by Gary Ponzo
There was a pause. Walt knew to keep his answers short and force the caller to show his cards.
“Your country will never be the same, Mr. Jackson.”
Walt finally figured out what was missing. The demand. Nobody called to threaten the FBI without a list of demands.
“Are we finished?” Walt asked.
“Don’t you want to know who I am?”
“Okay. Who are you?”
“The United Palestinian Force.”
Of course Walt knew exactly who this guy represented, but he still didn’t know why he called. And without demands, Walt didn’t see the reason to carry on. He was certain the tracking would end up with a cell phone in a trash can somewhere in Mexico.
“Okay,” Walt said. “Is there anything else?”
“You don’t seem concerned.”
“Should I be?”
Another pause.
“The American people expect you to protect them, Mr. Jackson. This could prove to be your greatest failure.”
Something occurred to Walt. There was a sense of insecurity in the man’s voice. As if he was disappointed in Walt’s lack of reaction.
“Is there something you want?” Walt asked.
“How will you be preparing your civilians for this attack?”
So there it was. What the man wanted was some form of recognition.
“I won’t be doing anything,” Walt said. “We have our best people on this and they’ll find the bomb before it breaches our border.”
“The UPF is not an organization to be trifled with. Thousands of Americans will lose their lives over this. The President will not be happy if he knew we made contact with you and you didn’t alert the public.”
“Listen,” Walt said. “We lose thousands of lives on our highways every year, but I don’t see the President declaring war on our interstates.”
This didn’t seem to sit well with the man and his voice changed. It reached a new level of frustration. “We will take as many lives as we can, Mr. Jackson. And when you put your head on your pillow at night, you can know those lives were your responsibility.”
Walt let the anger boil up in the man’s heart. Then he said, “Good luck with that.” And he hung up.
He had to sit back in his chair and consider the wisdom of his reaction. After a few moments of gathering himself, he picked up his cell phone and pushed a button. When Sam Fisk answered, he said, “I received that call you anticipated.”
“And?”
“And I didn’t give him what he wanted.”
“Good.”
“Was that a smart choice, Sam? I mean, are we underestimating these guys?”
“There’s only two ways this can go. One of them will cost innocent lives and terrorize the country for an indefinite period of time. Of this, I’ll take full responsibility. The other way could reduce the UPF to a trivia question and maintain our dominance over domestic terrorism.”
“Seems like a big gamble.”
“Do you know who I’m gambling on?” Fisk said. “Nick Bracco. I’m putting all my chips on that guy, because I’ve never lost a bet doing that.”
Walt sighed. “It’s an awful lot of pressure to put on one person.”
“I’m going with my strengths, Walter. You guys find that bomb and I’ll take care of the politics. Either way, I’ll take the hit.”
“All right, Sam. I’ll keep you posted.” Walt hung up the phone. He’d suddenly lost his appetite.
It was dark by the time Nick pulled into the apartment complex. He came alone hoping to mitigate any anxiety a visit from the FBI might bring. He found the visitor parking and roamed the grounds until he’d located the building Donald Sandoval resided. The complex was fairly rundown with dead patches of grass and rusted railings.
The apartments all faced an inside courtyard with a metal swing set and monkey bars which were missing half the bars. Nick discovered the man’s apartment on the first floor and knocked. He could hear the television blaring.
Nick knocked again, louder this time. Immediately the TV was shut off. A few seconds later the door opened and a man sitting in a wheelchair looked up with extreme caution.
“Yeah?” the man said.
“Don Sandoval?”
The man’s eyes darted around the courtyard, maybe for help, maybe for Nick’s backup. “Who’s asking?” the man said from the darkened room.
Nick showed the man his shield. “FBI.”
The man flipped on the porch light and examined Nick’s credentials until he seemed satisfied they were legit. He murmured something under his breath and with a click and a whir, the motorized wheelchair rolled back from the doorway.
“Come in,” he said.
Nick entered the apartment searching for light. Apparently when the TV went off so did all the light in the apartment.
The man swiveled around in the center of the room to face him. He pushed a button on his wheelchair and the interior lights illuminated the room. The man came into clear view. He was missing both of his legs and one arm. His lone arm sat on the armrest of the chair.
“What do you need?” the man said.
Nick was certain now he had the right man. “I merely have a few questions for you,” Nick said, polite, but not patronizing.
Sandoval looked as if he were asked for his tax return. He was sour-faced and appeared completely dubious of Nick’s intentions.
