by Mike McNeff
“Sit down, please, Mr. Casconda,” Chris said in Spanish. Carlos' eyes flashed with surprise. He stared at the FBI agent for a few seconds and then sat down.
“That will be all, Marines. Thank you.”
“Our orders are to remain outside the door, sir.”
“That will be fine.” The Marines stepped out of the office and closed the door.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Chris asked.
Carlos paused for a second and then said, “Yes” in a hoarse voice.
Chris went over to the coffee pot and poured a cup of coffee. As he stepped back, he moved the office chair from behind the desk and put it at the front left corner, three feet from the Cuban. Chris put the coffee cup on the desk and motioned for the man to raise his hands off of his lap. Carlos gave Chris a dubious look, but raised his hands. Chris removed the handcuffs, sat down, and took another sip of his coffee. He waited for the Cuban to take a sip too.
“You look like hell, Carlos.”
The man grunted and looked at Chris. “You know my name.”
“It didn't take us long to find out who you really are. We've been aware of your presence in Mexico for some time.”
“How?”
Chris smiled. “You know I can't tell you that.” Carlos grunted again, but this time Chris detected a slight chuckle to it.
“Are the Marines mistreating you?”
Carlos looked at Chris and smiled. “No. The Marines are professionals. I respect them. Why do you ask?”
“Like I said, you look like hell.”
The Cuban turned away for a few seconds. He looked back, but said nothing.
“It's been four days since we found you in the desert. Whatever is bothering you is not getting any better with you sitting here, doing nothing. I am guessing Miguel has you worried. If that is the case, I am the only person who can help you. I do not say this lightly and I am not bullshitting you. I know you are a professional.”
Carlos' mouth twitched, his face reddened, and his eyes were like drills into Chris's. The FBI agent immediately knew he had found the right button. Carlos had to be worried about his wife. Chris couldn't think of another reason a seasoned intelligence agent would be so agitated, but he knew to proceed carefully.
“I do not believe you can do anything for me,” Carlos said with a sneer.
“Really? Four days ago you were in the custody of the state police in the middle of the desert in Arizona. Today, you are in Quantico, Virginia in my custody. I flew you here in a military aircraft. I put you in a military detention center. I dictate your custody status.” Chris let that sink in. “I have been in this business for a long time, Carlos. I know how to get things done, and I know who to contact to get them done. I can help you right now, but time is running out. It's up to you.”
Carlos had his arms folded, his right hand nervously rubbing his left forearm. Perspiration beaded on his forehead. Chris hoped listing straightforward, simple facts of things he accomplished in the last four days would register with the man. Chris also knew he faced stiff competition with the Cuban agent's Soviet training.
Chris stood up. His next movements were carefully choreographed in his mind. He just needed to perform them flawlessly. He turned away from the Cuban and walked to the coffee pot. He picked up the pot and called out, “Marines, enter please.” He poured coffee into his cup as the Marines entered. Chris turned around and leaned against the table supporting the coffee pot. He lazily crossed his legs at the ankle and took a long sip of coffee. He nodded towards Carlos and said, “He is apparently ready to go.”
The Marines stood Carlos up and handcuffed him. They turned towards the door and started out of the office. Chris involuntarily held his breath. They went through the door, and the second Marine reached for the door handle to close the door when Carlos yelled, “Stop! I need to talk to him!” Chris breathed again.
The Marine looked back at Chris, who waved them in. The Marines ushered Carlos back into the room and quietly left, closing the door behind them. The Cuban wearily sat down, his face ashen and his hands trembling.
“My wife. I fear for my wife.”
“Why?” Chris said as he poured Carlos another cup of coffee.
“Miguel is a madman and he will be furious about his brother and the money. He expected me to protect the both of them. Miguel told Ramon I'd be in charge, but the idiot never intended to follow Miguel's orders. My wife and I live on Miguel's compound. She is there and I know she is in danger.”
“All right, I'll get to work on that problem, but first tell me what happened the night you were arrested.”
