The Watchman of Ephraim (Book Club Edition)

by Gerard de Marigny

  “You know what, nix that. I’ll just have a bottle of water, if you have one.”

  Fard fetched a bottle from the other room, placed it on the table in front of Pastak and took a seat on the couch next to his.

  “We’re impressed with your rapid progress, Les. Frankly, we didn’t anticipate that we would hear from you so soon or I would have remained here in town. I hope this is something worth my flying in from New York on such short notice.”

  “Yeah, well, to be honest, I didn’t anticipate that I’d be contacting you so soon either, but something fell in my lap this morning that I think you’d be interested in.”

  Pastak leaned over and handed Fard the folder containing Jesus Garcia’s personal information. He gave him a few moments to look it over.

  “Why are you showing me this man’s information?”

  “… Because he headed to Mexico this morning on an I-G mission.”

  “I-G mission …?”

  “I-G stands for intelligence-gathering. You do consider Mexico part of the west, don’t you Mr. Fard?”

  Fard knew that Zamani had only been concerned with possible counter-terrorism operations post their cell’s infiltration into the U.S. from Mexico. Any investigations south of the border, prior to their incursion into the States were unanticipated and potentially troublesome. Zamani won’t be happy about this! I need to know everything this fool can tell me and then I need to contact Zamani as soon as possible!

  “We do. Where exactly will this … Garcia be investigating and exactly what is he investigating?”

  “Now Mr. Fard, you remember our agreement. I was only asked to provide you with general information.”

  “Les, telling us that this man is gathering intelligence in Mexico is too general to benefit us in any way. I’m afraid we’ll need to know exactly what this man is investigating and exactly where he’ll conduct his investigation, for it to be of any value to us.”

  Pastak rubbed his chin with concern.

  “Just what is our interest in knowing those things, Mr. Fard? How could knowing what Garcia is investigating benefit … us … in any way?”

  Fard took a slow sip of his tea then placed the cup back onto the saucer he was holding in his other hand.

  “Of course our agreement does not dictate the need for me to explain that to you in any way, Les …but I will, in any case. One of the reasons why we decided to open operations here in the United States, now, is because we were recently contacted by the Mexican government to perform an investigation on one of their drug cartels. They wanted us to look into this cartel’s so-called legitimate business holdings both inside and outside of Mexico. The contract would be multi-year and very lucrative, enough for us to establish permanent operations here. The problem is that after we sent them our proposal, we didn’t hear back from them. We have reason to believe that Mr. De Niro might have …how is it put …undercut our pricing. We had negotiated a binding 90-day clause with the Mexican government where we were supposed to be afforded the opportunity to match anyone else’s offer with our own counter-offer.”

  Pastak jumped in, “So, if The Watchman sent someone to investigate—“

  Fard finished his sentence, “The Mexican government would be in breach of our agreement. In that case, we could sue them, but we’re not interested in a law suit. We’re interested in securing that business. All we need to do is produce compelling evidence that The Watchman is conducting an investigation, on behalf of the Mexican government. If this man is looking into any of this cartel’s businesses then we can use the proof that he is, to … persuade the Mexican government that it’s in their interests to cancel their contract with The Watchman and sign one with us.”

  Pastak looked concerned.

  “Mr. Fard, I’m not privy to client-level info. Even my operational access won’t allow us to know on whose behalf The Watchman is conducting this investigation.”

  “That’s not a problem Les. You see, we already have a complete list of all of the legitimate holdings of this cartel in Mexico. All we would need is evidence that this man Garcia is investigating any one of them. Then we can convince the Mexican government that our attorneys will be able to connect the dots, so to speak, in court and prove they’re in breach of contract.”

  Pastak stood up and paced around nervously.

  “I should have had you order me up that scotch!”

  “What’s the matter Les?”

  “The matter is Mr. Fard, making you aware of an ongoing investigation, in general terms is one thing. It could be explained away if something goes wrong. But telling you details, especially pertaining to an agent’s whereabouts during a covert mission … that could be construed, at minimum, as industrial espionage or worse! I know about these things, I’m an attorney, remember?”

