by Gary Ponzo
“Well,” Decker said, “if I were searching for a crossing point for something important, I’d look over here, away from the high traffic areas.” Decker’s finger pointed to a section of eastern Arizona.
“What about Denton?” Nick asked, leaning back on the couch and crossing his legs.
That stopped Decker. He turned his head and said, “What made you say that?”
Nick shrugged. “Just a hunch.”
“A hunch?” Decker said. “It doesn’t even show up on this map.” Decker dropped his pen on the desk and faced Nick head on. “You still think I’m on Garza’s payroll?”
“I don’t know,” Nick said, truthfully. “Let’s go on the premise you’re not and see how far that gets us.”
Decker sat in his desk chair and folded his arms. “We’d seen surveillance shots of Sonny Chizek and Antonio Garza shaking hands at a local taco shop near Garza’s compound. The image was fuzzy, but we had our suspicions.”
“So what did you do?”
“First of all, you don’t go down there without some form of protection.”
“Okay,” Nick said, waiting for it.
“Three months ago we had a squad of Marines escort a crew of our agents into town. We spent forty-eight hours interviewing people and scouring the buildings for anything suspicious. Know what we found?”
“Nothing.”
“Exactly.”
“Did you examine the mine?”
“With a fine-tooth comb.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
Nick nodded. “Did you bring mining experts with you to determine if there was any unusual equipment on site?”
Decker tilted his head. “No, we didn’t. But we brought a team of drug-sniffing dogs and they didn’t as much as whimper.”
“You speak with Chizek?”
Decker let out a small laugh. “He doesn’t exactly show his face.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he works and lives a few hundred feet from the border and he’s concerned about cartel thugs coming to kidnap him for a shitload of ransom. The guy is worth millions.”
“How often do your men patrol Denton?”
Decker glared at Nick, the questions seeming to get to him. “Never.”
Nick raised his eyebrows.
“I have too much respect for my men,” Decker said. “You try to go there and you’ll find snipers hiding in the buttes along the way. They know every delivery vehicle that comes and goes. No one sneaks in and no one sneaks out.”
Nick exchanged glances with Matt. The two of them already knowing their next move.
Decker seemed to notice Nick’s demeanor change. “You don’t understand, it’s not a place to be messing with. I’ve lost too many men who tried to probe activity in the area.”
“What do you mean, lost men?”
“I mean anytime someone goes near Denton, they never seem to return. We investigate and come up empty every time.”
“How come no one ever hears about this?” Nick asked.
“You’re kidding, right?” Decker said. “This is the Mexican border. There were three hundred murders in the border town of Nogales alone last year. No one pays attention to cartel violence anymore. It’s simply a fact of life along the border.”
Decker looked back and forth between Nick and Matt. “You’re not considering going down there, are you?”
“No,” Nick lied. “Of course not.”
* * *
Garza woke up before the sun and had already downed two cups of coffee before
Victor came into the kitchen, yawning and scratching his head.
“Why are you up so early, Jefe?” Victor asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
Garza pointed to his head. “Too much on my mind.”
Victor took his steaming mug and sat across the kitchen table from Garza. It was still dawn and the sun had yet to create shadows on the desert landscape.
“Is it the package today?”
Garza shrugged. “This is part of it.”
“Something else?” Victor asked.
“This spy,” Garza said, with a scowl. “Someone is a double agent and it is troubling to know this fact so close to our delivery.” He glanced up at Victor to measure his reaction. His first lieutenant seemed to consider the dilemma.
“Our contacts cannot offer any names?” Victor asked. “Don’t they have suspicions?”
It was the reasonable question to ask. “No,” Garza admitted. “They do not have any idea who might be posing as a drug smuggler. However, I do have my own ideas.”
“Tell me,” Victor said, putting the hot coffee mug to the tip of his lips.
“I keep thinking about Sadeem. I have this feeling all along, this man is not who he pretends to be.”
Victor was nodding, something in his eyes gaining momentum. “Yes, Jefe. This is a logical conclusion.” Victor glanced up at the clock on the wall. “We have several hours before our meeting with him. Let me make some calls and find out what I can.”
Garza liked this thought. “Yes. We need to know who this man is. I had little concern until he requested to join us. Now, he becomes a liability. And maybe even a threat.”
“Who is a threat, Papa?” Julio said from the entryway to the kitchen.
Garza turned to see his son rubbing his eyes in his flannel pajamas.
“Julio,” Garza said. “What are you doing up?”
“I heard noises.”
Garza gathered his son into his arms. Julio fell into his father’s embrace.
“Mijo, you need to go back to bed,” Garza said.
“Can I have a glass of milk first?”
“Of course.”
Victor poured a glass of milk and handed it to Julio.
The boy finished the drink, wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve and placed the empty glass on the kitchen table.
“Who is the threat, Papa?” Julio asked again.
Garza searched for the proper words, finally looking at Victor for help.
“There is a coyote attacking some of the desert animals,” Victor said. “And your Papa is going to chase him away.”
Julio’s eyes seemed to brighten. “Really? Can I come with you?”
