Page 92 of Four Cards Exposed

“Are you sure that’s it?”

“What did you expect? JFK? Go buckle in and stop bothering me.” A moment later, all traces of humor left his voice. “There’s a car approaching, Ramsay. A welcome committee. Looks like your friends have a contact at the Mexican Federal Civil Aviation Agency.”

James buckled up in his seat.

“Are you sure you want me to land? Last chance.”

“Yes. I need to get down there, Buck. It’s a matter of life-or-death.”

“Isn’t it always, with you guys?”

James took the water bottle from the pocket in front of his seat and drained it, then did the same with a second water bottle. He didn’t expect Guerrero would be offering him a welcome drink anytime soon.

He took his reading glasses out of his pocket, placing them carefully in the seat beside him. He wasn’t going to need them. Next came his shoulder holster and gun. He debated with himself for a moment, then left his ankle holster in place. If there was even a small chance they might not take that one from him, it was worth keeping it.

Taking a deep breath, he put on a pair of sunglasses.

He was out of his seat and by the door before the plane had stopped moving. He jumped off with a quick thank you to Buck, and was reassured to see the plane immediately pick up speed and take off again.

James dusted off his jeans and looked up just as three men stepped out of the SUV. He was suddenly glad he’d put on his sunglasses, hoped they masked some of his surprise at seeing Miguel Mendoza step out first, flanked by two short, heavy-set men with leathery skin and bad teeth. James dubbed them Mario and Luigi in his mind.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said lightly.

“I imagine not, since you probably expected me to be dead,” Mendoza laughed. “It’s coming in quite handy, to tell you the truth.”

James studied the man in front of him, saw the subtle changes that had taken place in him—the way he stood so much straighter now, his slim shoulders held back, his chin up. The way Mario and Luigi positioned themselves slightly behind him.

Shit.

He’s taking over.

“So. James. It’s James, right? I wanted to be here when you landed, to welcome you to my country properly. We are friends after all, yes?” Mendoza asked.

“We’re not friends, Mendoza. Where is she?”

Mendoza’s eyes narrowed. “Your phone.”

James handed it over and stood impassive as Mendoza crushed it under his boot.

There goes one tracker.

“Take off your clothes,” Mendoza ordered.

“Is this really necessary?” James drawled. Mario and Luigi tensed. Mario pulled out an old-looking gun from his belt, of all places, and pointed it at James.

“You came all the way here,” Mendoza said reasonably. “Take off your clothes now, or I swear you’ll never see her again.”

James took off his boots and socks first, then his henley, and finally his jeans. His toes curled on the dusty runway. At least it wasn’t summer yet, otherwise he knew he’d be hopping around from foot to foot.

The man James had dubbed Luigi immediately kneeled down and took off James’s ankle holster. Luigi looked like Christmas had come early—James was pretty sure he’d never seen that holster or weapon again.

“Las gafas. Take his sunglasses, too. I want to see his eyes.”

Luigi reached over again and grabbed them from his face, smirking. He handed them over to his buddy, Mario.

Mario put them on and grinned, showing yellowing teeth.

“Mine now.”