit. He looked over the three men with a hint of amusement, although he had to applaud just how quickly the transformations had taken place.
Corbett had lost ten years and was now a pale, skinny skateboarder: baseball cap backward, scruffy jeans, and new-ish white sneakers. Freeman had gone with giant, unkempt dreadlocks and wore a poorly fitting green overcoat and faded camo pants. Ridge looked like he hadn’t washed in weeks, and had then rolled around in the mud. A patched-up beanie hid his military hairstyle, his t-shirt was ragged and peppered with cigarette burns, and he wore ancient jeans and battered combat boots.
“They need to give awards for this kind of thing,” Lewis commented drily. The three men stepped out into the alley and took a moment, as Corbett put it, to “practice slouching.” Demeanor and posture would be as important as appearance, they all knew. It felt alien to Ridge, a slovenly, uncoordinated gait, purposeless and shambling. “Oscars all round, gentlemen. But there’s one thing missing.”
