from D.C.”
“The capitol?”
“That’s right. They’ve been talking to the lieutenant all morning. They’re taking him to lunch, too.”
“What’s going on? Any idea?”
She shook her head. “Only that gossip says they’re on the Machado case.”
“Yes. He’s wanted for kidnapping.” He didn’t add what Barbara had told him, that his own birth mother might have once known Machado in the past.
“He’s not in the country.”
“And how would you know that?” Rick asked her with pursed lips. “Another psychic insight?” he added, because she had a really unusual sixth sense about cases.
“No. I ran into Cash Grier over at the courthouse. He was up here on a case.”
“Our police chief from Jacobsville,” he acknowledged.
“The very same. He mentioned that Jason Pendleton’s foreman is on temporary leave because of Machado.”
“Grange,” Rick recalled, naming the foreman. “He went into Mexico to retrieve Gracie Pendleton when she was kidnapped by Machado’s men for ransom.”
“Yes. It seems the general took a liking to him, had him investigated and offered him a job.”
Rick blinked. “Excuse me?”
“That’s what I said when Grier told me.” She laughed. “The general really does have style. He said somebody had to organize his mercs when he goes in to retake his country. Grange, being a former major in the army, seemed the logical choice.”
“His country is Barrera,” Rick mused. “Nice name, since it sits on the Amazon River bordering Colombia, Peru and Bolivia. Barrera is Spanish for barrier.”
“I didn’t know that, only having completed two years of college Spanish,” she replied blithely.
He made a face at her.
“Anyway, it seems Grange likes the idea of being a crusader for democracy and freedom and human rights, so he took the job. He’s in Mexico at the moment helping the general come up with a plan of attack.”
“With Eb Scott offering candidates, I don’t doubt,” Rick added. “He’s got the cream of the crop at his counterterrorism training center in Jacobsville, as far as mercs go.”
“The general is gathering them from everywhere. He has a couple of former SAS from Great Britain, a one-eyed terror from South Africa named Rourke whose nickname is Deadeye…”
“I know him,” Rick said.
“Me, too,” Rogers replied. “He’s a pill, isn’t he? Rumored to be the natural son of K. C. Kantor, who was one of the more successful ex-mercs.”
“Yes, Kantor became a billionaire after he gave up the lifestyle. He has a daughter who married Dr. Micah Steele in Jacobsville, and a godchild who married into the ranching Callister family up in Montana.” His eyes narrowed. “Where is the general getting the money to finance his revolution?”
“Remember that he gave Gracie back without any payment. But then he nabbed Jason Pendleton for ransom, and Gracie paid it with the money from her trust fund?”
“Forgot about that,” Rick said.
“It ran to six figures. So he’s bankrolled. We hear he also charged what’s left of the Fuentes cartel for protection while he was sharing space with them over the border.”
“Charging drug lords rent in their own turf?” Rick asked.
“And getting it. The general has a pretty fearsome reputation,” she added. She laughed. “He’s also a incredibly handsome,” she mused. “I’ve seen a photograph of him. They say he has a charming personality, reveres women and plays the guitar and sings like an angel.”
“A man of many talents.”
“Not the least of which is inspiring troops.” Rogers sighed. “But it has to be unsettling for the State Department, especially since the Mexican government is up in arms about having Machado recruit mercs to invade a sovereign nation in South America while living in their country.”
“Why are they protesting to us? We aren’t helping him,” Rick pointed out.
“He’s on our border.”
“If they want us to do something about Machado, they could do something about the militant drug cartels running over our borders with automatic weapons to protect their drug runners.”
“Chance would be a fine thing.”
“I guess so. None of that explains why the State Department is gumming up our office,” he added. “This is San Antonio. The border is that way.” He pointed out the window. “A long, long drive that way.”
“I know. That’s what puzzled me. So I pumped Grier for information.”
“What did he tell you?”
“He didn’t. Tell me anything,” she added grimly. “So I had my oldest son pump his best friend, Sheriff Hayes Carson, for information.”
“Did you get anything from him?”
She bit her lower lip. “Bits and pieces.” She gave him a worried look. She couldn’t tell him what she found out. She’d been sworn to secrecy. “But nothing really concrete, I’m sorry to say.”
“I suppose they’ll tell us eventually.”
“I suppose so.”
“When is this huge invasion of Barrera going to take place? Any timeline on that?”
“None that presented itself.” She sighed. “But it’s going to be a gala occasion, from what we hear. The State Department would have good reason to be concerned. They can’t back a revolution…”
“One of the letter agencies could help with that, of course, without public acknowledgment.”
Letter agencies referred to government bureaus like the CIA, which Rick assumed would have been in the forefront of any assistance they could legally give to help install a democratic government friendly to the United States in South America.
“Kilraven used to belong to the CIA,” Rick murmured. “Maybe I could ask him if he knows anything.”
“I’d keep my nose out of it for the time being,” Rogers cautioned, foreseeing trouble ahead if Rick tried to interfere at this stage of the game. “We’ll know soon enough.”
“I guess so.” He glanced at her and asked, “Hear about what happened on the firing range this morning?”
Her eyes brightened. “Did I ever! The whole department’s talking about it. Our rookie detective outshot the lieutenant.”
“By a whole point.” Rick grinned. “Imagine that. She falls into potted plants and trips over crime evidence, but she can shoot like an Old West gunslinger.” He shook his head. “I thought I’d pass out when she started firing that automatic. It was beautiful. She never even seemed to aim. Just snapped off the shots and hit in the center every single time.”
“The lieutenant’s a good loser, though,” Rogers commented. “He bought a single pink rose and laid it on her desk after lunch.”
Rick’s eyes narrowed and his expression grew cold. “Did he, now?”
The lieutenant was a widower. Nobody knew how he lost his wife, he never spoke of her. He didn’t even date, as far as anyone knew. And here he was giving flowers to Gwen, who was young and innocent and impressionable…
“I said, do you think that could be construed as sexual harassment?” Rogers repeated.