by Diane Capri
“Say what?” Richard’s surprised expression was almost comical.
“You told me I need to start sharing my investigations with Channel 12. This can’t be a coincidence. Typhoid contaminated water was confiscated from the ship El Pulpo was using for human trafficking.”
“What does human trafficking have to do with typhoid?”
The sting in her foot sent tingles up her ankle toward her knee. “Human trafficking. Perpetrated by the El Pulpo cartel. Typhoid. Perpetrated by the same cartel.” She gritted her teeth, the pain from the cut throbbed all the way to her hip. “The question is why did they do this? What do they want?”
Antonio poked his head into the van, with Drew’s head bobbing in the background behind him.
“Did somebody say cartel?” Antonio asked.
“Jordan, tell Antonio and Drew everything you know or suspect about the typhoid fever’s connection with El Pulpo. You’re injured. You can’t even walk. And this is a big enough story that we need a real reporter like Antonio to front it.” Richard nodded toward them. “Antonio and Drew, get on the air with whatever you can confirm as soon as possible. Without mentioning the cartel, unless you run it by the FBI first.”
A real reporter like Antonio? Where was Antonio when she was kidnapped? Was his house bombed? Has El Pulpo been trying to kill him? She had done all of the work and uncovered the story. Now Antonio and Drew would get their faces on her story?
Real reporter my ass.
Her blood simmered until the pain in her foot pulsed hard enough to shove her anger out of the way.
“Okay. Will do.” She couldn’t stand up, anyway. Richard was right. The story was more important than whose face was on it when it aired.
And sharing the info would show she was a team player like Richard had asked her to be. Whatever made Richard happy was probably in her best interest at this point.
“Thanks. Keep me posted.” Richard rose from his little seat and exited the van, making room for Antonio and Drew. Jordan told them about the bottles on the ship at the port and the bacteria contamination that causes typhoid, since the FBI had given her permission to tell that to Patricia earlier.
She was surprised they hadn’t heard already. They must have been so focused on the official information from the news conference that they hadn’t searched for other news.
They ran off with notepads and camera gear after only a couple minutes of details from Jordan.
She pulled a couple of Tylenol out of the first aid kit and swallowed them dry. She’d need to get her hands on a pair of crutches, if she could. She didn’t have time to end up in the ER for stitches.
Where was that paramedic? Her foot wasn’t bleeding through the bandage. A good sign. She wouldn’t be able to wear heels for a while. Definitely no training for Tom’s 5K for a while, either.
The good news was that stepping on that glass had led her to discover the broken bottles. If those bottles could be tied back to El Pulpo and prove El Pulpo had deliberately contaminated the lake, her war wounds would be well worth it.
Theresa showed up in the doorway. She hugged Jordan. “My baby junior reporter.” Theresa pouted her lips. “What has the cartel done to you?”
“Oh, please. It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have wandered off.”
“Why did I see cops taking the bottle that cut you for evidence?”
Jordan had told Patricia, Richard, Drew, and Antonio. She might as well tell Theresa now. “The bottle contained water that was contaminated with high concentrations of typhoid fever causing bacteria.”
“Why would a rum bottle have typhoid in it?”
“Long story. It’s the cartel’s doing. The real question is why the hell is El Pulpo spreading typhoid fever?”
“Beats me.” Theresa shrugged. “I’ll leave you to ponder that. I’ve gotta run to my five o’clock live shot, okay? I just wanted to check on you.”
Jordan nodded. “I appreciate it.”
She had asked the question aloud, and Theresa had blown it off. Theresa was a good reporter in part because she stuck to the facts and reported the news that was already out there. She played it safe.
But Jordan wanted to go well beyond that. Maybe Richard was right. Maybe she didn’t really want to be a reporter at all. If real reporters were nothing but followers playing on the lame team like Antonio and Drew? Or if real reporters played it safe all the time like Theresa? No thanks.
