His core squad, or team as he preferred to think of them, were Mathew, Brian and Moll. With the other two agents combing through the data up in Portland on the child trafficking case, he and Mathew were working with a couple of agents out of Los Angeles. He was glad to see that they were already in the lobby. Each one was on his cell phone re-verifying last minute arrangements. The call to Harvard put a whole procedure in motion. He nodded, acknowledging Mathew and the two LA agents, and hustled out to the waiting car, not wanting to waste time getting to the helicopters.
Luckily Manzanillo was large enough to have its own heliport and conducted tourist flights. Having a chopper or two coming in from Guadalajara would not be out of the ordinary to the perps. Steve planned to alert their surveillance agent on the ground only when they arrived at the docks so as not to risk a tip off.
Once they were heading to the heliport, he watched the agents. They looked sharp and ready to go. Each of them climbed quickly into the chopper, settled in, pulled on the seat harnesses and positioned their headsets. A full fifteen minutes behind them, the DEA team piled into the second, larger helicopter, along with a six member Mexican SWAT team. Each one of these international operations or ops was different, depending on how the local authorities wanted to participate. The Mexicans agreed to supply a SWAT team, which had performed well when they observed them running drills the afternoon before.
They took off and rose quickly above Guadalajara. As they flew south to southwest, the small city lay below them imbued with a rich glow from the slanted rays of the early morning sun, reminding Steve again of his longing to see the world as a tourist. He would like to learn about regional histories, appreciate each country's culture, and taste more of their local foods and drinks.
"Hey Mathew, any words of wisdom applicable to today?" Steve asked, knowing that Mathew was keen on quoting Latin phrases to sum up his thoughts or recap a discussion or argument.
"Audaces Fortuna Iuvat," Mathew quoted quickly.
"Fortune favors the bold," Steve muttered. “Jeez Mathew. You get that out of a fortune cookie?"
Even the pilot laughed. About fifteen minutes later, the chopper started descending as they neared the Manzanillo Heliport. From there they would drive down to waiting police boats not far from where the perp’s yacht was docked in the sheltered harbor. The plan was for the SWAT team to go in first, followed by Steve's team, then the DEA. Holding back was always hard. He liked to lead, but sometimes he had to work in joint actions like this one. However this was his case and he intended to make the arrest, no matter how bristling the DEA team leader was. While they may have located the perp, the FBI's research made up the bulk of the evidence.
After quietly boarding the police boats, the three teams squatted on the deck in silence as they made their way into the harbor of Bahia de Manzanillo, one police boat heading towards the bow of the suspect yacht and the other to the stern to cutoff any sudden moves to escape. The Bay shone a remarkable deep blue in the early morning sunlight, serving as a benign backdrop to their grim operation.
The SWAT team boarded the yacht first, moving soundlessly from one boat to the other. Steve and his team halted. He signaled for the DEA agents to hold where they were on the other police boat. The SWAT team ran stealthily across the deserted deck towards the stairs to head below. Some shouts came as the team made their way into the cabin. No gunshots rang out. Steve and his team stepped cautiously onto the yacht, moving towards the stairs to the lower cabin. Four men filed onto the deck, hands on their heads, eyes wide with surprise and fear. Two appeared to be crewmembers, one was a cook, judging by his apron, and the last one might be the perp, still chewing his breakfast like cud that refused to be swallowed.
The SWAT team located identification for each man. The crew was from the Veracruz area on the Caribbean side of Mexico. The fourth man carried a U. S. passport and claimed to be an actor hired to impersonate a man he knew only as El Zorro Astuto. Only the actor had been armed. They would verify his identity and they might hold him for minor charges, but Steve doubted that this man was the big money laundering and drug-dealing perp they were after.
He glowered at the DEA team leader, who had turned red in the face and stood shaking his head in disbelief as he examined the actor’s passport. They might learn a little more during the interrogation of the actor and the crew, but likely the DEA would have a black eye on this operation for leading the FBI here based on misinformation. Steve turned away, signaling his team that he was leaving. He left the two LA agents to stay with the DEA and the perps. He would not bother to point out the obvious botch-up to the DEA leader. His immediate departure with Mathew would deliver the message he wanted.
This failure by the DEA to have accurate information was one of the reasons that Steve disliked joint operations. He was annoyed at the waste of time and resources. They would take the four men back to Guadalajara for questioning, however the sting itself was a flop. El Zorro Astuto had named himself well. He was a clever and elusive fox of the drug world.
Once they were heading back to the heliport, Steve exchanged a look with Mathew, who appeared as taken aback as he was. The facts of the day were clear enough. They had been duped and they felt foolish. On the return trip to Guadalajara, they would devise their interrogation strategy for the four men from the yacht. Steve doubted they would learn much but he had never missed apprehending a perp in his career. He would run this Astuto character to ground. It might take some time, but Steve had no intention of letting a major drug dealer and money launderer evade the FBI for very long.
Once back in Guadalajara, he would leave Mathew in charge and head back to Portland. He wanted a thorough briefing on the data analysis that London and Stanford were doing on the child trafficking case and he would get another chance to see the lovely but prickly, Ivy Littleton.
