Pescalitis: “So Charley, this Agent Ahiga … he’s an Indian … as in Cochise?”
“Actually, Cochise was Chiricahua Apache, I’m Navaho. Would one of you gentlemen be Charles Santappia? I’m Agent Ahiga.”
Pescalitis was startled by the 50 year-old, well-built, dark skinned man standing behind him, who exited the pickup. Santappia offered him his hand.
“How are you Agent Ahiga, I’m Charley Santappia … Charley. This big guy here is Vic Rigoni … we call him Riggy. The even bigger guy is Karl De May and next to him is Spiro Pescalitis. As you can see, everything Pescy knows about Native Americans he learned from old Cowboy and Indian movies.”
Agent Ahiga winked at Pescalitis.
“I loved them movies too … I always wanted to be one of the cowboys. They always won the fights and ended up with pretty women in their arms at the end.”
Ahiga pointed to the east.
“As far as geography goes though, Mr. Pescalitis isn’t too far off. The Dragoon Mountains, where Cochise and his band hid, are due east of here.”
Pescalitis stepped up next to Ahiga.
“Is that so … wow! Hey, Agent Ahiga, I didn’t mean anything by what I said—“
“Forget it. I guess being compared to K'uu-ch'ish isn’t such a bad thing. Cochise’s name in Apache meant that he was as strong as oak. Gentlemen, why don’t we get out of this heat? Follow me I know a good place to get a bite to eat.”
Ahiga led them to a Mexican restaurant nearby. The five men took seats in a large booth.
Ahiga took a long pull from his beer, “I apologize for being so late. I cut for sign just after dawn and a few of my unit and I spent the rest of the morning tracking down some smugglers. We got lucky and caught them before they got into the foothills or else you’d still be waiting for me.”
“Cut for sign? Santappia asked.
“Yeah, ‘Sign’ is physical evidence—footprints, a dangling thread, a broken twig, a discarded piece of clothing, or tire tracks … things like that. ‘Cutting’ is searching for sign or analyzing it once it’s found. In this case we came upon the tracks of two young smugglers, 22-24 years old. They were offered $800 cash to carry several bales of marijuana over the border. Considering that they usually make around $20 a week in Mexico, they both jumped at the chance for only a few days work.”
“What will happen to them now? Riggy asked.
“They were first-time offenders who confessed, so they’ll be prosecuted at the federal court in Tucson … probably get a year or so in federal prison.”
Santappia showed everyone information he pulled up on his handheld device.
“I spent a little time researching the Shadow Wolves. I must say Agent Ahiga—“
“My first name’s Bryan …”
“I must say Bryan, I was very impressed. In our day and age of high-tech toothbrushes, the Shadow Wolves have shown that sometimes the old ways are the best ways.”
“That’s true Charley. We use tracking methods that have been handed down in our tribes for many generations, but that’s not to say that we don’t incorporate high technology. We just don’t solely rely on it.”
Santappia motioned to his men, “Keep your eyes and ears open guys, we can learn a lot from Bryan.”
“I don’t know about that, Charley. I also had a little time to research you guys …at least what’s published about your military records. You were a major in the Marines and the rest of you guys were warrant officers? Heck, how’s the Corps even surviving without you? By the way, Semper Fi23 …!”
“You served in the Marines, Bryan?” De May asked.
“Yes sir, 1st Marine Division. Joined right out of high school and got out right after Desert Storm. As soon as we reached Kuwait City, I knew our job was done and time for me to move on … let some of the younger jars have a turn.”
All the men at the table knew exactly what Agent Ahiga was talking about and his being a fellow Marine meant they chewed some of the same dirt … and sand. That shot up their respect for him even more.
All the men ordered what Ahiga suggested. It ended up being some of the best Mexican fare any of them ever ate – fajitas, carne asada, tamales and enchiladas. While they ate, Agent Ahiga filled the men of ARCHANGEL in on the general state of affairs on his stretch of the border.
