Judge & Jury - James Patterson [90]
“Here. It is owned by an old local family. At least that is what the documents say. But my wife says it belongs to a foreigner. An American, yes?”
I patted Guillermo on the shoulder and smiled. “An American—yes.”
Chapter 111
WE DROVE OUT to find it the next day.
It was east—not near the other fancy estancias but in a remote valley. We pushed the Land Cruiser up the narrow, winding canyon, cut through sweeping, rocky cliffs and overhanging glaciers. There wasn’t a single road sign. We only pressed on because of Guillermo’s directions.
We stopped the SUV on what I took to be a high sheep path overlooking the property and made sure it was out of sight.
Then Andie and I crawled to a hidden overhang and peered through the glasses. I knew it was Cavello’s ranch as soon as I set eyes on it.
“He’s here.”
The property didn’t look welcoming or open like the other ranches we’d seen. There was no sign over the wooden gate. Instead there was a tower and two men—more like soldiers—leaning back on chairs, flipping cards.
“They’re sloppy,” I said. “That’s a good sign. I hope.”
Flocks of sheep grazed on land that swept up the steep mountain walls. But the wire that stretched from the closed gate wasn’t to keep them in. It was barbed. It was to keep others out.
The men in the tower were armed. Two automatic rifles were leaning against the wall. I spotted four other guards patrolling the periphery with dogs. I wasn’t looking at a ranch, I realized, but a fortress.
El Fin del Mundo.
The property was so vast I couldn’t even glimpse the main house or the setup. I had no way to determine what the complete security situation was. So I focused on the guards at the gate. The damn thing might be electrified; at various intervals I spotted cameras.
I passed the binoculars to Andie. She took a nervous sweep. I’m sure she never spotted the weapons in the guard tower, but after she surveyed the property, she put the glasses down with a defeated shrug.
“Any idea how we’re going to get in there, Nick?”
I leaned back against a rock, picked up a handful of gravel, and flung it loosely to the ground.
“We’re not.”
Chapter 112
WE WATCHED CAVELLO’S ranch the next day too, from the narrow sheep path about a quarter of a mile away. Each time, we hid the car and huddled in it against the rain and chill, just looking over the ranch, waiting for something to happen.
On the third day something finally did.
The front gate started to open. In the tower, the guards stood up. I zoomed in closer with the binoculars.
In the distance, two black blurs were approaching down the road. I hopped out of the Land Cruiser. Andie sensed that something was happening. “Nick? What’s going on?”
I didn’t answer, just trained the glasses on the advancing vehicles—maybe a quarter mile away—which turned out to be two black Range Rovers. The guards at the gate picked up their rifles and jumped to attention.
The Range Rovers slowed to a stop at the estancia’s front gate. I couldn’t see into them. Their windows were tinted black. One of the guards in the tower waved and said something to the lead driver.
I knew he was in there. Dominic Cavello. I could feel his presence in the pit of my stomach. It was the same terrible feeling I’d had when I saw Manny and Ed lying on that beach in Montauk.
Then the vehicles pulled away, down the valley road, heading for town.
“That’s how we’re going to do it, Andie.” I kept my eyes on the Range Rovers as they bounced down the mountain road toward Ushuaia.
“He’s going to come to us.”
Chapter 113
WE HAD TO BE a little patient; we’d known that from the start. Twice a week, Cavello emerged from his compound. It was always on Wednesdays and Saturdays, in the two black Range Rovers, and always around noon. Cavello would drive the first car, while two capable-looking guards followed in the second.
On Saturday we waited at the edge of Ushuaia and picked up his convoy as it headed into town. Was this our chance?
Cavello