by Lou Dobbs
“For a thousand bucks I’ll do whatever I want. And if you ask me another question, you’ll be on the run, too.” Ari kept his eyes on Kurt, then said, “Anyone else asking about him?”
Kurt hesitated. Finally he said, “No, not really.”
Ari just nodded, stood up, and left the kid sitting alone at the table. It was part of his best badass move.
FORTY-THREE
Kat Gleason was working in her office at a frantic pace, rifling through stacks of transcripts and leaving messages for the translators to rush work on the phones she was listening to. When she had heard Tom Eriksen talk about the threat to Senator Ramos the night before, everything clicked into place. It was verification of the phone call she had heard earlier about dealing with a “big mouth.” The intercept could be direct evidence of a plot against the senator.
Kat had a call in to her boss to explain things and knew she had to say something to Tom Eriksen. She just wanted to explain her position to her superiors in Washington first. They were fanatical about the secrecy of the work the NSA carried out. But this was exactly the sort of thing they were trying to stop.
She finally found the transcript for the number in northern Mexico she had been monitoring. A number from a prepaid, throwaway phone operating in the Chihuahua area had called the number yesterday afternoon. The report on the call said, “A male with no regional accent, speaking Spanish, told another male, with an accent consistent with northern Mexico, that ‘the target is eating at the Cattleman’s Steakhouse in El Paso. Probably after the end of the TV show around eight o’clock. This is one of your last chances.’”
Few calls were as obvious and specific as that. Kat felt ill thinking about it. The call occurred just after they’d discussed dinner in the conference room. There really was a leak in the task force. Tom was the only one she could talk to.
* * *
As soon as Eriksen stepped through the doors of the eighty-five-year-old hotel known as McLaughlin Towers, all he could think of was how accurate Kurt had been.
This place was a dump. The cheap linoleum was peeling up at the corners, and there were dark water stains on the ceiling. The hotel had a dank, musty smell, and he imagined a blob of mold growing at an exponential rate between the walls.
He glanced back down at the photo of Eric Sidle and read the description on the back. Six foot two, 180 pounds, smiling in his driver’s license photo. Usually an indication that something was wrong with a person’s cognitive ability.
Lila and Eriksen glanced over the empty check-in desk, then went to look for a manager. One older man, at the end of the corridor as they walked in, made them as cops and scooted out the ancient double doors as quickly as possible.
Eriksen was glad he was armed.
* * *
Ari didn’t bother to call Cash for backup as he drove around in his Pontiac Firebird, looking for the hotel. He didn’t need any help; it was just a computer engineer. He couldn’t believe things had gotten this far out of hand. He agreed with the corporation’s decision to kill Vinnie DiMetti. He had never met the man, but trying to blackmail the company like that wasn’t a bright move. Ari would’ve taken care of the widow, Carol, as soon as he was done with Vinnie. But he wasn’t in this position at the time.
The computer geek who started all of this, Eric Sidle, would’ve been the first on his list. But as he understood it, they needed to make sure he got back into the U.S. because the corporate officers needed to question him personally. They hadn’t told Cash how important Eric was. He could’ve handled them both in the same night. Cash was an arrogant blowhard, but he seemed to make pretty good decisions.
This was going to be Ari’s big score. He’d be the boss by the end of the day. He intended to go to this shitty old hotel, snatch Eric, and deliver him, alive, to Mr. Haben. That would give the corporate officer a chance to question him, and it would also prove how resourceful Ari was.
How hard could it be to grab one computer nerd? And he had his .380 with him in case there was a problem. A photograph of Eric with two in the head was his fallback position.
Now he just had to find the McLaughlin Towers.
* * *
Eriksen and Lila turned the corner in the nasty hotel, still looking for the manager’s office. Eriksen’s phone rang in his pocket, and he dug with his left hand to find it. He saw that it was Kat Gleason calling from her cell phone. That was odd for this time of the day when she was in the office. He figured it might be something important.
Just as Eriksen was about to flip the phone open, the bell to the elevator chimed, and they both turned in time to see Eric Sidle step off into the corridor.
Eriksen faced him, not wanting to spook him into running. It was Lila who said, “Eric Sidle?”
The computer engineer looked directly at them, didn’t say a word, then broke into an all-out sprint down the corridor until he banged out the rear doors.
Eriksen raced out after him. As soon as he and Lila had passed through the doors, they found themselves in the rear parking lot, which opened up into several others. They split apart, drawing their pistols, and moved quickly between the cars looking down the lanes trying to see the fleeing computer engineer.
Eriksen knew to control his breathing to keep up the chase as long as possible, but as he looked out over the expanse of the parking lots he realized it would be difficult to find someone who was trying so hard to evade them.
Then he had an idea.
FORTY-FOUR
Ari walked into the empty lobby of the old hotel. He could tell by the condition of the place that there wasn’t a daily influx of guests and most of the residents lived here on a week-to-week basis, but he was still surprised no one was behind the front counter.
He leaned into the open space and shouted, “Hey, anyone around?”
After a full thirty seconds an elderly, heavyset woman shuffled in from the back and gave Ari a murderous glare. “There’s been nothing but a ruckus this morning. If you want a room it’s thirty dollars a night or a hundred and seventy-five a week.”
