by Jeff Siebold
“I don’t see anyone else in there,” said Kimmy as Zeke slowed a bit and drove past the gate to the site. “But keep going. We can turn around up here.” She pointed to a retail parking lot a block away.
Then she picked up the radio and called in the Kia’s location.
“Roger that,” said the electronic voice. “We’ll move our mobile units into position around the Kia, but out of sight. Let us know if he starts to leave.”
Kimmy agreed and a moment later Zeke parked their vehicle across the street from the fence gate in the vacant parking lot of the Calexico Event Center.
* * *
Exactly twenty minutes later, a black panel van slowed and pulled through the gate to the transfer terminal. It rolled slowly toward the building, raising a trail of dust like a small boat’s wake.
Zeke and Kimmy watched as the van parked near the building and a small man stepped out. He looked around, cautious, and then walked around the van and opened the back door. Two men stepped out, jumping down from the cargo hold. Each was carrying an AK-47, an ugly rifle with a large, distinctive, banana-shaped magazine.
“They call them ‘goat horns’,” said Zeke. “‘Cuerno de chivo’.”
“Because of their magazines?” asked Kimmy.
Zeke nodded, watching as the men quickly climbed the steps and opened the door of the terminal. They were wearing flannel shirts, buttoned to the top button, and canvas pants. They had bandanas wrapped around their heads. Two of the men stepped inside, and one, with a rifle, stayed on the platform outside.
“Those are the same men we saw launch the drugs over the wall yesterday,” said Zeke. “Looks like they’re here to pick up their merchandise.”
“We’d better call in that they’re armed,” Zeke suggested. “Let the Border Patrol know to proceed with caution.”
Kimmy did. Then she asked, “So they launch the projectile during the night, and someone retrieves it right then. Then that person meets up with them on this side of the border and gives them back their drugs?”
“It looks that way,” said Zeke. “They’re just interested in getting it over those last few miles into the states.”
“What about the guns? It would be risky to try to bring the AK-47’s through the border crossing.”
“They must have a place on this side of the border where they keep the weapons,” said Zeke. “We didn’t see any guns when they launched the mortar last night.”
“Right,” said Kimmy.
“Which means they don’t totally trust the guy who retrieved the drugs for them. If they did, they could just meet at his house on East Rivera. And they could keep the guns there.”
* * *
Zeke and Kimmy watched the cargo terminal for another half hour, until the men left. The three men exited the building in a small group and joined the guard on the platform. One of the small men was carrying a backpack. The other two held their weapons and looked around cautiously.
The taller man, the one who had retrieved the drugs the night before, walked directly to his red car, got in, and drove away. The three smaller men got back into the van the same way they’d gotten out, first the two with guns got in the cargo area, and then the driver closed the back door and got in the driver’s seat. Fifteen seconds later they were exiting the property onto West Cole Road.
“We’ve got them,” Zeke heard someone say on the radio. “Everybody else, stay back.”
* * *
“Our officers followed them to a house on the north side of town,” CPA Arlo Peterson said. “They pulled into the garage and closed the overhead door before they got out of the van.”
Zeke and Kimmy were sitting with him, as well as Ex-O Joyce Henderson and Jose Garcia, in Border Patrol Headquarters. Zeke had driven there after both vehicles had left the cargo terminal.
“They didn’t want the first man, the receiver, to know where the drugs ended up. Otherwise, they’d have left them at the transfer terminal,” said Zeke.
Peterson nodded.
“They’re probably cutting the cocaine right now,” said Zeke. “My bet is they’ll want to get it distributed as soon as possible, keep the drugs moving along the supply chain.”
Kimmy was nodding in a rhythm, as if to a tune. She was dressed in a Mexican blouse and skirt of festive colors, with a matching hair band. Zeke thought she looked a little bit like a small piñata. A small but deadly piñata, he thought.
“Did you recognize any of the men at the freight terminal?” asked Zeke.
“None are on our watch lists,” said Peterson.
Garcia said, “I wasn’t there for the excitement.”
“Were they wearing gang colors?” asked Zeke.
“Mexican gangs,” said Peterson, nodding. “Probably CJNG. Cartel Jalisco New Generation. They’ve been trying to take over from the local drug cartel since its leader was arrested. It’s been a pretty violent fight.”
“Do you think they’re doing this on their own, or are there others involved?” asked Ex-O Joyce Henderson.
“Almost certainly they’re working on behalf of someone. Either someone in charge of the cartel, or someone who’s trying to gain control. This sort of an operation takes resources. Guns, the mortar, the projectiles with that technology…it will take money and very good connections,” said Garcia.
* * *
“We know they’re in the house. It’s a matter of taking them down most efficiently,” said CPA Peterson.
Zeke asked, “Do you plan to take them in the house, or wait until they’re back on the road?”
“It’s a residential neighborhood,” said Ex-O Henderson, looking at the monitor on her laptop. “We want to avoid civilian endangerment and casualties.”
“We know we’re facing at least two automatic weapons,” Peterson continued. “I’ve called in the BORTAC guys, but I’m not sure they’ll be here in time.”
