A Touch of Greed nb-3

by Gary Ponzo

  Ken shrugged. “Boy, off the top of my head I’ve got nothing, but I can run it by the analysts and see what they come up with.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  Ken wrote the word, ‘Sandoval,’ on the legal pad. “Are Nick and Matt still thinking about storming over the border?”

  “It’s a miracle Matt hasn’t gone already.”

  “Sure,” Ken said, swirling a circle around the eight mysterious letters. He noticed something peculiar about the series of letters he’d just written on his pad. He drew a line from the first letter of his jumbled message to the ‘n,’ in Sandoval. Then he took the second letter from the message and drew a line to the ‘v’ in Sandoval. He did this six more times until it became clear the letters matched the exact letters in the word ‘Sandoval.’

  “You still there?” Walt asked.

  Ken grinned, circling ‘Sandoval’ over and over, pressing the pencil tip so hard, it broke in two. “Walt,” he said. “I think I have something for you.”

  Chapter 16

  Garza was watering his flowers when his phone rang. He looked down at the name on his display and frowned. Julio was behind him throwing a tennis ball against the side of the building, so he handed the hose to his son and instructed him to finish watering.

  Garza walked to the back of the complex and pushed the talk button on his phone.

  “Yes,” he said, in a tired voice.

  “Mr. Garza, are you prepared to transfer the device?”

  “Yes, Sadeem,” Garza said.

  “Very well. I shall meet you at your complex tomorrow night.”

  Garza sighed. He found Victor eating a burrito on the back patio and sat next to him at the table. “No,” Garza said. “I don’t want you bringing that thing here. We’ll meet out in the desert. I’ll have a car meet you in town at Guedo’s Taco Shop at three. You’ll follow them to our meeting place.”

  “If that is your wish. There is one other thing,” Sadeem said. “My people want me to travel with the package until it arrives into the United States. They are concerned about the stability of the device.”

  Garza tugged at his hair. “This is not what we had agreed upon.”

  “This material is simply much too sensitive to be left to inexperienced transporters. I am doing this for your safety as well.”

  Garza could feel his pulse quickening. His expression must’ve seemed extreme because Victor had put the burrito down and was staring at his boss.

  “No,” Garza snapped. “You will not be going with the package.”

  There was a pause. After a few seconds, Sadeem said, “Very well. I will come by first thing in the morning to pick up my briefcase.”

  The words hung there in the air and Garza recognized them for what they were. A bluff. Sadeem was in no position to call off his assault. He would have to find another method to cross the border with a nuclear device and Garza doubted he’d be able to find a substitute within a reasonable time frame. Yet, the man kept quiet and let it stew in Garza’s belly. In his mind, Garza had already spent the money and Sadeem seemed to know that. Returning the briefcase would be like returning a winning lottery ticket.

  Finally, Garza said, “I do not trust you.”

  “There is no need for trust. This is a business transaction. You either accept the offer or you do not. Would you like a few minutes to talk it over with your people?”

  Another insult. As if Garza needed permission to make such a decision on his own.

  “Okay,” Garza said. “We will bring you. But you will not be allowed to see our entry point.”

  “As you wish,” Sadeem said. “As long as I am with the material.”

  Garza hung up the phone and slammed it onto the table. Victor’s burrito jumped up a few inches.

  “I have a bad feeling about this Sadeem character,” Garza seethed. “He insists on coming with us while we bring the nuclear device across the border. This is not how I planned things.”

  “Then don’t do it,” Victor said.

  Garza squeezed his eyes shut. “I must.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, Victor. I am simply too greedy.”

  * * *

  Nick, Matt and Stevie were in Roger Decker’s office contemplating their next move, while Tommy slept on the couch still battling jet lag from his cross-continental flight. Stevie sat behind Decker’s desk, his fingers scurrying across the computer keypad while he searched for a connection with the word, “Sandoval.”

  Matt leaned back in a chair, writing notes on a legal pad as Nick paced.