  Fard finished the tea in his cup then stood up, placed the cup and saucer on the cocktail table and extended his arm again.

  “Les, please take a seat.”

  Pastak stopped pacing and stood staring at Fard for a few moments then finally returned to his seat on the couch. Once he sat, Fard also sat again.

  “Why are you anticipating that something will go wrong? Nothing will go wrong! I assure you that the information you provide us will be held in the strictest confidence by our company and the Mexican government. There will be no way for anyone at The Watchman to even discover that you have told us anything. The Mexican government will simply find a way out of their contract with them, probably just exercising their 30-day right to terminate.”

  Pastak wasn’t convinced.

  “They may not be able to discover anything externally, but I’m not sure what they’re capable of doing with their new proprietary computer system. The man that installed created it and installed it is a genius. For all I know, I’m leaving digital footprints inside the ops files that could lead them directly back to me.”

  Fard was becoming impatient.

  “Les, you must have known there was an element of risk involved, but the level of risk to you is small compared to your level of reward.”

  “Yeah, well, speaking of that reward, I’m NOT going to even think of taking that much of a chance with only being paid the advance! If I decide to give you the info you want, I’m not doing so until AFTER the remaining $900 thousand is deposited in an account I opened in the Cayman Islands.”

  It was Fard’s turn to jump to his feet.

  “That is an unreasonable request!”

  Pastak jumped to his feet.

  “Is it?! Well, those are my terms, take them or leave them!”

  The two men stood with their eyes locked. After a few tense moments, Fard flinched first.

  “I don’t have the authority—“

  “Well then I suggest you GET the authority right now or I walk out that door.”

  I would love nothing more than to slit this infidel’s throat … but I’m sure I’ll get that chance soon enough. I have no choice; I’ll have to call Zamani.

  “I have to make a phone call.”

  Pastak extended his arm towards the next room.

  “Be my guest.”

  Fard walked all the way into the bedroom before hitting the speed dial on his iPhone.

  (In Farsi) “It’s Fard, sir. I’m here with the infidel. Sir, he has information that The Watchman has sent one of their agents to Mexico to gather intelligence. The problem is that he’s running scared. He wants the remaining $900 thousand deposited into an off-shore account before he’ll give us the target of the investigation or the agent’s location … yes sir, I think that’s possible … very well … I understand … I think we have to also, it’s too close … I’ll take care of it.”

  Fard walked back into the living room area. Pastak was sitting again on the couch.

  “I’ve been authorized to pay you the rest of your bonus, Les.”

  Pastak blinked his eyes a few times then slowly a smile appeared on his face. Fard began making the transfer from his iPhone.

  “Please
provide me with the account number, to where you want the funds transferred.”

  Pastak jumped up and walked over to Fard.

  “May I? It’ll be easier for me to enter it in.”

  Fard handed him his iPhone and Pastak entered the account number then handed the phone back to him. Fard then reluctantly hit a button transferring the money. When it was completed he showed Pastak the confirmation on the phone’s screen.

  “Now Les, we have held up our end, it’s time for you to hold up yours.”

  Pastak nodded then typed his username and password into the Big Brother front-end on his phone. Then he entered the access code Wang gave him for Operation India-Golf 070510. As soon as the screen populated with data he handed his phone to Fard. Fard began transcribing the information onto a legal pad.

  “This system is quite impressive, Les. I have never seen a system so … dynamic before.”

  After copying all of the operational info, Fard looked it over and after a moment began shaking his head.

  “No, this is not enough. Just knowing the company he’s investigating isn’t enough, Les. This company has too many locations. He could be at any one of them using phony credentials and in disguise. You said their system has the ability to track the agents assigned to the missions. You’ll have to give me Garcia’s transponder number so we can locate him.”

  “Mr. Fard, couldn’t you just show the Mexican government that info as proof?”

