by R C Cameron
“You want me to arrest them for kidnapping you?”
“No, I’m not done. The gang, because it’s a well-organized gang, operates out of a location on 92nd Street, right here in Marathon. We tailed them, we now know where they operate from. That’s their base camp.”
“And you want us to run there and arrest them? On what grounds?”
“Drug manufacturing, sale and distribution.”
“Do you have any proof?”
I turned to Jennifer who brought out an evidence bag containing a small box with a delivery address and a sender identification. She handed it over to him
“Vitamin World of China has a website where people can order either vitamins or opioids.” I pulled out a stack of papers Hank had provided me before leaving with screenshots from the compromising website. It was clear, and I had highlighted it, users could order hard drugs.
“What you have in your hands is a shipment we believe comes from the production site, here in Marathon.”
“How did the shipment land in your hands?” he asked.
“It fell from their delivery truck,” Jennifer answered. The Sheriff looked at her. He did not believe a word she said.
“I suggest you get your lab to verify its content. If you’re satisfied, the bad guys are on 92nd Street, a few of the leaders are still there. That’s what I ask of the Sheriff’s office, sir. Get a warrant and search that location.”
“If what you say is true Mister Tanner, we’ll look into the situation. If not, you must bring your problem elsewhere.”
“I understand.”
“We can’t send this box to the lab, it will take days to get results. Barbara!” he shouted suddenly. The door opened and the elderly assistant walked in. “Get me, Gomez, right now.” She left on her mission, closing the door behind her. He then leaned back and waited, looking at both Jennifer and me. He got up abruptly and walked out of the conference room, closing the door and leaving us alone.
“You know Jason, the box could have vitamins and no hard drugs.”
“I took a chance. If we can’t get his support, we must resort to Plan B.”
“Which is...”
“I don’t know yet.”
The door flew open and McBain appeared, followed by Sargent Gomez. The sheriff carried a utility knife in hand. He took his previous chair, Gomez stayed standing.
“Gomez, get your immense talent over here and tell us what in the box?” the sheriff asked.
“Without opening it, sir?” I liked him the first time I met him, but now I appreciated his dry humor.
The sheriff handed him the knife while making a smirk and shaking his head, not believing what he heard.
“I’m good, boss, but not that good.” He smiled, so did Jennifer and I. The sheriff kept his game face on.
Gomez pulled a chair and sat down while he put on a pair of plastic gloves and reached for the package under investigation. He looked at me, “Nice to see you again Mister Tanner.” He remembered my name, another good mark for him.
Sargent Gomez rotated the box looking for a way in. He understood he needed to preserve the evidence and wanted to destroy as little as possible. After rotating the container in his hands, he slipped the sharp knife on one edge and cut through the paper glued over the cardboard. He repeated his incisions on two other sides and opened the box.
After looking inside, and concluding on its safety, he reached in and pulled a plastic pill box. He showed it to everyone around the table. Receiving a go-ahead sign from his leader, he unscrewed the box, reached in and extracted one small blue pill which he deposited in front of us.
He looked at the all-white pillbox with a simple company sticker with a logo and a name, “Asian collagen extra vitamin”. He looked at the sticker, then at the pill, and repeated his movement once more.
“Typically, collagen products are presented in a translucent gel capsule. What I’m looking at here is a solid tablet with markings. It says Oxycodone 215 that’s not a vitamin.”
It looked very much like what I had in my pocket.
The sheriff’s shoulder seemed to drop, his mood changed, his smile returned.
“Well, folks, we seem to have a case here.”
(--)
The sheriff got up and said: “Wait here.” Gomez followed him.
“Our point came across, didn’t it?” Jennifer asked.
“Maybe. I reported our information rather quickly because I didn’t think he had a lot of time nor interest at the beginning.”
“Yes, that looked obvious.”
We waited in silence now, uncertain of the results.
The conference room door burst open and both the Sheriff and Gomez returned, the latter with a rather serious-looking expression, the Sheriff looked mad. They both sat down. McBain spoke first.
“The DEA informs me an operation is happening on my turf. It’s the first time I find out about it. So much for inter-agency cooperation. But this does not implicate you.”
I understood him; the FBI operated the same way. They talk about sharing information and keeping everyone in the loop but in reality; they operate from their own silo.
“Something also happened that increased the urgency of their operation, I am told. Would you guys know what they’re talking about?”
I looked at Jennifer; she returned my stare, we both shook our head and our raised shoulders showed we were clueless. McBaine’s facial expression showed he did not believe us one bit. Hank’s intervention on the website was a good reason, but we remained silent.
McBain continued. “They’re arriving this afternoon to review the situation. They are bringing firepower in case we need to go in. I order you folks to sit in the conference room this afternoon. You know more than you’re willing to bring up, we need to resolve the entire situation today, understood?”
This time Jennifer and I both nodded our agreement.
“Be back at one o’clock. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Jennifer and I said in unison, happy to leave the small conference room with a plan in the making.
As it was still early, we walked around Marathon, making certain not to step on 92nd Street. The sun was out but a northwestern breeze provided cooler air, comfortable for walking around. I called Hank and asked him to let the website run for thirty minutes, then stop it again, to let them assume they were getting closer to the answer. He replied he would oblige right now.
