by M C Rowley
Jean smiled at that.
I looked at the other pinboard. The Mr. Reynolds pinboard. It was mostly bare, except for the CCTV shots of the five cars driving away from the graveyard incident in Southold. Five cars in the dark. Nothing to see. Except the one face caught on camera. The man that had driven me all the way from New Mexico to New York.
He was in the passenger seat of the car, peering out of the window at something the camera didn’t show.
Our only lead before today.
Jean had started to scan the database for his face and had had no luck.
Jean gestured back to the first pin board. “So what did Agramonte tell us then?”
Rose said, “He just wrote that none of them had seen Mr. Reynolds. That they were busted out of jail in Mexico and brought up here before being tortured.”
I stepped forward, “Agents, where will we stay?”
“Here,” said Rose. “That door is as good as any cell’s.”
“But we aren’t under arrest,” I said.
But as Rose went to reply, a buzzer sounded. The street level door.
“No one knows we’re here, except for a few directors at Langley,” said Rose.
“It’s the pizza,” said Jean.
They stood up. We’d forgotten about the food.
“Let’s check the cameras,” said Rose.
He walked back to his laptop and pulled it out of sleep mode. The screen flickered to show a DC night street scene. People still mulling up and down, in couples, people alone, each with their head down looking at a phone or in conversation with a partner.
But no pizza guy at the door.
Jean pulled out her Glock. “I’ll go see.”
Chapter Seven
I followed Rose and Jean down the steps to the street entrance of the building slowly, although she said she was ninety percent sure no one could have entered. She held the gun up, alert and ready to shoot. But there was nobody.
We made it to the lobby and walked along the wall toward the main door. No one stood outside. I thought maybe it had been some kids screwing around. She looked out of the glass door and peered outside. Nothing besides the usual DC evening crowd.
Holstering her gun, she was turning when something on the floor caught my eye at her feet. Lying below the old mailbox on the floor was a four-centimeter-long black flash drive.
“Look,” I said and Jean bent to pick it up.
“Now he’s screwing with us,” she said.
We headed back up.
Upstairs, Jean handed the drive over to Rose, who inserted it into the laptop. There was one file on the drive, a note. He ran a virus scan on it first, which came up clear, and opened it.
It was a message, typed in Courier font. Jean and Rose were so intent on it, they didn’t notice me leaning over and reading it too.
Dear agents,
I think it’s time we established some trust between us.
You see, we are actually on the same side, and my objective is not to fight you or cause you problems, but to help you. All I ask is for something in return.
I know your operation is covert and bringing it this side of the border poses a certain risk for you. But that will help us a great deal.
Firstly, what I can offer you.
I can deliver to you two things. I have the names and contact information of the twelve founders I have used to invest nearly ten billion dollars into the operations of drug cartel Código X —the cartel that now controls the country below our fragile border. I am willing to turn these individuals over to you. The coup would be, as I do not doubt you’ll agree, gigantic.
Parallel to that, I can also guarantee the absolute destruction of that cartel, Código X. I now have control of their entire financial operations and can cut them off, thus starving them of resources, with the snap of my fingers. The cartel would collapse within months and Mexico would regain control over its land, giving you another huge win for the scoreboard.
Interested?
You see, I want to work together. We have the same aims. These people, both the cartel and their American backers, deserve nothing more than annihilation. And I can deliver.
All I ask is for something in return.
I have helped you get young Jairo Morales out of Mexico. And he is part of my plan as much as he will become part of yours.
Today, I delivered five of the original capos of the Sons of No One cartel. I need the remaining five members you will have seen in the photograph I attached to one of them. Capturing them myself poses too high a risk, and I must pass that on to you. But as I have outlined here, the reward would be great.
It saddens me to have to make threats, but nonetheless…I have control of a cartel now operating heavily on US soil and they await my command in return for fresh funds. Make no mistake—failure to capture the remaining Sons will result in domestic attacks that will make your operations impossible. I also have captive Jairo Morales’s biological daughter. She is safe. Capture the Sons and she won’t be harmed.
There is no need to try to locate me, or even confirm your acceptance of my offer. I am watching you. I will know if you agree.
I look forward to working with you, Agents Rose and Santos.
Yours sincerely,
Mr. Reynolds
I read the whole thing one more time and we all exchanged looks.
Eleanor called over, “What is it?”
Jean ignored her, “Can we trace the flash drive?”
Rose grunted. “We can check for fingerprints, and see if there is any history on the file.”
“That’s not much.”
“No, it’s not.”
“What about Jairo? He was in the Sons.”
“He’s part of the plan. That’s why Reynolds wanted us to have Jairo. We would need him to get these five men.”
“Why would that be necessary? Bringing five men into custody is doable.”
“Not so,” said Rose. “I already located four of them.”
“When?”
“That’s what I was working on,” says Rose.
“And?”
“It’s complicated.”
Chapter Eight
Hacienda Los Venados, El Bajío region, Mexico
“Where is she?”