“… the Shadow Wolves unit is responsible for the 76 miles of border that our reservation shares with Mexico. It isn’t easy with fewer than two dozen officers, and the events of September 11 only made things worse. With the beefed-up security at Arizona’s border crossings— Nogales and Sasabee in the east, and Lukeville in the west—the smugglers figure their chances are better to cross the desert in between. That desert is our reservation and the city of Tucson is on our northern border. Now, day and night, usually groups of eight to ten men move north from Mexico, each individual can be carrying upwards of 40 pounds of marijuana on his back. To make matters worse, they’re funded by Mexican drug lords. So they’re often better equipped and more numerous than the Shadow Wolves, with lookouts on neighboring mountains armed with night-vision goggles, cell phones and radios. They use it all to send encrypted messages to direct smugglers away from our law enforcement vehicles.”
Looks of frustration were evident on all the men’s faces.
“So Bryan, we understand you came across a coyote with a big mouth?” asked Santappia.
“I did and that’s unusual all on its own. It’s almost unheard of for anyone, whether their smugglers, coyotes or UDA’s … undocumented … in other words illegal aliens … to open their mouths. They know that chances are … they’ll end up being deported back down to Mexico at some point … and their lives wouldn’t be worth a cent if anyone found out that they talked up here.”
“So what was different about this one?”
Ahiga exhaled.
“We normally don’t use lethal force to stop most people crossing our border, but these kids … there was three of them, the oldest was 22 … thought they were riding with Poncho Villa and drew down on us, that was also highly unusual. Things have been getting progressively more violent lately. We ended up killing two of them and severely wounding the third. We radioed in for a medevac chopper and as I was trying my best to bandage the wounded one, he started babbling. He told me that a ‘borrasca’ … a storm was coming soon from the south and that my men and I better hide in the hills or it would sweep us all away.”
“A borrasca … was he high or something?” asked Riggy.
“No, he wasn’t high. He might have been a little delirious from the pain. I also think he was convinced he was dying. I tried my best to get more out of him. Just before he fell unconscious he started mumbling something … and the one name he kept saying was … Tuco.”
“Tuco Ramirez?” Santappia asked.
Ahiga nodded.
“When he came to in the hospital, I attempted to question him more about it but his senses must have come back to him. Now he clams up and his heart monitor spikes if you even mention Tuco’s name to him.”
Santappia scratched his chin.
“That is disturbing … we were told that you reported suspicious activity lately too …”
“That’s right … the few informants that we do have, have been telling us that a number of the coyotes are holding off on border crossings lately but at the same time, they’re continuing to amass larger and larger numbers of UDA’s in the towns just south of the border - those towns that specialize in selling all of the necessary items to illegals intending to cross. And the one thing that all of these coyotes seem to have in common is that they all work for the same cartel … Pacifico.”
“It sounds like they’re getting ready for a series of larger crossings.”
“Or one massive crossing!” replied Ahiga. All the men sat up as he took another long pull from his beer.
“Starting this past week, we’ve found graffiti nearby and mentions on scraps of paper, some of the UDA’s we’ve caught were carrying in thei
r pockets … all with the term, ‘Noche del espantada’ … fright night.”
While everyone sat in thought, Ahiga called the waitress over and ordered another round of beers for everyone. Santappia waited for the waitress to bring them and walk away.
“Tell us what you make of all of it, Bryan.”
Ahiga took a moment to collect his thoughts.
“It’s hard to say. So much of what is said down here … what goes on down here … is smoke and mirrors, Charley. But you asked my opinion and I’ll give it to you. I think the Pacifico cartel is planning a massive border crossing for sometime soon.”
“How soon?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never come across anything like this and I’ve lived here all my life. It could come today or in a week or a month. I don’t think it could happen too much longer than that though. Most of the towns south of the border aren’t setup to house and feed a mass of people for any period of time. Besides, the majority of the people crossing couldn’t afford to wait very long. As it is, I bet the cartel is using coercion to keep them in line.”
