Outside Angel Fire, New Mexico, the savvy old ranchers heard the damnedest thing, those seven crescendos all firing off at once. To their untrained ears the blasts struck notes of perfect harmony.
Cecile and Nick were miles away, sharing a pizza on the patio at the house off Kanan Dume Road.
“So you returned all the money you stole from the cartel and all’s forgiven?”
“Not exactly,” said Cecile. “Not all the money has been returned. But enough to show good faith and get us back on track. They kidnapped the oilmen for us and I returned most of their money, but there’s still something I need to look after for them.”
“Let me guess,” said Nick. “They want you to clean out another cartel’s account.”
“And to leave a few vague but convincing footprints to make it look as if Mexico’s Secretariat of the Treasury and Public Credit is the culprit.”
“How hard will that be?”
“I’ve just started looking into it. The cartel that they wanted me to drain is too well protected so we’re going with an alternate. At first glance, it looks fairly routine, but when the time comes, I’d like to run the plan past you.”
Outside Angel Fire, New Mexico, when the seven crescendos all fired off at once, the cell phone towers froze up.