Carlos took a deep breath. “No. First you tell me how you will protect my wife.”
“We are just starting to talk to each other. I will only tell you there are assets available in Mexico to deal with the problem. Until we know each other better, you will have to just believe that. I think you know I have been straight with you so far.”
“You think I am a plant.”
Chris shrugged his shoulders. “I have to take necessary precautions.” The Cuban looked at the floor, his jaw muscles working. His hands were clasped, and Chris noticed his knuckles were white. He knew Carlos struggled with his training.
“My friend, if you make a mental list of the people you can trust, those you can believe right now…it boils down to just me.”
Carlos looked up at Chris for a long moment. He breathed in and leaned back in his chair, unclasping his hands. He let out a long, slow breath. “Ramon and I crossed the border three days before that night. We rented rooms at the Biltmore Resort and Ramon went crazy. He got drunk and used cocaine every night with two or three call girls in his room. On the third night he made so much noise, I went in and threw out the women and told him to go to bed or I would kill him. He was angry with me, but he did it because he knew I would kill him.”
“Why did he act that way? Didn't he realize he'd draw attention to you guys?”
“Ramon acted like a stupid child. Miguel has taken care of him ever since their parents died and he never allowed Ramon to grow up. He protected him.”
“Whores and cocaine sounds like a stupid adult to me. What did you guys do next?”
“I got Ramon up at noon the next day and worked all afternoon getting him sober enough to take care of business. He remained angry and uncooperative with me until I told him to stop acting like an idiot, or I'd call Miguel and tell him to take Ramon off the delivery. He calmed down and apologized. I took him to dinner and gave him a couple of beers. He seemed better. We drove out to southwest Phoenix and rented a cheap motel room and waited until it was time to go to Rainbow Valley. I drove the pickup and he drove the Blazer.”
“Which way did you go?”
“We took the road that goes around the north end of the Estrellas.”
“Did you see anyone else out there?”
“Dusk had set, but we didn't see anyone.”
“What happened next?”
“As usual, Newman landed on time. He really is a good pilot.”
“And probably a little crazy to fly the way smugglers do.”
Carlos laughed, “He does take chances when he flies a load. Anyway, we started to unload the money when I heard the sound of the Blackhawk. I yelled to Ramon to get into the Blazer. Ramon argued with me and told me he should drive. Even though I knew better, I jumped into the passenger seat. Newman got in the pickup truck. Ramon fumbled with the keys for what seemed like forever.
'The Blackhawk flew overhead when the pickup took off. Ramon finally started the engine of the Blazer and just started to roll when the Blackhawk's light hit us and dust went flying everywhere. I couldn't see anything and the roar of the Blackhawk hurt my ears. It was deafening.”
“That big bird is scary at night, that's for sure.”
“Yes it is, especially the way those pilots flew it. They are madmen!”
Chris chuckled. “That's been suggested more than once. Go on.”
“We
ll, Ramon floored the accelerator, but the Blackhawk jumped in front of us and we were blinded by the searchlight. Ramon turned sharply to the left, almost rolling the vehicle, but the Blackhawk cut us off again and Ramon slammed on the brakes.
“I knew we had to get out of there, so I grabbed Ramon by the hair and pulled him over to the passenger side. The Blazer still rolled slowly, but I kicked open the passenger door and dragged Ramon out of it. I yelled into his ear for him to hold on to my belt and run with me. Instead, he pushed me away and pulled his AK-47 out of the Blazer. His eyes were crazy and he screamed back at me he wanted to kill American policemen, so Miguel would be proud of him.”
“Jesus, he really was crazy!”
“Yes and I decided to leave the idiot and get out of there. I heard gunfire over the sound of the Blackhawk. I ran through the dust and sprinted for as long as I could. My legs hurt because I ran into cholla cactus and the spines set deep in my legs, so I hid under a palo verde tree. I tried to catch my breath and used my knife to remove as many of the cholla spines as I could.