“So they’re still running drugs across the border but not illegal aliens? Riggy thought out loud.
“I know,” Ahiga replied, “It doesn’t seem to make sense.”
“Well Bryan, would you mind if we tagged along with you for awhile … maybe have you show us the lay of the land some and let us pick your brains while we do?” Santappia formed it as a question but Ahiga knew Santappia had the authority to make it an order. That moved Charley Santappia up another notch in the Shadow Wolf’s book.
“Sure, but may I ask you guys a question? Exactly what are you doing here? Who are you guys anyway? I know you’re not in Homeland or ICE. Are you FBI?”
“We work for a private counter-terrorism firm, Bryan.”
“And what exactly does a bunch of old Marines do for a private counter-terrorism firm?”
Santappia hesitated, while the others enjoyed Ahiga’s coy question.
“Whatever needs doing …just like in the Corps. You know the drill.”
Ahiga used a mock drill sergeant voice, “When we say jump, you say how high!”
The men laughed as Santappia went on.
“In this case, we’re here to see if there’s any link between our own on-going investigations into activities of the Pacifico cartel and their recent activities here.”
“What on-going investigations?” Ahiga continued his coy curiosity.
Santappia looked at his men. They all gave him the nod to trust Agent Ahiga.
“Bryan, we’ve been investigating a possible link between an Iranian businessman and Pacifico. The man’s name is Aref Zamani … his name mean anything to you?”
“Nope … go on.”
“He apparently ‘invested’ $25 million into a warehousing operation owned by Tuco Ramirez and his cartel. We sent an agent down to Monterrey to investigate and he ended up with two 9mm holes in his forehead. We dug up his body ourselves last week from a drug farm owned by Pacifico.”
Now it was Ahiga that sat speechless as Santappia continued.
“We need to find out if there’s any connection between what’s been going on here lately and this man Zamani. I don’t have to tell you the ramifications if this Zamani turns out to be a radical extremist and Pacifico is helping him to smuggle … whatever … into the US.”
Ahiga nodded then sat in thought for a moment.
“Well if you want to tag along with me you’ll need your Jeep, unless you all want to ride in the back of my pickup … but the other problem is that we sometimes use ATV’s down here and we don’t have too many to spare.”
“That’s not a problem, Bryan, we have our own. We have our own weapons too, but we’d appreciate it if you suggested what we should be packing and toting.”
“Well, all Shadow Wolves carry sidearms and we use M-4’s24 along with our radios.”
“We use the same … A1’s25,” replied De May.
“We’ve never had a need to go fully auto,” Ahiga replied.
Santappia broke in.
“Okay, I’ll have our people fly our equipment down and I’ll tell our boss that we may be here awhile. I’d like you to suggest a hotel for us, if you would and after we check in, I’d like to go see your wounded coyote. I’m not expecting much from that, but we’ll leave no stone unturned.”
Ahiga smiled.
“You better be careful what stones you turn down here, Charley, that’s where the rattlesnakes hide from the afternoon sun.”
All the men laughed while Santappia raised his beer bottle. The rest of them did the same as he proposed a toast.
“Here’s to … not needing to go fully auto … and to the Shadow Wolves!”
Bryan Ahiga appreciated the sentiment.
Chapter 27
Security Office
The Foster Lafayette Hotel
Washington, D.C.
7:55a.m., Sunday, August 07, 2011
Mugsy Ricci and Michelle Wang sat at the desk of Ron Fryar, the Director of Security and Loss Prevention for the Foster Lafayette Hotel. Michelle and her staff were successful in tracking the last phone calls Pastak made with his cell phone. One was to a local Mercedes dealership, but before that, another was to an executive recruiter that apparently sent Pastak to an interview at the Foster Lafayette, just over a month before. The recruiter was reluctant to even admit that much until Michelle promised him that he would be The Watchman’s first phone call the next time they were looking for executive talent. Once she did, he was more than happy to share the name of the firm that hired him – which turned out to be phony – and more importantly, he mentioned that the man who contacted him spoke with a British accent, with a hint of Middle Eastern in it, as he put it. That was enough to prompt their dropping by the hotel to investigate.
