Serpent's Gate - Michael McGarity

by Michael McGarrity

  "Have you seized the Tortuga computers and any hard-copy corporate records?"

  Joe looked at his watch. "Agents from the Las Cruces office should be at Tortuga right now. It took a while to do the paperwork and get a court order signed."

  "Have you been here all night?"

  "Yeah. Again."

  "Have you got any steam left?"

  "I'm good for a few more hours."

  "Where do we stand with Sherman Cobb and Roger Springer?"

  "Both Bucky and De Leon kept track of their payments to Rancho Caballo by computer. Plus, I've got Springer and Cobb signing off on loan applications, countersigning checks, authorizing payments, approving contracts, and accelerating repayments. Put the hard-copy evidence together with Watson's confession and we've got more than enough probable cause."

  "Arrest Cobb and Springer," Kerney said.

  "Take a couple of agents with you."

  "Now, won't that be fun," Joe said with a grin.

  * * *

  Andy pulled into his parking space just as Joe Valdez and two other agents hurried out the door. Valdez spotted Andy's car and walked to it. Andy opened the window and waited. "Chief, I left a note on your desk."

  "What does it say?"

  "Chief Kerney went down to Bernalillo. You can reach him by radio if needed."

  "Where are you off to?"

  "To arrest Springer and Cobb."

  "Tell me what you've got," Andy said.

  Valdez ran down the facts while the two agents waited inside their units. After hearing Joe out, and asking a few questions, Andy smiled. Over coffee at the diner, he'd decided to have Cobb and Springer picked up. Kerney had beaten him to it.

  "Chief?" Valdez said.

  Andy laughed and shook his head.

  "Do it."

  He watched Valdez and the agents drive off, and the tight feeling in his gut started to evaporate.

  In his office, he started making calls to the State Department, FBI, the Department of Justice, Customs, and the CIA. He talked to people he knew, several of whom owed him favors. He wanted to blow a bigger hole in De Leon operation, if possible. He hung up with promises from the feds to move quickly. De Leon was known throughout the criminal justice and intelligence systems, and every agency was eager to cooperate. He had his secretary fax key documents to federal officials in Washington, Virginia, Albuquerque, and El Paso, and told his public affairs officer to set up a press conference.

  To stay on the job in the face of his insubordination, Andy would have to play politics. Once word of his disloyalty reached the Roundhouse, Springer's people would come after him, and he wasn't about to make it easy for the governor to fire him.

  ***

  Once a farming settlement along the banks of the Rio Grande, the town of Bemalillo was somewhat protected from the suburban sprawl of Albuquerque by an Indian pueblo that buffered the two cities. But the cushion of open land that cut a swath east from the river to the mountains couldn't hold back the development that filled the west mesa. A gently rising plateau with eroded cones of extinct volcanoes, sandy arroyos, black lava rock, and bunch grass the mesa had been transformed into a series of bedroom communities that filled the skyline. It vanished from sight when Kerney got off the interstate and dipped into the shallow river valley that sheltered the town. He drove the four-lane main street to city hall, where he stopped and asked for directions.

  Ordway lived one block off the main drag in an old two-story adobe farmhouse that had been carved into small apartments. Under the porch were two entry doors, and on either side of the building staircases led to second-story living units. There were lace curtains in the front window of a first-floor apartment, along with a picture of the Virgin Mary that had been taped to a glass pane. The name Abeyta was stenciled on the mailbox next to the door.

  Kerney knocked on the door and a heavyset, elderly Hispanic woman wearing a drab gray dress opened it partway.

  "Senora Abeyta," Kerney said, speaking in Spanish. "I hope I am not disturbing you." In the background he heard the loud chatter of a television talk show.

  "Not at all, but I have no vacancies," Mrs. Abeyta replied in English.

  "All my apartments are rented."

  "I'm looking for a friend of mine," he explained.

  "Neil Ordway."

  "Oh yes, he just moved in, but he is not here now."

  "Do you know how I can reach him?"