“Border Patrol Tactical Unit,” said Zeke. “They’re based in El Paso, right?”
Peterson nodded. “They’re the best team to take the house. They’ve got snipers for recon and to assist in the takedown.”
“They’re your equivalent of a SWAT team,” said Zeke. “Armor and weapons and tactical training.”
Peterson nodded.
“You have eyes on the house?” Kimmy asked.
“And camera drones in the air around the neighborhood. It’s a middle class neighborhood, only a mile from the freight terminal, as the crow flies. Like I said, our biggest worry is that a civilian will get in the way, between us and the bad guys,” said Ex-O Henderson.
Kimmy nodded. “Can we see the drone feed?”
Ex-O Henderson slid her laptop computer around so it was visible to everyone in the room. They saw the barrel tile roofs and the green lawns from above. The drones appeared to be pretty high in the air. Into her cell phone she said, “Can we zoom out, Phil?” She was talking to the drone camera operator.
“We could take them when they transport the drugs,” said Peterson. “But that has risks, too. Open road, civilians, automatic weapons. It’s a tough situation to contain.”
Zeke nodded.
The computer screen changed and showed an aerial view of more of the neighborhood. The street was asphalt paved with curb and gutter transitioning into sidewalks and concrete driveways. There were trees and bushes, and more of the yards were neatly trimmed. The homes, although fairly close together, were a reasonable size for a middle-class neighborhood. They saw a swimming pool behind one of the houses.
“Which house are they in?” asked Zeke.
“We tracked them to this one,” said the Ex-O, pointing at the computer with a pen. “On Santa Ana Street.”
“You have your boots on the ground there?” asked Garcia.
“We do. We’ve got men in three neighboring houses, and one on the street in back,” said Peterson. “I guess the best move is to wait for the BORTAC guys.”
“And girls,” said Kimmy. “Don’t forget the girls.”
“And girls,” said Peterson, acquiescing.
“When will they be here?” asked Zeke.
“Not for a few hours,” said Peterson. “And once they’re here, they’ll want a couple hours to prepare. We’re pulling the building plans for the house, the model they’re in. It’s a planned subdivision and the builder filed the plans with the city. They’ll also want to wait until about four AM to breach the doors.”
“Optimum time,” said Kimmy.
“Then we’ll wait, unless the bad guys decide to move,” said Peterson.
* * *
An hour and ten minutes later the front door opened and a man stepped out of the house on Santa Ana Street. He stood on the porch and looked around and lit a cigarette.
Ex-O Henderson’s radio squawked and she called across the room to Peterson, “You need to see this, Chief.”
Peterson had been talking with Zeke while Kimmy stood nearby, studying the maps on the wall.
Peterson said, “What’s up?”
“We’ve got a bad guy on the front porch,” Henderson said. “He stepped out, set his rifle next to the door, and lit a cigarette. Now he’s scanning the area.”
“Our guys are invisible, right?” asked Peterson.
“That’s an affirmative,” said the Ex-O. “Out of sight.”
Then, into her radio she said, “Anyone have a visual of the other two?”
A series of negative responses came over the open radio frequency.
Zeke said, “Chief, I’m not sure we’ll have time to wait for BORTAC. They may be getting ready to move the cocaine.”
Henderson said, “It looks like they’re taking a break right now, but I agree, they could make a move at any time.”
Peterson said to the Ex-O, “We need to prepare to take these guys down if they try to leave.”
Henderson nodded and started working the radio, calling out prearranged codes that Zeke assumed elevated their troop’s readiness.
“Let’s get down there,” said Peterson.
“Let’s drive by East Rivera on the way,” said Zeke.
* * *
The house with the double garage on East Rivera across from the Junior High School was quiet. Peterson pulled his car, the Chevy SUV with the green stripe on each side, to the curb four blocks away and he and Kimmy and Zeke got out. They traded vehicles with a Border Patrol officer who drove the SUV in a direction opposite the house. The three of them climbed into the Crown Victoria and drove it down the street, past the East Rivera house again. Nothing seemed to be happening.
Peterson said into his radio, “Has the target come out of the house?”
“No, Chief. Nothing.”
“Are we going to serve the search warrant?”
“We think he moved all of the product out of the house today when he went to the freight terminal. I doubt that we’ll find anything in the house right now, Chief.”
Peterson said, into his radio, “Keep up the surveillance. And let me know if he leaves the house.”
* * *
Peterson drove the Crown Vic north and west to Santa Ana Street, the location of the second house. It had grown dusk. He drove slowly and methodically, with Zeke in the passenger seat and Kimmy in the back seat. The CPA coordinated with his team by radio as they approached the rear of the Santa Ana Street house. Then Peterson pulled to the curb and parked the Crown Vic, still out of sight of the house. He pulled out an earbud and put it in his right ear.
Peterson spoke quietly into the radio, listened to the response, and said, “My men think the perps are getting ready to roll.”
“Why? What are they seeing?” asked Kimmy.
“Various upstairs lights have been going out for the past few minutes. And there seems to be a lot of activity near the back door,” he said. “They’re watching on the drone camera.” He shifted and held a small monitor in front of him, low but in a position where Zeke and Kimmy could see it.
