by Tom Fowler
“Like I told you last time, Sergeant,” Tyler said, “I’ll go where I want unless a judge tells me otherwise.” Ferguson shrugged, stood, and walked up the steps to join his partner. About a half-hour later, the crime scene technicians left, followed by the uniformed officers. Ferguson’s partner handed Tyler a card. Paul King was his name.
“In case you think of anything else,” he said.
“Sure,” Tyler said. His phone buzzed in his pocket.
“You get many texts in the middle of the night?” King asked.
“Probably just an email.” He frowned but left with his partner. When they pulled away and their rear lights were out of view, only then did Tyler check his phone.
Tyler read the address as he fired up the 442. It resolved to a derelict repair shop on Harford Road. He used his phone’s GPS to plot a route. Making good time in the middle of the night proved easy. Tyler swung his car into the lot about twenty minutes after he left. He parked it beside Rollins’ truck. The building would hide their vehicles from anyone driving by. A couple of old cars sat in the lot. Tyler wondered if their owners even remembered they were still here. The rear door opened a crack. Rollins peeked out and left it open wider when he spotted Tyler.
Inside, the cartel guy was awake and tied to a metal chair. A strip of duct tape served as a gag across his mouth. It didn’t stop him from yelling incoherently. “He’s chatty,” Tyler said. He couldn’t look at any one area of the interior too long. There was no organization system. Maybe there had been before the place closed, and people broke in and trashed it. Tyler wasn’t compulsive about being clean and neat, but he kept his tools and work areas arranged a certain way.
Rollins grunted. “I thought about knocking him out again. The other side of his head doesn’t have a knot yet.”
“He might be willing to tell us something useful.” This triggered another flurry of muffled yelling from their captive.
“Let’s find out.” Rollins ripped the duct tape free. The man in the chair had to pause his forthcoming rant to scream in pain.
“Puta,” he said after a moment, spitting at Tyler’s feet. “I’ll never tell you anything.” His nasal voice carried a moderate accent but was easy to understand.
Tyler moved closer and stared down at the man. Across the shop, metal clattered as Rollins searched for something. “What’s your name?”
“Nataniel.”
“Nataniel, I’d like to point out two things. First, you just told me something.” His face twisted into even more of a scowl. “Second, a lot of people in Afghanistan swore over and over they’d never talk, and they ended up singing like canaries.”
“Because you tortured them!”
“Me?” Tyler said. “No. I’ve never had a problem killing people, but I don’t like ‘enhanced interrogation,’ as they liked to call it.” Rollins found what he’d been looking for and approached from Nataniel’s six. “Now, if other people did it . . .” He trailed off and shrugged.
A blowtorch hissed to life as Rollins walked around the chair. Nataniel’s wide eyes followed the two-inch blue flame. “I’m not as principled,” Rollins said. “If you don’t want to talk, there’s a lot of fuel for this torch.” He held it within a few inches of Nataniel’s face for emphasis. Tyler kept his expression neutral. He knew Rollins was playing bad cop, but he hoped Nataniel wouldn’t call the bluff.
“Héctor will kill me,” he said. To his credit, Nataniel hardened his expression, but the tremor in his voice gave him away.
“What do you think we’re going to do?”
Nataniel shook his head. “Screw you. I’m not talking.”
Rollins shrugged. “Have it your way.” He moved the flame closer to the captive’s face. “How do like your beard? I wonder if burning it would catch the rest of your face on fire? Let’s find out.” The blue fire inched closer. Nataniel moved his head back as much as the chair allowed. He tried to squirm back but couldn’t. Smoke rose from the bottom of his beard, and Tyler frowned as the horrible scent of burning hair reached his nostrils.
“All right, all right!” Nataniel said. “Madre de Dios!”
Rollins killed the blowtorch, and the flame winked out. “Smart decision, kid.”
Nataniel’s saucer-like eyes flicked to Tyler. “What do you want?”
“We need information,” Tyler said. “How many men does Héctor have right now?”