“The Blackhawk started circling in wider arcs. I figured the police officers were tracking me. Then, the Blackhawk's searchlight pointed right at me and did not move. I bolted and ran down a wash with high banks, looking for a hole to duck into. That's when the policeman tackled me. Now, I'm here.”
“Thank you, Carlos. I appreciate your honesty. Now, is Miguel the main threat to your wife?”
“Yes. If she is still alive, the one man who is probably keeping her safe is Juan Trinidad.”
“Who is he?”
“He is Miguel's enforcer and number two man in the organization. Juan acts like a friend, and I hope he will protect my wife.”
“I wonder why we don't know about him.”
“He stays low and moves like a ghost. He is extremely dangerous.”
“What is your wife's name?”
“Maria.”
“You don't seem positive Juan will protect Maria.”
“Miguel has made Juan a very rich and powerful man. Juan's first allegiance will always belong to Miguel. Juan is also ruthless.”
Chris thought for a minute. “Is there a way to contact Juan?”
“If he's at the ranch, I can call him.”
“I think it is best at this point to call Juan. We can accomplish two things by calling him. We can get some information on Maria and we can find out just how upset Miguel is.”
“I am not sure what to tell him.”
“Tell him the truth…right up to the point where you got arrested. Did he feel the same about Ramon as you did?”
“Yes, he had no use for Ramon.”
“Good, then he will understand you did everything you could to get Ramon out of there. You can tell Juan everything you told me, except instead of getting arrested, you kept on going. The helicopter didn't come after you, but stayed over the vehicles.”
“What do I say about not calling him?”
“Come on, Carlos, what did they train you to do when you may have been compromised?”
“Go underground until things cool off…Ah, I see.”
Chris reached over, picked up the telephone, and put it in front of Carlos. “Now is as good a time as ever, my friend.”
Carlos put the headset to his ear and dialed. Chris could hear the phone ringing. It rang five times. Carlos was starting to hang up when Chris heard, “What is it?”
“Juanito.”
“Carlos! It is good to know you are alive!”
“Yes, Juan, I am. A little full of cactus spines, but I am alive.”
“Where are you?”
“I stayed at a motel in Casa Grande the last couple of nights. I am at a phone booth now and I can probably start working my way back to the ranch.”
“That would not be wise, Carlos. Miguel is furious about Ramon. He wants to kill you.”
“He is not upset about the money?”
“No, we found out Newman escaped with the money. The police apparently did not chase you because they shot and killed Ramon.”
“Yes, I saw on the news they killed Ramon. Juan, I tried to save Ramon, but he would not listen to me. He said he wanted to kill an American policeman so Miguel would be proud of him. I had to leave him and try to escape. I've been lying low until things cooled off.”
“Ramon was worthless. You did the right thing, Carlos.”
“What about Miguel?”
“I'll handle Miguel. Stay low and call me in three or four days.”
“Juan, is Maria safe?”
“Maria is safe for now. Just do as I say and she will stay that way.”
“I will. Please tell Maria I am safe.”
“I will, Carlos. Adios.”
“Adios, Juan.”
Carlos put the handset back into the cradle. “Did you hear everything?” Chris smiled and gave Carlos thumbs up.
FOURTEEN
Robin lay on the ground under a piñion tree and peered through an infrared scope at two men ten yards away, watering their marijuana plants. Burke Jameson lay next to him, taping the men's actions with a camcorder equipped with a night vision scope.
They were the third shift into the surveillance. The previous shifts verified a large garden, well cared for and guarded. The Guardians had found two more booby traps. Most of the players were filmed and pictures sent for identification. All the guards were counted and their habits and favorite locations plotted. The two men Robin and Bob watched were the last ones on which the officers needed good film.
Robin slowly used the infrared scope to do a 360° security check. He saw one coyote and a deer. He looked for the other two lookouts for the group, but didn't see them in the immediate area.
