She nods. "Yes, I suppose so." A pause, a wave of her hand. "Border Control hit the group after we reached the US side, and I ended up in a detainment center and interrogated, especially in light of the fact that my passport was discovered to be a fake, I had a handgun on me, and had three not-exactly-healed gunshot wounds. I couldn't exactly give them my real identity or I'd be in even worse trouble, so all I could do was pretend I didn't speak EnglishorSpanish. It took them a while to find a Portuguesetranslator, but by that time the infection had left me so delirious I was incoherent. They put me in the infirmary under armed guard, handcuffed to the bed, which as you can imagine did real wonders for my state of mind. I was in and out of consciousness and coherence for who knows how long."
"Barbarians," I mutter.
She shrugs. "I was obviously not an average migrant, Ren. I wasabsolutelythe threat they assumed me to be. I just wasn't a threat tothem. They had no way of knowing that. I don't blame them for how I was treated. I do not excuse their treatment of others who are innocent of everything except trying to flee the horrors of home and enter the US illegally, but me? Iwasdangerous. Their precautions were logical and understandable."
I growl. "Perhaps. I have not had the best of experiences with that organization, personally and professionally. Perhaps I am biased."
"Believe me, I understand completely. I am only saying that in that particular situation, they were not wrong to treat me as a threat. Regardless, I was the unwilling guest at that detention center for several weeks, hovering on the brink of death from infection. It turns out that swimming across the Rio Grande with open, already-infected wounds isn't the best plan. I developed multiple, severe infections. I remember very little but faces and noises and pain and being so, so thirsty."
"God, Sophia. That sounds awful."
She nods. "It wasn't fun. There are much worse things one can experience, however, and I remember being thankful that at least I was safe from Rafael. Even he couldn't get to me in the middle of an American detainment center." A pause; she looks back, remembering that we aren't alone and that she has an audience. "The man who became my employer, however, could."
"That's where he found you?" I ask.
She nods. "I remember his face above me. He was speaking to me, or maybe to someone else. I don't know. I was uncuffed, transferred to a wheelchair, and brought out of the facility. To this day, I still don't know how he knew who I was, since I was listed as a Jane Doe in the official records, with my fake passport name as an alias. But he knew, and he got me out of that facility, brought me to LA, got me healthy, gave me a new identity, a new life, and a job."
"This was before the Arrows, I assume," I say, "so what was the job, back then?"
"Personal security. He was…reorganizing, shall we say, and made quite a few enemies for himself. Keeping that man alive was a full-time job for a while, there. The rest of how I became Inez as you know me and how the Arrows came into existence is not my story to tell."
She picks up her phone and stares at it as if willing it to ring. "I am very worried, Lorenzo. This is highly unusual. What if Rafael or Pugli got to him? He can handle himself well enough, but he's not an operator."
"I'm sure he's alright, just unable to answer the phone."
She glares at me, knowing as well as I do that my answer is bullshit. "I will keep trying every fifteen minutes."
And so she does, and every fifteen minutes, the call goes to voicemail.
Two hours later, she's dozed off, head against the window, phone wedged between her thighs. Everyone has either dozed off or nearly so, leaving me to my thoughts as I drive.
I'm startled into cursing in Portuguese when her phone abruptly jangles with the shrill, jarring trill of an old-fashioned landline handset ringer. Inez jolts upright with a snort, fumbles the phone, and stabs the answer button.
"Pull over!" she snaps at me. "Pull over, now!"
I jerk the wheel and mash the brakes, skidding and fishtailing to a halt on the gravel shoulder. Inez is out of the car before it stops. "One moment, sir."
I exit as well, gesturing for everyone else to stay put. She glares at me as I join her, but she doesn't otherwise protest. “You're on speaker with me and Lorenzo, sir," she says.
"Lorenzo, Inez." Jakob's voice is strained. Quiet, as if he can't risk speaking at full volume. "The situation has changed. You warned me that I could not assume I was safe from our enemies, and unfortunately your warning has proven true."
"Are you okay, sir?"
"I am…well enough. I find myself, ironically, in a situation rather similar to those our Broken Arrows have all recently experienced—that being hunted by a numerically superior foe, with an innocent life at stake."
Inez coughs in surprise. "Sir?"
“No time to explain. I'm sorry to have worried you, but I simply couldn't answer. I can handle this situation well enough on my own for now. I'm calling because I've finally heard back from my contact at the CIA. I have a definitive location for Rafael. And better yet, he's planning on meeting up with Pugli in the next twenty-four hours."
"When and where, sir?"
"Los Angeles. Precise time and meet location are both unknown. All I know is they're meeting somewhere in LA in the next 24 hours. Contact Solomon and have everyone rendezvous in LA as soon as possible. This may be our one chance at eliminating both players."
"I should send someone to you, sir," Inez says.
"No. I…no. Focus on Pugli and Rafael. I want photographic proof of termination, Inez. No prisoners, no mercy. Not for them."
"Sir, with all due respect, Lash could—"
