by Frank Perry
pursed her lips. “Claire, it’s really frustrating. I know they said Hunter wouldn’t be told where we were, but why did they take our cellphones? Don’t they trust us?”
“Laura, they probably know what they’re doing. I’m getting a little worried because John hasn’t called. At least he’s a connection to the outside. And, I know how you feel. My kids are crazy living here. They want to be home in their own rooms with their friends. This is like prison to them. I told them that they would be leaving soon, so they aren’t even trying to make friends at school.”
Laura said, “I work less than an hour from here, but haven’t touched anything on my desk. I don’t even know if I have a job anymore.”
“John said that was all taken care of.”
“Yeah, I know. At least you have your kids. I don’t have anyone. I wish I could talk to Hunter.”
“You going out today?”
“I have to, Claire. I’ll buy some groceries or just walk around.”
The ladies were told to stay near the compound and be inside before nightfall. They weren’t allowed to drive unless an “agency” car took them, so they just stayed within their walking area.
Hunter began watching CNN and CSPAN to track the Appropriations Bills. Everything was done except the Defense Spending Bill, and it would come out of Committee late in the day. Tomorrow, the Senate would vote on it. If it passed, the bills would go to conference with the House with a small group of negotiators to reconcile any differences. All of the individual department bills had already been reviewed by both Houses of Congress but held in suspension until the massive defense bill arrived. Both sides of the Hill thought they could have a comprehensive Appropriations package to the President for signature before the end of next week, on the last day of the Fiscal Year. It was an election year and all of the House members and one third of the Senate were up for re-election. No one wanted to leave this fundamental responsibility undone as they had the previous year. At least half of the incumbents would fall victim to campaign rhetoric from their opponents if the Bill failed, and they needed an emergency CR instead.
Leigh had seen it all before, but this process mystified Hunter. So much of the law had nothing to do with fundamental needs of the American people. It all had to do with politics. The defense bill didn’t reflect the needs of the defense department. Hell, the troops went to Iraq and Afghanistan without body armor and with soft-sided HWMMVs – but an overabundance of airplanes and ships. The squabble that many referred to as “healthy debate” had no relevance when it came to the end of the fiscal year under the cloud of an election year. It was all too complex, and Hunter appreciated Leigh’s experience.
She understood motivating factors of several key members that he could never learn -- he would never want to learn. Some people enjoyed the intricacies of federal governance, but he hated it. Even worse, the process had little to do with reflecting the so-called “will of the people.” It was all about individual egos and greed of people who chose politics as a profession, something the founding fathers had tried to avoid.
He watched the progress of Peña’s ships as Wanderer circled back from her brief stop in Central America en route to San Pedro. From all appearances, watching the traces on his computer, Peña was following the same routes used before. If it maintained course and speed, it would dock in San Pedro late that night.
Luciano Peña was in his office meeting with his remaining ship’s crews, drivers and Ramon. He laid out a plan for them all to go south with him to take care of Mojo. Once that was done, he would deal with any dealers that objected. Most of his people would leave tonight by car. Peña and two guards would fly in the morning. Ramon would stay behind and guard Peña’s family. Roxanne seemed disappointed that Luca ignored her, but he was getting the excitement he needed by meeting with the cutthroats and walking tattoo posters behind closed doors. They were all repulsive humans. Her only instructions were to keep the door closed and don’t interrupt them for any reason.
That evening, Hunter watched the trace of Ocean Queen leaving the dock on another trip to the Farallons. His heart sank. Some hours later, after midnight, Wanderer entered the berth at San Pedro. It was the same berth used twice before. Hunter wondered if they just overlooked the missing drugs. He’d done the math. He scuttled over five million dollars in the harbor. How could that be overlooked? Even for a man like Peña, it was a lot of money.
