by Mike McNeff
Mike slowly turned to look at Rick. Rick pointed to his eyes and then drew a straight line in the air, but low and parallel to the ground. He pointed to the line he found. Mike squinted in that direction and a look of recognition crossed his face. He gave thumbs up to Rick. Rick moved forward and Mike fell in behind him, keeping three meters between them.
Rick could feel himself getting tense. He carefully scanned the ground leading up to the line. He moved forward cautiously, taking deep breaths to ease off the building apprehension. He got close enough to see a taut fishing line. Was it a noise warning device or a booby trap?
He got up to the line and looked along to the right. It went to the base of a scrub oak. To the left, though, the line disappeared into a can set in the fork of a branch of another scrub oak. Rick swallowed hard. He slowly turned to Mike and gave the signal for booby trap. Mike's eyes widened. He nodded and assumed 360° security as Rick intently focused on the task at hand.
Rick slowly approached the can. A closer look revealed an M-26 grenade in the can surrounded by nails. The fishing line connected to the pin, and the pin stuck out so it barely held the spoon. Rick knew he had to push in the pin. He also knew Robin just might get pissed off if he did it without waiting for the bomb techs. On the other hand, Robin would probably not want to leave this thing sitting here where anyone could come across it. Rick took out his pocket camera and took pictures of the trap. He put the camera back into his vest. Taking a deep breath, he reached into the can, holding the spoon from the top of the grenade with this left hand, and gently pushed the pin in to the hilt with his right hand. Rick slowly removed the grenade from the can and carefully inspected it to make sure the mechanism looked complete and in good condition. The relative newness of the grenade surprised him. They usually found older ones. Satisfied it all looked safe, he carefully released the pressure on the spoon. The pin held securely in place. Rick spread the end of the pin to make sure it stayed in place and gave Mike the all clear signal. Mike replied with a smile and thumbs up.
Rick placed the grenade in a pouch on his tactical vest and gave the signal to move out again. They resumed their slow movement over the terrain. After fifteen minutes, Rick signaled he saw a marijuana plant ahead of him and slightly to the left. He took a couple of more steps and pointed to other plants around it. The two men were now on high alert. Rick reached the first plant and could smell the odor of marijuana as he watched Mike touch the plant with his glove and see the THC sticking to it. The hybrid plant had many buds on it, all oozing THC. Rick estimated the THC content at well over 20 percent, very expensive stuff. The owners would be serious about guarding it, as the booby trap already demonstrated; time to call Robin and the rest of the Guardians.
ELEVEN
At 2100 hours, Robin and Emmett carefully instructed Eric Newman on what to say to Walton. Robin didn't doubt that if Newman didn't act exactly right during the phone call, Walton would completely shut down the operation, no matter how much money it would cost him. “Loosen up, Eric,” Robin said.
“That's easy for you to say. You're not the one staring at twenty-five years in the joint if this plan doesn't work.”
“All you gotta do is get him to a place where he can see you have the money, and he will never believe you've been arrested. He will certainly be careful at first, but just work him…like catching the big fish.”
Newman raised and lowered his shoulders and stretched his neck side to side. “All right, all right, I can do this.”
“I know you can. Otherwise we wouldn't have reached this point.”
Newman took a deep breath. Robin nodded his head for Newman to make the call. Emmett started the tape recorder.
“Hello,” Walton said over the phone.
“Hey, Carl. How ya doin?'”
A long moment of silence passed. “I'm doing fine, as usual. Haven't heard from you for a while.”
“Well, ya know how that goes. Been pretty busy lately. Kinda runnin' around.”
“I imagine so. How are the kids?”
“I still have them all with me. They're all fine.”
“I'm sorry to hear about your cousin's accident. Were you close to where it happened?”
“Not really. I found out by reading it in the paper.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. I have some arrangements to make and will be pretty busy for awhile. I wondered if you could take the kids for me.”
