ENCOUNTER

by Hep Aldridge

  “Nothing about Jeannie, then.”

  “Not a word,” Doc said.

  “Then we leave it at that,” I told him, and he nodded.

  We dropped our packs at the fire pit in the middle of the village and sat down on the benches around it. Some of the women came out with water and fruit for us. Tamara had disappeared and returned with a man in tow whose arm was in a sling. He roughly shoved him in front of us and said something to Doc.

  “He says this is the man who wanted to talk with us, and he speaks English.”

  I looked at him and said, “What’s your name?”

  “Miguel, Senor Burnett, my name is Miguel.”

  “So, you know who I am?” I said.

  “Yes, Senor Burnett, Senor Mendez has shown us pictures of all of you,” he said.

  “Then you must be part of the Brotherhood, the ones trying to kill us.”

  “Please, Senor, I am so sorry. It is not something that many of us wanted. Mendez was forcing us to do this.”

  “Forcing you, how and why?” I asked.

  “Senor Mendez is a very bad man; he smuggles cocaine for the cartels to the coast, where it is loaded onto ships. He forces many of us to help, threatening our families with death if we do not obey. Many of the men in the Brotherhood take no pleasure in its activities, but they must protect their families and children. He ordered us to follow you and kill all of you. Senor Mendez has tortured and killed those who disobeyed his orders. We would leave if we could, but we are afraid for ourselves and our families.”

  The others had gathered around and were listening to Miguel’s story.

  Dimitri asked, “How does he smuggle the cocaine?”

  “Once every two months, he loads barrels of his wine onto two trucks, and they are driven to the coast. The barrels are special and have a plastic insert that is filled with cocaine. The barrels are half wine and half cocaine. One of the trucks only carries wine; the other has the cocaine. No one bothers the truck with the drugs. They know which one it is and never check it, only the one carrying the wine. He has paid off many men, and they leave the truck with only the red lettering from the Mendez Vineyard alone.”

  “So, that’s how they know the drug truck, the color of the logo on it?”

  “Si, Senor, the wine truck has red and white lettering.”

  Not a bad plan, I thought. The wine truck could go first and let the other know if there were checkpoints or problems on the road, informed by the police on Mendez’s payroll. It could be stopped, searched, and cleared. The other truck could reroute, or since the first Mendez truck was cleared, this one could be waived through by his cops. The logic being we checked the first one, and it was fine, let’s not waste our time on another one.

  “How many barrels of wine does the drug truck carry?” I asked.

  “One hundred barrels, every trip,” Miguel replied.

  “That’s a big truck,” Joe said, “and a lot of coke.”

  “Do the local police know what’s going on? Is he paying them off?” I asked.

  “Some of the lower ranking ones, yes. But the chief is a sworn enemy of Mendez. He has been trying to prove he is a drug smuggler, but Mendez is always tipped off by his men in the department and has never been caught with the drugs on his trucks,” Miguel explained.

  I told him that was all for now, but I wanted to speak with him later.

  “Oh, one more thing, Senor Burnett, the deliveries follow a strict schedule, and the next shipment is to go out in three days.”

  “Well, then, we have three days to make sure it doesn’t go,” I said.

  Miguel was taken away, and the team gathered around.

  “So, what are you thinking, Colt?” Dimitri asked as he settled in on the bench across from me. The others followed suit. “Can we trust this dude?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think so. Mendez is no dummy to have been in business for this long, so we will have to be smarter than him. And this is going to have to be done by the local law enforcement; I don’t want us directly involved.”

  “Well, how’s that going to work?” Joe asked a little skeptically.

  “Give me a minute. In the meantime, O’Reilly, give Fitz a call and give him a very abbreviated Sit Rep. He’ll want more, but we don’t have time. Then call Gus and get an update from him. I’m sure the wheels of justice have not stood still in our absence.”

  “Roger that,” she said as she pulled the SAT phone from her pack and stepped away from the group.

  “Now, let’s figure out a plan to take this bastard down.”

  We talked for the better part of an hour before zeroing in on a possible workable interdiction. It would be tricky, with a lot of moving parts. Not being on the front lines had its disadvantages, but it could provide us the cover of our involvement that we needed—kind of like playing chess with an opponent on the internet. We were finishing up when Miguel showed up again with his village escort.

  “Senor Burnett, something else I forgot to mention, the trucks always travel with an armed escort of three vehicles—one in front and two behind. They are cartel men sent to protect the shipment until it gets into the mountains. I am sorry I forgot to mention it earlier.”

  Well, that throws a hell of a wrinkle into the plan, I thought.

  “Okay, is there anything, I mean anything else you may have forgotten?”

  “No, Senor, nothing I can think of.”

  “All right, thanks for that information.”

  “Well, you all heard the man, bad guys with guns,” I said.

  “Good grief, that seems to be the story of our lives lately,” Joe said.

  Dimitri laughed, “And you’re complaining about a little excitement now and then.”

  Joe looked at him askance and said, “I love you, brother, but sometimes I think you need professional help. I’m talking the head exam kind.”

