by R C Cameron
That’s when all hell broke loose as gunfire erupted. The radio erupted with: “Mask on, Mask on” while the agents in front of the house shot gas canisters through the windows of the building under attack. Masks would allow the agents to breathe normally in a house full of tear gas, a definite advantage. The gunfire continued for a while but as they injected more and more gas into the building, the guns became silent.
Over the furthest house, the agents went inside, but no gunfire erupted. It was empty, or the residents didn't fight much. Not long after, they declared “House 1 secured” over the airwaves. In the other house where all the gunfight occurred, we waited for the same message. White smoke escaped through the broken front windows. A few minutes later, we received the message “House 2 secured.”
Soon after, the same voice announced: “We need an ambulance, two people injured in house 2.” The yellow box trucks positioned one street over rolled with all lights flashing. One police car at the end of the street moved over to let the emergency vehicles through. The police car returned to its original position right away. Gomez’s driver also moved the car back from the gate.
As this was occurring, armed agents were bringing people out the smoked house, coughing and spitting. They placed them on their stomach on the front lawn, several rifles trained on them. Four people were now laying on the grass, their hands tied with plastic strips. Four ambulance personnel with two stretchers moved towards the back of the smoked house, the front door still unopened at this point. A few minutes later, we understood why. “Gomez, we’ll need the bomb squad over here. The front door has a curious package taped to it.”
“Roger that,” Gomez replied. He used the car’s radio to have the bomb squad brought in.
Gomez walked towards the group of DEA agents standing over the figures on their stomach. Without asking, I followed him, Jennifer, right behind me.
We trotted to the group arrested and lying on the ground. I bent down and looked at their faces. I recognized no one except for the tall one at the end which I saw before. Last time was when Steiner surprised me behind the building. This man was present. Then I remembered: the bartender at Barnacle Barney’s, Tony with the neck tattoo. Cynthia and I dined there on our first day in Marathon. I observed the other three men, two of them Asians, but not Laurel and Hardy.
“Coming through.” The ambulance attendants were returning. The DEA agents moved away to let them through while I inched closer.
“What have we here?” I recognized Laurel in the first stretcher while Hardy was following close behind as usual. They were not smiling for a comic team, just grimacing. A bullet hurts, and they found out the hard way. I watched as they rolled the two men towards the waiting ambulances and loaded them on. Police officers also stepped in and would now accompany them until they faced justice. I remembered William Tudor, and my eyelids became gummy. I turned away for a few seconds, wiped my eyes with my sleeve, and took a deep breath.
At the furthest house, agents were bringing three people out and had them on their stomach also, hands tied behind their backs. A DEA agent walked over to Gomez, I approached the small group.
“Sargent, we have a big catch here. Inside we discovered a sophisticated laboratory. I have called our technical team, they’re on their way. They should be able to tell us what magic powder these guys were making. We found several tablet presses inside, the capacity is impressive, it’s a substantial production site. Bags of opioids, different colors, different flavors, are everywhere. They must have had a large market. The basement has packaging equipment, this was quite an operation.”
Everything I heard so far confirmed what the gang’s operation was all about. I was eager to know what the investigation would conclude on Taylor’s disappearance. Would they find the people responsible? The future would tell us. The ambulances left, on their way to prolong the life of the comic duo. Thinking about it now, they’re not funny at all.
Gomez, the DEA agent, Jennifer and I made our way to the furthest house. Three figures were lying on their stomach. The head of the organization I hoped. As we approached, a female Asian still dressed in her pajamas with bare feet moved about trying to get comfortable.
“This could be Sun My, Nelson’s girlfriend. Jennifer followed them to this location yesterday.”
The DEA agent asked, “what’s her role in this?”
“I believe she runs a vitamin business who fronts the drug delivery through her website. It seems the site has technical issues these days; that’s why the top management dropped by.”
Both the DEA agent and Gomez turned towards me and before they could speak a word, I raised my two hands and said: “I had nothing to do with this.” I was telling the truth; Hank did it.
A female agent helped Sun My up, her tiny eyes wide open now and her jaw clenched. The agent had to pull her hard towards a paddy wagon brought in for the occasion.
On the ground, the second suspect, in a daze, trained his eyes on the women walking away. He was shouting something in a language I didn’t understand, and I recognized Yang Nelson.
“This, my friends, is someone the Miami-Dade police has been trying to catch for a while. Mister Nelson here operates not only a popular bar in Miami involved in the drug distribution business but he seems to have expanded his operations to manufacturing and online sales. It’s a modern organization trying to answer all the needs of their buying customers.” Nelson was not looking at his girlfriend leaving but at me now.
“Go fuck yourself, Tanner.”
“I think they got you now. You wanted to take matters in your own hands and look what happened,” I teased.
“You have nothing against me,” he rattled on.
“I hate to disagree,” the DEA agent interrupted. “From what I see in there, it’s an operation that will land you in prison for the rest of your life. Take him away.”
