The Hunt for Maan Singh

by Hipólito Acosta

  “Is that it?”

  “Well, Larry, people like to talk to me. That’s a start. I’ll wing it from there.”

  “Mr. Irwin, I’ll do the talking. But you can accompany me.”

  They got out of the car at the first house, where a welcoming Bahamian woman answered the door. She was about fifty years old and had a thick accent. Larry did not even have to tell her he was a cop. He opened by asking her if she knew the address. She did not, but she suggested we go down the road a bit, take a left and look in that area. Larry thanked her, and they walked back to the car. Larry had a big grin on his face for A. J.

  When they got back in the car, Larry smiled and said, “Hey, that works,” as if he had just learned something. He proceeded to drive down the block and turn left. About three houses down, he pulled into a driveway of a single story clapboard house with a huge mango tree in the front yard, just to the right of the driveway. A. J. did not know then and would never know if Larry was aware this was the house, but had given up, faced with A. J.’s resolve to knock on every door until they found the right place. Just as they drove up, Gulu walked out of the front door.

  A. J. shouted, “That’s Gulu, that’s Gulu.”

  Larry quickly exited the vehicle and told A. J. to stay inside. He calmly and slowly walked over to the mango tree. A. J. could hear him comment that this was a beautiful tree. He asked Gulu if he could pick one of the mangoes. Gulu said yes and Larry came back with the mango, casually taking a bite and offering A. J. one. He never moved fast and was admirably composed as he backed the car out of the driveway.

  Larry drove around the next corner, looked at A. J. and asked, “Are you sure that’s him?”

  “Of course, I’m sure. I’ve been tracking him for weeks.”

  Larry then called in for backup on his police radio. He ordered them to meet about two miles away. At that precise time, Poli, Sue and the team were gathered at Larry’s office, waiting with Peter. A. J. asked Larry to relay to his team that they had found the house and were going to take them out. The team followed Larry’s officers to the staging site. A. J. then called Poli and told him to get the airplane and have it ready. While Larry’s men and the team were on their way to the area, Larry and A. J. returned to watch the house to make sure no one left.

  After all of the troops had arrived at the staging area, it did not take long for Larry to brief them. Mike Dusenberry jumped in the back seat of Larry’s car with his video camera. Larry led the convoy and pulled into the driveway. Larry’s guys stormed out of their cars and into the house. In the United States we have this provision to most warrants called “knock and announce.” Now if you can articulate to the issuing judge that there is a possibility that evidence will be destroyed or people will escape, then you can get authority to run through the door. Apparently, they did not have that same provision in the Bahamas. These police kicked the door in and stormed in. It took about three minutes for them to secure the house. Larry’s captain, a thin and tall crotchety older fellow who seemed to scowl at the Americans, announced that A. J. and his group could enter. A. J. walked in through the front door and saw Gulu sitting on the floor with handcuffs on. Coming down the hallway that led from the bedroom to the living room was a line of Indian men. It was long. These were Nick’s clients and this was one of his stash houses. But where was Nick? Apparently the storm troopers had not found him.

  As the line of aliens were escorted to the garage, A. J. stood to the side and watched them. His jaw fell open: Twentieth in line was Nick! He was trying to blend in as one of his own cargo. He even had his long ponytail tucked into the back of his shirt. But, A. J. knew it was him. A. J. had been in the next hotel room videotaping him when he said no one knew him, how the CIA didn’t even have his picture and how he was the Pablo Escobar of alien smuggling.

  “Hold it there, Nicky, or Nittin Shetty, or whatever your fucking name is. I know you and I’ve got you.”

  Nick looked at A. J., surprised. There was fear in his eyes. Fear and what in the hell had just happened. A. J. grabbed his arm, pulled him out of the line and called for Larry. Larry took Nick into the living room with Gulu, and the line of aliens continued to file down the hallway and to the garage.

  Then the captain came running to A. J. and ordered him to get all of his men out of the house for a minute. “Go outside and wait. Ass out!”

