Bass gave her a quick glance. “We’ll discuss all of that when we get to the station. I’ll tell you everything, show you all the evidence I’ve collected.”
Rosa accepted that and they moved beyond customs, following in Bass’ wake like ducklings, while Rosa asked him questions about Cancun – weather, altitude, and local cuisine. Peyton fell into step next to Radar.
“He didn’t flirt with Bambi,” she remarked in a low voice.
“So?” Radar looked up from his mobile phone where she suspected he was texting Gwen.
She needed a moment to text Marco and her mother, so they wouldn’t worry about her. “Everyone flirts with Bambi.”
Bambi and Tank were marching along behind Rosa and Bass, neither one of them speaking.
“And the point, Sparky?”
“She didn’t flirt with him either.”
Radar raised a brow at her. “And?”
“She flirts with everyone. Something’s up with her. She didn’t flirt with that cute flight attendant on the plane. The one with the dreamy eyes. Or that hunky pilot when we disembarked.”
Radar shook his head, tucking his phone back in his trouser pocket. “It’s just a three-ring circus in that curly head of yours, isn’t it?”
“I guess,” she said, chewing on her lower lip. Why hadn’t Bambi flirted with Bass? He was tall, blond, good looking in a federal agent sort of way, just Bambi’s type, which meant he was most likely a heterosexual male, yet she hadn’t even spoken when he shook hands with her. “I’m telling you something’s up with that girl.”
“Okay, well, when you figure it out, you clue me in, all right?”
“I will,” said Peyton.
Radar grunted.
They stepped out of the airport into a suffocating heat. Peyton gasped, it was such a drastic change from the air conditioned interior. Immediately she wished she had on any other color besides black. The heat pressed down on them, damp and stifling, as they made their way over the concrete walkway to the waiting black Volkswagen Tiguan. A tall, dark skinned man got out of the driver’s seat and smiled at them. He looked like Bass’s polar opposite – dark short-cropped hair, dark eyes, square jaw, six feet of lean, athletic muscle.
“Federico!” called Bass, holding up a hand.
“Amigo!” shouted Vega in return. “You didn’t tell me you would be escorting so many beautiful women.” He moved to the sidewalk.
Peyton marked he wore a short sleeved white button-up shirt with white embroidery down the front of it and black slacks with black dress shoes. She could tell he wore his gun around his waist, although it was hidden by his shirt. He was dressed a lot more casually than the Americans, and Peyton could understand why. It was too hot to wear a suit.
She stripped off her jacket. Her gun was in her suitcase, so she didn’t have to hide her holster.
Bass motioned Rosa up beside him. “Federico, this is SAC Alvarez from the San Francisco branch of the FBI.”
Federico took her hand and bent over it, kissing it. Rosa exchanged a look with Radar. “Bienvenido a Cancún, bella.”
“Gracias,” she answered, extricating herself.
He turned immediately to Bambi. “¿Y tu?”
“This is Agent Redford,” said Bass, impressing Peyton that he’d remembered her name, except Bambi was hard to ignore with her lush figure, thick blond hair in a ponytail, and sparkling blue eyes.
He kissed Bambi’s hand. “Las estrellas deben tener envidia.”
Bambi drew her hand away. “I don’t speak Spanish,” she said coolly and stepped back beside Tank.
Peyton nudged Radar with her elbow, but Vega gave Bambi a slow, sultry smile. “Ah, coquet, eh?” he said, laughing. “I said the stars must be envious.”
Bambi shook her head, looking pointedly away.
Peyton nudged Radar again, but he nudged her back, harder. The motion drew Vega’s attention. “And this one with the mysterious eyes, who is she?”
“Agent Brooks,” said Bass, again impressing her.
Vega reached for her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it, then he looked up at her. “Los misterios del universo están en sus ojos.”
Peyton gave him a tolerant smile. “The mysteries of the universe are in my eyes? Really?”
Vega and Bass began laughing. “¿Hablas español?” asked Vega.
“Un poco,” said Peyton.
He released her, shaking a finger in her face. “This is one to watch, amigo,” he said to Bass. “She has the mysterious eyes.” He gave Tank a wide-eyed stare. “And this must be the Hulk, is that the way it is said in your country? The Hulk?”
Before Tank or Bass could answer, Radar cleared his throat. “Do you think we can continue the introductions in the car? It’s a damn inferno out here and I can feel the soles of my shoes melting.”
Vega laughed again, motioning to the SUV. “Ciertamente. Where are my manners? You Americanos are not used to our humidity.” He gave Bambi a wink. “It may be only 80 degrees, but it is 100% of humidity. ¿Muy uncomfotable, no?”
“Sí,” said Bambi, narrowing her eyes on him.
He barked another laugh and moved toward the Tiguan, pressing the button to unlock it. “Por favor, get inside and I will turn on the air conditioner.”
“Rosa, you can ride with me,” offered Bass. “Then we can talk about Joe.”
Rosa gave her team a look, then nodded. “Fine.”
He motioned to the parking structure and she followed him, dragging her luggage behind her, as the rest turned to Vega’s SUV. Tank and Radar arranged the luggage in the back as Vega started the engine and a blast of cold air filled the interior of the car. As Peyton expected, she was forced into the middle seat, her ponytail touching the ceiling, but she didn’t complain. Air conditioning was far more important than legroom at the moment.