Following an early lunch, we walked to the Sheriff’s office in time for our afternoon meeting. Once on the third floor, Barbara walked us over to a larger conference room, we could hear voices from the corridor. Jennifer entered, I followed her in.
Several people were standing or already sitting around the large table in the room. Some wore police uniforms, others in plain clothes. It was men for the majority. But then, another face turning around to catch the new arrivals, Tianna Hester, my surprising DEA contact.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
MY FAVORITE DEA agent moved towards me with her hand stretched out.
“Mister Tanner, nice to see you again.” She said, a polite smile appeared on her lips, it was all business.
“Nice to see you too, may I present Jennifer Jones, she’s working with me.”
Jennifer moved forward and also shook her hand.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll please take place, we have work to do.” McBain’s voice transcended all others. Soon, all the group sat in silence. He asked for a quick go-around to identify each participant and their function. Overall, four people were from DEA, four from the Sheriff’s office, plus Jennifer and myself.
“I was not a happy camper this morning when I was informed a drug gang was operating on my territory. That they exist should not surprise me. That a private investigator from Pompano Beach informs me is difficult to accept. Is he right? I wanted to verify, and I called Donavan Baker, the DEA regional manager which you all know. Not only does he confirm Tanner’s statement but, he tells me you’re planning an operat
ion on my island, and soon.”
McBain stopped for effect and examined the faces around. No one was smiling. He turned to Tianna and looked directly at her before continuing.
“Ms. Hester, Baker says it’s your case. Can you brief us on what is happening, what the operation will look like so we can protect our citizens?”
“Thank you, Sheriff. First, I wanted to inform you the DEA was in the process of contacting you this morning when you reached us. You called just before we did.” Tianna opened with.
“Yes, sure, continue please,” McBain added, everyone aware he didn’t believe her one bit.
“Yes, our team has been following a Miami Beach gang involved in selling narcotics and opioids. Over the past year, they have grown and now have set up a manufacturing arm which also feeds their local market. Our indications are they operate from right here, in Marathon.”
“How long have you known Ms. Hester?” the Sheriff asked.
“Just a few days only.”
McBain was looking at her, uncertain to believe her. This statement also surprised me, for one.
“My colleague Chris, right here, manages our informant network in the region. Chris, maybe you can explain how we got the information.”
Chris eyed Tianna, then looked at the others around the table.
“Well, seven or eight months ago, we had an informant in Miami who disappeared. The Miami police, and the DEA independently, tried but could not trace him. The family hired Mister Tanner to locate a Mark Taylor. Yesterday, we received an anonymous tip, showing the drug ring was about to pack up and leave the region. If that happened, our year-long investigation would go down the drain. We don’t know who provided the information, no way to trace it.”
Tianna raised her hand and Chris stopped right there and she continued the story.
“Although we cannot identify the source, we feel the information is credible. The source identifies two locations. One here in Marathon, involved with the drug manufacturing. It also talks about a bar in Miami Beach that sells drugs and it names a person on the FBI most wanted list as the main character behind the operation. Because of the urgency, we planned an intervention for tomorrow, at dawn, and here we are.”
The audience sat in stunned silence as all participants were trying to grasp the situation. The Sheriff looked at me.
“Mister Tanner, were you the one who contacted the DEA and spread this information? It’s close to what you told me this morning.”
“No way Sheriff, I don’t operate that way. I came to you, not the DEA. A man cannot serve two masters.”
“Hum . . . any bright idea on who provided this anonymous tip?”
Someone offered: “Could it be the missing informant?”
Tianna answered: “It’s a possibility but we have had no communication with him in the last eight months, maybe more. I would be surprised if that was the case.”
“I have no idea either Sheriff, but I can confirm the information. The gang has gathered in Marathon yesterday. If the government wants to stop these criminals, they need to pick them up as soon as possible, if not earlier. They are ripe,” I told him.
McBain stood up, his two hands resting on the table, leaned in, and said: “This is what we’ll do. The DEA and the Sheriff’s office will continue to plan the operation. We have all the right folks around the table to proceed, except for you Mister Tanner and your associate. We will contact you on your phone if we need additional information. Are we good?”
On that day, some seven years ago, I remembered our assault team had no sign the opposition would use such a radical protection mechanism, a powerful bomb, to defend its territory. A close friend died in that blast, I did not want to see a repeat. I had to relay the message to the team.
“Just two items Sheriff, if you don’t mind. For one, the last time we tried to catch Steiner during my FBI days, a booby trap exploded at his place of business. A brave agent had his life taken away. Be aware of his tactics.”
“And the second item?”
“For your evidence gathering, the local FBI field office now has a new digital forensic team. They are willing and able to help if you call them.”
“Well, thanks for reminding us anyway. That will be all. Sargent Gomez here will coordinate our participation, I leave you, folks to review the operation, I suggest 6 AM tomorrow as the moment we move in. Questions?”
With full silence inside the room now, I got up, followed by Jennifer and we left the meeting.
