Dyman Morris came into the room with a tall cup of coffee and his war bag, and he set both on the desk, then sat two chairs down from Hood. He looked up at the screens. There were six of them. Dyman smelled of soap and his dark skull was cleanly shaved. "Look at this. The baby killers are stirring."

"Maybe they've got something coming up."

"Still nothing from Sean?"

Hood shook his head and watched Angel flip his tortilla. "I left him another message. That's three in six days."

In the silence that followed, Hood thought of their comrade Jimmy Holdstock, kidnapped last year on U.S. soil and taken to Mexico. Hood knew that Dyman was thinking of Jimmy, too. Jimmy hadn't even been working UC like Sean. Jimmy wasn't setting up bugged safe houses for the North Baja Cartel like Sean. Jimmy was just a former divinity student, part of the Blowdown team checking ATF Firearm Transaction forms, keeping an eye on the licensed dealers, trying to stem the flow of the iron river-the guns heading south.

"What I don't get," said Hood, "is who tells these boys they can do this."

"Do what, Charlie."

"Kill people for money."

"The cartel recruiters tell them that."

"But what about the consequences?"

"You've seen the consequences, man-a new truck for a bonus, and free prostitutes, like last week. Remember when Ray got that ten grand for a job well done?"

"What I mean is, who tells them it's okay?"

"Who do they have to tell them different? Their parents either don't care or don't know what to do. These boys don't go to school. Probably haven't been inside a church their whole life. So who are they gonna listen to except each other, and the actors in the movies they watch, and the cartel dudes with all the cash?"

Hood thought about that. "Still seems like something's missing. Some kinda horse sense or something."