The process in San Pedro had been going on before Peña collaborated with Mojo. His team was in place and wasn’t going to change. The only difference was that Mojo wouldn’t know the shipping schedule, and the person receiving the shipment was his main LA Distributor, who now worked for Peña. Everything went smoothly. This time, Hunter wasn’t waiting below to pilfer the shipment. The dump truck backed onto the dock when signaled and the load transferred as it always did. Nine hundred kilos of uncut cocaine sat in a cube in the bed of the truck, worth fifteen thousand dollars per kilo (two point two pounds per kilogram). Total value of the shipment was thirteen million dollars that Peña gave on credit just to get the distributor rolling with higher-volume sales to other dealers that Peña identified. He was attacking Mojo on the most basic level and would soon attack him physically.
The truck started down the dock without lights. At the end, just as the driver was planning to turn onto the frontage road, Mojo’s long black limousine blocked the exit. Several men jumped out with MAC-10 Machine pistols. The driver/distributor panicked and shifted into reverse but there was no place to go far. The crane blocked the dock. He jumped from the cab and immediately fell to his knees.
Mohamed Al-Zeid stepped from the car and quickly walked up to the quivering man, signaling one of his men to take the dump truck away. The man begged as Mojo grabbed his collar and lifted him to his feet, pushing him to the edge of the dock near the road. The man pleaded, “Mojo...” He never finished when the knife slit his throat, and he fell backward into the black slime. Mojo and the drugs were gone in seconds. He would make his largest profit ever with drugs stolen from Luca Peña. He savored the thought driving toward his home in Palos Verdes, not far away.
The following morning, Peña’s men arrived with equipment in San Bernardino after driving since midnight from San Francisco. They were waiting at the airport when Peña and his two guards landed at San Bernardino airport. The engines on his jet were still winding down when Peña and his guards deplaned and headed toward the empty car driven down from San Francisco by his driver with more equipment. The pilot was told to stay with the plane for a departure in the afternoon.
They left the airport in convoy for Victorville. It’s located at the southwestern edge of the Mojave Desert, 80 miles northeast of Los Angeles, and 35 miles north of San Bernardino through the Cajon Pass on Interstate 15. It’s roughly halfway between LA and Las Vegas. Before the collaboration with Mojo, Jesus Ruiz was Luca Peña’s main distributor in Southern California. Ruiz was waiting for Peña and “friends” to visit him before noon at his high-desert fortress. He ran a heavy equipment business from a very private location in a gorge defined by steep mountainsides. The entrance was protected by a huge unmanned iron gate spanning between massive concrete pillars that could stop any car trying to ram. The gate was standing open for Peña’s caravan. They drove up the curvy quarter-mile dirt road to Ruiz’s massive equipment building. In addition to maintenance on earthmovers and backhoes, the building had some unique hidden storage facilities and drug “cutting” rooms. Ruiz stood in a large open garage door when they arrived.
When Peña’s car door was opened, Jesus met him with a familiar Latin hug and welcoming remarks in Spanish, which Luca had never learned, much to his parent’s disappointment.
“Luca, my friend, and your friends, welcome to my modest business.”
Luca handed his sport coat to one of his guards. “Jesus, my friend, there is nothing modest about you’re business. Business is good, no?”
&
nbsp; “Never better, Luca, although I’m not sure Mojo and I will get along as well as you and I.”
“Well, Mi Amigo, I want to talk to you about that. I know that you were told to work for Mojo now, but that’s why I’m here. Can we go inside to talk?”
“Certainly, my friend. Does this mean we are back in business?”
The two men departed for the building office and Peña’s men moved the cars inside the equipment building. Jesus was alone and most of his equipment was parked on all sides of the building. He had once been the largest earthmoving contractor from Victorville to Palmdale, but business was slow with the recession. Peña worked with Jesus for twenty years, beginning as a small local dealer. They had always trusted each other, and Jesus became Peña’s largest distributor. His unusual location and equipment gave Jesus the ability to bury his problems, literally. The only law enforcement in the rural desert was the County Sherriff who was responsible for thousands of square miles of desert territory. Jesus was completely isolated with no neighbors to complain. He had never been in trouble with the law.
The setup was brilliant in its simplicity. Mojo had a distribution network before collaborating with Peña
