Page 94 of Four Cards Exposed

“Still investigating, Special Agent? Maybe you didn’t just come for the woman, after all.”

James shook his head. “I’m here for Susan. Let her go, and you can do anything you want with me.”

Mendoza laughed, then, a deep, hearty laugh, at odds with such a slim man. James realized he’d never really heard Mendoza laugh before. Smile, yes, but never laugh.

“I can do anything I want to you, anyway. You ought to remember that. Come on, get out of the car.”

James’s boots squelched on the muddy ground. After sitting in a car with the AC blasting full-force, the eighty percent ambient humidity was a shock. He was sucking in air twice as often to get half as much into his lungs.

Beside him, Mendoza seemed as comfortable as a pig in shit. The only sign the humidity affected him was the way he brought out his handkerchief and delicately mopped at his brow for a while, and even that seemed more like an affectation.

James took a moment to examine the structure. The walls looked solid. More permanent than semi-permanent. The roofs of all the buildings had been painted green. From high up, it might not look that different from the rest of the jungle.

A fucking fortress.

Mendoza indicated they should move towards the gate. His men flanked James. He wondered if Mario had been sucking on garlic while his friend drove. He certainly stunk of it now. It seemed to be sweating right out of his pores.

“Welcome to my home,” Mendoza said, waving his hand grandiosely, then smiling generously as the gate opened. James followed him through the gate into the complex.

Behind the gate was a second, smaller gate, made of industrial corrugated iron. James frowned. Two gates wasn’t great. Not that he’d ever figured making a run for it would be the way out of here.

He thought of the tracker inside his arm.

Another wave of Mendoza’s arm and the second gate opened up, revealing a courtyard that, once again, reminded James of a medieval fortress, down to the small fires where men were cooking their evening meal. He counted twenty able bodies standing out there. All of them armed to the teeth.

He breathed in through his nose and out his mouth.

This won’t come down to a show of man-power.

All you need to do is scratch back a day.

The doors slammed shut behind them with finality, but James barely heard the clanging. His gaze was fixed on one particular spot in the courtyard.

In the center of the courtyard, tied to a column like some sacrificial virgin, was Susan. Her dark hair, loose around her shoulders, and her tanned skin contrasted with the white gauze gown she was wearing. It was little wonder that most of the men in the courtyard—hard, rugged, tired men—had their eyes on her.

A part of James wanted to laugh at Mendoza’s theatrics. The rest of him wanted to fall to the ground and cry.

Fear like he’d never known it clawed at his heart.

He steeled himself against it, forcing an unconcerned expression.

Mendoza would latch on to fear like a shark to a drop of blood.

In the car on the way here, James had reevaluated everything he’d thought he’d known about Mendoza. With his near-perfect recall, it wasn’t hard to remember everything he’d ever heard Mendoza say, and to realize just how badly he’d been taken from a ride. Mendoza must have planned everything from the start. The relationship with Moore—the expansion into the United States—it’d all been a ploy to get rid of his brother.

This was what Mendoza had wanted.

Now, if only James could find a way to use this knowledge.

Susan’s eyes were down, but she looked up suddenly, as if sensing his presence.

Her expression betrayed her horror.

Making sure to keep his own expression blank, James looked at Mendoza—saw the man was positively drinking in Susan’s panic.

“No! No!” she cried out, her voice raw. “You’re not here. You can’t be here!”

James’s lips curled into what he hoped was a reassuring smile, one that would telegraph to Susan that he’d get her out of here or die trying.