“What room is Eric Sidle in?”
The old woman cackled and said, “You think I keep track of the names? This is a cash-and-carry business, my friend. If they pay the cash and carry their luggage, they can stay. And they don’t have to worry about me talking to any half-pint strangers about them.”
Ari let the “half-pint” jab slide, but he still felt his face flush at the insult. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money, then counted out three hundred dollars in twenties. He liked using twenties because the volume of bills was more impressive than just throwing down a few fifties.
The old woman stared at him for a moment, then said, “The tall young guy is in room 321. I haven’t seen him this morning, but I heard someone hustling through the hallway a few minutes ago, and he’s about the only one who lives here who could run that fast.”
Ari didn’t say a word; he just laid down another twenty.
The old lady didn’t hesitate to turn, pull a key off the board, and slide it across the counter.
This was how things were supposed to work.
* * *
Eriksen had slipped to the edge of the quiet parking lot silently. He had called Lila on her cell phone and told her to back off and let anyone who was watching see her leave. It was the oldest trick in the book, but it might just work. He crouched at the corner of the building, his Glock still in his hand, and waited. No one came or went from the hotel, and he knew that if Eric was hiding from them, every second would seem like an hour. Almost nobody had the patience to simply sit still. It wasn’t like he was a marine sniper; he was a computer geek who was scared out of his wits.
Just when Eriksen was starting to think his idea had failed, he saw some movement near an old Ford Bronco. He heard a grunt, then saw Eric’s face as he peeked over the top of the hood. It was actually a pretty good move. As soon as he had run out of the hotel’s rear door he probably flopped to his belly and cra
wled under the high vehicle.
Too bad he didn’t have the patience and conviction to believe in his ploy.
Eriksen used his natural ability to move quickly and quietly to slip up next to Eric. He didn’t shout at him or yell “Police” or do anything else that would scare the computer engineer into fleeing. Instead, Eriksen had one handcuff on Eric’s wrist before he realized anyone was nearby.
He said, “Don’t try anything stupid, Eric. We just need to talk to you. I’m Tom with the FBI.”
Eric, slightly taller than Eriksen, looked at him and said, “You’re a cop?”
Eriksen nodded.
Eric said, “Thank God.”
* * *
Ari slid the key silently into Eric’s hotel room door, drew his pistol from the small of his back, and then shoved the door open quickly. He stood in the doorway and scanned the room. Empty. A suitcase and a few shirts, but nothing of any value.
Ari shut the door behind him and stuck his head into the tiny, smelly bathroom to make sure there was really no one in the room. He glanced under the bed and was finally satisfied he was alone. He plopped onto the bed and considered his options, wishing he hadn’t talked to the manager. There was no way she wouldn’t warn Eric that someone had been looking for him. Killing her would also tip off Eric. He could wait right here, but he had a lot to do, and he wasn’t sure that was the best use of his time.
As he sat on the bed, his eyes moved to the open suitcase on the floor and he noticed two framed photographs lying on top of neatly folded jeans. He sat up and slid off the bed to take a better look. He picked up the larger of the two photographs and immediately recognized Eric, several years younger, posing with a woman.
Then Ari recognized the woman. It was Carol DiMetti.
FORTY-FIVE
Eric Sidle fidgeted in an interview room at the Border Security Task Force office for almost an hour before he turned his attention to Tom Eriksen and said, “I guess maybe you guys really are cops.”
Eriksen stared at him silently. Had that really been the reason the computer engineer had barely made a sound since they had grabbed him near the McLaughlin Towers? What the hell had scared him so badly? Now that he realized this was a legitimate law enforcement facility, Eric visibly relaxed.
Lila had stayed outside the room, watching the interview via closed-circuit TV. It wasn’t like Eriksen had just sat there and stared at Eric for the past hour. He was a good interviewer who’d been through a dozen different interviewing and interrogation classes.
In a case like this, where they had no real clue what exactly was going on, they didn’t have the leverage to scare someone. Right now the only facts Eriksen had to work with were that Eric’s fingerprint was on a thumb drive at the scene of a homicide, the thumb drive contained financial accounts for TARC, and it appeared that some of the accounts were not legitimate. Not exactly a slam-dunk case. He didn’t even know what the charge would be against Eric. No one thought the computer engineer had shot anyone. Based on how the guy acted now, he was more of a deer fleeing from a predator.
They had taken this interview slowly, not trying to provoke Eric into insisting he needed an attorney. Eriksen had let him stew by himself for fifteen minutes; then Lila brought him a sandwich and a can of soda. Eventually Eriksen started asking a few simple questions, but Eric hadn’t given any specific answers.
Now that he realized Eric had been afraid they weren’t cops, Eriksen wished they’d taken him to a building that looked like a law enforcement agency. The Border Security Task Force was in a nondescript building that housed mostly administrative offices on the lower floors. He could see why someone would think it was a facade.
The other issue Lila and Eriksen faced was keeping the interview quiet. They were on the floor underneath their main office, and there was no reason for Andre to wander down this way. If he did, they could cover by saying Eric was just another informant.
