Vanishing Point - Marc Cerasini [25]
While the reunion took place, the coyote crossed the enclosure to a rusty faucet sticking out of the ground next to the ramshackle hut. He slipped a canteen from his belt, turned on the tap, and filled the aluminum container. Moving quietly past the others, he jumped into the dark trailer.
"Where is he going?" the man with the sunglasses asked, finally breaking the embrace.
"We were not alone," the other man replied. "There are more people inside the truck. A banker, his wife, and their child. He's a businessman... former businessman... fleeing a financial scandal in Mexico City."
The man with the sunglasses moved between the others, to peer into the darkened trailer. He saw a man in a tailored suit, now dirty and travel worn. The man's eyes were large and nervous, his tie loose around a flabby neck. He squatted on the metal floor, a prominent gut hanging over his belt. A woman rested on her knees beside him. With the hem of her dress, the woman was brushing dirt off the pudgy face of a five-year-old girl, still sluggish from sleep. The man and wife viewed the armed men warily, while pretending indifference.
While the man with the sunglasses watched, the coyote offered the family his canteen. The businessman waved it away, still staring at the strangers through the open door. The woman took a few sips, then helped the little girl quench her thirst.
Sunglasses sneered. "This flesh smuggler had specific instructions. He was very well compensated to ferry you and your men across the border. Only you and your men."
The other nodded once. "He told me this... this banker paid more money than we did. He said if he was leaving anyone behind, it was us. In any case, it was too late to haggle. I thought it best to deal with the problem on this end..."
"And so we shall," Sunglasses said. Stepping back, he raised his right hand and gestured the two bodyguards forward.
"Use your weapons. Deal with them," he commanded.
Before anyone could register shock, the two men raised their AK-47s and threw the safeties. The woman inside the trailer jumped at the sound. The coyote whirled to face them.
The quiet desert suddenly erupted with the chattering bark of twin assault rifles. The long, sustained sound seemed magnified by the trailer's hollow interior, echoing back at the shooters in waves of booming sound. Only when the banana-shaped clips were empty did the men stop firing. The abrupt silence was nearly as jarring as the explosion of noise that preceded it.
The man with the sunglasses turned his back on the carnage, focused his mirrored stare on one of the men who'd opened the gate.
"Bury them in the desert," he said.
Then the man with the sunglasses turned and led the newcomers to the dusty mobile home.
3THE FOLLOWING TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE HOURS OF 2 P.M. AND 3 P.M. PACIFIC DAYLIGHT TIME
2:01:21 p.m. PDT
The Cha-Cha Lounge, Las Vegas
The woman beside him stirred. Jack Bauer opened his eyes, instantly alert. A dark cloud was spread across the pillow beside him; and then he remembered...
He'd drifted off, gazing at the ebony hair of Stella Hawk, but thinking — and dreaming — of his wife. It was a vision from a long time ago. He was surfing a shimmering aqua ocean, the sun-washed beach gleaming white. Teri sat on the sand, laughing with her art crowd friends around a small bonfire, her body taut in a wetsuit, waiting for Jack to give her that promised surf lesson. He did... and, later that night, they'd made love for the first time...
Jack lay motionless for a moment, clinging to the vanishing threads of his deeply satisfying dream — only to feel the memory slip away, along with the feeling of contentment it brought him.
He raised his left arm to check the time. In the dim light filtering through the shuttered blinds he almost believed he could still see the faded circle around the third finger of his left hand. Jack immediately shifted his gaze to the illuminated