“Well, I think I can. Call me tomorrow morning at the office. We'll make arrangements then.”
“Thanks. I'll call you around ten.”
“That's good. I'll talk to you then.”
“Adios.”
“Bye.”
Newman hung up the phone and let out a deep breath.
“What do you think?” Robin asked.
“Well, I think he is sniffin' the hook.”
Carl Walton sat at his desk in his home office. He ignored the McClellan's Islay single malt scotch he had poured for himself before Newman called. Walton knew his mind had to remain clear to thoughtfully examine all aspects of the last three days. Ramon's death, Miguel's dangerous anger, and now Eric's call all worked to keep him unbalanced, a mental condition that was foreign to him. Walton did not like it in the least.
The main thrust of Walton's thoughts focused on regaining control. Nothing could be done about Ramon's death. Still, he needed to deal with Miguel's anger by directing the anger at anything but himself. As much as Walton disliked a direct attack on Marlette, at this point he saw no benefit to himself to argue against it. Having Miguel and Juan thinking about revenge on Marlette suited him much better than having them think about Carl Walton. Two out of three problems solved.
Eric presented a different matter. While Walton did not have in-depth knowledge of police operations, Marlette's team had a reputation of being tough, well disciplined, and thorough. It raised the question of how Eric could escape. Had he really been captured and now working for DPS? On the other hand, he said he had the money. There's no way any police agency would let five million dollars be in the custody of an informant. Besides, Eric was his brother-in-law, and Walton knew Eric loved his sister, if he loved anybody in this world. The two were orphaned as small children and had fought to stay together. They took good care of each other. Eric wouldn't do anything to hurt Ann. Therefore, Walton reasoned, Eric would never do anything to set Walton up.
Still, his nature dictated he remain careful. The meeting with Eric had to be secure from the police. He would make sure Eric brought the money to this meeting. If he didn't, Walton would know Eric didn't have control of the money and all bets would be off.
With this plan, Walton felt like he'd regained some control of the situation. He settled in his chair and sipped his drink. He would have Eric meet him at Superstition State Park, where there were some fairly private open areas. All he needed to do was see the money. He would get there first and would see instantly if anyone followed Eric. It would happen tomorrow evening.
Walton finished his drink and got up. He turned out the light to his office and took his glass to the kitchen. He then went to his bedroom and looked at his wife asleep in their bed. Walton's main feeling about his wife amounted to ambivalence. Beautiful, graceful and articulate, Ann moved comfortably in social circles, which complimented his career. Walton, however, didn't really love her. He reserved that feeling for two things: money and power. He knew she loved him, so Eric would certainly not hurt her by turning informant against him.
Robin and Jim Adams from the U.S. Attorney's office sat in front of Judge Roman's desk. The judge's face turned to stone as he read Robin's application for a wiretap on every type of communication device Walton possessed. The information about Walton's connection to Miguel Rodriquez-Lara and the planned bribes to government officials had to be very unsettling to a man like the good judge.
Jim Adams cleared the state application with the Maricopa County Attorney's Office. The County Attorney had made Jim a S
pecial Deputy County Attorney for this purpose, which allowed him to handle the matter until it transferred to federal court.
Judge Roman finished reading the affidavit, locked eyes with Robin, and put him under oath. Robin accepted the oath and the judge signed the application and the order. He handed the papers to Robin, looking into Robin's eyes again, and in a forceful, hoarse whisper said, “Get these sons of bitches, Rob…get 'em good.” Robin nodded his head, saluted the judge, and walked out.
TWELVE
Juan Trinidad had just finished his plan to take revenge on Marlette. Juan's plan called for his men to enter the Marlette house and kill everyone in it. They would wait for Marlette to come home, see his dead family, and then kill him. The men would make sure no one would doubt that Marlette saw his dead family. It would be done in broad daylight. Such an action would send a powerful message to the American pigs.