  Now, Dimitri really laughed and slipped into Boris speak. “Da, you capitalistic Americans get too set in your ways and become soft like udder of cow and lazy. It is up to me, Dimitri Sokolov, who comes from most excellent Cossack stock, to shake you up and remind you there is life to be lived and adventures to be had. Challenges to overcome… and bad guys with guns to dispose of!”

  Good God, I thought, as Dimitri slapped Joe on the back and laughed uproariously. Those two, I thought, brothers from different mothers.

  “All right, you cowboys, these guys with guns may not be our problem if I can help it.” The others had joined in the laughter, and as it died away, we turned our attention to the problem at hand.

  “We’re going to need Uncle Harold if we want any chance of success. Hand me the SAT phone, O’Reilly.”

  I had him on the line in a minute and explained the situation to him and our desire to take down Mendez and his coke ring.

  His first question was, “Do you have a plan?”

  To which I answered, “I was hoping you could help with that since we’re not in ‘Dodge;’ we’re at least two days out.”

  There was silence on his end for a couple of minutes, and then he said, “So, we somehow have to ambush this load of drugs and make sure the cops can easily find the drugs, all the while fighting off cartel gunmen intent on killing us and not get caught by the cops while doing this. That about right?” he asked.

  “That’s about it,” I said. “Oh, and it has to happen in the city where Chief Gallegos and the local law enforcement have jurisdiction. Oh, and try not to hurt any civilians.”

  “And you’re not going to be around?” Uncle Harold asked.

  “Nope, not even close; I can’t take the chance of us getting mixed up with this and have blowback in the States as well as down here. This needs to be a local matter, handled here.”

  “I understand, plausible deniability.”

  “Right, think you can handle it? It is your backyard, after all.”

  “True, and this happens in three days?”

  “Yep, I’ll be back in touch with more details as they bec
ome available.”

  “And who’s going to take care of the police involvement?”

  “Leave that to me; you figure out a plan, and I’ll handle the police.”

  “All right, let me get started on it, and I’ll talk to you tonight,” Uncle Harold said, sounding thoughtful, dubious, and seriously up for the challenge.

  “Sounds good; talk to you then.”

  “Well?” Doc asked as I put the SAT phone down.

  “The wheels are turning,” I said, “we need to keep pumping Miguel for any additional info and keep Uncle Harold posted.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  He lay the phone on the table next to his margarita. Picking up the glass, he looked over the salted rim at his companion across the table.

  “What?” he asked jovially.

  The dark-haired female asked, “Burnett?”

  He nodded in the affirmative.

  “Trouble?” she asked.

  He nodded again in the affirmative as he sipped his drink.

  “And he needs your help?”

  He set his drink down and smiled, “No, he needs our help, emphasizing the word our. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on the fun.”

  “And the pay?” she asked.

  “Looks like this may be a public service kind of deal.”

  “So, no pay?”

  “I didn’t say that Rita, I just said…”

  “I know, she replied, a public service kind of deal. That means no money.”

  “Think of it as an investment in good Karma,” he laughingly quipped.

  “Good Karma doesn’t pay the men or the bills,” she added.

  “I know, but I think you will like this gig. It’s a chance to nail your friend Mendez.”

  She stopped her beer bottle halfway to her lips, “Mendez,” she said, almost spitting out the name.

  “Yep, this could be the one that takes him down once and for all,” Uncle Harold replied.

  A very menacing smile crossed her face, “Why didn’t you say so earlier? I’ve wanted to nail that bastard for years.”

  “I didn’t lead with that because I do so love our dances.”

  She took a pull on her beer and looked at him with twinkling eyes, and said, “You just like toying with me, you dog.”

  He laughed. “That’s true, but we haven’t had much fun lately, and I thought you would enjoy this one.”

  “And why’s that?” she asked, still smiling.

  “Because my plan includes Rosalita.”

  Her eyes opened wide, “Really?” she said.

  “Yes, really,” he replied.

  “Then, count me in,” she said, excitedly hoisting her beer in salute. He responded in a like gesture with his drink and picked up the phone again. As he dialed a number, he said, “Time is wasting; I need to speak to Rodrigo and Muncho within the hour.”

  Rita tossed the rest of her beer down, rose from the table, and said, “I will see to it, jefe, and as she turned to leave, said, “Oh, this is going to be so much fun—Rosalita. It has been too long,” she said gleefully while departing.

  Later that evening, after meeting with his lieutenants and spending a couple of hours on the phone, Uncle Harold called Colt.

  I answered on the second chirp of the SAT phone.

  “Colt, I need some more info,” Uncle Harold said.

  “Shoot, what do you need?”

  “I need the route they take heading out of the city, the time of day they travel, and how many men we can expect in the lead and follow vehicles.”

  “Got it, anything else?” I asked.

  “Not right now, but we’ll talk again in the morning. You said you would be handling the police?”

  “Right, I was waiting to hear from you before I made any contact.”

  “Good, because for my plan to work, timing is critical, I mean really critical.”

  “Got it, but remember when they show up, they need to be able to see the drugs in plain view. That will give them enough evidence for a probable cause search warrant for Mendez’s hacienda.”