“I don’t know.” Nataniel shrugged as much as his restraints would allow. “I guess about eight.”
“Could he get more?”
“The cartel already gave him me and a couple other guys. I don’t think they want to send anyone else.”
“What about a shipment?” Rollins said.
“Soon,” Nataniel said. “Two days, I think.”
“Where?” Tyler asked. Nataniel clammed up. “Where?” The hostage continued staring at the dingy floor. “Rollins, fire up the torch again.”
“Sure thing.”
No sooner did his hand touch it than Nataniel ended his silence. “All right. The cartel avoids major airports. Stuff comes in to some little one in Texas just outside Houston. Then, they drive it to another place to process it.”
Tyler crossed his arms and glared at Nataniel. “What’s the place called?”
“I don’t know.” Tyler looked at Rollins and nodded. “I don’t! I swear. I’ve only been a couple times. It’s a nice facility. The security team takes money and doesn’t ask questions. It’s pretty high-tech.”
“How far is it from the airfield?”
“Ten minutes.”
“Which direction?” Tyler asked. Nataniel turned his hands up.
“We can figure it out,” Rollins said. “Can’t be too many places checking all those boxes. I’m sure the other guy can help, too.”
“All right,” Tyler concurred. “What are we doing with this guy?”
“I say we kill him.”
“I told you what you wanted!” Nataniel’s voice grew high-pitched.
“You sure gave it up easily,” Tyler said.
“This is just a job. I’m not in the Espinoza family. They offered me work in Mexico. I took it. I’ve mostly fought the other cartels. They would’ve done worse to me than you did.”
“We can’t have you going back to Bel Air and talking.”
“Please.” He folded his hands and begged. “I won’t make any trouble. I won’t tell anyone what happened. You . . . you knocked me out, and it took me some time to wake up and drive back.”
“Héctor would never buy it,” Tyler said. Nataniel shook his head, silently pleading. “You have a passport?”
“What?”
“A passport,” Tyler said. “Pasaporte. Do you have one?”
“Sí.” Nataniel nodded. “It’s the ID I use.”
“Good. I’ll give you a choice, then. My friend here will drive you to the airport. You get on a plane to Canada, and no one ever hears from you again.” Their captive remained quiet. “If you don’t like those terms, we’ll shoot you in the head and burn your corpse in one of those rusted-out cars in the lot. I don’t care which one you pick.”
“I will get on the plane.”
“Good decision.”
Rollins jerked his head to the side, and Tyler followed him to the far wall of the shop. “You sure?”
“What do you mean?”
“For a man who’s never had a problem killing people,” Rollins said, “I’m surprised this clown is still alive.”
Tyler shrugged. “Maybe I’m getting soft in my old age. I think he told us the truth. He’s more afraid of us—well, you and your blowtorch—than he is of Héctor and the cartel. We did our job.”
Rollins grunted. “Fine. If he gives us trouble, I’ll remind you we had this conversation.”
“Fair enough.” Tyler grabbed Nataniel’s phone and looked at the screen. Two missed calls. Neither displayed a number, but they had to be from someone in Héctor’s house. He glared at Nataniel. “If you give my friend any
problems, he’ll get rid of you. He’s not as nice as I am.”
“No problems,” Nataniel said.
“If I hear about any word reaching Héctor—“ Tyler jabbed Nataniel with his own mobile for emphasis—“I’ll fly to Canada, kill you, and feed your body to a moose.”
“I won’t say anything . . . I swear.”
“All right.” Tyler nodded at Rollins. “Thanks. Let’s figure out a plan later. I feel a trip to Texas coming on.”
“I guess I’d better buy a Stetson,” Rollins said. Tyler left the derelict shop and climbed back into his 442. He headed farther into the city. As he drove, he memorized the number for the contact which had now called three times and dialed it. When a voice answered in Spanish, Tyler said, “Sorry, this asshole can’t come to the phone right now. Or ever again, really.”
“You must be Mister Tyler,” replied a voice dripping venom.
