Page 91 of Hours to Kill
“Santiago Gomez,” the tallest man said.
The second man glanced up at Mack. “Alonzo Martinez.”
“Verify their IDs,” Ingersol instructed his agents.
A well-built agent dug into the first guy’s jeans pocket to remove his wallet. “Driver’s license confirms this one.”
Mack snapped a picture of his ID with his phone and bent his head against the sharp wind still carrying the biting sand.
The other agent grabbed the wallet of the second man. “This one is who he says he is.”
Mack took a picture of that ID too. “Get them to their feet.”
They hauled them up, and Mack fixed his best intimidating look on the men. “What are you doing on this street corner at this time of night?”
“A guy paid me to find a driver for him,” Gomez said, the resemblance to Razo uncanny.
“What guy?” Mack asked.
Gomez shrugged. “Came up to me and said he wanted to take a vacation in Mexico but needed a driver who knew the area and asked if I would do it. I’m born and raised here in California. Don’t know much about Mexico. So I said no. He said he’d pay me a grand to find someone for him. So I started asking around. Was talking to Martinez here. Then you showed up.”
“What did this man look like?” Mack asked.
Gomez tilted his head, looking like he was thinking. “Honestly, he looked a lot like me. Short. Shaved head.”
Mack’s adrenaline spiked. This guy was right. Razo did look like him, so maybe Razo was in town after all. “How’s he going to pay you?”
“He said he would meet me at the laundromat down the street tomorrow at ten a.m. Said to bring the driver who should be prepared to travel right away.”
Mack couldn’t believe the things people decided to do. “And you trusted him?”
“Trusted him?” He rolled his eyes. “Nah. But I figured it wasall done in a public place, so I should be safe enough to get my grand and go. Been out of work for a while. Need the money.”
Mack had to admit to being disappointed in not finding Razo here. Maybe it was a waste of time. He didn’t even know if these men were related to their investigation. Sure, Gomez described Razo, but the laundromat wasn’t one of the businesses where Zamora had hired people in the past. It just didn’t fit the pattern. But needing a driver for tomorrow? That fit the timeline all right.
Ingersol stepped to the side and nodded for Mack to join him. “You’re calling the shots here. You want to bring these guys in for questioning?”
“Yes,” Mack said. “Hold them until we can at least check out their backgrounds and until the laundromat meet tomorrow, which we’ll stake out.”
“You got it.” Ingersol went back to his agents.
Mack’s phone rang and he grabbed it from his pocket. “What’s up, Cam?”
“The three sovereign-citizen guys have posted and are more connected than I first thought,” Cam said. Mack heard the plane’s engines in the background and knew they were on their way to San Diego. “Plus BloodyFox has started posting.”
Mack’s interest perked up. “Razo? What’s he saying?”
“He’s ranting about the federal government and taxes. Then goes off on a long tangent on law-enforcement oversight. He ends with a clear statement saying he’s going to help ease that oversight. That the number of Feds harassing them will soon be less.”
“That coupled with our other information is enough to put out a warrant for his arrest,” Mack said, his mind racing after hearing this news. “Can you track the posts back to a location?”
“Not with the Tor browser that he’s using.”
Mack slammed his fist on the nearby car. They only had until tomorrow to find this guy and the guns, and he’d all butadmitted what he planned to do. “Is it possible they’re using some sort of code?”
“Doesn’t look like it, but I could forward the messages to D.C. and get the cryptanalyst examiners working on it.”
“Do that. I’ll get in touch with Eisenhower to put pressure on them to work the messages right away.”