“Do you have a thermal image?” asked Zeke.
“Yes. It’s been confirming the three perps are moving into the kitchen, back and forth from what’s probably a bedroom. Apparently two are going back and forth, while the third stays near the kitchen door.”
“He’s the guard,” said Zeke.
Peterson nodded, then said, “Hold on.”
A moment later he said, “Looks like they’re on the move!”
On the screen, Zeke saw the back door open slightly, and then wider as a small man stepped out. He looked around the yard and in the direction of a car parked in the driveway next to the house. Then he said something and stepped outside, his AK-47 in a “present arm’s” pose, held in both hands and pointing up, to fit through the back door.
The two other men followed him out of the kitchen carrying bankers boxes. The guard slung his rifle over his shoulder and fumbled with a key and opened the back of the van. The other men set their boxes inside. The guard closed the van door and the three men turned and walked back to the kitchen door.
“Our guys are inside now, moving toward the kitchen,” said CPA Peterson. His voice was excited.
Zeke said, “Go carefully.”
The three men, walking single file, approached the kitchen door. The guard looked around again, and then opened the kitchen door and stepped inside, followed by the second man. It looked like they had done this a hundred times.
Suddenly inside the house there was a bright light, a flash followed by a loud explosion.
“A stun grenade,” said Zeke. “But only two of the perps were in the kitchen.”
Out of habit, Zeke and Kimmy stepped out of the Crown Vic and carefully set the car doors back on their frames without a sound. They separated and moved toward the back of the house. They could hear Peterson talking rapidly on his radio.
If the perp comes this way, he’s got to come around this fence, Zeke thought.
Zeke crouched at the corner of a privacy fence, behind a large aloe plant. In a moment he heard footsteps running on the gravel.
As the man came around the corner, Zeke saw that he was carrying a handgun, waving it in front of him wildly as he ran. The man had dark skin, like a suntan, with black hair and a slight build. He was also carrying a white brick covered with clear plastic and duct tape.
As he ran by Zeke hooked his arm, the one with the gun, and spun the man. Surprised, he dropped the white brick and lifted the gun in Zeke’s direction. Zeke executed a major leg sweep that landed the man on his back with the gun skittering across the gravel. Zeke grabbed the man’s hand and stood over him, bending his wrist back and holding it locked, the arm bar keeping him in position on the ground until Peterson’s men arrived.
Chapter 9
“We estimate that we found a little more than ten pounds of cocaine,” said CPA Peterson, “but it wasn’t pure. Most of it had been cut, stepped on.”
Kimmy and Zeke were in Peterson’s conference room, joining Ex-O Henderson, Jose Garcia and Peterson, and a few of Peterson’s team.
Zeke said, “What about the brick my guy was carrying?”
“That was also stepped on. It was repackaged to look like the pure stuff. But our field test says it was cut with fentanyl and something else.”
“Dangerous,” said Zeke. “That’s a deadly opioid. It’s eighty times more powerful than morphine and about fifty times stronger than heroin.”
“We’ve seen a really high number of overdoses because of the fentanyl. I’d call it an epidemic,” said Peterson. “It’s so dangerous because it takes such a small amount to kill you. Just a few grains.”
“Ten pounds of pure cocaine is worth well over a million dollars,” said Zeke. “This stuff, probably a third that much. That’s a nice recovery.”
“But like you said, these guys aren’t the top of the food chain. Somebody else has got to be getting anxious. They haven’t heard anything since you arrested the three of them,” said Zeke.
“What’s the next step?” asked Peterson.
“I’d serve the search warrant for
the house on East Rivera, now,” said Zeke. “Take the guy in and question him.” Then, to Garcia he said, “We found the van you were tracking. What happened in Mexicali?”
“After they launched the mortar shell, my men followed them. We wanted to see where they were staying. But we lost them. Either they found the GPS tracking device, or it fell off the truck when they decided to go offroad…”
“Offroad?” asked Zeke.
“Si, they left the paved roads. They were heading due west on Avenida Checoslovaquia when they did. They got out to an undeveloped area and jumped the curb and disappeared.”
“And the next time the van was seen, it was in Calexico? In the US?” asked Zeke.
“Si. Yes,” said Garcia. “When you saw it at the freight transfer terminal.”
* * *
“OK, we’ll serve the search warrant on the East Rivera house,” said Peterson. “What else are you thinking?”
“We’ve got the three of them in jail. I’d like to interview them,” said Zeke. “One at a time.”
“Leverage them against each other?” asked Peterson.
“Possibly. And try to get a reading on their organization. See who they’re connected with, who they’re working for,” said Zeke.
“Whoever it is, I can promise they’re not happy about losing over a million dollars’ worth of coke.”
“Their boss will probably have them killed if they get back to him. He can’t lose face, and losing a million dollars worth of drugs, well, he’s got to send a message so no one thinks he’s weak…” said Zeke.
“Maybe the play is to interview them and slip it in, tell them we’re going to turn them loose south of the border. Might push enough buttons that one of them would flip on the other two. For a comfy jail cell instead of a cold grave,” Kimmy said. “I’ve seen it work before.”