While a police officer led Nelson into custody, I directed my attention to the last suspect, immobile, and looking away from us. My heart was pounding as I walked closer to get a better look, anticipating discovering a tattoo with a cat on the man’s temple. The leader of the organization, the monster who wanted to eliminate me on the return trip to Miami, and most importantly, the man who got away in Chicago and killed one of my best friends.
He looked at me, but it wasn’t Steiner. This face was familiar nonetheless, having been on my notebook for a while now: Mark Taylor.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
AFTER THE RAID, the police evidence squad arrived and combed through both houses to collect fingerprints and other items to build a case against the traffickers. The DEA lab also showed up with a small convoy of vans. Once the police arrested the principals, they brought them to the local detention center for processing.
I walked away from the crowds to place a call to Nadine. I wanted the news to come from me and not the media, although no media were present now, some would make their way over in a short time, I guessed. It was early in the morning to reach out to her, but it was the thing to do. I paused for a minute thinking about how I address the subject.
“Hello,” she answered with a low morning voice.
“Nadine, It’s Jason. Sorry to bother you at this time of day but it’s important.” I paused, waiting for a reaction, but all I got was a simple yes.
“We have found Mark, he’s alive.”
“Wow, that is great news Jason. Where?”
“In Marathon finally.”
“Are you going to take him back to Miami or can I come down to see him. I’m so excited. Daddy will be pleased. Can I pick him up myself? I can be there in a few hours?”
She sounded so excited, it was a shame I had to bring her back to earth.
“Not so fast Nadine; here’s the situation. Mark was picked up in a raid on a drug gang. I know he worked with the DEA over the past few years so it’s likely he was onsite as an undercover agent. That’s one possibility,” I replied.
“What else could it be, Jason?” This time her voice tre
mbled. Her mind was racing thinking she received the good news, now the bad news was coming.
“He could have been kidnapped, he could work for them, I don’t know Nadine. The police will interrogate him later, and if everything checks out, they’ll release him. But that’s not going to happen today, maybe not even the day after. As soon as I have some developments, I’ll call you. If you want to pick him up, that can be arranged. I can return him to Miami by sea if need be, or my partner can drive him back too. So be patient, wait for my call and let’s hope for the best outcome.”
“All right Jason, but I’m certain he’s a good man and he’ll be returned to his family.”
“Let’s hope so, thanks Nadine,”
Jennifer and I returned to the Sheriff’s office and inside a war room like environment, examined samples of the evidence collected. The Sheriff made it clear he charged detective Roberto Angelillo with the investigation. The DEA should collaborate if called upon. Jennifer and I were interested onlookers. They would solicit our input as needed.
I contacted Angelillo once before. He worked a missing person’s case last summer. I believed then a link existed with Mark Taylor’s case. He was the detective of record on that case; he seemed like a decent man.
I looked at stacks of photographs from both houses raided. It appeared like a real professional operation. They neglected no details: automated machines, pill presses, stainless steel works tables, computers. But from all this material, my special interest rested on Taylor’s phone. Who was he in contact with? Not his family for sure.
Roberto asked a technician to process Taylor’s phone in priority. Less than an hour later, we received a standard report which included all the calls in and out of Taylor’s phone. Where the information was available, the contact name appeared. Since a name was present on most calls, I presumed he dialed mainly from his personal contact list.
The great majority of calls were to or from Yang Nelson or Sun My, no surprise there. A few were from Brad Scott, a.k.a. Bruce Steiner. Nelson may have known Steiner only under his recent alias. The First State Bank of the Florida Keys received a few calls too. Was this relative to the drug business? I walked over to Roberto, showed him the entry and suggested they make further inquiries. He agreed and called in a detective. After brief instructions, he was on his way out a few minutes later to grab a warrant and visit the bank.
The calls listed on Mark’s phone included entries starting in October 2017, just a few weeks after his disappearance. He probably got rid of his previous mobile to cut any ties to his life before Marathon. This new phone only presented the new Mark Taylor.
The last page included all the entries in his contact list. Less than a dozen appeared. Most memorable absent: Tianna Hester, from the DEA. Jeff Mason, his friend from Miami was also absent. No ties with the past. It looked improbable he intended to return to his old lifestyle.
Our day had started early and we were tired; we elected to leave the station. Dinner aboard was not practical tonight, so Jennifer and I planned to eat out. When we crossed Tianna in the corridor, we asked if she wanted to join us for dinner. She accepted to our amazement.
Angelillo recommended an Italian restaurant, what else, and the three of us found our way to the well-hidden place. We ordered drinks and our dinner together; we were hungry.
“You know Jason, the intervention yesterday may well prove to be a major achievement for our war against drugs.” Tianna said . “We have shut down several fentanyl routes coming into the country. At first, everything was arriving from China but with our increased seizures, the Chinese asked the Mexican cartels to bring the dope into the country. And even on that front, we had noticeable success. But looking at the numbers, something didn’t add up.”
“And what was that?” Jennifer asked.