The men shrugged and shook their heads as they watched the newly elected leader of Código X walk from side to side at the head of the table. His codename was X04, former lieutenant to X03 and his old army buddy, which was how things worked in the cartel. X01, X02, X03, X04, and so forth. The men were in X03’s private hacienda estate in the middle of the Huasteca, five hours north of Mexico City. The room was made from old brick, with wooden floors and gold lamps around. The table was covered with half-empty bottles of tequila añejo and shot glasses.
The men, forming the ten capos of Mexico’s now largest and most powerful cartel, were drunk and they were nervous. X04 had a hell of a temper on him. He was of medium height but his physique, built in the military, was impressive, and on show in his tight-fitting black polo and chinos. His tanned face stretched with tension, he scanned the room.
“Well?”
Nothing.
X04 raised his shot glass and downed another.
“Ni modo. If she’s got the money, who cares?”
The rest of the men chuckled with him, although the room remained so tense you could hear the breaths of each of them.
As if coming to their salvation, an older man dressed smartly in a suit entered through the door and said, “Sir, the lady is here.”
X04 turned to the man and smiled. “Then what the fuck are you waiting for?”
The older man cleared his throat, nodded, and disappeared. He soon came back with a beautiful woman behind him. She was tall and thin and had a sculpted face that looked like it had been cast with iron. The men present would usually have been all over the only female at such a gathering—whistling, nudging each other. But this lady…this lady was different. Sangre pesado, as they said. Heavy blood.
Serious.
Mean.
Not to be fucked with.
“Come in,” said X04, gesturing to a chair. Luciana sat at the top of the table, next to him. X04 joined her and looked at his men.
“What’s wrong, cabrones? Never seen a bitch before?”
Luciana shot him a stare and held it. Something about her made him uneasy. And no one did that to X04.
“So,” he said. “Where’s Mr. Reynolds?”
Luciana leaned back, relaxed. “You’re not going to meet him.”
X04 leaned forward. “Sorry?”
“You heard,” she said. “Get over it.”
“We’ve had assurances, lady,” said X04.
“That’s why I’m here.”
X04 exchanged looks with X05 across the table from him.
Luciana continued, “My driver is bringing some suitcases here. There are ten of them, and in each, ten million dollars.”
X04 frowned. Luciana ignored it.
“And that is just a bonus,” she said. “For you, the capos. A show of good faith, an advance payment, or whatever you want to call it. The real money is in a company fifty kilometers from here. You are now the sole proprietor. It is a distributor of scrap metal. It’s laundering the first one billion dollars for us right now, as we speak.”
The silence in the room was broken by mumbled grunts from the men. As Luciana finished her sentence, a big guy came to the door, alongside the older man, carrying five suitcases stacked like Coke crates. He walked to the table and put them down. He grabbed the first one and handed it to the closest capo, who passed it along until all five were distributed. Then he walked back out.
After five minutes of silence, he came back with an identical stack. Once all the suitcases were passed out, the men opened them and found neat blocks of $100 bills inside, pale green and bundled with purple paper slips.
Luciana stood. She took a piece of paper out of her pocket, unfolded it, and passed it to X04.
“The company is called Metalex. You’ll find all the details on it in your case. She titled her head to X04. The money will come in waves of one hundred million dollars, not all at once. But from there, with the contact named on that piece of paper, you’ll be able to start purchasing whatever it is you should deem worthy of Código X’s needs.”
X04 was studying the sheet of paper. He nodded.
“There is a price,” she said. “As discussed by you and Mr. Reynolds.”
“Whatever,” said X04, in deep thought. “Just tell us where you want us to do it, and we’ll do it.”
“Good,” said Luciana.
X04 stood and held his hand out rigidly in front of him.
Luciana didn’t touch him. She said “Good evening” and walked out in step with the big driver.
X04 turned back to his colleagues and smiled. “This is it, my brothers. We’re going to do shit no cartel has ever dreamed of doing.”
Most of the men cheered and knocked back freshly replenished glasses of tequila. But one stayed quiet. X04 saw him.
“What is it, Jaime?”
The room went silent as the men’s attention shifted from their leader to their brother, whose codename was X05.
“But who is our leader?”
X04 stared X05 down, feeling the old familiar rage begin to boil in his guts. X05’s thin and bony face betrayed no emotion. He stood, facing X04 across the table, flanked by the rest.
“Me, cabrón,” said X04.
“What about this Reynolds?”
“What about him?”
“He’s calling the shots,” said X05. “Why should we answer to him?”
The question lowered the tension between the two. It disarmed X04’s anger. He knew X05 had a valid point.
“Because we need the money first. He’s promised ten billion dollars. We don’t need that. Once we reach eight, or nine maybe, we’ll kill him off. We’ll have the resources to actually find the son of a bitch and eliminate that problem.”
X05 sighed, but he nodded and took his seat again.
