Carlos and Pablo and Álvaro were there, and Álvaro had brought his son, Ulises. Ulises was good and young and full of fire. Echave had considered him for the team meant to kill Matt Clifford but had decided at the last moment to hold him back. Given the way things had gone, he was glad of that choice. This was the only thing that brought Echave relief. The rest was intolerable, and his mind had been afire with thoughts of it all day. Only now, with these men gathered around him, could he give voice to anger, but even then he tempered his words with control. He could not afford to be wild. “How could this happen?” he asked quietly. “It’s terrible,” Carlos said. “Yes. It is terrible. It is unspeakable. But how did it happen? Pablo, explain it to me.” Marquez cleared his throat. He was visibly uncomfortable in his skin. His gaze skipped from man to man in the intimate confines of the study, as if he expected one to lunge at him, catch him by the front of his shirt, and shake him until the answers spilled out onto the carpeting.
