Michael McGarity - Serpent Gate

West of the main road, behind an established residential tract, was a checkerboard development of empty lots and high-density housing units under construction.

Along the newly paved streets, stick houses and apartment buildings were going up in assembly-line fashion. While cement crews poured footings and pads at freshly prepped building sites, down the line carpenters framed walls and hung roof joists. The pattern repeated itself until Kerney rolled to a stop in front of three model homes in the final stages of completion.

Little flagpoles with triangular pennants stood in front of the houses, and large signs planted in the yards blazoned the name of each model. A panel truck with rolls of carpet sticking out of the open rear doors was parked in a driveway.

Kerney called for backup before walking through the garage, past a laundry alcove, and into the kitchen. In the adjacent dining nook two men were unrolling a carpet pad. Both froze when they saw Kerney with his semiautomatic in one hand and his shield in the other.

"Ordway?" Kerney asked softly.

"Back bedroom, on the left," one of the men replied.

Kerney stepped into the room.

"Wait outside," he ordered in a whisper.

The men scurried past him into the garage.

He found Ordway in the bedroom on his hands and knees with his back to the door, trimming carpet.

Ordway heard him coming, rose to a kneeling position, and turned. He had a knife in his hand.

Kerney moved quickly before Ordway could react; he slammed the barrel of his gun against Ordway's cheek and kicked at Ordway's knife hand with his good leg. The blade went flying.

Neil came off the floor in a rush, diving for Kerney's midsection.

Kerney sidestepped and used Ordway's momentum to drive him, face first, into a wall.

"Hands to the small of your back," Kerney ordered as he leaned hard against the man to keep him secure, and kicked his feet apart.

Ordway grunted and complied.

After cuffing Ordway, Kerney patted him down and spun him around.

"Hello, Neil," he said affably.

Ordway's nose looked broken.

Ordway seemed dazed. Blood flowed from his nose, dripping on the tan carpet. He swallowed hard and spat at Kerney.

"Puck you, Kerney."

Kerney wiped the spit off his face.

"You're under arrest for aggravated battery. Beating up Robert was a stupid idea."

"I'll be out on bail in twenty-four hours," Ordway said.

"But unemployed once again, I would imagine," Kerney replied.

"Let me read you your rights."

A state police officer arrived as Kerney brought Ordway out of the house. He explained the charges to the officer, who agreed to drive Ordway to Torrance County, book him into jail, and deliver Kerney's criminal complaint to the district attorney.

Kerney watched the patrol car drive away. Busting Ordway felt good, but it didn't relieve the anger that gnawed at him about Gilbert Mamnez's murder. He wondered if he would get a chance to even things up with Enrique De Leon and Carlos Ruiz.

Antonio Vallaverde turned off the main highway south ofjuarez onto a blacktop road that cut through the saddle of two hills along the Rio Grande. He stopped at the security gate and announced himself. A high-ranking official in the Mexican Ministry of Justice, Vallaverde coordinated all cooperative borderland investigations with North American law enforcement agendes, including the New Mexico State Police.

Two miles in from the highway, a sprawling hacienda sat at the base of a hill with a lovely view of the bosque and the low-lying west Texas mountains across the river. The old rancho had been restored to its original splendor. The main hacienda, a private chapel, rock stables, a stone granary, and several other out buildings had been rebuilt from the ground up. Old stone fences divided the grazing and farm land that bordered the basque, and some of the melting adobe walls of the original peasant quarters still remained visible in the distance.

During the Mexican Revolution, the site had served as a government jail and execution grounds before being sacked and burned by Pancho Villa's troops.

A houseboy in white linen stood outside the arched hacienda doorway.

Antonio parked in the circular cobblestone driveway and followed the servant into the courtyard, with its charming brick lattice balustrade and central fountain. They passed through the vast living room and into the billiard parlor. De Leon had a guest: A young woman bent over the billiard table with a cue stick in her hands. She had strawberry blond hair that fell against creamy white shoulders, long legs, and a small waist. The woman made her shot as Enrique looked on.

Antonio had spent a number of pleasant evenings in the parlor with Enrique and various industrialists, senior military officers, and prominent politicians who were De Leon friends. It was a long room with a high ceiling and an arrangement of comfortable chairs in front of a fireplace at one end, where a well-stocked liquor cabinet stood close at hand. Above the fireplace hung an antique cavalry officer's sword in a scabbard.

In the center of the room, chairs for spectators and players lined the walls facing the billiard table. A door along the back wall provided passage to Enrique's richly appointed library, where key arrangements in the last national election had been brokered.

Antonio coughed and De Leon looked in his direction.

"Go now," De Leon said to the woman, taking the cue stick from her hand.

The woman left without saying a word, passing by Antonio with a look and a smile. She had a soft, sensual step, a long, elegant neck, and lustrous green eyes.

Antonio could smell her scent in the air.

"I hope I find you well, Enrique," Vallaverde said.

"Indeed, I am," Enrique replied. Antonio was one of the few paid informants he truly liked.

"You have something to tell me, Antonio?"

"Not good news, I'm afraid. The New Mexico State Police have seized a large quantity of drugs in Santa Fe and arrested a man named Watson, who has confessed to being one of your distributors."

"Where is Watson now?" Enrique asked.

"In jail."

"How much merchandise was confiscated?"

"The street value is reported to be over a million dollars."

De Leon knew immediately that Bucky had held back some product from the Chicago shipment. He would deal with him harshly.

"Such things happen occasionally," he said.

"It is the cost of doing business."

"There is more, Enrique. Records of Tortuga International were seized in Las Cruces by the New Mexico State Police this morning. A United States judge has been asked to freeze all your North American corporate assets."

"What else do you know?"

"Stolen art worth many millions has been recovered from your Santa Fe house. The authorities believe you are behind the theft. They are seeking your whereabouts in Mexico. Of course, I have suggested that they look for you in all the wrong places."

"You give the Americans such wise counsel," De Leon said with a smile.

"I can do no less in light of your past generosities," Antonio replied.

"May I offer some advice, Enrique?"

"By all means."

"A request has been made to the State Department to declare you persona non grata, which would bar you from any future visits to the United States. It will be favorably acted upon. Additionally, the Americans are prepared to ask our government to strip you of your diplomatic status and extradite you for prosecution.

I have been told on highest authority that we will be sensitive to their demands. It is a difficult time for trying to sweep such issues with the Americans under the rug."

"These political manipulations can be dealt with."

"In time," Antonio said.

"But if the Americans fail to get what they want, they may come after you on their own. The new drug laws passed by their Congress give their federal agents that prerogative."