by Frank Perry
you being a friend of Claire’s. She probably needs someone around who knows what’s going on in the criminal world.”
“Hmm. It’s my job and my pleasure, Hunt. José was a good friend and I feel pretty close to Claire. I wouldn’t want anything happening to her.”
Hunter looked down at his feet. “So, what about the surveillance today?”
“You saw it, Hunter. Someone’s building a file. I imagine it starts with Claire and branches into everyone who’s related or works with her.”
“How you gonna protect her?”
“It’s not easy, Hunter. Partly, she’s pretty strong headed and would make police protection miserable. The best thing would be for her to drop the Drug Bill and do something else in the legal department.”
“Won’t happen. I know my sister. She’d rather fight than retreat.”
“Talk to her, Hunter. This is gangland warfare at its worst.”
“Look, John, she’s not gonna give up Jose’s work and push this onto someone else. Good or bad, she’s with it.”
John looked at Hunter. “What about you? You picked up the other half of Jose’s charge in Washington. Someone took your picture today too.”
Hunter had his hands in his pockets, looking beyond the fence and shuffled one foot in the grass. “I don’t know, John. I sure wish they’d come after me and leave her alone.”
“Hunter, I don’t want to be insensitive, but she’s the softer target.”
Claire walked up behind. “So, what are you two guys doing? Come. Come have some food!” She herded them both in the direction of the dining room.
Costa Rica
Luciano Peña had grown in stature with the major drug lords south of the border. After twenty years of meteoric rise as their primary western distributor, they all listened closely to Peña. He was respected. He had an education, which most of them lacked and had invested in ships that could fool American police. He had politicians in his pocket. He had also proven himself as a violent gangland leader, which was the only law they respected.
When Peña called an assembly of his main suppliers to meet in Costa Rica, they all agreed, subject to careful security precautions. This meeting was the beginning of a new Cartel, more powerful than any other organization in the drug underworld. Although officially headless, Luciano was the de facto leader since he carried their products to market.
It took several months to organize, but the summit was finally underway. The smugglers up north, along the Mexican border with America, were invited as well. The Peña ships carried more cargo than any land-borne channels, which also made Peña an enemy to hundreds of smaller smugglers. He was very careful, far more careful than when he stayed at home six hundred miles north of the border.
He reserved the entire resort. Hotel Parador is a secluded luxury hotel on the sweeping Central Pacific Coast nestled on twelve acres of dense tropical rainforest. It offered lavish suites sprawling across the grounds for “guests”, affording adequate privacy with lesser rooms for security personnel. There is only one narrow road through the jungles, which was closed for their meeting. Entry from the sea is blocked by jagged cliffs. There were enough concealed weapons at the resort to equip a small army.
The meeting lasted only one day and there were no written materials presented or recorded. This was between Latin crime lords. The purpose of the meeting as led by Peña was to secure agreement within the cartel to fight any form of drug legalization in America. All of the members had “friends” in the Government.
Each member of the cartel was to use their resources to influence American politics against legalization of drugs. But the hardest discussion was about controlling the gangs, operating along the borders and cities in the States, to minimize violence during the summer. Most of the members objected, and Mexican distributors complained the most. Some threated violence against other cartel members for even suggesting that they back off. In the end, most of them saw the wisdom in diminishing American public attention on drug violence while Congress debated the budget for next year. Privately, some of the obstinate distributors would need to be dealt with by Peña and his allies.
Most of the cartel members left that night without enjoying the luxury of the Parador, minimizing there exposure. Their greatest safety was back on their home turf. Peña had a helicopter come from his big trawler stationed close offshore. He would spend the night on the ship while it cruised north and fly off in the morning for Acapulco, where his private jet was waiting.
