The Power of the Dog
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From the New York Times bestselling author of The Cartel comes an explosive novel of the drug trade that takes you deep inside a world riddled with corruption, betrayal, and bloody revenge.
The prequel to The Cartel, and set about 10 years earlier, The Power of the Dog introduces a brilliant cast of characters. Art Keller is an obsessive DEA agent. The Barrera brothers are heirs to a drug empire. Nora Hayden is a jaded teenager who becomes a high-class hooker. Father Parada is a powerful and incorruptible Catholic priest. Callan is an Irish kid from Hell’s kitchen who grows up to be a merciless hit man. And they are all trapped in the world of the Mexican drug Federación. From the streets of New York City to Mexico City and Tijuana to the jungles of Central America, this is the war on drugs like you’ve never seen it.
the window eating. But he will not leave: Don Adán saved his life and his leg, and Don Adán and his wife and daughter are inside that house, and if Güero’s sicarios somehow get inside the compound, they will have to come through Manuel Sánchez to get to them. And no one is getting through Manuel. Adán’s glad he’s there, if only to give Lucía and Gloria a feeling of security. They were already put through an upsetting ordeal, being woken in the middle of the night by the pasador’s sicarios and
Áviles?” “I don’t know anything about that,” Adán says, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “I’m a college student.” Navarres smirks. “What do you study?” “Business,” Adán answers. “Accounting.” “An accountant,” Navarres is saying. “And what do you count? Kilos?” “No,” Adán says. “You just happen to be here.” “My brother and I came up for a party,” Adán says. “Look, this is all a mistake. If you will talk to my uncle, he will—” Navarres draws his pistol and backhands Adán across the
under the bridge since then and it’s not possible that the girl Nora is still in that house. Is it? He don’t want to ask, though. Three days later, Peaches is on the phone like he’s ordering Chinese food: Whaddya want? A blonde, a brunette, how about a black chick? They’re all hanging out in Peaches’ room even though they all have adjoining rooms right on the beach. It’s actually pretty cool, Callan thinks—you step right out of your room and you’re on the beach, and he’s getting off on
the house. I’m untouchable, my house is likewise untouchable. Her women always wear black. Nothing else, always stark black. Haley wants her women to stand out. And they’re always fully dressed. Never in lingerie or robes—Haley’s not running some cheap Nevada mustang ranch. She’s been known to costume the women in turtlenecks, in business suits, in basic little black frocks, in gowns. She dresses her women in clothes that the men can imagine removing. And she makes them wait to do that. They
radio jam and make contact with the plane, guiding it to the correct location. In ten minutes, Art thinks, there could be an earthquake that sends a crack down the middle of this airstrip and swallows us all. In ten minutes . . . He lets out a long sigh. “No shit,” Dantzler says. Shag smiles at him. Adán Barrera isn’t smiling. His stomach is churning, his jaw is clamped tight. This is the deal that can’t be allowed to go wrong, Tío had warned him. This one has to happen. For a lot of