“We closed a good number of routes but in recent months, fentanyl made a strong return. Even though we disturbed the traffic from China and Mexico, fentanyl overdoses after a dip kept going up. I spoke to Mr. Baker back at the office today. He concludes the remote traffic did not increase, they elected to manufacture Fentanyl right here in the US. They monitor the basic ingredients at the border, but we can't stop everything. With a good chemist supervising the operations and people who are not afraid to take risks, you're in business.”
“Isn’t it dangerous?” I asked.
“Sure is, and the folks working the labs on 92nd Street were professional or lucky, maybe both. It's a poison that can kill by just touching it. The intervention today will make our country safer. Thank you both for your implication.”
When our meal arrived, we jumped right in, hungry as we were. In a sense, we were proud our investigation brought tangible benefits to our country on the war on drugs.
“There is one thing puzzling Mr. Baker, however,” said Tianna.
“What for?” I asked.
“We still don’t know who provided that anonymous tip.”
“That's why they call it anonymous,” I replied.
Tianna looked at me with a wry smile, I think she guessed I was the author of the tip but I will never admit it.
Jennifer and I were back at the Sheriff’s office in the morning. Around the conference table in total silence, sat McBain, Gomez, Tianna, Jennifer, and I. We were waiting for detective Roberto Angelillo who would lead the first interrogation of Mark Taylor.
The door opened and Angelillo walked to an empty chair and sat down, a signal for McBain to start the meeting.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a dilemma here. The DEA and the Sheriff’s office have picked up an individual yesterday who is a missing person, a DEA informant or a drug trafficker. He cannot be all of those.” He stopped talking, everyone else also silent.
Turning to the DEA agent, he said: “Ms. Hester, why don’t you start?”
“Sir, after discussion with my superior, Mr. Baker, the regional manager, he has instructed me not to discuss the Taylor case until we complete an internal inquiry about the subject.”
“I smell a cover-up in here, anybody else has this impression?” the Sheriff added.
Silence again.
“Sheriff, if I may,” I said as I raised a finger to get his attention.
“Yes, Mister Tanner.”
“From our investigation, I suggest Taylor, if he was an informant, either infiltrated the gang or they pulled him in and he yielded to the temptation of easy profits. These two behaviors are different, but we need to identify which one is true.”
McBain looked at Tianna and said: “Anything to add Ms. Hester?”
“No sir,” she replied.
The Sheriff kept himself silent; he was thinking about the situation and how to resolve the dilemma. He must have reflected on the issue before because he decided in a short time.
“All right, here's the plan. Mister Tanner, you have a lot of facts about Taylor, you will first bring up to speed detective Angelillo here. Then, as you probably took part in several interrogations before, you will go in with the detective for a talk with Taylor. The aim is simple: if he’s a deep cover for the DEA, we must release him. Otherwise, we need to charge him with a crime. Are we all good on the strategy?”
Tianna moved her hand to show she wanted to speak up. “Except you Ms. Hester,” the Sheriff added as he got up and exited the conference room, leaving all participants speechless. After a minute of silence, the detective got up and motion for me to follow him. We entered a tiny room nearby, a round table and two chairs only. He let me in and closed the door behind him.
“It looks like we have a job to do here, Mister Tanner. I wanted to get things straight before we enter the interrogation room. From what my boss told us, you may have experience but you have no authority. Are we clear on that point?”
Angelillo wanted to mark his territory, I didn't mind the conditions.
“No problem, Roberto. I'll fill you in as much as I can about the case before we go in. You lead the interrogation; I may have a few questions as we go along but you�
�re the ringmaster.” He smiled.
“Have you used the Reid technique for interrogation before?” I asked.
“Yes, on certain occasions. This case fits the bill, probably.”
“Yes, it would. I am comfortable with the process but rusty. If you handle the initial interview, I will take notes to develop the baseline. Are you good with that?”
We planned to use a well-known law enforcement technique which gives good results in interrogations like what we had in front of us. It may be marginal when examining young teenagers, but this was not our situation.
“Yes, I’m fine,” he answered.
We talked for a good thirty minutes as I brought him on board with the missing Taylor. From Nadine’s visit, Mark’s disappearance and then, his revival in Marathon. He asked a few questions as we were going along. Once I emptied my bag of information, we agreed on our upcoming strategy.
He called up the detention center and asked the officer to bring Mark Wilson to interrogation room # 1. We left the cramped space and walked toward Sheriff McBain’s office to inform him of our readiness. Outside his door, Tianna and Jennifer were chatting. Both turned in our direction when we approached.
Looking at me, Tianna spoke first. “So—?”
“We’re ready,” I replied in all simplicity. She was curious, you could see it from the looks in her eyes. But when she noticed no more information was forthcoming, her faced reddened, a sign I interpreted she was getting mad. I was preparing a smart remark, but for a second, I hesitated: should I?
After that brief pause, I continued: “We’re not supposed to discuss the Taylor case until after the inquiry.” These were her own words, almost exactly.