He also assigned a team of men keeping an eye on Marlette's daughter and her boyfriend. They would kill the boy and then take Marlette's daughter. Before Marlette died, he would know this, too. It would be a message to all American policemen their families were not protected from the organization. The cartel could do whatever they wanted.
He rose up from the desk in his suite in the ranch mansion and headed for Miguel's residence down the hall. He passed two guards, who nodded respectfully to him and entered Miguel's quarters.
“Miguel!” Juan called out.
“Si, amigo, I am in the study.”
Juan followed the voice into the study. Miguel sat at a leather card table with borders of inlaid gold, wearing a white linen shirt under a green silk smoking jacket and reading the Wall Street Journal.
“What is it, my friend?”
“I have the plan for revenge on Marlette.”
“Ah, good, let me hear it.”
Juan related his plan to Miguel. He could see Miguel looked pleased. Miguel had wanted to kill Marlette for quite some time. Now he could see it finally happening. As usual, however, Miguel wanted more.
“Before you actually kill Marlette, I want him to watch his family die.”
“That would make it more difficult, Miguel. My plan is better.”
“He and his men killed my brother!” Miguel shouted angrily. “I don't care about difficult.”
“Listen to me, Miguel. Before he dies, he will know we also have his daughter.”
“Good! But I want him to see his family die.” Miguel's eyes flashed with a mad fury.
“I will see it is done, Miguel.”
“When will you do this?” Miguel snapped.
“We will do it within three weeks' time.”
“Good. You will also bring me his balls.”
“Of course, Patron.”
Robin's eyes focused on Newman's blue Chevrolet pickup as it moved along U.S. 60 heading towards the Superstition Mountains to meet Walton at Superstition State Park. Newman had the money and wore a Nagra tape recorder, a very sensitive voice recorder. Robin instructed Newman to wrap the recorder harness around his inner left thigh, right next to his genitals. Walton probably wouldn't search there, if he looked for a wire at all. Robin rejected the use of any transmitting body wires for this contact, just in case Walton knew enough to check for such things.
Robin rode in a U.S. Customs Cessna 192 at five thousand feet. Jack and Oscar were doing the flying as Robin looked through large gyro-stabilized binoculars. Shifting back from Newman's truck, he saw a van about a half mile back, carrying DPS SOU Team Two. Ernie Jackson and his team were set up a half mile from Superstition Park. The money would go to no one but Walton.
Robin's team went to Superstition Park area at 1500 hours, dressed in camouflage and ghillie suits and spread out around the park. They reported Walton had arrived an hour before the meet time. Robin told Burke and Emmett to move in as close as possible without blowing the surveillance. They moved in, but at a painstakingly slow pace.
As Newman got closer to the park, he tried not to be nervous. In truth, he had never liked Walton. He didn't believe Walton loved his sister, Ann, but he gave her a comfortable life, if not happiness. Ann confided this to Newman, and Walton's ruthless pursuit of power worried Newman. The lawyer's cold and calculating mind made him dangerous, and Newman had to be careful about how he pulled off this meeting. Newman turned on to the road leading to the park entrance.
Robin ordered all vehicles to back off. He told Jack to loiter about two miles away from the park. It was up to Newman, Burke, and Emmett now.
Emmet noticed Newman as he went through the park gate and started driving around the outer park road, but he kept an eye on Walton. Newman turned the truck towards Walton. Emmett was close, but not close enough, he thought. As the pickup rolled to Walton, its tires were crunching the gravel and making enough noise to cover Emmett's movements. Emmett saw Walton looking at Newman. He made his move to get closer.
Newman saw a strange figure moving towards Walton. His heart plugged his throat. He had almost slammed on his brakes when the figure dropped out of sight. He suddenly realized the figure was the big black cop. He took a deep breath and drove up to Walton.
“Brother,” Walton said.
“Howdy, Brother,” Newman replied. The men gave each other a light hug.
“I am happy to see you're okay, Eric.”