  “Oh, don’t worry; if my plan works, there will be plenty of coke visible.”

  “Also, it would be good if the cartel guys were neutralized before the police arrived. I wouldn’t want any of the police to be put in harm’s way if we can help it.”

  “I understand. We don’t plan on being anywhere around there when the “Policia” arrive, but you need to give me at least eight minutes, uninterrupted, for me to secure the area and make this work.”

  “Roger that, eight minutes, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Good, talk again in the morning.” The line went dead.

  I turned to Dimitri and said, “Get Miguel over here; we need some more information.”

  For an hour and a half, I grilled Miguel, ferreting out every piece of information Harold needed. Luckily, he could confirm the route and the timing, plus the fact that Mendez was a stickler for routine. His trucks always followed the same route and left at ten o’clock sharp to blend in with the daily morning traffic through the city. He also told us about a basement room under the wine storage building where Mendez kept his drugs. He confirmed that he always had a stash of cocaine he kept in reserve and told us where to find the hidden trap door. I queried how he knew so much about such covert activity and learned that not only Miguel but his father and all his brothers had been forced under Mendez’s thumb for years. Revenge would be sweet for so many people.

  The call came from Uncle Harold the next morning as planned. I filled him in on the information he had requested and asked how it was going.

  “It’s coming together, still a lot of details to work out, but we’ll make it happen. You and the police?”

  “Excellent,” I said, “I’m going to contact my old friend Chief Gallegos when we hang up. I hope he has a trustworthy QRF (Quick Reaction Force) he can mobilize when necessary.”

  “Here’s hoping; talk to you later this afternoon.”

  “Roger that.”

  I sat and gathered my thoughts for the next half-hour and then found a quiet spot in the village to make my call.

  I was put through to the chief without hesitation, and he answered, “Dr. Burnett, so good to hear from you.”

  Actually, the chief and I had become friends after one of our previous visits and encounters. He seemed like a good man and an honest police officer. I hoped my gut was right because I was about to put it all on the line and find out.

  “Chief Gallegos, always a pleasure; how have you been?”

  “Well, thank you, and yourself?”

  “Not bad at all, thank you for asking,” I said with what must have been some obvious urgency in my tone of voice.

  “What can I do for you, Dr. Burnett? I don’t think you called just to check on my well-being,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Actually, no, you’re right. I am calling with a problem.”

  “Please, go on; how may I help you?”

  “Actually, I think I may be the one helping you,” I said.

  “How so?” he replied, his voice taking on a more serious tone.

  “Chief, I think you are an honest man and a good police officer, and I am offering my assistance to help with a pest problem you have.”

  “A pest problem?” he said in a surprised voice.

  “Maybe that wasn’t a good choice of words,” I replied.

  “You mean like roaches, rats, or…”

  “Drug dealers,” I added before he could finish.

  The line went silent for what seemed like an eternity, and I wondered if I had made a mistake. Finally, he replied, his voice more hushed and serious.

  “And how do you propose you could do that?” he asked.

  “Hypothetically speaking,” I said, “what if a concerned citizen came across information that pointed to a prominent citizen of your city being a major drug dealer for the cartels and being a conduit for drugs through Ecuador? Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

  There
was another long silence, and he finally said, “This is most irregular, Senor, but, hypothetically speaking, this citizen should bring the information to the authorities and let them handle it.”

  “But what if this citizen knew that not all authorities could be trusted? In fact, they had it on good authority that some of them were on this drug dealer’s payroll.”

  Another pause, “Then, that would be problematic and dangerous for the citizen.”

  “I understand and agree. Then how would this citizen proceed?”

  “I should be contacted directly with the evidence, and, if viable, I would see that the individual, no matter his standing in the community, be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Drug dealers are a scourge that needs to be completely eradicated before they destroy the fabric of our society. To our advantage, right now, we have some judges we can trust who are people of great integrity.”

  The emotion in his voice told me that this man was speaking from the heart and could indeed be trusted, or he was a damn good actor, and I was about to be screwed. Roll the dice, Colt.

  “Then enough of the hypotheticals, Chief. I have information that implicates Senor Mendez in trafficking in cocaine.”

  Another short pause, then, “I have been after that slippery bastard for years and have never been able to get enough proof to bring charges. If you can help with that, you will have my eternal gratitude.”

  Once again, his voice underscored his dislike for drug traffickers and Mendez.

  “You bring me proof, and you will be a hero in this city,” he said.

  “Sorry, Chief, I don’t want to be publicly associated with this operation in any way. This will be your show, but I can guarantee you will have all the covert support and information your team will need to be successful. If we can’t agree to that, then we can end this conversation now.”

  A slight pause, “I can agree to that, but your proof will need to be irrefutable.”

  “Do you have a QRF that you can deploy, and can they be trusted?”

  “I do, and yes, they can be trusted. I have hand-picked these men myself.”

  “Then if they can be ready to go by ten a.m. tomorrow to a location that I will communicate to you, you can pick up the evidence you need yourself. The accolades that will come along with this will be yours and your department’s alone, but there is great danger involved, as you can guess. This clean-up will have to be thorough, or many innocents will die.”