***
As her eighth meeting of the day finished up just before four, Ivy took advantage of the break to stop in and make sure the two FBI agents, Brian and Moll, were doing okay. While they were easy-going guys, they were so motivated, focused and intelligent as they worked methodically through the data that she would be glad to have them as employees. Brian would be a wonder with clients, while Moll was one of those half technical/half data guys who would be a real asset to her analytical team.
“Hey you two – checking to make sure you don’t have any questions.”
Brian glanced up and smiled. The agent was tall and slender, with a delightfully friendly personality and he was altogether good-looking enough to be a male model. Instead he was an attorney, an FBI agent and a data hound. Ivy thought of him as an aspen, a tall and attractive tree with year round interest in its nearly white bark and whispery leaves that turned brilliantly yellow in the autumn.
“I think we are progressing along nicely – should soon have this nailed. Thank goodness too. The big guy is due back tomorrow.”
Ivy was curious to learn more about Steve Nielsen. “Isn’t he a bit old to be an agent?”
“Steve’s not really an agent. He’s an FBI HBO.”
“A what?”
“High Bureau Official. Only one level between him and the Director of the Bureau and that doesn’t really count because Steve has the Director’s ear.”
“And he is here, working on this case?”
“He lives for solving cases, catching the bad guys and putting a stop to crime. When we are on the hunt, he does whatever work is required, no matter how tedious it is. He wants this case solved and he will do what it takes to break it open. The man is a walking legend at the Bureau. He has a record of always getting the perp he is after. He never forgets a case, a perp or anything. In a word, he is the best.”
“Yeah well, I thought at one point he might put a gun to my head to get the data.”
The agents shifted uneasily in their chairs. “He would never do that,” Brian said softly. “Not to any civilian, and certainly not to you. He has strict rules of operation and standards for performance.”<
br />
The curly-headed agent took over, saying in the soft, pleasant way he had, “Thanks to your team for all the ground work. They were honing in on a likely issue.”
“Tell me more,” Ivy said, pulling out a chair to join them at the table. Moll was definitely like a noble fir which grew with its sometimes sparse limbs springing out at odd lengths, making it an attractive, if somewhat odd tree to decorate for Christmas. If left to its natural ways, it often had a little whirl of branches at the top, almost like a propeller.
“Well this Terry guy who works for you left a great trail of possible issues. Cryptic pointers here and there. He noticed little patterns that might have taken us weeks to find or maybe that we would have missed. Do you have some special software or something?”
“Yes, we do, but Terry is a talent of his own. He never focuses on the obvious issues. He is one of those rare analysts who hones right in on the more abstruse ones. We make sure he is on the team for every bank we handle.”
“He’s a techno-miracle. If I could be allowed to meet him, it would be an honor.”
“We’ll see. Give me an example.”
“Well here,” Moll switched on a tiny portable projector attached to his laptop. He thumbed his way around and brought up a bank approval document with a little note on it. “See it says. ‘ap/ac fmlr. XPP.”
“And you think that means?”
“Approver and account are familiar. Cross-check it. This Terry guy has like a table in his head or something of approver names, accounts, and account owners. We followed that trail and it led us to . . . .” Moll stopped, looking up behind Ivy.
She could feel a presence and knew that the big agent must be back. She swiveled in her chair and tilted her head up, pulling her hair away from her face as she turned. Today she wore it down and it was making the most of its freedom by curling out in every direction. There he was, standing right behind her, staring at the Moll guy with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity.
“Not giving away confidential case information, I hope,” he said sternly.
“No, sir. Nothing our Ivy Vine hasn’t seen before.”
Steve raised an eyebrow at the moniker. Moll was famous for his humorous comments. He was one of the few people who could make Steve laugh.
“Moll was kind enough to compliment the work of one of my senior analysts.” Ivy quickly jumped to Moll’s defense. “I just came in to make sure all was going well and to see if . . .”
“If?” Steve echoed.
“If they would be interested in joining me for dinner. Great couple of agents you have here.”
“Have they earned it?”
Brian said quietly. “We think we have, thanks to leads from Ivy’s team that we found in the notes.”
“Let’s hit it then.” Steve sat down, opened his briefcase and dealt out energy bars like cards around the table. He looked over at Ivy. “You have time to sit in?”
“I will make time.” He dealt her a crunchy Cliff bar with white chocolate and macadamia nuts in a whole grain base. The man knew something about energy bars.
Ivy spent the next hour watching Moll and Brian zoom their way around the data and electronic documents. Out of the ten million records from two of the three banks in question, they had isolated twenty transactions, all winding up in two banks in Sofia, Bulgaria in accounts under the cryptic translated name of “Adjunct Resources International” and totaling nearly two million dollars. Steve watched, listened and questioned. The analysis stood up to his intense scrutiny. Ivy could see that all three of the agents were fully focused on finding the trail that would lead them to the bad guys or perps, as they called them.
“And the third bank?” Steve asked at the end.
“Unfortunately, we are not finding any notes from our friend Terry. We’ll have to slog through it on our own, unless Ivy will lend us his brain.”