  “You’re sure there’s not one Sandoval with any law enforcement in the Tucson PD?” Nick asked Stevie.

  Stevie placed his index finger on the computer screen to mark his place. “How many times do I need to say no?” Then he resumed reading something on the screen.

  Nick felt a buzz in his pocket and pulled his phone out to see a text message from Julie.

  “How are things going?” she asked.

  Nick messaged, “Great. Getting closer every hour. How’s Thomas?”

  “He misses you.”

  “Love you guys.” Nick sent the final message, then returned to pacing. He would call before bedtime as usual.

  Matt seemed to be drawing something on his legal pad.

  “What do you have there?” Nick asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  Nick was glad to see Matt productively helping the process. There were two directions he could’ve gone after Jennifer Steele’s murder: depressed and distraught or bent on getting revenge. So far Matt had shown great restraint by following the plan and not jumping in a car and crossing the border all by himself.

  Another buzz and Nick looked at his phone. This time it was a call from Walt Jackson.

  “Hey,” Nick said, picking up the speed of his pace. “Anything from the analysts?”

  “Not yet. How about Stevie?”

  Nick looked at the tech busy speed-reading the computer screen. “I’m not allowed to interrupt him anymore.”

  “I see. Well, we have some new info from one of Ken’s contacts south of the border.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Apparently the plant down there is still alive and he’s in close proximity to the bomb. Also, he’ll be there when the bomb is transported across the border. Possibly as soon as tomorrow night.”

  “That’s good news, right?”

  “You tell me? What’s one good agent going to do if he’s all by himself?”

  “Maybe he could cause a scene and disrupt their plans.”

  “Maybe he could get himself killed doing that.”

  Nick placed a hand on his forehead and thought about the scenario. One double agent embedded within a foreign organization was close to useless, unless he could communicate with someone up here.

  “So this cryptic message, ‘Sandoval.’ Ken still believes this was left by the plant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well shit, Walt. We can’t just sit here and expect to come up with an answer online. We need to get proactive.”

  With that comment, Matt sat upright in his chair.

  “Nick, you can’t go down there. You guys have gotten away with crap in the past, but this one you won’t walk away from. I promise.”

  “Gee, thanks. For a minute I thought we were in trouble.”

  “I’m serious, Nick.”

  Nick looked into his partner’s eyes and saw an anxious desperation. He didn’t want to fan the flames of hope too much.

  “Okay, Walt. We’ll stick to the plan. But if we haven’t found a solid lead by morning, I can’t make any guarantees.”

  There was an awkward silence as Walt seemed to understand his dilemma. He wanted results, but at what cost?

  “Please. . at least tell me when you’re going.”

  “Why? So you can document our insubordination?”

  There was another long pause. Nick realized he’d taken out his frustration on the wrong person and immediately regrett
ed the accusation. In the political world inside the beltway, Walt would be the last person to ever turn on Nick and he didn’t deserve such a harsh comment.

  “Sorry,” Nick said.

  “It’s okay. I understand.”

  Stevie waved to Nick while remaining glued to his computer screen.

  “All right, Walt,” Nick said. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Be careful out there.”

  “Will do.”

  Nick hit the end button, then said, “What do you have, Stevie?”

  “I have a story from eighteen months ago in the Tucson Citizen about a reporter of theirs name Donald Sandoval.

  “Yeah?”

  “Apparently he’d been reporting on the drug traffic crossing the border in southern Arizona. He was in the middle of a yearlong investigation when he was involved in a horrible accident.”

  “What kind of accident?”

  “It doesn’t specify. It merely states he was leaving the newspaper to pursue other interests.”

  “What other interests?”

  Stevie looked up from the computer screen. “It doesn’t say. The article was buried in the local section of the paper.”

  “Hmm.” Nick looked at Matt who was still fascinated with the notes he was writing, while Tommy was snoring away on the couch.

  “Do you think you can track down a current address for him?” Nick asked.

