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Gracie does the opposite. She struts out like she doesn’t give a damn, though I strongly suspect that’s an act.
The waiting guards keep their weapons drawn. For the most part, their gazes follow Gracie, not me. Not surprising. What really surprises me is how much attention they’re giving Dusty.
Whoever he is, Dusty has the respect of the men who work here. He strolls out with an almost good-natured casualness, as if he goes down into mineshafts and takes prisoners out every day.
The hair on the back of my neck is standing on end. I don’t trust this guy, don’t trust this plan, but it’s the quickest shot at getting to Justice, so I’m taking the chance.
Speaking in Spanish to the men, Dusty asks them what’s going on in the camp. I’m fluent in Spanish, so my heart freezes when they tell him the other woman has been captured because her brother lured her into a trap.
Beside me, Gracie makes a small, pained sound.
My hands clench into fists. Fucking traitor. If one hair on Justice’s head is touched, I’ll kill Tony.
Dusty doesn’t miss a beat. With a flow of Spanish almost too quick for me, he tells the men that he has a confession. He says, “I sort of feel bad about it, but facts are facts. I’m still working for the FBI. Things here are going to go bad quickly.”
The man has balls. Telling a group of guards with guns trained in your direction that you’ve basically lied, infiltrated their ranks, and tricked them isn’t how I would’ve played it.
Dusty continues, nodding in my direction and emphasizing that the kidnapping of an American is a serious crime. He’s a fast talker and appeals to their sense of self-preservation.
“I like you all, and don’t want to get you in trouble, so I’m giving you a chance to get out of here before the rest of my people show up with the helicopters.”
Dude is a good liar; I almost believe him.
The guards begin to talk among themselves, but Dusty doesn’t let up. “Of course, you’ll have to leave those weapons,” he says, as if it’s a no-brainer. “I can’t help you if you’re caught with them. If you’re caught without guns, though, I can get them to let you go. No questions asked.”
An absolutely stellar liar.
The men begin to argue and the hair on my arms begins to follow the hair on my neck. They don’t want to leave the weapons. They’re not sure they should trust Dusty.
At this, Dusty turns his gun on them. “Don’t be stupid. Walid’s going down. There’s nothing for you here. Leave the guns and go.”
I’m pretty sure the air in the tunnel has gotten a lot more congested, what with the size of Dusty’s balls taking up so much space.
The men freeze and I ready myself to act as the long, tense moment continues to play out.
“This isn’t a game of cards where I take all your money, then give it back.” He grins at them and I get the distinct impression that example was a real event. “Go on now. Get going.”
Slowly, the men place their guns down on the packed dirt and back out of the tunnel.
Dusty turns to me and Gracie. “Let’s give ’em a little while to spread the word before we head out. No need to escalate.”
I grab a semi-automatic rifle from the pile. “I’m not waiting.”
The shreds of my tuxedo pants flapping around my ankles—flimsy things weren’t built to take any kind of real movement—I step out into the night.
58
JUSTICE
“Come on, Wally. Let’s go!”
Everything seems to happen in one horrifying time-lapse instant.
I reach for my knife.
Victor breaks from the curtain.
The thick-necked guard behind Tony turns toward him.