  "He said that he had a job working for a carpet installer."

  "Do you know which one?"

  Mrs. Abeyta shook her head.

  "No, but I think he might be working in Rio Rancho, putting carpets in all those new houses they are building up there."

  "He told you that?"

  "Yes, when he rented the apartment."

  "Gratias, senora."

  "You're welcome, senor."

  Kerney stopped at a cafe on the main street, and used a pay phone and directory to whittle down an interminable number of carpet installers until he located Ordway's new employer. Mrs. Abeyta had heard Ordway correctly, the company was doing subcontract installations for a builder in the Rio Rancho area. Kerney got the address where Ordway was working.

  He left Bemalillo and drove up the mesa. The view east toward the mountains showed a sweep of pale hills that climbed from the bosque. The Rio Grande ran brown and languid around fingerlike sandbars Kerney glimpsed through the breaks in the thick cottonwood stands. But the drive into Rio Rancho took him into a different world altogether. High privacy walls bordered the wide toroughfare, masking all but the second story of houses squeezed together on tiny lots. At major intersections, strip malls, convenience stores, and gas stations abounded. The stark, beautiful New Mexico landscape had been transformed into a place no different from the oozing Los Angeles megalopolis.

  West of the main road, behind an established residential tract, was a checkerboard development of empty lots and high-density housing units under construction. Along the newly paved streets, stick houses and apartment buildings were going up in assembly-line fashion. While cement crews poured footings and pads at freshly prepped building sites, down the line carpenters framed walls and hung roof joists. The pattern repeated itself until Kerney rolled to a stop in front of three model homes in the final stages of completion.

  Little flagpoles with triangular pennants stood in front of the houses, and large signs planted in the yards blazoned the name of each model. A panel truck with rolls of carpet sticking out of the open rear doors was parked in a driveway.

  Kerney called for backup before walking through the garage, past a laundry alcove, and into the kitchen. In the adjacent dining nook two men were unrolling a carpet pad. Both froze when they saw Kerney with his semiautomatic in one hand and his shield in the other.

  "Ordway?" Kerney asked softly.

  "Back bedroom, on the left," one of the men replied.

  Kerney stepped into the room. "Wait outside," he ordered in a whisper.

  The men scurried past him into the garage. He found Ordway in the bedroom on his hands and knees with his back to the door, trimming carpet.

  Ordway heard him coming, rose to a kneeling position, and turned. He had a knife in his hand.

  Kerney moved quickly before Ordway could react; he slammed the barrel of his gun against Ordway's cheek and kicked at Ordway's knife hand with his good leg. The blade went flying.

  Neil came off the floor in a rush, diving for Kerney's midsection. Kerney sidestepped and used Ordway's momentum to drive him, face first, into a wall.

  "Hands to the small of your back," Kerney ordered as he leaned hard against the man to keep him secure, and kicked his feet apart. Ordway grunted and complied. After cuffing Ordway, Kerney patted him down and spun him around.

  "Hello, Neil," he said affably.

  Ordway's nose looked broken.

  Ordway seemed dazed. Blood flowed from his nose, dripping on the tan carpet. He swallowed hard and spat at Kerney.

  "Fuck you, Kerney."
/>   Kerney wiped the spit off his face.

  "You're under arrest for aggravated battery. Beating up Robert was a stupid idea."

  "I'll be out on bail in twenty-four hours," Ordway said.

  "But unemployed once again, I would imagine," Kerney replied.

  "Let me read you your rights."

  A state police officer arrived as Kerney brought Ordway out of the house. He explained the charges to the officer, who agreed to drive Ordway to Torrance County, book him into jail, and deliver Kerney's criminal complaint to the district attorney.

  Kerney watched the patrol car drive away. Busting Ordway felt good, but it didn't relieve the anger that gnawed at him about Gilbert Martinez's murder. He wondered if he would get a chance to even things up with Enrique De Leon and Carlos Ruiz.