“Why is El Pulpo spreading typhoid fever?” Stating the question aloud somehow made it seem more legitimate. So she said it again. “Why is El Pulpo spreading typhoid fever?”
In the live truck, she was surrounded by television monitors. She reached to turn up the volume on the cable news network, which appeared to be starting its five o’clock newscast with breaking national news.
“Tonight, two typhoid fever cases in Tampa, Florida, were reported under strange conditions.”
The story had made national news.
“We are now discovering there are not one, not two, but four active cases,” the anchor continued, “and the number could be growing. Some reports indicate as many as two dozen people in Tampa are suffering from typhoid fever tonight, with more beyond that showing symptoms.”
El Pulp had operated under the radar in Tampa for years. But this time, they’d done something so blatantly public that the news spread like wildfire. Unusually sloppy work for these guys.
Jordan’s spine tingled and she felt light-headed as she realized what was happening. They, the media, were giving the cartel exactly what they wanted by reporting on it at all, weren’t they? Was the publicity, the national news, Channel 12, and even Jordan herself, helping the cartel to achieve their goal?
Whatever that goal was.
CHAPTER 25
Jordan hobbled to hop out of the van. She spotted Richard across the way, and hopped to him as fast as she could on one leg. She wouldn’t be accused of withholding information again, even if it made her look crazy.
He put a hand on her shoulder. “Jordan, take it easy. You don’t need to be hobbling around out here. I won’t hold it against you if you want to sit in the news van or go home.”
“Listen. I just realized something. The media coverage is helping them. El Pulpo.” She was out of breath from the hopping. “They’re trying to attract attention. We need to figure out why they’re doing this.”
Richard scrunched his eyebrows and nodded, like he wanted to believe her, but wasn’t quite on the same page. “The thing is though, we’re not investigators, Jordan. We can’t allow criminals to prevent us from doing our job. Which is reporting the news and public health concerns to the viewers we serve, and doing it well. Which means thoroughly, even if it makes criminals mad at us.”
She saw his point, but Richard wasn’t fighting for his life here.
Maybe he was right. Her priority was fighting a cartel. His priority seemed to be nothing but talking about a cartel. She saw little value in his priority and he thought hers belonged, as he put it, in the cop shop on the other side of the river.
All around her, reporters doing live shots spoke the questions that everyone feared. “Is this terrorism?”
“Why Typhoid fever?”
“Why Tampa?”
As she hobbled back to the network news van, Drew rushed over to her.
“Here, take my arm,” He reached his forearm out and allowed her to use it to bear some of her weight as she hopped along. “So do you think they targeted Tampa because of MacDill Air Force Base?” he asked. “Trying to hit the U.S. where we use our resources to hurt them and all that?”
“I dunno. It doesn’t seem right. That’s miles south of here. If the typhoid contamination was a little closer to MacDill.” She shrugged. “Even then, why not try to get it directly in MacDill’s water source, you know?”
“Maybe because it’s not that easy. Maybe you can’t just drop something directly in MacDill’s water source.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jordan eyed the televis
ions when they reached the doorway of the network news truck. The television volume was still turned to an audible level. Jordan pointed to the headline. “They’re coming back on air about it.”
“Breaking news now, about a Typhoid fever outbreak in Tampa,” the anchor said. “We’re waiting for reaction from Tampa government officials.” The anchor turned to her co-anchor. The camera cut from a one-shot to a two-shot. “You have to wonder, Louise, how this will impact the U.S. World Cup bid.”
The question smacked Jordan right between the eyes. Detective Grey had said something like that to her in the wee hours of Saturday morning when she was still half asleep, too.
The World Cup bid had been a huge story for Tampa, but it mostly been out of sight, out of mind for her. Sometimes general assignment reporters covered World Cup-related stories, like the one Theresa did, but Jordan hadn’t been assigned to any. So the World Cup bid coming up wasn’t exactly at the forefront of her mind.