  “No, Les. That’s just it; all we would be showing them is information. They could simply dismiss it and say that we fabricated it.”

  Pastak’s nervousness reemerged.

  “But—“

  “Les, there is nothing to worry about. The transponder number will just allow us to locate Mr. Garcia so that we can take photos of him. Those photos will be enough to corroborate the info you gave me. Your name will never even be brought up and no harm will come to Agent Garcia.”

  Pastak hesitated.

  “Les, you really must live up to your end, you really must!”

  Pastak exhaled audibly then took his phone back from Fard and typed into it for a few moments. When Garcia’s transponder number appeared on the screen, he handed his phone back to Fard who wrote it down. As soon as he did, he escorted Pastak to the door.

  “Thank you Les, you’ve held up your end.”

  Pastak stopped just outside the door and looked down the hall to make sure no one was there.

  “What do I do now?” Should I hand in my resignation?”

  “No-no, not yet, just continue about your business there. You don’t want to bring any suspicion onto yourself. Once this business is over with, you can hand in your resignation.”

  That seemed to make sense to Pastak, so he nodded in agreement.

  “Oh and Les, try not to use your new savings just yet. Again, we don’t want you to do anything that might bring undo suspicion onto you.”

  Pastak’s look of disappointment was evident.

  “Understood …”

  Chapter 17

  Av. Nafta 69

  Parque Industrial STIVA Aeropuerto

  66600 Apodaca, Nuevo León, México

  11:45p.m., Tuesday, July 12, 2011

  Agent Jesus Garcia sat in a rental car parked across from the company’s Monterrey distribution center. Because of its proximity to the United States border, Monterrey acts as a vital operations host to an array of domestic and international companies. That allowed Garcia to easily blend into the crowded business center using the cover of a Tex-Mex interested in setting up manufacturing operations there. He spent his days being shown available factory space for rent and made sure to lunch each day close to the suspected drug lord’s warehouse. That allowed him to “chew the fat” with a number of truck drivers who picked up and delivered from the facility. Garcia was experienced enough to know what to ask and what not to ask. It was much safer to pay for a few bottles of cerveza and let the beer inspire the drivers to tell him what he wanted to know.

  It took him a week to establish his cover and talk to the right driver. He received his first piece of real intel at lunch, when a driver named Pedro asked him if he’d be around that night. Pedro told him he had instructions to make a late-night delivery and would be free afterwards to show him a few of the local clubs. Garcia wasn’t able to find out much more about the load he was delivering at lunch, but figured he could get Pedro to tell him about it once he bought a few rounds for him at the club.

  Garcia’s car was the only one parked on the dark street just outside the front gate of the well-lit facility. There was a manned guardhouse protecting the entrance to the large parking lot. Garcia used the time he had to wait, entering notes into Big Brother, via his iPhone. He logged off as soon as he saw Pedro’s truck pulling up next to his car. Pedro rolled down his window.

  (In Spanish) “It’s good to see you, my friend. Hey, follow me. I’ll tell the security guard that you’re my ride home and he’ll let you in. Then I can give you a quick look at what I’m hauling before I take you to the hottest club in town!”

  Garcia was careful not to show emotion. That would be perfect, but experience has taught me to always look a gift horse in the mouth. Could this be a set up? But how, I didn’t come close to blowing my cover?

  The smile on Pedro’s face grew wider. This time he spoke in broken English.

  “I thought you were interested in what I was hauling. To tell you the truth amigo, I’m curious too. We can take a quick peak. This time of night no one’s around near the loading dock until I call for them, so it’ll be safe. I tell you what, whatever it is, there were a lot of gallitos12 about when they loaded me. Who knows what’s back there!”

  Garcia still didn’t reply. I gotta make up my mind and quickly. The only way this could be a set up is if my cover is blown, but I’m sure I didn’t blow it … and I’ve never been wrong about that before.

  The driver got impatient.