  There was nothing to do but follow orders as guests of the Bahamian police. So A. J. got his team together, and they waited out in the driveway. All of a sudden, they heard a blood curdling scream. It was Nick. Were they killing him? What was going on?

  Larry came outside and said he would take Nick to the airport. A. J. quickly jumped in Larry’s car to make sure he’d be along for the ride. A. J. rode shotgun and a sullen Nick rode in the back between two of Larry’s officers. One was called Hit Man. It was he who had put a gun to Nick’s head back at the house. The ride to the airport seemed long, and Larry reminded Nick that he was going to behave or Hit Man would shoot him. Hit Man smiled. A. J. smiled also, but then wondered, if they shoot him, what are they going to do to me? They weren’t exactly in downtown Nassau but driving through what looked like a tropical forest, and it would take years to find his body, maybe never. Larry agreed to let Nick stop by his apartment to pick up some personal things, but decided to have his guys to search it for “evidence.” A naive A. J. thought they were really looking for evidence to support the case instead of perhaps looking for links to Larry and other Bahamian authorities. Larry admonished Nick again before he let him out of the car about behaving, and nodded toward Hit Man. In the house, Nick grabbed a few items of clothing, and the officers literally vandalized his place. Nick told us that he lived there with his wife, a Bahamian native who worked for the tourism board. He wanted to leave her a note. A. J. had no problem with that.

  After about fifteen minutes, they loaded backup in Larry’s car and headed for the airport. Gulu was in another car driven by the captain. Steve Van Geem rode with the Bahamian officers and Gulu. When the cars arrived, the passengers got out and walked to the tarmac, where Tim “Rico” Tubbs and Mike Dusenberry were waiting next to a plane. The Border Patrol pilot was in the cockpit and not coming out. He was scared and maybe he should have been. Larry stood with A. J. as Nick and Gulu were prepared to board the small airplane.

  Larry became the Assistant Chief of the Bahamian National Police again and said in an official voice, “You two are no longer welcome in the Bahamas. Please leave.”

  Nick started to ask if he would change his mind, but Larry just smiled and said, “Go with the man and maybe someday you can come back.”

  Nick asked, “Someday?”

  Larry nodded affirmatively.

  Nick and Gulu boarded the plane with Tubbs and Dusenberry.

  “If one of these fuckers go in the water, you go after them,” warned A. J.

  “Yes, sir,” Tubbs and Dusenberry said in unison.

  As the plane prepared for take-off, A. J. turned to Larry and thanked him. Then he turned to the captain and tried to thank him as well.

  “When are you coming back? For me!” shouted A. J., to the pilot over the engine noise.

  “I’m not coming back,” yelled the pilot as he gunned the engine and began taxiing for take-off.

  “What the fuck?!!”

  In a stern and authoritative voice, the police captain looked at A. J. and said, “You are done with your work. Go. Ass out!”

  “What?!” A. J. exclaimed.

  “Ass out!”

  “Mr. Happy, you don’t have to light a fire under my ass. I’m more than happy to oblige you.”

  A. J. returned to the hotel in a taxi and heatedly told Poli there was no plane to take them to Miami.

  Poli said, “Calm down, A. J. Let’s get Susan, go to the bar and re-group . . . and celebrate: we got Nicky Díaz and Gulu.”

  As soon as they got down to the bar, Poli was paged on the loudspeaker.

  “I think that’s a page for
you, Poli,” said A. J.

  “How? I’m not registered under my own name, just as Fernando. Something to do with my family?”

  Poli went to the house phone. It was Peter Hargraves at the U.S. Embassy.

  “Poli, we intercepted phone conversations. You guys need to get out, and fast.”

  “Yeah, I know about the ‘ass-out’ business.”

  “No, Poli, on the phone calls they said that Nick’s people are sending some goons over to get you guys. And the deputy wants you out of the country now, for your own safety.”

  “Oh.”

  “We have an embassy van on its way to pick you up now.”

  “Okay, we’ll go check out now.”

  “Don’t even check out, Poli, just get your things and get out now.”