Steve turned to face her. “Well, Ms. Ivy Vine. You with us on this? Will you throw in the talent?”
She considered the request while keeping her eye contact with Steve. Sooner or later Terry would find the pattern at that third bank if one existed. It may as well be sooner. She walked over to the phone on a side table, dialed and asked Terry if he could work that night. Terry was a free spirit and tended to start his days late, then worked past midnight or worked weekends when a project really interested him, and Terry found a good deal about data that intrigued him. He was like a curly willow tree, right down to his soft blond hair that he wore about mid length in barely brushed ringlets.
Ivy was uneasy about how much support she was giving the FBI that was not required by the Court Order, including direct contact with one of her best analysts. She was a loyal executive who was protective of her company’s best interests. Surely even from a corporate viewpoint, cooperating in a critical federal investigation had to be the best option. Yet she knew if she went back to their Internal Counsel, the answer would be to stick to the strict interpretation of the Court Order. This would be one more responsibility she would have to shoulder alone. It was what she did – took risks when needed. They weighed heavily on her shoulders. Ivy knew there would be no dinner out tonight. She would order in for the agents, Terry and herself.
Although Terry planned to work through the night, Ivy shooed the agents out of the building just before 9. The big agent was looking like he might go to sleep on the floor. Only Moll refused to leave, wanting to learn what methods Terry used. They agreed to start at 7 the next morning, going over the notes Terry and Moll would leave.
***
Around 4:30 a.m. Ivy’s home phone rang, waking her up. She answered sleepily – the long days that week had hit her hard the night before. On the other end of the line, Terry was full of excitement. “Ivy, I think we found something, but I can’t be sure about it.”
“What?”
“On transactions going to accounts in Bulgaria for this third bank, sometimes one guy at the bank approves it; sometimes a woman does and sometimes a couple of other guys do.”
“And?”
“I think one of them is forging signatures. I’m not a handwriting expert, however the writing looks almost traced, without those little variations signatures usually have.”
Ivy pushed herself up further in bed. “How many?”
“Fifteen in total. The transactions originate in various cities and are from different companies and source accounts.”
“Dollars?”
“Over five million.”
“Wow. All going to Sofia?”
“Uh-huh, spread over the months we have.”
“This will be delicate, but the FBI can have signature analysis done.”
“Ivy, I have a question.”
“Yes, Terry?”
“Those agents aren’t here to give an opinion on our practices, are they?”
Ivy thought for a moment. She avoided directly lying to her employees, although she might shade the truth a bit or tell them she was not at liberty to disclose information. However Terry was tight-lipped.
“The FBI is here on a critical humanitarian case. You cannot tell anyone. For right now, this cannot get back to the banks. The case they are pursuing is both very sensitive and important.”
“Got it.”
“Did Moll say something to you?”
“Nothing, but what a guy! He was great help last night until he fell asleep curled up on the floor about an hour ago. I didn’t want to wake him. He is the smartest guy I ever met and the first one who thinks like me.”
“Good to know. I’m going to call Agent Nielsen. In all likelihood, you can expect us to arrive within the hour. You okay to hang around until then?”
“Yeah. Might need a ride home. All of a sudden, I’ll just crash.”
“No worries. Terry, I’ve said it before -- you are a great asset to us. Thank you.”
Ivy hung up the phone, grabbed her cell and searched for the big agent’s phone number in her contacts. She dialed and waited. When she heard a gruff, “Neilson�
� on her phone, she thought she heard a shower running in the background.
“Steve? Ivy Littleton.”
“Give me a minute.” She heard the shower turn off and after a few moments Steve came back on. “Sorry about that. Just finished my morning swim and shower. What’s up?”
Ivy tried not to think of him standing dripping wet in his hotel room. She hoped he had a towel on. She explained what Terry had found.
“We’ll want copies of the signatures.”
“Signatures, yes. Not the docs. We’ll assign a cross-reference code.”
“Yeah okay. I’ll call London, er Brian, and we’ll be at the site in a half hour. You be there?”
“Yes. See you.”
Ivy jumped out of bed and into the shower, planning a mad scramble to let the dogs out, feed them, get dressed and drive to the office. She would phone in a quick order to a nearby Starbucks for coffee and breakfast sandwiches to shore the team up.
Three hours later, Terry had explained his findings to the team, shown them the documents and been driven home by Ivy’s assistant to get some sleep. The three agents carefully examined each transaction and were running searches to try to find more. Ivy now had her assistant electronically cutting and pasting signatures into an indexed document, while she was in her office handling her other work. Steve rang her phone and asked her to join them in the conference room.
“Ms. Ivy Vine,” he said. She noticed that sometimes his voice had a slight drawl and she wondered where he had grown up.
She had to laugh at the nickname. It was one she used herself sometimes.
“We need one more thing.”
“Only one?”
“We need you to request a larger set of data over a longer date range. Now, for each of the three banks, we need . . .”
Whether from the long hours or the stress of the situation, Ivy had reached her limits. “No.”
“Think about it. We have a trail here. We need to scope how big these operations are.”
Old Growth & Ivy (The Spook Hills Trilogy Book 1) Page 3