(--)
Jennifer and I retreated to my yacht, still at a fair distance from the authorities’ target. When I took the long-range binoculars, everything looked quiet. Nelson’s car was still present, the guard walking around. No new car was visible and Steiner’s yacht was in Miami. Would he show up?
We were debating dining aboard or going out when my phone tang.
“Mister Tanner, it’s Tianna. Can we talk?”
“Sure.”
“Where?”
“Why don’t you come aboard, Jennifer and I will be here, I’ll prepare something simple?”
She agreed and after giving her some directions, Jennifer and I prepared dinner. It’s fun to carry your whole kitchen with you when traveling. When my phone rang later on, it signaled Tianna arrived at the rendezvous point. I jumped into the dinghy and headed towards shore to get her and bring her aboard the yacht.
“Welcome aboard Tianna, can I offer you a drink?”
“White wine if you have any?”
“I always do.” I walk to the cooler while Jennifer entertained our guest. The group had worked all afternoon preparing tomorrow’s raid, not including the time also spent yesterday.
“Are we ready?” I asked.
“I think we are. The Sheriff’s office will provide security by blocking sensitive streets and displacing the close neighbors. I hope it’s done as quietly as possible. We have the Coast Guards who will have two ships at proximity ready to intercept any escapee. The DEA assault team is on its way. That’s about two dozen well trained and equipped specialists who will enter the grounds. I think we’re ready.”
“What can we do?” pointing to Jennifer and myself.
“I convinced the sheriff you should be on site, in a backup role, you and Jennifer. Once we secure the grounds, we may need you for identification. You’re definitely not on the assault team.”
“I understand, those days are behind me. But I want to be close by. Where do we meet?”
“Sheriff’s office, 5 AM tomorrow.”
Gathered around the main dining table, the only one by the way, we ate some fried shrimps in a tangy lemon sauce as an appetizer and then chicken over lettuce. It was a light dinner to benefit from a good night’s rest.
In the evening, we chitchatted about all kinds of subjects except the case at hand. Tianna left an hour after dinner, pretending an early wake-up. Jennifer and I didn’t object either. Tomorrow would be a big day.
(--)
My alarm sounded at four o’clock, and I dressed in a hurry to prepare the morning coffee. Jennifer was up five minutes later, the noise may have woken her. We had something to eat and left in Jennifer’s car driving in silence for five minutes, Marathon is not an enormous place.
The people involved in the assault were milling around in the parking lot, behind the Sheriff’s office, checking their gear, verifying their firearm, anything to chase the nervousness. Over seven years ago, an FBI operation concluded on a bad note with a dear friend dying in my arms. It was impossible to keep out of my mind. I observed Jennifer, she also looked serious. Not having followed her career, I didn’t know if she had similar memories but I suspect any FBI agent has some. Flashbacks when events did not go as planned, sometimes with deadly conclusions.
Lost in our thoughts, Sargent Gomez arrived to inform us we were riding with him. It was not a long drive, so I suspected he wanted to have a close eye on us. He pointed to his car, and we sat in the back.
The stark and bare interior of a poli
ce car's back seat is not a pleasant sight. Cheap seats offer little leg room, doors handle don't work and a metal mesh divider separates the bad guys from the good guys up front. They can clean the plastic or smooth vinyl seats with a simple hose when required. Just thinking about this brought memories of very disgusting odors. Back there, we were prisoners and suspected this was McBain’s idea out for an act of small revenge.
At the agreed-upon time, Gomez signaled and shouted to the attendance to mount up, an expression dating from cowboy days. He sat in the passenger side of his car, the driver then joined us.
An assault vehicle first rolled out of the lot, followed by five large black DEA trucks. A half-dozen police cars trailed, including ours, right behind the last black truck. Two ambulances followed the convoy at a safe distance. As we rolled out, Gomez received a radio call. The surveillance team from the DEA on the target houses since last night reported everything was quiet, everyone sleeping. They had not seen the outside guard for a while either.
As the assault truck turned onto 92nd Street, it rolled midway down and stopped. This allowed the local police to block the street behind them although the traffic was light at this time of the day. They would allow no one onto the street while the operation was happening. Over the radio channel monitored by all participants, Gomez gave the go-ahead with a medieval expression: CHARGE!
The assault vehicle sped up towards the end of the street, still obstructed by the property gate who afforded little resistance to the pressure applied. With a large bang, it broke in multiple pieces flying in the air while the black SUVs followed behind. Like a rehearsed ballet, the lead assault truck and two SUVs pulled up in front of the furthest house. The others stopped at the closest one, right after the devastated gate. The group had projected to invade both places but believed people would be in greater number in the latter house.
Our own car blocked the street just at the gate, stopping anybody from entering or leaving the compound. We were the new gatekeepers. Gomez exited the car, and I knocked on the window asking to open the rear door. He smiled, waited a few seconds just to tease me and then opened it. Jennifer also slid out, and we all got behind the police car for protection. The DEA agents had broken in from the back side, a good strategy in case the main entrance was booby-trapped. A few agents stayed up front, near their trucks but most of them ran behind the houses. A loud bang showed they had breached the door, and we heard voices shouting orders.