  ***

  Antonio Vallaverde turned off the main highway south of Juarez onto a blacktop road that cut through the saddle of two hills along the Rio Grande. He stopped at the security gate and announced himself. A high-ranking official in the Mexican Ministry of Justice, Vallaverde coordinated all cooperative borderland investigations with North American law enforcement agendes, including the New Mexico State Police. Two miles in from the highway, a sprawling hacienda sat at the base of a hill with a lovely view of the bosque and the low-lying west Texas mountains across the river. The old rancho had been restored to its original splendor. The main hacienda, a private chapel, rock stables, a stone granary, and several other out buildings had been rebuilt from the ground up. Old stone fences divided the grazing and farm land that bordered the basque, and some of the melting adobe walls of the original peasant quarters still remained visible in the distance. During the Mexican Revolution, the site had served as a government jail and execution grounds before being sacked and burned by Pancho Villa's troops.

  A houseboy in white linen stood outside the arched hacienda doorway. Antonio parked in the circular cobblestone driveway and followed the servant into the courtyard, with its charming brick lattice balustrade and central fountain. They passed through the vast living room and into the billiard parlor. De Leon had a guest: A young woman bent over the billiard table with a cue stick in her hands. She had strawberry blond hair that fell against creamy white shoulders, long legs, and a small waist. The woman made her shot as Enrique looked on.

  Antonio had spent a number of pleasant evenings in the parlor with Enrique and various industrialists, senior military officers, and prominent politicians who were De Leon friends. It was a long room with a high ceiling and an arrangement of comfortable chairs in front of a fireplace at one end, where a well-stocked liquor cabinet stood close at hand. Above the fireplace hung an antique cavalry officer's sword in a scabbard.

  In the center of the room, chairs for spectators and players lined the walls facing the billiard table. A door along the back wall provided passage to Enrique's richly appointed library, where key arrangements in the last national election had been brokered. Antonio coughed and De Leon looked in his direction.

  "Go now," De Leon said to the woman, taking the cue stick from her hand.

  The woman left without saying a word, passing by Antonio with a look and a smile. She had a soft, sensual step, a long, elegant neck, and lustrous green eyes. Antonio could smell her scent in the air.

  "I hope I find you well, Enrique," Vallaverde said.

  "Indeed, I am," Enrique replied. Antonio was one of the few paid informants he truly liked.

  "You have something to tell me, Antonio?"

  "Not good news, I'm afraid. The New Mexico State Police have seized a large quantity of drugs in Santa Fe and arrested a man named Watson, who has confessed to being one of your distributors."

  "Where is Watson now?" Enrique asked.

  "In jail."

  "How much merchandise was confiscated?"

  "The street value is reported to be over a million dollars."

  De Leon knew immediately that Bucky had held back some product from the Chicago shipment. He would deal with him harshly.

  "Such things happen occasionally," he said. "It is the cost of doing business."

  "There is more, Enrique. Records of Tortuga International were seized in Las Cruces by the New Mexico State Police this morning. A United States judge has been asked to freeze all your North American corporate assets."

  "What else do you know?"

  "Stolen art worth many millions has been recovered from your Santa Fe house. The authorities believe you are behind the theft. They are seeking your whereabouts in Mexico. Of course, I have suggested that they look for you in all the wrong places."

  "You give the Americans such wise counsel," De Leon said with a smile.

  "I can do no less in light of your past generosities," Antonio replied.

  "May I offer some advice, Enrique?"

  "By all means."

  "A request has been made to the State Department to declare you persona non grata, which would bar you from any future visits to the United States. It will be favorably acted upon. Additionally, the Americans are prepared to ask our government to strip you of your diplomatic status and extradite you for prosecution.

  I have been told on highest authority that we will be sensitive to their demands. It is a difficult time for trying to sweep such issues with the Americans under the rug."

  "These political manipulations can be dealt with."

  "In time," Antonio said.

  "But if the Americans fail to get what they want, they may come after you on their own. The new drug laws passed by their Congress give their federal agents that prerogative."

  "What do you suggest?"