Fryar handed Michelle a folder opened to a specific spot.
“That’s the report that housekeeping submitted and the page behind it is the report submitted by the security official on duty, who investigated.”
Michelle scanned both reports then handed the folder to Ricci as she queried the Director.
“Mr. Fryar, both reports mentioned broken items including a tea cup and what appeared to be parts of a cell phone and blood on a sofa and chair. Why weren’t the police called?”
“Ms. Wang, the person occupying the suite was the one who called housekeeping. He explained that he entertained a clumsy guest who he hinted might have been intoxicated. Apparently his guest inadvertently broke a teacup, cutting himself and dropping and damaging his phone when he attempted to pick up the sharp pieces of the cup. His explanation was deemed plausible by our security official.”
“What about the report of a man being chased by men on the same floor as the suite and at the same time as the alleged accident?” Ricci asked.
“Yes, that account was given by members of a wedding party. Also noted in that report, was that our security official considered the members of that party to be intoxicated at the time.”
Mugsy looked at Michelle and shook his head disapprovingly.
“Mr. Ricci, there was no reason to connect the two incidents and no cause to question the veracity of our guest’s statement … a gentleman who has been a regular guest of this hotel, by the way.”
“What’s the name of this guest?”
“You can understand our need to keep the names of our guests confidential.”
Michelle shot Ricci a look of frustration that didn’t go unnoticed by the Director.
“Mr. Fryar, would you allow us to the view security tapes from that day and time?”
The Director smirked but with a look of impatience.
“Mr. Ricci, as I understand it, you do not represent a government or law enforcement agency. You work for a private company. There has been no crime reported and even if there were, I would only be able to interact with an authorized member of law enforcement. Now, out of courtesy, I have shared with you all that I am prepared to share
but unfortunately I will not—“
As the Director was speaking, Michelle was calling someone on her cell. After a moment of talking to the person on the other side of the line, she handed her phone to the Director.
“Mr. Fryar, the Secretary of Homeland Security would like to speak to you.”
The Director put her phone to his ear with a look of disbelief on his face. Ricci kept his facial features frozen but looked with questioning eyes at his beautiful oriental partner in crime. She replied with a subtle wink.
“This is Director Fryar … sir?! Yes, Mr. Secretary … yes sir. Mr. Secretary I was only following … no sir, not a problem at all. Yes sir, at once. Thank you Mr. Secretary, I will!”
Director Fryar handed Michelle back her phone, his face blushed with embarrassment. He hesitated a moment as if unsure what to do then used his intercom and stood up.
“If you would both follow me, I’ll take you to our video room. I just called down for them to pull the video records from that day.”
The Director led them into a room with banks of monitors and rack-mounted drives used to store the video feeds from every floor of the hotel. He motioned for them to take seats in front of one bank of monitors and showed them how to operate the replay.
“The feeds from that day and time and from that floor and the lobby will appear on these two monitors. If you need anything else, just ask my people in the next room.”
“Thank you, Mr. Fryar,” replied Ricci.
The Director walked to the door then stopped, “You know, all you two had to tell me was that this was a matter of national security. I would have happily obliged. Of course, The Homeland Director only requested that I show you the security footage. He said nothing about divulging the name of our guest.”
Then he added, almost speaking to himself, “Apparently, the Secretary of Homeland Defense is also a personal friend of our owner.”
Ricci waited for the Director to be safely out of earshot before questioning Michelle.
“… Matter of national security? Michelle, I know you didn’t bother the Director of Homeland with this … who exactly did you put him on the line with?”
The Watchman of Ephraim (Book Club Edition) Page 19
