Drone

Udi gently dropped the gull drone down to thirty feet above the yacht and released the pod containing the mosquito drones. They activated upon release. A separate wide-screen monitor flashed all six camera images from the six minuscule machines as they made their way onto the eighty-foot-long roof of the Castillo vessel. They were programmed for evasion and quickly scuttled for cover under vent hoods and rails, spreading out as far as possible to avoid detection. Two cameras went black when two mosquitoes—one lethal, one not—were blown into the water by a random gust of wind.

“Done,” Udi called out. He pressed another button on a separate remote-control unit. “Boat’s ready to go.”

Pearce whispered a command to Stella. “We’re done here. Fire it up.”

Stella heard the command in her earpiece. She immediately stepped over to the starter button and pushed it.

The ski boat’s engine roared to life, echoing like a gunshot across the water. The two Mexicans nearly jumped out of their skins. Before they could react any further, or worse, become suspicious, the two girls clapped and shouted like cheerleaders, then playfully shooed the men off of their ski boat and back onto their motor launch. As soon as Stella untied the rope on the davit, the motor launch sped away, the men all smiles and waves as Stella and Tamar smiled and waved back. Pearce finally lowered his glasses when he saw Stella and Tamar rocket away, back toward shore.

Udi stepped out of the cabin. “So far, so good, eh?”

The fishing reel in the gimbal screamed with a big strike. The quivering line bent the big rod nearly in half.

“Look at that! Too bad we’re heading back in,” Udi said.

Pearce leaped back into his fighting chair and strapped himself in.

“We’ve got plenty of time,” Pearce grunted as he began reeling up the steel line. “Grab yourself a beer and keep the boat steady.”

Udi shook his head, laughing. “Sure thing. You’re the boss.”

“Yup. And rank hath its privileges.”

Castillo Yacht, Cabo San Lucas

Thirty-six hours later, the crew heard the girl scream.

The hot little blonde from Baylor University in Waco, Texas, had been studying Spanish for a year in Mexico on her daddy’s dime.

Though a gifted language student, she was at a loss for words at the moment, moaning like a porn star with Aquiles on top of her, thrusting like a bull. Her eyes were tightly shut in anticipation of her own ferocious climax when she heard Aquiles howl. She felt something warm and wet splash onto her face, and her eyes snapped open.

Aquiles’s face was twisted in a silent scream. Blood cascaded from his mouth and nose. She watched the last flicker of light leave his panicked eyes just as he collapsed, trapping her beneath his heavy corpse in a puddle of sticky hot blood.

And that’s how the crew found her, half crazed and keening.

JUNE

18

Isla Paraíso, Mexico

César Castillo sat with a glass of Cuban rum in one hand, his third so far. His grieving, red-rimmed eyes stared at nothing in particular.

Ulises sat next to him, pensive. He wasn’t drinking, though. He suffered the loss that only a twin can feel, a psychic ache, like a throbbing phantom limb. A thought woke him out of his stupor.

“It’s genetic, isn’t it?” Ulises asked. “A genetic defect?”

His father shrugged. “How should I know? I’m not a doctor.” He slurred a little.

“I should get an MRI. They can find aneurysms with an MRI, I think.”

“Go ahead. But you might find out you have a ticking time bomb in here.” César poked his son’s forehead. “Knowing that could drive you crazy.”

“Maybe there’s a treatment. Pills or something.”

A knock on the door.

“Come,” César ordered.

Ali entered the room. He carried a large manila envelope, unmarked.

“What do you want, Arab?” César asked. He didn’t invite Ali to sit down.

“He’s Persian, Father. Not Arab.”

“He’s not my son. He’s not my blood. What do I care what he is?”

“I am your loyal servant, Señor Castillo, prepared to sacrifice myself in your service.”

“Will your death bring me back my boy, Arab?”

“No, but he will greet you in heaven with kisses when he sees you have avenged his murder.”

“What are you talking about, Ali? Aquiles died from an aneurysm,” Ulises asked.

“Don’t you think it strange that a man in Aquiles’s supreme physical condition would die from something like that? He was young. You have no family history of such things. He didn’t use meth or cocaine. So how can it be possible?”

“The coroner said that it is not unheard of for a young person like him to die of an aneurysm,” Ulises said.

“It is not unheard of for someone to be struck by a meteor, either. But it is extremely unlikely,” Ali said.

“What’s your point?” César barked.

“Myers’s son is killed. The Marinas launch an assault to capture your sons. The assault fails. Two weeks later, your son dies. Not by a bullet, not by a bomb. But he dies in a very bloody and violent way.”

“Poison?” Ulises asked.