Eriksen said, “Who else was looking for you? Did they ever pretend to be the police?”
“Dude, I deal in computers. This shit is all new to me. I just took on some contract work for TARC and things went bad very quickly.”
“How’d they go bad, Eric?”
“I’m not even sure I want to talk about it.” He looked away, obviously having enough confidence to think he could talk his way out of the office.
Eriksen was tired of the games and the violence and the assholes like this. He leaned in and said, “You don’t have to talk about it with me. I’ll take you down to the El Paso homicide bureau. They’ve got questions about the shootings in the market. At the very least you’re going to be charged with accessory to assault on a police officer.”
“What the hell are you talking about, man?” Now the fear was back in his eyes.
“You were present and dealing with someone who shot an El Paso police officer. We have physical evidence that you were there. No way around it, my friend, you’re screwed.”
“Hang on, hang on.” The panic bled through his voice. “I might know something that could help you guys.”
Eriksen decided to teach Eric a lesson. As he stood up and turned toward the door, he glanced up at the camera in the corner of the room and winked at Lila. Just as he placed his hand on the doorknob Eric started to cry.
He said, “Okay, I do know something that could help you guys. But you gotta keep me safe. Me and my sister.”
* * *
Hector’s special phone rang in his villa outside of Ciudad Juárez just as he was about to take a siesta. Europeans and Americans scoffed at the traditional rest much of the Latin world observed around two o’clock in the afternoon. Hector found he could barely function without it. The countries that observed the siesta typically worked later in the evening. Hector found it a needed respite from the pressures of his chosen profession.
He had been called by Don Herrera and told his target would be at the Marriott in El Paso about six in the evening with only one assistant. Herrera told Hector to get it right and reminded him of all that awaited him if he completed the assignment.
Hector shook his head about the money spent just to keep someone from running off at the mouth. It was astounding. Assassins would always have work in a world like this.
It made Hector think about the FBI agent who interrupted his job the week before. It was odd that he was on the scene and able to act so quickly. Even if he did grab the wrong person. It had made Hector wonder if he somehow had a leak in his tight circle of confidants. He looked at everyone just a little bit differently and listened for any possible clue to tip him off. It was this sort of problem that had made him grow tired of being an assassin.
* * *
Tom Eriksen looked at Eric. “Who’s your sister?”
“My sister, Carol.”
“Why is she in danger?”
“She has the contacts at TARC.”
It was all becoming very confusing. This moron hadn’t been clear on anything he’d said, and piecing it all together was giving Tom Eriksen a headache.
Eriksen said, “Is your sister’s last name Sidle?”
“No, DiMetti.”
Eriksen knew that name. It was the same as the dead coyote in Mexico. “Was her husband Vincent DiMetti?”
Eric nodded. “Yeah, Vinnie. The cops shot him last month. I was in the group trying to cross, and he was one of the scouts.”
“Was Vincent—”
“Vinnie.”
“Was Vinnie trying to blackmail TARC, too?”
“I wouldn’t call it blackmail. It was a negotiation tool. He wanted a better job. I think he underestimated how annoyed the corporation could be with him.”
“How’d you come by the information?”
“I took it off a computer at TARC.”
“Did they know it?”
“Not until Vinnie told them about it and tried to use it to his advantage. My sister also has the information in case something happens to me.”
“You take information off com
puters often?” Eriksen had a hundred questions he wanted to ask, but he now realized how big this case could be and wanted to start off right by getting a solid idea of what TARC was doing and what evidence the government would be able to use.
Eric thought about it for a minute, then said, “I took a bunch of information off of a drug lord’s computer in Mexico, too. There really wasn’t much to it except that it showed he did business with TARC. Turns out no one really cared about that information. The drug lord was too crazy to worry about something like that. He had a personal vendetta he was trying to settle.”
“Which drug lord?”
“Pablo Piña.”
Now it was all coming together in Eriksen’s mind.
Eric said, “Two of the men at the market worked for Piña. He was pissed at my friend Luis Martinez, and I guess maybe me, too. But he was really after Dr. Martinez.”
Just then Lila Tellis burst into the room. She apparently felt it was time to step in. She said, “This is interesting, but do you have anything that will help us with TARC?”
“I have a cell number that I called. It’s for a big shot at TARC. I don’t know his name, but he used to give me orders. I called him yesterday to make him an offer to sell him back the information.”
Eriksen got the number from Eric and started planning their next move.
* * *
Kat Gleason had pieced the transcript info together with things Tom Eriksen had said. She was pretty confident in her findings. Now she hustled through the Border Security Task Force offices, looking for the FBI agent. Her supervisor at Fort Meade hadn’t called back yet, but she was afraid when she did speak to him he would tell her not to disclose what she’d learned. Turf wars and secrecy trumped virtually any other activity in the federal government.
She had a choice to make. Basically it came down to her loyalty to the NSA or her loyalty to Tom Eriksen. But really it was more than that. She had to do the right thing. Talking to Eriksen about the intercept might not be the smart move careerwise, but it was definitely the right move. She smiled as she realized it was exactly what Tom would do in the same situation.