“Not half as happy as I am, Brother.”
“How did you get away?”
“I just jumped in the truck and took off. I thought they would chase me, but they didn't. It may have something to do with them killing Ramon. That big helicopter kicked up a lot of dust and maybe they didn't see me. The moonlight allowed me to keep my headlights off until I got a couple of miles down the road. I feel pretty damned lucky.”
“I guess so,” Walton replied. He could not detect anything that would lead him to believe Newman was lying.
“How pissed off is Miguel, Carl?”
“Very.”
“Is he going to kill me?”
“He mentioned it, but he backed off when I told him you kept the money. You do have it, don't you?”
“It's here.” Eric walked to the back of the truck and unlocked the window to the camper shell. He opened it up, and after looking around, Walton reached in and pulled the zipper on a large black duffel bag. He retrieved one of the packages, opened it with a small pocket knife, and thumbed through the stack of one hundred dollar bills.
“Let's get it loaded into your trunk.”
“No,” Walton said. The statement startled Newman. “I want you to hold on to it. You're going to make the deliveries, as usual. You worried me for a little while, Eric, but I can see by some miracle you got away. The shooting probably did hold them up.”
“What worried you?”
“That you might have been caught—that you were working for the cops.”
“I would never do that to you and I would certainly never do it to Ann.”
“I know, Eric. I know. That's why I only worried a little.” Walton formed a slight smile on this face. “Go home and call me in two days. I will have instructions for delivery ready for you.”
“Okay, Carl. I just don't like being responsible for all of this money. If something else goes wrong, I am a dead man.”
“Don't worry. Nothing will go wrong. It will just be business as usual, except you won't have to pick up the payoffs from me. Now go home.”
“Okay, Carl.” The two men embraced again. They went to their respective vehicles and drove out of the park. The last of the day's sun glowed orange and red behind the hills.
When they left the area, six shadowy figures rose from different places around the site of the meeting. Emmett keyed his radio.
“Two Nora Six-Two, Two Nora Six.”
“Two Nora Six,” Robin replied.
“Meet is complete. No transfer took place. Repeat. No transfer took place.”
“Ten-Four, Two Nora Six-One. Two Nora Six to Victor Thirty-Two.”
“Victor Thirty-Two, go ahead Two Nora
Six,” Ernie replied.
“Latch on to our boy and escort him to DPS.”
“Ten-Four, Two Nora Six.”
Robin leaned back in his seat, surprised Walton did not take the money. Mr. Walton is indeed a careful man. On the other hand, it shows he still trusts Newman. It will be good to get the wire up. Robin couldn't wait to talk to Newman and listen to the tape.
THIRTEEN
Chris Fleming gazed out the window. He always enjoyed coming back to Quantico, to the nearby FBI academy. He had many fond memories about the academy from his years working for the Bureau. He was currently standing in an office at the Detention Center at the Quantico Marine Base—not one of his favorite places. He sipped his coffee and heard footsteps coming down the hall. Chris turned around to a knock at the door.
“Come in,” he said. The door opened by a young smartly uniformed Marine holding the handcuffed Cuban by the arm. Another Marine stood behind them. Chris knew this man's name wasn't Manuel Garcia-Galbodon—it was Carlos Casconda, and he was indeed a Cuban. The FBI Counterintelligence shop confirmed this, and also confirmed Carlos worked for Cuban intelligence. They knew of his presence in Mexico; they just didn't know what he did there. At this point, they still did not really know, but his contact with the Rodriquez-Lara organization greatly interested them. Counterintelligence agents told Chris they believed Casconda's wife also to be in Mexico.
Although a handsome man, today Carlos looked like hell. His eyes were bloodshot, hair uncombed, and he wore a week's worth of beard. He'd lost weight. Chris learned from the Marines the prisoner barely ate and acted sullen while in the detention center. He didn't speak much to anyone. Chris needed to change that today. He pointed Carlos to a chair.