“What kind of questions?”
Nick took in the room. It was much more organized than one would expect for an apartment in this neighborhood. There was a picture of two smiling girls on the wall.
“Those your kids?” Nick asked.
Sandoval sneered. “What’s your business here, Mr. FBI Agent?”
“You’d written articles about drug trafficking over the Arizona border a while back. I’d like to know some of your findings.”
Sandoval took his one good hand and rubbed it across his face. His eyes became glossy.
“What brought you here?” he asked with a cracking voice.
“You spent a lot of time reporting on this issue. I could use some help tracking down an assassin who works with the cartels.”
This piqued Sandoval’s interest. He pushed a button on the arm of his chair and motored up to Nick. “Who?” he asked.
“Antonio Garza.”
Sandoval grimaced as if Nick had spiked a knife into his chest. “You think I’m going to help you get Antonio Garza?”
Nick said nothing.
“Do you?” Sandoval asked.
Nick looked around the apartment at all the family photos. A chess trophy sat on a narrow table against the wall. Next to the trophy were more photos. In one, Sandoval wore a coach’s jersey with his arm around a young girl wearing a soccer uniform. Next to that were various soccer trophies.
“Where’s your family?” Nick asked.
Sandoval followed Nick’s gaze. “They’re gone,” he said, vacantly.
Nick waited.
“The girls left with their mother six months ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
Sandoval looked down at his truncated body and forced out a phony laugh. “Yeah, well, would you stay married to this thing?”
The man was in pain, yet he seemed on the verge of purging something from his soul. He whirled around, away from Nick, and sat with his head down. The room was stone silent. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked.
“What happened to you, Mr. Sandoval?”
This was too much for the man. His shoulders bobbed up and down and he began to sob. Nick had struck a nerve and he was beginning to formulate a theory. He let this go on for a minute before he walked around the man’s wheelchair and got to a knee.
“I might be able to help you,” Nick said. “Please, tell me what happened.”
“How did you find me?” Sandoval asked, tears meandering down his cheeks.
“One of my computer science techs tracked you down.”
Sandoval suddenly wheeled up to a
window and pulled up one of the slats on the blinds. He looked outside searching for something.
“What are you afraid of, Mr. Sandoval?”
Sandoval raised his voice. “Who do you think, asshole?”
Nick finally put it together. “I can get him for you.”
Sandoval’s face scrunched up into a tight ball of pure agony. “Oh, really?” he said, sardonically. “And could you get my arm and legs back for me as well? And when you’re done, could you explain to my daughters why their father can’t play soccer with them or even go bowling? I mean, you said you could help me.”
Sandoval whirled away from Nick again and gazed up at a photo of his two girls. They looked to be in their early teens.
“Did you know how he got his name, El Carnicero?” Sandoval asked.
Nick said nothing.
“His father was a butcher,” Sandoval said. “Garza grew up cutting sides of beef. He could slice a full cow down to the bone inside of twenty minutes. Eventually his father wanted Garza to take over the family business, but he refused. Garza was already gaining a reputation as a rebel. He decided cutting up humans paid more than slicing up animals.
“One day his father opens the shop up early and discovers Garza cleaning up the remains of one of his victims. Garza didn’t even hesitate.”
Sandoval spun around to face Nick. “His father was never seen again.”
Nick looked down at the man. His eyes were red. His lips trembled.
All Nick could think to say was, “I’m sorry.”
Then, Sandoval’s expression changed. There was a seed of determination growing on his face. “No,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a coward for so long, afraid to lose what little I’d had left.” He looked around the apartment and waved his hand. “It doesn’t seem I have anything else left to protect now, does it?”
Sandoval motored into the kitchen. The refrigerator opened and Sandoval said, “Would you like a beer?”
“Sure.”
Sandoval returned with two beers between his leg stumps. He gave one to Nick, then ripped off the top of his beer with expert agility and took a long gulp. This seemed to change his behavior. He pointed his beer at a nearby couch and said, “Have a seat.”
Nick sat and took a sip of beer.
Sandoval appraised Nick with a renewed sense of curiosity. “So, you want to get Garza, huh?”
“No, you misunderstood me. I will get Garza. I just wanted to know if you could offer an insight to his drug carting business.”
Sandoval grinned for the first time. “You have no idea how screwed you are, do you?”
“Tell me.”