The two officers lay in that position for almost two hours. Robin thought no matter how many times he did this, he could never find a position in which he could stay comfortable. Right now cold seeped into his body, even through the thick ghillie suit. His ribs ached from lying on the ground for so long. His neck hurt from the position he kept to maintain situational awareness. This, in turn, caused a headache.
Burke used the camcorder on a small tripod. He pulled his eye from the lens and turned and looked at Robin. Burke grinned at Robin's obvious discomfort. Robin shook his head and smiled. He wondered why Burke always took such joy in his misery. Burke's white teeth were accentuated by his camouflage-painted face. He signaled to Robin he had shot good tape of the suspects.
A short time later, the two suspects finished watering and moved down a small trail. Robin gave the signal to move out and the two officers silently withdrew from the area.
They made their way back to base camp and Emmett greeted them with freshly cooked hamburgers and cold beer. Before eating, Robin made arrangements by radio to meet the sergeant of Cooperative Enforcement Unit for the Payson area at the Rye store in the morning. He then returned to his meal as he contemplated the men around the campfire.
All of these men were brothers to Robin, as much as a sergeant could feel so. Robin understood when he accepted promotion, he had to maintain a certain distance from his men so he could actually supervise them. He gave them much leeway to handle their assignments, but insisted on regular updates. He was a stickler for reports that were thorough, accurate, and on time. He made it clear to his men if they failed to produce, he would have them transferred quickly—but because of his fairness, the men of his squad grew to trust him. Robin didn't spend much time correcting problems, and never had the occasion to transfer anyone.
Robin finished his meal and started to turn in for the night. He told the men he would take the watch at 0300 with a gentle reminder it would be an early morning. He left them to discuss whatever they wanted, including him, which they did.
“How come he always has to take the tough jobs?” Mark said in a low whisper.
“That's called leadership, Mark,” Burke responded. “He knows he'll have to ask us to do tough jobs. He just wants us to know he'll do them too.”
“
He is a good sergeant, isn't he?” Burke looked at Mark and smiled.
“Puppy dog, there are good sergeants and bad ones. We got us a good one for now. Enjoy it while you can.”
Sergeant Ken Orloe was a tall, thin man who was happy with his lot in life. He lived and worked just where he wanted to be. If shit happened out of Gila County, it didn't much interest him. Like most DPS officers, though, he always enjoyed hearing from Robin and his team because it meant some action different from the type of investigations his detectives did most of the time. The two sergeants greeted each other warmly in front of the Rye store.
Robin and Ken had worked together as patrolmen on the Beeline Highway, so their friendship went back fifteen years. Ken was ten years older than Robin and nearing retirement. He spent his entire career in Payson.
“What's up, Rob?”
“Oh, looks like we got ourselves some pros here, Ken.”
“Yeah, we've got ID's on most of them. Some of these guys are very dangerous.”
“Let me guess—ex-military?”
“At least one ex-Army Ranger. All of them have rap sheets.”
“Fits,” replied Robin.
“You got a plan, ol' Hoss?”
“Yeah, give the case to you and your guys to handle and go home!”
“Hey, you're gettin' to be a funny guy.”
“Okay, I got a plan. I've got another tactical team coming in. I'll need your guys and some patrol guys to make sure that if someone gets through us, they won't get away.”
“So, we watch the back door,” observed Ken.
“Yep, and do the follow-up investigation.”
“We can do that.”
“Okay, we will brief at 1900 hours tonight at the Payson Sheriff's Office. Have the sheriff or his undersheriff there. We will give them command and control. We'll launch the take down at 0600 tomorrow.”
“I'll have our end lined up and I know Sheriff Davis will be there.”
“Thanks, Ken.”
The two men parted company. As he drove back to Payson, Ken thought back to when he and Robin were young patrolmen. Even then he knew Robin Marlette was a man who got things done. Now, he set up a raid on a major marijuana garden to make the sheriff the hero. The man thinks of everything. Ken grinned from ear to ear.