“Yes,” Garza said. “But first you need to sleep.”
“Okay, Papa.”
“Good boy.” Garza gave him a kiss on his cheek, then patted him on the butt as he went off to bed.
Garza went over to get another cup of coffee, then returned to the table. “He is getting too old and he is understanding too much.”
Victor nodded. “Of course, he is your son. It is only natural that he have your instincts.”
“Yes, but he must learn to avoid certain people and certain places.”
“You are thinking too much, Jefe.”
“Maybe,” Garza said. “But when Rodriguez wins the election, the Zutons will own the northern territory and there will be a bloodbath. I think it would be wise to leave Mexico for a while.”
The house was completely still while the two men were quiet with their thoughts. Finally, in an assuring voice, Victor said, “I can watch after him.”
Garza considered the comment. There was a tiny sense of relief which came with the notion. An insurance policy for his only child.
“Yes,” Garza said. “That would be good.” Then another thought occurred to him and Victor seemed to notice his expression change.
“Something else?” Victor asked.
“This package we are taking. It will be dangerous. I do not want this thing to linger. Tell Chizek to be prepared to accept this delivery by tonight. I want this out of my hands quickly.”
“What about the FBI?” Victor asked. “Are they getting close?”
“Maybe,” Garza said. “But they are already too late. Chizek will be ready for them.”
A ray of sunshine peeked through the kitchen window onto Garza’s face and the warmth brightened his mood. That and the image of the br
iefcase full of cash hidden in his basement.
Chapter 19
White House Chief of Staff Paul Dexter’s office was a tidy room, filled with carefully crafted cabinetry, and a bookshelf which filled one entire wall. Sam Fisk was finishing his arrangements for his trip to Mexico City when Dexter gestured to the flat screen TV above them.
An angry mob of people were gathering around a building while a line of police attempted to hold them back. Demonstrators held placards saying, “No More Blood!” and “We’re Fed Up!” The words at the bottom of the screen read: “Protests in Mexico City.”
“You sure you want to do this, Sam?” Dexter asked. “It’s pretty nasty down there.”
“Not really,” Fisk said.
“Sounds like the people just want peace,” Dexter said. “Isn’t that what Rodriguez is offering them?”
Fisk grinned. “Yeah, like offering a piece of candy laced with arsenic.”
“You still here?” President Merrick stood in the doorway with a thick manila file in his right hand.
“Just leaving,” Fisk said.
“Sam, you don’t need to do this,” Merrick said.
Fisk pointed to the TV. “If you’ll notice, those signs are written in English. Those people are asking for our help. If we just sit here and let nature take its course, we’ll have the same protests outside this building in a couple of months.”
Merrick nodded. “Okay. I have a call scheduled with President Salcido this afternoon. He’s going to want to know if we’re endorsing him.”
“Yeah,” Fisk said, “I’ve thought about that.”
“And?”
“And tell him I want to meet with each candidate individually before we make our decision.” Fisk looked at Dexter. “Then let the Rodriguez people know I want a personal meeting with their candidate. And make sure that gets leaked to the press.”
“Okay, Sam,” Dexter said. “I’ll take care of it.”
Fisk grabbed his passport from Dexter’s desk and put it in his inside jacket pocket, then looked at Merrick. “I’ll take care of my end, just make sure Nick takes care of things on the border. Otherwise this thing will blow up in our faces.” Fisk raised an eyebrow. “Literally.”
Merrick handed Fisk the thick manila file. “Some easy reading for your trip down.”
Fisk frowned. “I asked for his profile, not his life story.”
Merrick put his hands in his pocket. “Listen, Sam. I just spoke with Ken and the United Palestinian Force has just threatened to sever an oil pipeline in western Syria. It seems they’re upset about the way we’ve been treating them.”
“What does Walt think?”
“I’m not taking a damn poll, Sam,” Merrick snapped. “I’m just telling you the head of the Central Intelligence Agency thinks we should put these guys on our radar and raise the threat warning.”
Fisk thought about his plan. Everything he did was predicated on stopping the UPF’s dirty bomb from reaching US soil. He felt like he had just rolled a pair of dice and desperately needed a seven to stay alive. Maybe he’d become too cynical. Maybe he’d become too jaded. Either way, he was pulling Merrick’s presidency into turmoil if his plan failed.
Fisk sighed. “Tell you what. If I’m wrong about this, I’ll resign immediately. I’ll take full responsibility for these foreign policy blunders and explain how I made huge mistakes based on my experience with Middle Eastern terrorists and their past behavior.”
Merrick narrowed his eyes. “I’m not looking for a scapegoat. I trust you. I’ve always trusted you. I just want to do the right thing.”
Fisk patted his friend on the arm as he headed out the door. “Do me a favor. Tell Nick I highly recommend finding that bomb.”
* * *
Francisco Rodriguez walked across the desert terrain next to the leader of the Zutons, Santiago Valdez. They strolled casually with their sunglasses and their sandals and twenty armed soldiers making sure their meeting was secure.
Rodriguez had his hands behind his back and spoke with reverence to the cartel leader.