Jordan’s lips slowly parted, and she and Drew looked at each other wide-eyed. El Pulpo could be targeting Tampa because the U.S. World Cup bid was relying on Tampa.
Totally feasible.
If Tampa couldn’t control a simple typhoid fever outbreak, if people were dying from a bacteria that western medicine said was totally controllable with antibiotics, the U.S. could lose the World Cup bid. The World Cup wouldn’t be held in an area rampant with Ebola or Aids or any other deadly communicable disease, either.
After a moment of silence, Drew ran out of the van toward Antonio. If she knew Drew, he had it covered for Channel 12. And Jordan had something else to do.
She limped out of the van using the heel of her bandaged left foot. Agent Ryser was stationed at the far end of the row of media. On her way there, Jordan passed the mayor being interviewed by a flock of distinguished reporters.
“An absolute disaster for Tampa,” the mayor was saying. “For the whole community. For tourism, for the economy. For the U.S. And of course, for the victims and their families. Our prayers are with them this evening.”
“Who will host the World Cup if the U.S. doesn’t win the bid, Mr. Mayor?” One of the reporters called out.
“It’s looking like Iran is the most likely country.” Groans and disbelief came from the gaggle off reporters. The mayor shook his head. “I know. I couldn’t believe it either. But that’s what I’m being told.”
CHAPTER 26
“I heard you literally stumbled upon some evidence,” Ryser said, looking at Jordan’s foot.
“So you heard about the rum bottles. That was fast.”
Ryser smiled again. “We’re the FBI. We know everything.”
Jordan shrugged and shook her head. “This proves the cartel dumped the typhoid water here, right?”
“Not exactly, but it makes a strong connection between the ship and this location.”
“Because those are unique rum bottles,” Jordan said, leaning in. She was hoping for an inside scoop.
“Correct.”
“Here’s the other thing,” Jordan said. “I was thinking about, why this lake? Why Tampa at all? What’s the big deal here? And why does El Pulpo want everyone to know about it? So think about what’s coming up in Tampa. What has been the big story for everyone except me over the past few weeks? The World Cup bid. The vote to choose the location is two weeks away. This whole typhoid fever thing is about El Pulpo trying to sabotage the U.S. World Cup bid.”
“You think we didn’t know that already, Jordan? We’ve been working this case for more than two years.” Ryser leaned against one of the big black SUVs and smiled. “Come on, I told you. We’re the FBI here. We know everything. Why is it that you think you’re the only one who knows how to do their job?”
Jordan didn’t bother to defend herself on that point. After she sent that tweet last night, Ryser wouldn’t listen anyway. “But why would El Pulpo sabotage the World Cup bid?”
Ryser grabbed her arm, forced her to lean some of her weight into her body, and opened the SUV’s passenger door. “Here. Get in. Sit down. Take the pressure off that foot.”
“Thanks,” Jordan said. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere.” Ryser closed her in, walked around the front and settled into the driver’s seat. “Look, I can’t tell you how we know, but you’re right about the bid. I’m impressed that you’ve reached that conclusion so quickly and without the benefit of our resources.”
Jordan stretched her leg out and rested her foot gingerly. She’d like to know exactly what those resources were. “So, the World Cup. This has happened before?”
“Not exactly. But similar things have happened before. Bribery and corruption in the bidding process isn’t normal, but it isn’t uncommon, either.” Ryser shook her head. “We’ve investigated various plots to skew the vote for hosting the World Cup over the years. I’m not a big soccer fan, either. But for reasons that are a mystery to me, inordinate amounts of money usually change hands.”
“So it can go either way, right?” Jordan asked, pressing her theory. “Large amounts of money are paid to get the World Cup or to knock countries out of the running so a different country wins the bid?”
“Bingo.” Ryser nodded and flashed a thumbs up. “We think that’s what El Pulpo’s doing here. Knock out the U.S. and Iran wins the bid.”
“Iran? Seriously?” Jordan didn’t know a lot about Iran, but most of what she knew had to do with nuclear weapons and religions that were foreign to her.