  Stevie looked disappointed. “Of course I can.”

  “Good. Get it for me and I’ll check it out.” Nick walked a semicircle around Matt’s chair to see what he was writing. Once Nick saw the image in his lap, he froze. Matt had printed a recent satellite image of Garza’s Mexican compound and was writing notes about the information he was able to acquire from the image.

  “If we could get even a dozen Special Forces down here,” Matt said, pointing to the entryways to the compound, “we could storm that complex and grab Garza.”

  All the while, Matt was simply creating his own attack plan. It was becoming apparent Nick wouldn’t be able to hold him back much longer.

  “We go over there with a chopper and do what you want, we lose,” Nick said.

  “How?”

  “Salcido will be blamed and virtually hand the election over to Rodriguez.”

  “How can he be blamed?” Matt asked.

  “It doesn’t matter. If he’s not responsible, then the media will say he’s out of touch. Either way, it will cause more friction and the Mexican voters want less friction, not more.”

  “Fuck the voters,” Matt said. “Let Rodriguez take over. Why should we give a crap?”

  Nick didn’t even entertain a return answer. Matt knew better than anyone what a Rodriguez presidency would mean for the US. He was fuming about his inability to get his hands on Garza and it was clouding his judgment.

  “If we don’t find this bomb by tomorrow night,” Nick said, “we’ll go down and get this son of a bitch. I promise.”

  That brought a gleam of life to Matt’s demeanor. He smiled. “Thanks, partner.”

  President Merrick sat at a table in his private office eating Chinese food with Defense Secretary Martin Riggs and Secretary of State Sam Fisk. Unlike the Oval Office next door where Merrick would meet dignitaries, Prime Ministers and other diplomats, here, Merrick could loosen his tie and walk around in stocking feet.

  A TV hung on each of the four walls. All four were muted. One TV was constantly set for CNN. The other three had Fox News, MSNBC and ESPN.

  Riggs pointed to a TV screen behind Merrick. “Did you see this?”

  Merrick shoveled a forkful of Beef Chow Mein and turned to see a replay of the Auburn Tiger mascot performing halftime tricks at a basketball game. The tiger jumped from a trampoline and misjudged a slam dunk, finishing upside down inside the basket.

  The group chuckled at the scene.

  ESPN fast-forwarded to show someone climbing a ladder and retrieving the poor kid from his plight. After returning to the floor, the tiger waved to the crowd and received a standing ovation.

  Merrick returned to his meal, shaking his head with a smile.

  “That was staged,” Fisk said.

  “You think everything is staged,” Merrick said.

  “And you think reality TV is real.”

  Merrick took another bite of his Chow Mein. After swallowing, he pointed his fork at Riggs. “Where are we with the troop reduction in Pakistan?”

  Riggs wiped his mouth with a white cloth napkin. “We’ll be down to bare minimum by Thanksgiving.”

  “Is it affecting stability?”

  “Of course, but it’s manageable.”

  Merrick followed Fisk’s gaze to the CNN broadcast on his left. There was footage of protesters in Mexico City over President Salcido’s hard-line tactics, preventing travel to certain parts of the country because of the cartel’s stronghold. The violence had escalated to enormous proportions and Salcido was doing everything he could to protect his citizens.

  “He can’t win,” Fisk said. “If he does nothing, he’s considered weak. If he tries to maintain control of certain districts, he’s considered restrictive.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Come on in,” Merrick said, with a mouthful of food.

  White House Chief of Staff Paul Dexter entered holding up a computer tablet in his left hand. He looked completely flustered. “Rodriguez just took the lead in the latest poll.”

  Merrick dropped his fork and sat back in his chair. Riggs followed Merrick’s lead and stopped eating. Fisk went on unabated as Dexter handed his tablet to Merrick.

  “Shit,” Merrick said, scanning the poll results.

  Riggs sat there shaking his head. “This is not good.”