  So Poli returned to the group in the bar with a wide smile on his face and announced that they had to move and move fast to save their skins.

  The group of four, as defiant as always, first finished their beers, then returned to their rooms for their clothes and luggage. They returned to the lobby to wait, not wanting to stand out in front and present a target. As the van pulled up in front and the group ran out and boarded, they noticed two cars with the same policemen involved in the raid on the Díaz house. In their numbers once again was the Hit Man, but the embassy van drove away without the policemen noticing them as they ran into the lobby to apprehend the interlopers.

  The embassy van delivered the foursome to the airport, and embassy representatives bypassed the crowd at the American Airlines counter and informed the ticket agents that they had four federal agents whose lives were in danger and had to leave on the next flight to Miami. All flights were full, so the ticket agents had to bump passengers with reservations, but only two at a time, because the planes were the smaller American Eagle puddle hoppers. The group decided that Poli and Susan would be the first out, and the two of them were immediately boarded. Naturally, A. J. headed for the bar with Steve Van Geem, who had heard so much from A. J. about the goombay rum smash and just could not leave the Bahamas without trying one.

  A little over an hour later, A. J. and Steve boarded an American Eagle flight for Miami. A. J. swore to himself he would never return to the Bahamas. Ever! Not even if he won free tickets! On the other hand, he thought, “I’ll never go back to the Bahamas, but I’ll drink a goombay smash any day.”

  Back in Dallas, Nick agreed to plead guilty to smuggling and money laundering charges. During their interview of him, Nick revealed the reason for his blood curdling scream: Larry’s Hit Man had put a gun to Nick’s head and ordered him to go with the American agents and keep his mouth shut, or he was going to die and so was his Bahamian wife and any kids she may have. Nick also revealed that Hit Man had considered killing A. J., but because A. J. had received the blessing of the minister of foreign affairs, Hit Man and Larry could not figure out how to get away with it. Larry did know Nick all along. Only a week before Nick’s expulsion, one of Larry’s guys had picked up $10,000 in bribe money from this same house. It was cash to keep the Bahamian National Police looking in the other direction.

  The self-avowed big fish in the Caribbean had gone down. Next up was the big fish in the Andes. But getting Maan Singh out of Ecuador was not going to be as easy as dealing with the Bahamian authorities.

  CHAPTER 10

  While the operation to take down Nicky Díaz was developing, plans were being formulated to bring down the whole international smuggling of South Asians. The Seek and Keep task force had to move quickly because Margarita Fernández had arranged for Maan Singh to call Poli as “Fernando” on the undercover phone. Maan Sing advised “Fernando” that he was currently in England and would return to Ecuador within two weeks.

  “Mr. Fernando, we must meet face-to-face, so we move clients faster. I want you to work with Margarita instead of Carlos on the Panama route.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That way I move women and children, make much much more money. Yes?”

  “Great! Let’s meet. Let me know when you’re back, and we’ll get it started.”

  Consequently, things were heating up and moving much faster, especially given the progress of the Bahamas investigation and impending takedown. Now, the task force had to put together a take-down plan for Maan Singh within two weeks, and put all the pieces in place in Panama. Poli and A. J., nevertheless, could not see any way to get everything ready within that time, and began a strategy to stall and extend the target date to a month.

  On a Sunday evening, November 15, 1998, an unexpected development added to the frantic preparations. Poli, now arriving in Miami with a human cargo from the Bahamas, was paged and went to the phone to respond to Mark Reed, Regional INS Director.

  “Poli, Lou Nardi says you need to take Seek and Keep down by Wednesday,” he announced matter-of-factly, “or you will be shut down.”

  “You’re fuckin’ crazy, Mark.”

  “Look, I’m only passing you the orders. I understand how you feel, but this comes directly from Washington,” he said commiserating. “If you don’t like it, you can call Lou Nardi directly.”

  “Okay, can you give me his home number?”

  Reed agreed and turned over Nardi’s private line at home. Poli headed for a pay phone at the airport and pulled out his government telephone credit card and dialed Nardi.

  “Hey, Lou, this is Poli.”