“You’re not a soccer expert, are you?” Ryser smiled and shook her head in mock dismay. “Iran has about a hundred years of soccer success to rely on. Big medal winners. Huge fan turnouts. They want the World Cup and someone is prepared to pay big to be sure they get it.”
“But why? I mean, why would El Pulpo care?” Jordan couldn’t wrap her head around it. “El Pulpo has operations all over the world. Doesn’t El Pulpo win no matter where the World Cup is held?”
“You’re a talented investigator, Jordan. Think it through. The only thing that makes sense is that someone’s hired El Pulpo to corrupt the process.” Ryser smirked. “For a hugely unreasonable fee, of course.”
Jordan let the truth of the situation sink in. as if she was seeing bullet points on a television broadcast.
El Pulpo was mammoth.
El Pulpo networks operated everywhere.
El Pulpo wouldn’t do something like this on the cheap.
Gobs of money would be paid to contaminate Tampa with typhoid.
Too much money for El Pulpo to ignore.
After taking the job, El Pulpo would have done everything possible to ensure success.
Contaminated water wasn’t reliable enough on its own.
Dr. Peters, the CDC investigator, had said multiple contamination methods were likely. What else had El Pulpo put in play besides the bacteria in the rum bottles?
When she realized the answer, or at least one answer, Jordan blurted it out. “Mack’s!”
“What?”
“Mack’s. Right there.” Jordan pointed to the restaurant, sitting a few yards away. “It’s a raw bar. They make the best raw conch salad. The typhoid bacteria are spread on food, right? Mack hires Haitians and other workers from countries where both typhoid and El Pulpo are prevalent. What if a few of those employees are infected?”
Ryser waited.
Jordan gasped. “What if some of Mack’s employees are El Pulpo soldiers, even?”
“We’re on it. The CDC has already started testing.” Ryser nodded again. “For my money, I’m betting you’re right.”
“Yes!” Jordan fist-pumped the air. “Can I quote you on that?”
Ryser laughed out loud. “No. But I’ll get you a chance to ask Dr. Peters on the record. How’s that?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Finally. She’d scoop this story yet. Eat your heart out, Drew.
Ryser allowed her a few moments of gloating before she spoke again.
“There’s something else.” Ryser’s words snagged Jordan�
��s attention. “Two things, actually. The real reasons I wanted to talk privately.”
“My World Cup theory wasn’t the real reason?” She touched her tongue to the roof of her mouth and it stuck like double-sided tape. She was parched.
“There’s no easy way to say this. I know how disappointed you’re going to be.” Ryser inhaled and squared her shoulders. “Evan Groves and Hugo Diaz are dead.”
Jordan’s blood turned cold and she went completely numb. “What?”
“We got word about an hour ago. They were killed in jail.”
Jordan’s chest hurt and a bitter taste filled her throat. Her mother’s killers. Gone? This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. They hadn’t been charged with her mother’s murder. No public trial where the evidence against them would be shared.
Jordan knew Groves and Diaz had killed her mother. She could prove it. Groves and Diaz all but confessed this morning when she interviewed them at the jail. The confessions would have been recorded on the constant video surveillance. She’d planned to use that video to get them charged and convicted.
She couldn’t believe the chance to expose them had been snatched from her grasp, just like that.
“How did they die?” Her voice was suddenly as raspy as a lifetime smoker.
Ryser didn’t sidestep the question. “They were executed by El Pulpo. The same way Pipo Sanchez died.”
Jordan inhaled as much air as she could possibly squeeze into her lungs, then exhaled and let her head drop back against the seat. She closed her eyes.
“I know you wanted a public trial, but realize that your visit to the jail this morning is probably what caused El Pulpo to speed up the executions.” Ryser’s tone was somewhere between annoyance, sympathy and admiration. “If Diaz and Groves hadn’t confessed to you, the boss might have let them live a while longer. But they were marked men, either way.”