“You seem preoccupied, Santiago,” Rodriguez said. “What is troubling you?”
Valdez nodded. “You are very perceptive. I have a very large package which needs to be delivered by tonight. It is more than my people can handle.”
“Is there something I can do to help?”
Valdez appeared to appreciate the gesture. “That is okay. I will find a way.”
“Have you contacted Garza?”
Valdez stopped and turned to face Rodriguez. “I am curious. Do you make a percentage from Antonio’s service?”
Rodriguez jerked his head back. “Are you joking?”
“This is no joke,” Valdez said, glancing back where their Humvees were parked in the middle of the desert. He waved his arm at the expanse of open land. “We control many miles, but the most crucial territory along the border, you have selected that land to be controlled by Garza. How else can I take that decision?”
“Antonio Garza is the conduit to the United States. He can move product freely from one country to the next. How can I impede that corridor? It would only hurt your business.”
“Maybe,” Valdez said, regaining his stride and moving forward again. “But he also works with our enemies and that concerns me.”
“How so?”
Valdez walked a circuitous path around low-lying shrub while Rodriguez followed closely, wondering why the man was acting this way.
“I must be careful what I say around certain people,” Valdez said, then continued his stride without further comment.
“Do you not trust Garza?” Rodriguez asked, sincerely.
Valdez shrugged. “He has done nothing to warrant my suspicions. It is simply my nature to probe.”
Rodriguez didn’t like the direction the conversation was headed. He needed to regain the leader’s focus.
“Have you heard about the American Secretary of State coming to the debate tonight?” Rodriguez asked.
“Yes,” Valdez said. “I understand you will have a personal meeting with the man.”
Rodriguez’s chest swelled with pride. It was a great honor to be singled out by the Secretary of State. “Yes, we will be meeting after the debate. I suppose the Americans have been reading the latest polls and realize I will be the next President. They want to create a dialogue so they can maintain good communications during my presidency.”
“I see,” Valdez said. “Do not lose your way once you become President Rodriguez. The Zutons are still in control. Adding President to your name does not change that fact.”
Rodriguez walked ahead of the cartel leader, then stopped abruptly, facing Valdez who didn’t seem pleased to suspend his pace. “Why do you speak to me like this?”
Valdez glanced over his shoulder at the squad of soldiers who were paying close attention to his body language and finding it necessary to remove their assault rifles from their shoulders.
Rodriguez had stirred up the hornet’s nest and suddenly felt extremely vulnerable. Valdez had always insisted on one hundred percent loyalty to his business interests and would never allow anyone to survive such an infidelity.
“There is a spy among us,” Valdez said, removing his sunglasses and baring his shark-like teeth. “There are people who suggest the spy is close to Garza. I would be careful what you say.”
Rodriguez could feel twenty pairs of eyes boring in on him. He understood how paranoid these cartels had become lately, killing scores of innocent people just because of a wrong word spoken, or a meeting with the wrong person.
“Santiago, I have known you for many years,” Rodriguez said, with open palms. “Have I ever given you a reason to be suspicious about my behavior?”
Valdez’s expression changed. The creases around his eyes deepened and his mouth turned into a warm smile. He reached out and held Rodriguez’s arm with a gentle touch.
“Do not act so defensive, my friend,” Valdez said. “Until this spy is discovered, there w
ill be many more nervous discussions.”
Valdez replaced his sunglasses and began his return to the vehicles. There was always a finite period of time where a meeting could be considered safe. The cartel leader seemed to know exactly how long that period was and never exceeded its limit.
Rodriguez followed, the soldiers opening a path for the two men to travel.
Valdez added, “A famous man once said, ‘First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win.’” He looked over at Rodriguez. “Do you know who said that?”
Rodriguez was familiar with the phrase, but reverentially said, “No. Who?”
“Mahatma Ghandi.” Valdez smiled behind his shaded eyes.
Even though Valdez had unwittingly twisted the pacifist’s words to suit his needs, the man was a sinister foe who needed to be treated with caution.
Valdez approached his Humvee, and as one of his men opened the back door for him, he turned to Rodriguez. “Do not forget about us, Mr. President,” he said. Then with a venomous smile, he added, “We will not forget about you.”
Chapter 20
Tommy drove a white BMW sedan with Matt in the passenger seat, and Nick and Stevie in the back seat. The two lane road stretched out straight and barren; waves of heat rippled off the asphalt and created the illusion of water dancing on the horizon.
Tommy pointed to the instrument panel. “Is it really one hundred and one degrees out already?”
“Slow down,” Nick said, from behind him. “Keep it five over the limit.”
Matt surveyed the desert floor. “You see anything back there, Stevie?”
Stevie was busy playing with a laptop computer, while Nick examined the monitor.
“Nothing yet,” Stevie said. “But we’re still ten miles out.”
Stevie had his hawk drone above them scanning the perimeter for snipers.
“I don’t like this,” Tommy said. “There hasn’t been one damn car in either direction for nearly an hour. How is that possible?”
“The freeway is thirty miles north of here,” Nick said. “There’s no reason to drive this way unless you’re going to Denton. The road dead ends there.”
