Michael McGarity - Serpent Gate

"Shall I turn on a light, patron?" Carlos asked. He spoke in English as De Leon ordered during any visits to the United States.

"That would not be wise," De Leon replied.

Only two other houses had a line of sight to De Leon property. Both were million-dollar vacation homes staffed by full-time caretakers, who, if awake, might find it unusual to see lights on at such an odd time.

"All went well," Carlos said, stepping into the room.

His heels clacked on the polished flagstone floor.

"What delayed you?"

"The private elevator was small, patron. Extra trips were required to move the items out of the offices to the garage. The access code to the underground garage had not been changed, so we had no trouble gaining entry to the building."

"Unseen?"

"Yes, patron."

"No one was in the building?"

"Two janitors. Both were on the first floor, cleaning the rotunda.

They did not see or hear us. I had Palazzi watch them throughout the operation, with orders to kill them should they become suspicious."

Carlos took a deep breath before continuing. If he left out details, De Leon would become displeased. The patron frequently complained about the slowness of his mind.

"We wore gloves, hats, and masks as you ordered," Carlos noted.

"No lights were on, and we disabled the security cameras in the reception area without detection."

"Did you get everything?"

"Yes, patron," Carlos replied.

"The walls are bare."

"Store everything in the wine cellar," De Leon ordered as he stood up.

"It is being done as we speak. The men will leave for Juarez as soon as they are finished."

"Have them wait."

"Yes, patron. And the woman?"

"In a few minutes," De Leon answered as he walked past Carlos.

The curtains in the master bedroom were closed and die track lights dimmed low. De Leon looked down at the beautiful, heavily drugged face of Amanda Talley.

He would remember Amanda fondly for a very long time. Her hunger had matched his own, up to a point.

He lifted a strand of blond hair away from her cheek and stroked her face. Amanda did not respond.

De Leon had promised Amanda a vacation in Belize.

A pity she'd never know what she was missing. Her luggage and passport were in Belize right now, at the hotel where one of De Leon most trusted currency couriers-a woman of theatrical temperament who enjoyed playing roles and living well-had registered in Amanda's name. The woman would establish a fleeting presence in the midst of a great many witnesses, and then fake a drowning on a boating excursion, the body never to be found.

It was Amanda who had told De Leon how easy it would be to steal millions of dollars of American art.

Not from a museum, but from the executive suite of the governor of New Mexico, who by tradition could select any pieces he desired from the state museums to decorate his offices. She had been bubbling over with the scheme, high on coke and champagne in this very bedroom, fantasizing about a great art theft. She'd miss all the headlines, too, unfortunately for her.

Amanda had offered De Leon good sex and a great opportunity to steal from the wrteamericanos. Enrique took full advantage of both. He turned on the lamp next to the bed. Amanda wore only a pair of panties. In her late twenties, her body was exactly the type that appealed most to Enrique; slender legs with just a hint of roundness to the stomach, full breasts that were not out of proportion to her frame, a face with a somewhat haughty, aristocratic cast to it. And this lovely blond hair. There was no need for her to suffer.

"Thank you, my dear," De Leon whispered to the unconscious woman.

He found Carlos waiting for him in the dark living room.

"Kill her quickly and cleanly," he ordered.

"Yes, patron. And the body?"

"Have the men take it to Mexico. Dispose of it at the ranch. No trace of her is to be found."

"As you wish." de leon waited until the van left and Carlos was occupied with removing all traces of Amanda's presence from the house before he went to the wine cellar. The room, which was next to the garage, contained a wet bar, built-in wine racks, recessed lighting, and a table and chairs for wine tasting. Stacked neatly against the walls were almost three dozen framed paintings and prints, but what attracted De Leon immediate attention were the objects on the table.

De Leon knew what the glass display cases in the governor's office contained, yet seeing the bounty firsthand was still impressive. Among the items were two large pottery storytellers by the renowned Pueblo Indian artist Helen Cordero, a small bronze by Alien Houser, the famous Apache sculptor, a Western Apache storage basket, a Tesuque Pueblo buffalo-head shield from the mid-eighteenth century, an old retablo of Saint Rita, and an exquisite hand-carved wooden bulto of the Virgin of Guadalupe.

Immediately De Leon knew which piece would remain in his possession; the Guadalupe bulto would go in the private chapel at his hacienda outside ofjuarez.

He turned to the paintings. As the museum curator assigned to select the art for the governor's office, Amanda had chosen well: three Georgia O'Keeffe oils, a Joseph Henry Sharp Indian portrait, a Maynard Dixon cowboy scene, a Henriette Wyeth still life, a Peter Hurd landscape, a Gerald Cassidy portrait of a cowgirl sitting on a fence post, and twenty-five Gustave Baumann color woodcut prints, taken from the gallery space behind the reception area to the governor's offices.

The O'Keeffes were seven-figure treasures, and the rest would fetch in the six-figure range, with the exception of the woodcuts, which were significantly less valuable but expensive nonetheless.

De Leon did some quick mental calculations; it was an eight-million-dollar haul at the very least, and since it would eventually be sold to foreign buyers on the black market, De Leon would add a 30 percent commission.

Everything but the bulto of the Virgin of Guadalupe would remain in the wine cellar for six months. When the investigation into the theft cooled, De Leon would move the collection to Mexico.

He studied the O'Keeffe paintings carefully, thinking that he might keep one, perhaps to replace the U.S.

Army cavalry saber and scabbard that hung over the fireplace in the billiard room of his hacienda.

He wanted to move the sword to his library. It was the only item De Leon possessed from a trove of priceless American military and historical artifacts he had arranged to buy and resell on the Asian market. The cache, taken by Apaches during the Indian Wars, had been discovered in a secret cave on White Sands Missile Range and smuggled off the base. But the shipment had been intercepted by a gringo cop named Kevin Kerney before it could be delivered to De Leon De Leon had bartered with the U.S. Army for the sword, two hundred thousand dollars in diamonds, and the release of Carlos from custody in exchange for a quantity of letters written by members of the pth US.

Cavalry during the Indian Wars. The smugglers had given the letters to De Leon as proof that the cache was authentic before he agreed to broker the deal.

Putting the sword in the library, where he spent the majority of his time at the hacienda, would serve as a reminder that not every venture succeeded as planned.

He adjusted the climate and humidity controls, turned out the light, and entered the security code to the door. Carlos and the team had done well. andy baca, chief of the state police for two months and counting, stood in the governor's private office on the fourth floor of the Roundhouse, the colloquial name for the state capitol. A circular structure modeled on Pueblo Indian kivas, the building had been nicknamed by political pundits while it was still under construction, and the label had stuck.