“How many more men, Héctor? Can’t be too many. It’ll be down to you and me soon. Maybe I’ll even see you in Texas.”
It took a couple seconds for Héctor to say anything. “Orlan will kill you and piss on your corpse.”
“Orlan’s had two chances. He won’t get a third.” Tyler broke the call. Traffic was still light this early, so he tossed Nataniel’s phone out the window, turned around, and headed back the way he came.
Héctor held his cell phone in a white-knuckle grip. The temptation to fire it across the room gnawed at him. He held back, regaining some measure of calm with a few deep breaths. In his younger days, he had been impulsive like Rodolfo. The cartel made him into a man. A man found solutions to his problems. He didn’t lash out like a child. Héctor used his laptop to run a few searches. Several sites posted the details of police calls. If anyone dialed 9-1-1 in or near Tyler’s house, these so-called police blotters would have it. It didn’t take Héctor long to find what he was looking for.
He stood and pushed an intercom button on the wall. “Orlan. Come downstairs.”
A sleepy reply came through the speaker a moment later. “Boss?”
“I need you downstairs.”
“All right.” Orlan sounded a little more alert now.
A couple minutes later, the giant walked down the steps. He’d changed into sweats, and he rubbed at his eyes as he walked into the living room. “I know it’s early, but we have a problem.”
Orlan’s face darkened as he sat at the opposite end of the couch from Héctor. “Let me guess. Tyler survived.”
“He did. There was a nine-one-one call from his neighborhood. Police responded to his house. One man found dead inside.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know,” Héctor said. “But only one is the problem. If either got away, they’d come back here. I think Tyler captured the other. When I called Nataniel’s phone, it went to voicemail a few times. Tyler called me back about ten minutes ago. He mentioned something about seeing me in Texas.”
Orlan ran his hands through his short hair. “You think he knows everything?”
“I think he knows enough.”
“The facility is secure.”
“We seem to keep underestimating this man,” Héctor said. “I’m not going to do it again. You go to Houston and oversee the shipment. Make sure you’re there.”
Orlan nodded. “Okay, boss. What if Tyler shows up?”
“Kill him. Beat him to death but take your time. He’s caused us a lot of problems. I want him to die in agony.”
“I’ll make it happen,” Orlan said.
30
A couple hours later, Rollins and Aguilar joined Tyler in his kitchen. They all waited for the coffee to finish brewing. It reminded Tyler of many mornings in the Army. The coffee mess was always a popular spot. Conversations never flowed until every man partook of his first cup just like today. Once the machine beeped and everyone held a hot mug, the morning began in earnest.
“Why do you want to hit the shipment?” Aguilar asked.
Tyler enjoyed a long sip of coffee. “A couple reasons. First, I want to show Héctor his organization isn’t as strong as he thinks it is. Then, once we have a bunch of his product, we have something to negotiate with.”
“To what end?”
“If he wants it back, he leaves Rodolfo to me and clears out of Maryland.”
“You think he’ll go for it?” Rollins said.
“I think the cartel will murder him if he loses their drugs,” Tyler said. “After a long round of torture, of course. Héctor knows what he’d be staring at. He’ll want to avoid it.”
Rollins grunted. “I guess. I don’t much like blackmailing a drug dealer with his own stuff, but it could work.”
“We’ll probably thin his ranks some, too. He won’t be in a position to do much but agree.”
“Before we celebrate ridding the area of Héctor,” Aguilar said, “we need to figure out where the shipment gets processed. I know these guys avoid major airports. Too much scrutiny. Too many people to pay off. They’ll fly in to someplace small.” He took a paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, flattening it on the tabletop. “This is the greater Houston area. I marked the major airports already—Bush Intercontinental, Hobby, and Ellington. What do we know about where they take the product?”
“Like you figured, the guy we talked to says they pick just enough runway to set down and take off again,” Tyler said. “Wherever they go from there is a high-tech place within ten minutes.”
“Did he say which direction?”
“He didn’t know,” Rollins said.