“In the meantime,” said X04, seeing his pile of cash anew and smiling, “we get done what he wants. It will benefit us anyway. We own the markets here now. Gringolandia is a whole different thing.”
Outside, Luciana got in her car and called Reynolds on the safe phone.
He answered with the distorter again. Pointless now, she thought.
“I delivered the money,” she said.
“Good,” Said Reynolds. “Now head to the burned out mansion. I want you to give it another sweep for evidence we left. I’ve a feeling the CIA might go there.”
“Yes," said Luciana and she hung up.
Chapter Nine
I rounded on Rose, who had his arms crossed.
“How can arresting five ex cartel members be complicated?”
Rose looked up at me, “The four I have located have something in common. It’s why Reynolds needs us, and it’s why we would need Jairo. If we decided to play ball with Reynolds.”
I noticed Rose’s use of the hypothetical.
“And?”
“All of them are in a kind of captivity.”
“So job done.”
Rose got up, tucking his shirt into his pants. “No. Not job done. It will be near impossible to extract them. Some more difficult than others.”
Jean said, “I’ll make some coffee and you get the info ready. Let’s take a look.”
After an hour and the pizzas that finally showed up, we had the targets pinned to a fresh board. Four rows, with photos, maps, and notes after a photo of each of the missing men. The men Reynolds demanded they capture.
Jairo hadn’t moved the whole time, but kept staring at the photos of the four capos of his old cartel. I wondered whether it stirred some sort of emotion in him. I sure as hell couldn’t tell from looking at his cement features, which seemed to only know a kind of permanent grimace.
Rose stepped back and sat on the table, “Like I said. Complicated.”
“So number one. Miguel Angel Duran. In FBI custody here in the capital.”
Rose nodded. “Right. Been there five years. Ratted on one of his suppliers. No way we can get him without letting our friends at the Bureau know.”
He moved down to the next row.
“Number two is Mauricio Solano. Betrayed a congressman in Mexico in 2009 and has been rotting in Mexico City’s finest jail ever since. But here, we have an in.”
“Which is?”
“Eric Lammy. American. Busted for trying to carry half a kilo of coke back from his vacation in the Baja. Our government’s been trying to get him extradited for years, but I think our bosses can tickle the right armpits.”
Jean nodded. “So we go in to get him and bring Mauricio back with us.”
“Easy,” said Rose, rubbing his forehead.
“We’ll deal with details later,” said Jean. “And number three?”
“Three is Juan Jurado, known as JJ. He’s an angel now—felt too guilty about past sins and turned to God. Runs a legit organization with the Opus Dei faction of the Catholic Church out of Mexico City. Helping young lost souls and avoiding arrest somehow.”
“Too good to be true,” said Jean.
“Right.”
“But probably the least complicated to get.”
Rose stepped back and pointed to the last row. Number four.
“Rafael Casas. The man responsible for the demise of the cartel when he made a deal with the DEA and informed on his former buddies. The operation was unsuccessful, though, and Miguel Angel Duran was the only capture. Rafael Casas went into an FBI witness protection program.”
“Damn,” said Jean.
I could sense Jairo stirring on the couch behind us. Rose took a slug of his coffee. Outside, the night was clear and probably cold.
“Of course,” said Rose, “Morales here knows all of this. Don’t you?”
Rose had turned towards Jairo, who rubbed the side of his face.
“Come on, Morales. Your daughter is missing. You can actually do some good for the first time in your miserable existence and help us. You knew these men, right?”
Jairo rubbed his eye.
I sat down beside him, keeping my distance but looking at him directly.
“Jairo, come on. Reynolds can’t escape arrest for too long. You can help us locate these men and it’s done.”
Jairo looked at me, not a muscle on his face twitched.
Rose went to move around the sofa and join us in the staring contest, but I shot him a look and shook my head, fast and light. Rose stopped and puffed.
“Jairo,” I continued, “we only need confirmation. We already know who these men are. You knew them, right?”
Jairo’s head stayed still, but I thought I saw something in his eyes, a micro reaction to the question. His subconscious, perhaps, reacting to his internal acknowledgment. Then the message reached his neck, and he nodded.
I looked at Rose. He gave me silent permission to continue.
“And the last guy. In the balaclava. Who is he?”
Jairo stayed quiet, inert once more.
“Jairo.”
Nothing.
“Come on.”
I carried on staring, counting the seconds. I had reached twenty when Jairo turned to face Rose, his eyes burning all of a sudden, violent somehow and threatening. He was a handsome young man, I could admit that much. I couldn’t work out whether his unpredictability contributed to that fact or made it worse.
Jairo said, “I knew them all.”
“Okay,” I said. “Why would Reynolds want them captured?”
Jairo said nothing but held the stare. Rose tutted, at the end of his tether.
“That’s it, Santos,” said Rose. “Let’s go home. I need a long whiskey and six hours’ sleep. This is useless.”
Jean threw her arms out in a I give up gesture, “Fine.”