  “Yeah? What?”

  “What the fuck is this shit about taking down Seek and Keep?”

  “Poli, look, your Title III wire has expired. You already got three extensions. You guys have spent all kinds of money on this.”

  “But . . . bu . . . ”

  “And . . . Frank Marín is up my ass on those boat people, and I have to answer to the Department of Justice every week about what’s going on in this case. You guys are killing me. You guys have a great case. You’ve had your fun. It’s time to move on. Take it down.”

  “Lou, has anybody notified Maan Singh and the other defendants so they can be ready by Wednesday?” Poli quipped.

  “I don’t appreciate your sarcasm.”

  “Lou, we need more time. We’ve gotta get in front of the grand jury . . . get the indictments. We gotta coordinate across the United States and internationally to get all the defendants lined up.”

  “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this shit, but I’ll give you until Friday.”

  “Two fuckin’ days, Lou, two fuckin’ days?!”

  “You take it down by Friday, or we’re shutting it down.”

  With that, Poli hung up.

  Luckily, A. J. had been working with Marc Sanders, the agent assisting him, in drawing up the indictments to present to the grand jury. They had five days to finalize the indictments. On Monday of that week, they met with Mike Ryan and Joe Rivera at the Dallas office to develop the op plan to arrest the smugglers and execute search warrants across the United States, and even in the foreign countries involved. Everything had to be implemented as simultaneously as possible, because if word got out, people would “bleed” out of reach of the INS and the DOJ. Not only would the smugglers be arrested, but also some seventy-two aliens located in thirteen states. It was a massive undertaking; it had to be incredibly well coordinated.

  Ryan, whose forte was not in planning, sat back during the meeting and kept saying to A. J., “You tell me what to do, young man, and I’ll just do it.” Mike was a big, burly guy, a former linebacker for Texas Tech, and referred to anyone smaller than him as a “young man.”

  “I need you to make sure that each districts’ bosses are allowing our agents to do the take downs, and that’s it’s all simultaneous.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And, you need to coordinate the detention issues that come with arresting about 150 people all at the same time at multiple venues.”

  “You got it, and I’ll get on the horn right now.”

  When the time came, Ryan was masterly in keeping the massive takedown on track and
coordinated.

  Marc Sanders, a hard-working young agent, on the other hand, became the focal point of the command center for the operation. He served as a dispatcher, making sure arrest warrants were executed and that there was due process as the defendants were brought before the magistrates. He basically kept tabs on all 150 targets.

  With Marc handling all of this so ably, working overtime and fueled by cheeseburgers, Marlboros and Coors Light, A. J. was free to return to the Bahamas for the Nick Díaz takedown.

  Joe Rivera coordinated the op in the Northeast quadrant, from DC to Boston, where the majority of the defendants and smuggled aliens were to be apprehended. On loan to Seek and Keep from the Chicago office for six months, the Puerto Rican Rivera was the polar opposite of Mike Ryan; he was well organized, a great planner and extremely grateful to Poli and A. J. for getting him out of Chicago. Rivera was extremely important to Seek and Keep because the Newark office would not cooperate. So here was an import from Chicago, working with agents from Texas, handling one of the most important operations ever in the Newark office’s front yard.

  After working with Marc Sanders and Matt Yarbrough through the night, two nights in a row, drawing up three separate indictments, on Tuesday, November 17, A. J. rumpled and exhausted appeared before the grand jury, sat down and began explaining the cases. Despite being extremely tired, A. J. tried to be professional, even eloquent.

  Ten minutes in to his testimony, a grand juror raised his hand and asked, “Agent, first of all, I want to thank you for everything you’ve done. But would you call these people you’re describing, ‘coyotes’?”

  Trying to maintain his professionalism, A. J. responded, “Well, that is the slang term used by some people to describe an alien smuggler.”

  “That’s all I need to know,” announced the juror. “Let’s vote.”

  The grand jury foremen then addressed the group, “Does anyone else have a question?”

  One woman seated to the rear raised her hand and asked, “Are all these people ‘coyotes’?”