Stolen Prey

but dangerous. It frightens me. If we cut the money loose, there is no reason to stay.”
    “Okay. I will go to these morning meetings, to hear what I can, and when they release Rivera’s body, I’ll come with it. You do want me to continue to work with the Federales?”
    “I believe so. I will talk with Javier about this, also. If you wish to get out, we will consider it—this would not be a bad time to go, after Rivera’s death. You could claim that you are too frightened to continue.”
    “I prefer to stay,” Martínez said. “A small raise would not be unwelcome.”
    The Big Voice laughed and said, “Perhaps a big raise. I will talk with Javier.”
    S HRAKE CALLED Lucas a half hour after he talked to Shaffer and said, “Our boy’s on the street. He’s on foot, and Jenkins is tagging him. We’ll keep you up.”
    He called back twenty minutes later and said, “He took a bus, and he just dragged his sorry ass into Hennepin National.”
    “Didn’t talk to anyone?”
    “Not unless the other guy was on the bus,” Shrake said.
    “Wonder why he’s going in there today?”
    “I do not know the answer to that question,” Shrake said. “But it’s a big bank. Maybe they have a Sunday crew?”
    “All right. If he’s working, you might as well come back in,” Lucas said. “Pretty much a fool’s errand, anyway. We’re not going to take him like that.”

11
    T wo days after stealing the car from Ferat Chakkour, Uno abandoned it at Minneapolis–St. Paul International Airport, in the hopes that if Chakkour was reported missing, his car would be found at the airport and the police would assume he was traveling.
    After leaving the car in a long-term lot, Uno, wearing a suit and tie, and with a good Mexican passport, made a call to a number given him by Big Voice, then went and stood on the curb in front of the airport baggage claim.
    Five minutes later, a Toyota Camry, with a blond man at the wheel, pulled over in front of him, and Uno got in.
    The blond man, who had a dragon tattoo on his neck, said nothing at all; he was wearing black wraparound sunglasses, nodded at Uno, and drove out to a pancake house, got out, and walked away. Uno walked around to the driver’s seat, got in, and drove back to the Holiday Inn where they’d been hiding out.
    Tres was waiting. He brought the bags out, threw them in the backseat, and they took off. They drove east on I-494, then south on Highway 61 to Newport, then through back streets until the refinery loomed in the windshield. The new house was little more than a cottage, with a one-car garage and a darkpicture window looking out at the lawn. They got the garage door opener out of the mailbox and drove into the garage. They had no key, but the garage had a door that opened into the house.
    The house was a step down from the last one, with one small television and no cable hookup, empty cupboards, a single bed in a back bedroom—nothing in the other bedroom except some scraps of paper—and a broken-down couch. The place smelled of beer and cigarettes.
    They turned the television on, and found they could get three over-the-air channels pretty well, if they manipulated the rabbit ears. The television was full of talk about two small Mexican men. Uno’s mug shot was there, but Tres was still clear.
    Uno said nothing about it, but he was afraid that Tres had become unhinged. He walked around muttering to himself, crossing himself, smiling and waving his arms, talking to unseen saints. He wanted another church, so he could pray, but Uno worried about being seen; when they were in the car, he made Tres slip down in the passenger seat so other drivers wouldn’t see two Mexican men together.
    W HEN THEY’D carried their bags inside the new house, Uno took the satellite phone outside, told Big Voice about the problem with Tres. Big Voice asked if Tres was a risk. Uno confessed that he did not know. “He will do his work, but he … I don’t know him anymore. He is a different person. I’m not sure if I can rely on him. He says I can.”
    “Watch him. If he endangers you, you may have to settle him,”the Big Voice said. “Do not just leave him, he knows too much about you, and he has seen Martínez.”
    Martínez, they’d learned, was the name of the woman who’d saved them from the Federale.
    The Big Voice also told them that the trip might be near its end—they should be prepared to run south to the border. “It may be that we’ve lost the