  (In Spanish) “Jesus, you gonna come or not? If not, just wait for me here. It’ll take me about twenty minutes to get unloaded then I’ll come out to you.”

  Garcia made up his mind and replied, in English.

  “Lead on amigo. I don’t want to keep the women waiting any longer than necessary.”

  Pedro’s smile returned, this time wide enough for Garcia to see all of his gold teeth. Pedro pulled up to the guard shack and after a moment Garcia saw the guard waving him through. Maybe this’ll be okay. They don’t all have to be difficult.

  Garcia followed the driver’s truck past a dozen closed doors, then pulled up next to the truck as it backed up to the first dock with its door opened. Just as Pedro said, Garcia didn’t see a soul around, inside or outside. Pedro jumped out of his cab and waved Garcia over to join him at the back of the truck. As soon as Pedro opened the back of his truck, he jumped up into the trailer and then he helped Garcia up into it.

  “It’s a little dark back here, but I don’t want to chance turning the spot light on. Let’s just take a quick peek into this big one right here.”

  Pedro handed Garcia a crowbar.

  “Here, you pry the nails up and I’ll hold the flashlight.”

  Garcia looked at the wooden crate. It was wide and long enough to put a king-sized mattress inside of it and about two feet tall. He started prying the nails up. I know they hide drugs in virtually everything, I wonder what’s inside this.

  As soon as he pried the last nail up, he turned to Pedro. He could hear him speaking but he couldn’t see him, blinded by the flashlight.

  “Go ahead, lift the top off. I’ll keep an eye out and let you know if anyone’s coming.”

  Garcia’s heart started racing. Something’s not right about this—.

  “Hurry up amigo before someone comes!”

  Garcia said a silent prayer as he lifted the top off. He was shocked to see just a large, thick plastic tarp inside, it’s a setup!

  Reaching his hand in his jacket for his pistol, Garcia turned quickly, but he was complet
ely blinded by Pedro’s flashlight. He tried to take aim in the direction of the light but it was too late. Agent Garcia only remained alive long enough to hear the first of two silenced bullets fired at his forehead. He fell backwards, lifeless into the crate he had just opened.

  Pedro wasted no time wrapping Garcia’s body in the plastic and tying it tightly around the dead man, with rope already attached to grommets along one end of the tarp. Then he quickly replaced the crate’s lid and used the crowbar to hammer the nails back down. When he was finished he barked orders in Spanish to someone standing inside the loading dock, apparently there the whole time.

  “Follow me out in his car, he left it running. I’m gonna tell the guard, they loaded me with the wrong load and I have to return it. Keep your face as concealed as you can as you pass the guard shack. Then drive the car downtown and park it where I told you to and lose the keys. Make sure you don’t touch anything with your hands. Keep your gloves on the whole time. Understood?”

  The man in the loading dock jumped down and did just what he was told to. The guard didn’t even look his way as he past the guard shack. Once outside the gate, Pedro turned right and the man in Garcia’s car turned left. He drove the car to La Colonia Independencia, just south of the river from the Macroplaza. The area was considered one of the most dangerous areas in Monterrey. As instructed, the man parked the car, got out and walked to the river where he tossed the car keys into the deep. Then he hit a number on his speed dial, connecting him with Pedro.

  “It’s done.”

  Pedro replied with no emotion.

  “Good. Now go home.”

  As soon as that call disconnected, Pedro hit an autodial on his phone.

  “Tuco, it’s done. I’m heading for my next stop … no problems … I’ll take care of it when I get there.”

  Pedro put his phone away as he turned onto the “Nacional” aka the National Highway. He headed south with Agent Jesus Garcia’s body lying in his crate coffin. His destination was property owned by the cartel in the south of Mexico, where they grew illegal drugs. Garcia’s body would join the dozens of other bodies, all murdered by members of the cartel. The cartels’ thugs thought it was humorously ironic that pot would grow from the remains of drug enforcement agents. Inside Agent Garcia’s pocket though was his iPhone … and it was beeping.