“Water limits the distance in the southeast.” Aguilar tapped Galveston Bay and the Gulf of Mexico with his pen. “Still a lot of ground to cover. There are several possibilities.”
“It can’t be too big,” Tyler said. “The cartel will want to have some control of it. They won’t want to share it with a lot of other people. Not much traffic in and out.”
“All right.” Aguilar nodded. “This eliminates ports and any kind of large processing place. If it’s high-tech, we can probably presume it’s fairly new.” He took out his phone and scrolled through a screen of search results. “Astro Airfield is a good possibility.” Aguilar made a large blue dot with his pen east of Houston. “Small enough to get only a few flights a day. People who work in places like that aren’t rich. Toss some money at them, and they won’t see or say anything.” He glanced at Tyler. “You have a compass?”
Tyler snorted. “Sure. In the same drawer as my protractor and slide rule.”
“I’ll figure it out, then.” Aguilar held his pen up to the map key and used it to estimate distances from Astro Airfield. “I’d like to go smaller, but I want to cover ten miles in the directions we can. If they pick up Route 90 or another highway, they could cover a decent distance in ten minutes.” He made more dots on the map and then connected them with a rough circle.
“Lot of ground to cover,” Rollins said. “Even so, I think we can narrow it down. They’ll want to avoid downtown Houston. Too much traffic . . . too many other people.”
“North, south, and east, then,” Tyler said. “Makes it easier.”
Aguilar tapped on his phone. “This would be easier on a computer.”
“Lexi has the good one.”
“I’ll make do,” Aguilar said. “I got good at Google working in counterintel.” His thumb scrolled through a results page, and he added six marks to the map. Two sat to the north, three east, and one to the south near the bay. “Let’s see if we can winnow this list.”
“I’ll get my laptop.” Tyler picked it up from his small desk in the living room. When Lexi got her new model, Tyler took her previous one. She said she did things like wiping and reinstalling applications, which all sounded very good. It was a couple years newer than the one he’d been using. He set it on the kitchen table and logged in.
“You could have brought it a few minutes ago,” Aguilar pointed out.
“I wanted to hear you complain a little more first,” Tyler said. “I’ll take the o
nes to the east.” Aguilar texted Tyler his search results.
“I’ll look over your shoulder,” Rollins said. “Old people and tech don’t mix.”
Tyler grinned. “You’ll be fifty in about eight years.”
“And still better with a computer than you.”
He looked up each of the places east of Houston. Rollins provided the keyboard shortcut for opening a new browser tab. A few minutes later, the three compared their results. “I like one of the spots we found,” Rollins said. “It’s about six miles from the airfield, mostly a straight shot. Their website talks about how locked down the building is before anything else. Looks like it would be hard to breach.”
“Sounds more promising than what I got,” Aguilar said.
“Iron Tower owns the facility and makes the security system. They sell it in Texas. I don’t know all the specs, but if the cartel turns it on once they’re inside, we’ll have a problem following them.”
Aguilar looked up. “It’s gotta be the one. I heard chatter about Torre de Hierro around the cartel. They must be using it.”
“I guess that means Iron Tower,” Tyler said.
“Sí. ¿Habla español?”
“No. I studied Pashto.” Tyler looked at the map. “We probably can’t hit them en route. Too many major roads. Unless their plane comes in the middle of the night, any assault would be too visible.”
Aguilar tapped the dot representing Iron Tower on the map. “We need to crack the security at their facility, then.”
“Won’t be easy,” Tyler said.
Rollins looked at his watch. “I know a guy. He’s probably not up yet, but I’ll get him to help us.”
“You sure he’ll want to?”
“I’ve done him plenty of favors,” Rollins said. “He’ll play ball.”
Rollins waited inside the Daily Grind coffee shop in Fells Point. It sat right on Thames Street and proved to be a good spot for prime people watching. The tables were small but spaced out, so he enjoyed plenty of room. People hustled by in every direction. The constant smell of coffee and steaming milk went from pleasant to tolerable. Rollins normally got his order to go in places like this, and the overpowering aromas were the reason.