Sandoval took a long swig of his beer. When the can came down, his face had lost all emotion. He looked down at his torso. “When Garza did this to me, he didn’t know how much I knew. I was about to expose everything in my latest installment, but it never left my computer. To him, I was just a pest.” He raised his beer. “He said he’d leave me with one hand so I could still whack off, since that would be the only pleasure I would ever have again. He was right.”
Nick watched the journalist carefully eye his beer and put his thoughts together. When his eyes met Nick’s, he seemed to consider something.
“They’re in Canada now,” Sandoval said, pointing to a photo of his family on the wall. “My wife changed her name back to her maiden name, along with the kids. Do you think they’re safe up there?”
“You mean from Garza?”
Sandoval nodded.
“Yes,” Nick said. “He’s been under intense scrutiny over the past few weeks. We have a few of his men in custody right now. Even though they’re not speaking, he has to assume one of them will turn. Anything I learn tonight would never be tracked to you.”
This seemed to be what the man wanted to hear. He finished his beer, motored into the kitchen and returned with two new cans. Nick accepted a second one even though his first was still full.
After another dose of liquid courage, Sandoval wiped the back of his mouth with his one functioning limb. He looked at Nick conspiratorially. “I know how he does it.”
Nick was smart enough to stay out of the way.
“There’s a small border town fifty miles southwest of Tucson, named Denton,” Sandoval said. “It’s a mining town. Every one of the three thousand people living there work at the copper mine. That’s besides the people at the few retail stores or the motel. The mine itself is just south of town and probably a hundred yards from the border. During my investigation, I’d interviewed several employees trying to figure out how much copper was mined from the place. I couldn’t find a single person who’d seen any of the finished product. I went to the mine and requested an interview with the owner, Sonny Chizek.”
Sandoval looked down at his beer. “That same night I was pulled from my motel room and taken to Garza’s chop shop.”
Nick said nothing. He couldn’t help but stare at the missing appendages.
“I have firsthand knowledge that Garza and Chizek are in business together,” Sandoval said. “I’ll never reveal my source, but it’s a fact. There’s no doubt in my mind, Garza uses that mine to distribute the cartel’s product. It’s less than a mile from Garza’s main residence.”
Sandoval met Nick’s eyes and must’ve seen the question lingering in his mind. The journalist still had a few instincts left.
“I didn’t tell anyone because Garza threatened my family. He had a guy come to my daughter’s school and scare the crap out of her.”
“What did he do?”
“Nothing,” Sandoval said. “He told her she was being watched and that’s it. He was just sending a message.” Sandoval wheeled over to a table where the girls’ soccer trophies sat. He picked up a flash drive and wheeled back to hand it to Nick. “Everything is there. I edited out my sources’ names, but you’ll see what I found. You probably know most of it already. The mine was really my next story.”
Nick pocketed the flash drive and said, “Thanks.”
They sat there sipping their beers for a few awkward moments until Nick was compelled to get this information back to his team. He put his beer down and said, “Is there anything else I should know?”
“Yeah,” Sandoval said. “Don’t take Chizek lightly. He owns Denton. And I mean literally. It’s like a cult. They can sense an outsider coming before you park the car.”
Nick nodded. “I can have your family watched for the next few days until I get Garza.”
Sandoval seemed to like Nick’s bravado. His eyes flashed a glimmer of hope. “You really believe you’ll get him, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Sandoval went to the kitchen and returned with a piece of paper. He handed it to Nick. “Here’s their address in Vancouver.”
Nick gave Sandoval his card and said, “Call me anytime.”
Sandoval took the card and put it in his lap.
Halfway out the door, Nick turned and said, “You’re a very brave man, Mr. Sandoval.”
Sandoval appeared to appreciate the concept. He nodded gratefully.
Nick headed back to his car, the vision of Donald Sandoval still vivid in his mind. The man all alone in an apartment full of family photos. Once he was behind the wheel, Nick dialed his cell phone and waited. When Julie answered, he said, “Did I tell you how much I love you today?”
“No,” she said. “But I’m a really good listener.”
Chapter 18
Nick returned to the Homeland Security office around ten and was surprised to find Decker standing behind his desk pointing a pen at the map on the wall, while Matt and Stevie stood next to him.
“What’s going on?” Nick asked.
“Roger was just showing us the soft spots along our border,” Stevie said.
“Is that so?” Nick said, opening the lid to an empty pizza box on the desk. He looked around the room. “Where’s Tommy?”
“Getting coffee,” Matt said.
Nick sat down on the couch and gestured to the ma
p. “So where is our weakest position?”
“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.”