  "Perhaps a trip abroad is in order, until matters settle. I would not wait long to decide, Enrique. The American ambassador plans to discuss your diplomatic status at the highest level of our government before day's end."

  "Thank you, Antonio. You have been most kind to bring these matters to my attention. Do one small favor for me. Find out the identities of the persons overseeing the state police investigation. Perhaps they would not be unresponsive to an offer to become rich men, if an arrangement can be made."

  "I'll get back to you," Antonio said.

  Vallaverde departed and De Leon went to the library. Antonio's report was troubling. The loss of the Tortuga assets would sting, but hardly ruin him. He doubted the complexities of the company could be easily unraveled by the police in a short period of time. If he moved quickly, millions of dollars could be saved.

  He rang for Carlos, who answered promptly. "I want arrangements made to have Bucky Watson killed immediately,"

  Enrique said.

  "He is in the Santa Fe County jail. I do not want him to live to see another day. Report to me when your plans are complete."

  "Si, patron."

  De Leon disconnected and dialed a different number.

  Several hours passed before he put the telephone in the cradle. The time had been well spent; Tortuga's remaining cash assets had been transferred out of the United States through a series of complex banking transactions.

  The phone rang almost immediately. He punched the speaker button. "What is it?"

  "It is Antonio, Enrique. The man responsible for the police investigation in Santa Fe is Kevin Kerney, the deputy state police chief. Several related arrests have been made by his investigators; a nephew of the governor and a prominent attorney have been charged with money laundering."

  "Continue."

  "One of his detectives was killed in a shoot-out at a Santa Fe residence. I do not think Kerney can be bought."

  "Do you have a dossier on Kerney and his investigations?"

  "A slim one, yes."

  "Please send it by courier to the hadenda."

  "I will do so immediately," Antonio replied.

  "Thank you, Antonio."

  ***

  "But, patron, he could not have survived so many bullets." De Leon patted the file folder on the top of his desk.

  "You killed a state police sergeant named Martinez." />
  "But it was Kerney's car." Carlos caught himself.

  There was no point making excuses. He lowered his head submissively. "I am sorry, Don Enrique. What are your orders?"

  "Delfino and Felix will meet you at the airport in an hour. You will assist them in locating Kerney. Both he and Watson must be killed. What progress have you made on Watson?"

  "He is in a seclusion cell at the jail. A court hearing has been scheduled for late this afternoon."

  "Will he be heavily guarded during the court hearing?"

  "Only one officer has been assigned to transport him."

  "Excellent."

  "What other orders do you have for me, patron?" De Leon held out the file.

  "None. Felix and Delfino will instruct you in all matters. Do not keep them waiting."

  Carlos took the file, risked a glance at the icy stare in De Leon eyes, lowered his gaze, and quickly left the room, wondering if there was any way the patron would let him live.

  ***

  Officer Yvonne Rasmussen gave Kerney a pleased smile when he came into her hospital room. "I'm sorry it took so long for me to come and see you," Kerney said as he shook the young woman's hand. "I hear you're healing up nicely."

  "I get to go home tomorrow," Rasmussen replied. "The doctor said I start light duty in a week."

  "That's good news. You kept an old friend of mine from getting killed. I want to thank you for that."

  Rasmussen's gray eyes clouded over. "I didn't do enough. Chief. If I had responded sooner, Sergeant Martinez might still be alive."

  "Don't beat up on yourself. You did all that you could."

  "That's not the way I feel," Rasmussen said.

  "Would you like to talk about it?"

  Rasmussen hesitated and shook her head slowly. "Not yet."

  "I need to ask you a few questions. When you were patrolling Fletcher's house, before the gunfight, did you notice anything unusual?"

  "Nothing."

  "Did you run license plate checks on the vehicles parked in the immediate area?"

  "Yes. All but one of the cars were registered to neighborhood residents. The one that wasn't belonged to an elderly Hispanic-surnamed male with a south-side address. I ran him through NCIC and there were no wants or warrants. It didn't seem suspicious."