  “Rodriguez has a compelling story,” Dexter said. “He’s going to offer the cartels unbridled passage on certain corridors to maintain their traffic. It will reduce violence and keep the majority of civilians safe.”

  Riggs rolled his eyes.

  “Don’t scoff, Marty,” Merrick said. “These people are living in a hopeless situation down there. Every president claims they’ll crack down on the cartels, yet all it ever does is pile up dead bodies in the streets. You think these people trust the government?”

  “But Rodriguez is in collusion with these guys,” Dexter said.

  “You think they care?” Merrick said, wiping his mouth and tossing the napkin on the table in front of him. “Rodriguez is offering the Mexican people safer streets. He’s offering them a way to keep their children out of harm’s way. Shit, I’d vote for the guy myself.”

  “But what happens when he’s in office?” Dexter asked.

  Riggs tapped a finger on the table. “He’ll get a cut of their profits, then he’ll give them unrestrained access to as many weapons as they’d like. It’ll be like arming an entire country. At that point, we couldn’t stop them from moving freely across our borders. They’ll own it.”

  “Maybe we could offer them Arizona so they’ll leave us alone?” Fisk said, between mouthfuls.

  No one laughed.

  Merrick crossed his arms. “Are we interrupting your meal, Sam?”

  “I think better on a full stomach.”

  Dexter glanced nervously around the table. “Maybe we could send a team down there to. . um, assassinate him?”

  Merrick looked at his Chief of Staff as if he’d spoken Japanese. “Really?”

  Riggs gave Dexter a sympathetic grin. “We’ll figure something out, buddy.”

  Dexter seemed to take that as a cue to leave the room. “Okay, well, I just wanted to get that info to you.”

  As Dexter made his way to the door, Fisk placed the fork on his plate and held up his hand. “Hang on, Paul.”

  Dexter paused.

  Fisk took a deep breath. “There’s a debate tomorrow night between Salcido and Rodriguez in Mexico City. Tell Fredrick to make them aware that I’ll be attending.”

  Merrick tilted his head. “I’m listening.”

 
; “I think it’s important we stay close to the situation.”

  Riggs seemed to understand something. He nodded. “And you’re going to endorse Salcido?”

  “No,” Fisk said. “I’m merely going to show respect for the process. Let the Mexican people know the United States will support whoever wins the election.”

  “And what does that get us?” Merrick asked.

  Fisk grinned. “I have a plan.” He looked at Dexter. “And it doesn’t require sending a team of assassins to Mexico.” He looked at Riggs. “And it doesn’t require sending the Eighty-Second Airborne.” He looked at Merrick. “And it doesn’t require amnesty for cartel leaders.”

  Merrick sighed. “Even if you go down there and throw our support around, how will it be spun by the media? Their newspapers are petrified of the cartels. We can’t afford Salcido to lose this thing, Sam. There’s too much at stake.”

  “Trust me,” Fisk said, standing up and lifting a fortune cookie from the table. “I can fix this.”

  Chapter 17

  It was dinner time and Walt Jackson was still behind his desk waiting for FBI analysts to come up with answers to the ‘Sandoval’ mystery. His wife had left him a snooty text message and his stomach was beginning to growl, but he was determined to give Nick and Matt something to work with.

  His intercom beeped and his secretary’s voice came over the speaker. “Walt, I’ve got this call from somewhere in Mexico. Apparently the guy doesn’t care if we track his call.”

  “What’s he want?”

  “He wants to speak with you about a bomb.”

  “Okay, have the call tracked and recorded, then put him through.”

  Walt’s phone only rang once before he picked up. “This is Walt Jackson.”

  “Mr. Jackson,” a Middle Eastern voice said. “You are about to have a nuclear explosion detonated on American soil.”

  Walt pursed his lips. “I see.”

  “Are you prepared to have such a devastating attack?”

  As the head of the antiterrorist division of the FBI, Walt had read or heard dozens of threatening messages and he was experienced at assessing their legitimacy. This one seemed different somehow.

  “Yes, we’re prepared,” Walt said.