He was back in his office in San Francisco by lunch time the next day. That night, he and Ramon were aboard his Trawler Ocean Queen, piloted by its new captain. The ship was motoring at slow speed around Yerba Buena Island in the center of the Oakland Bay Bridge with three other men aboard. One of them was the man Hunter chased from the parking lot. The other two were contract assassins, working with the photographer’s firm. All were ex-convicts. Under agreement with the enforcement company, the men were identified only by number.
Mr. Uno, the photographer, laid several dozen pictures on the chart table, identifying the various Rivera family members, relatives and friends. Over the next hour, plans were agreed. In the morning, Peña would arrange a wire transfer of funds between the offshore bank accounts.
Return to Washington
Hunter and Laura flew back on the same American flight through Chicago. The trip had given them a chance to firm their relationship away from the distractions of work. They had been given a private tour of the state capital with Claire as their guide. It was Monday night when they landed at Reagan National in Washington.
After recovering Laura’s bag, Hunter said, “Look. Come to my place, and we’ll have dinner; then I’ll drive you home.”
She smiled at him. “I have another idea. Why don’t I come to your place and have some dinner, and I can catch the Metro in the morning for work with you.”
He put his arm around her. “Let’s go.”
The trip to Sacramento had crystalized their feelings for each other. Hunter had never really loved anyone before. He had a few girlfriends in high school, and a few dates in the Navy, but he was constantly on deployments, so nothing serious ever developed. Laura was his first true love.
Laura had a steady boyfriend in high school on the Eastern Shore, one of the most placid locations in the Metro DC area, but they split up when she went to college, and he stayed on the family farm. She started the phone relationship with Hunter shortly after graduation and moving to Washington. She was never interested in anyone else.
She learned a lot about Hunter on their trip to California, both from his interaction with family but also from talking to Claire and Sue Ann. The women in his family communicated freely, and she fit right in. She was lucky to have packed extra clothes before going to California and could stay with Hunter several nights if she wanted.
They had a simple dinner of grilled pork chops and spinach salad, since neither was particularly hungry after travelling all day. After they cleaned up his kitchen together, he poured red wine, which they drank on his balcony.
He said, “Sweetheart, I can still drive you home if you’d like?”
She had an impish smile. “Why? You want me to leave?”
He kissed her cheek. “You know that’s not it. It’s just, like I said before, I don’t want to pressure you.”
“Hunt. Wasn’t it my idea to stay tonight?”
He smiled and sat back in his deck chair. “Yeah. Just checking.”
The rest of the night was magical for both of them. She knew he was devoted to her, and he started thinking about how he would propose.
She left her suitcase at his apartment in the morning and would pick it up again “sometime soon.”
That day, he didn’t have anything specific planned so he called Leigh Bryant, and they made plans for lunch in Rosslyn. Most impromptu Washington meets happened over lunch, and Hunter had an expense account.
T
he Tivoli restaurant was popular with professionals, working with the Government adjacent to the Rosslyn Metro station.
Hunter was sitting at a table when Leigh arrived. She looked smart in a dark blue suit. Even in sneakers, Leigh was almost as tall as him. She was ten years older and a seasoned professional on “The Hill.” Leigh worked on the staff of a Congressman from Tennessee for sixteen years, from the time she graduated from U. Mass Amherst. She became his Executive Assistant over time and managed the corral of junior aides. Around Congress, the EA’s worked as surrogates for their elected members, wielding immense power, often controlling the legislative agenda and helping negotiate committee positions in the quid pro quo of politics. Leigh had mastered the skills of Congress far more than ninety percent of the electorate.
When she got married, later than many, she was pregnant within months and considering a change. When the congressman failed to be reelected, Leigh saw the chance to parlay her experience into consulting on a part time basis to be a full-time mother. She looked good to Hunter. She wasn’t a skinny pole any longer with meticulous hair. Family life agreed with her, and she was clearly enjoying her new career at home.
He stood and kissed her cheek, another Washington formality he’d learned from her. “Hi, lady, you look great!”
“Hi yourself, Hunter. How goes the battles on The Hill?”
They chatted lightly until their