* * *
The AFI in Cancun was housed in a nondescript two story building. Vega pulled into the parking lot beneath the building, waving a badge at the security guard in the booth. Peyton had only gotten a few glimpses of the landscape as they drove because of her position on the hump and she was anxious to get out of her suit and put on shorts, then go see the Caribbean. She’d seen pictures of the crystalline blue ocean, but she suspected the reality was vastly superior.
Vega put the SUV in park and held out his hand for Bambi to climb out. She ignored it, hopping out of the back without any trouble. Reaching in, Vega caught Peyton’s hand and assisted her in working her way off the center hump.
They left the luggage in the SUV. Vega told them he’d drive them over to the hotel as soon as they were done with their debriefing, then he motioned for them to follow him inside. As they walked to the elevator and pushed the button, another SUV pulled into the parking lot with Bass behind the wheel.
The elevator arrived, but Vega held it until Bass and Rosa joined them, then they all stepped inside and rode the elevator to the second floor. When they got off, they found themselves in a wide open space, similar to the FBI offices in San Francisco, but rather than cubicles, the agents had desks and people moved back and forth between them with a frenetic energy. Phones rang and the murmur of human voices speaking in lilting Spanish made the building hum.
Vega called a greeting to a few fellow agents, lifting his hand, as he led them across the cavernous room to a door on the opposite wall. He pushed the door open and lights automatically winked on, flooding the room with light. He motioned Rosa and the Ghost Squad inside.
Peyton was grateful for the cool interior, but there were no windows in the room and the walls were painted a deep navy, which made it feel dark and enclosed. A faint smell of mildew met her nose. She couldn’t deny she was disappointed. She kept hoping for her first glimpse of the Caribbean, the legend of pirates and treasure hunters throughout the ages.
Four tables positioned into a square made up the center of the room. Around the perimeter at regular intervals were office chairs upholstered in blue fabric. The fabric was threadbar
e on the edge of the seats and the lower back. A white board completely covered the back wall with photographs of serious looking men with a lot of tattoos and piercings arranged on it, lines drawn between them showing affiliations, Peyton guessed. Across the top in bold black letters were the words Dioses Mayas followed by a list of dates and locations.
“Mayan Gods?” Peyton asked, turning to look at Vega.
His eyes went to the white board and he sighed. “You’ve no doubt heard of the Zetas and the Sinaloa Cartels.”
Peyton nodded.
“This is our latest battle. These Dioses Mayas are a new cartel, trying to make a name for themselves in Quintana Roo. They operate out of the hotels, preying on Americanos here on vacation, joven Americanos.”
“What?” asked Bambi.
“Young,” said Radar. “You mean college kids on spring break?”
“Si, and how you say, escuela secundaria?”
“High school,” said Bass, moving into the room next to Vega. “Seniors on their senior trips.”
Vega nodded grimly, then motioned to the chairs. “Take a seat. I will get refreshments, no?”
“Thank you,” said Rosa, moving toward the whiteboard and studying it. The rest took seats around the table with Bass sitting down in front of the board.
“Is this what you came down here to stop?” asked Rosa.
Bass sighed and pointed to a photo of an oblong white pill. “The Dioses Mayas sell fake Norco pills that are pure Fentanyl. Seven American students have died from using it, and I can’t even keep count of the number hospitalized with overdoses.”
“Fentanyl?” asked Peyton.
“It’s a synthetic opioid that’s 50 to 100 times stronger than morphine,” said Tank. “There have been deaths in California from it as well.”
Bass nodded. “Some of those deaths may have been caused by Fentanyl coming across the border. In fact, they may have come from the Dioses Mayas.”
Rosa turned and looked down at him. “You came down here six months ago, Kaz. This stuff must have been crossing the border for at least that long.”
Bass shook his blond head. “That’s the thing. When I came down, we were trying to stop the selling in the hotels here in Cancun – one hotel in particular – the Hotel Excelencia.”
Vega returned with a tray bearing plastic water bottles and a plate of irregularly shaped, flat bread. “The agua en Cancun esta limpia...uh, clean, yes? You can drink it, but I brought bottled agua and buñuelos. You must be hungry. Food on the plane is not so good, no?”
Peyton reached for a bottle of water, but she wanted to hear what Bass had to say. “You were looking into one hotel in particular,” she prompted.
“Ah, yes, Hotel Excelencia,” said Vega, using a small pair of tongs to place a buñuelo on a paper plate and offering it to Rosa. She accepted it, taking a seat next to Bass at the head of the table. “We believe for very long that the Dioses Mayas were operating out of there, but we were not having the luck finding the connection.”
“Some American college students were hospitalized back in January, one of them died. That’s when I got sent down here,” said Bass. “I have a condo very close to the Excelencia and I spend most of the day surfing and walking the beaches, talking to the patrons of the hotel.”
“And you still can’t find the connection?”
“They make contact with the tourists somehow, but I haven’t been able to break the system down. I don’t know how the tourists know who to contact for the drugs, or how the contact in the hotel knows who wants to buy drugs.”
“We also do not know the players in the Dioses Mayas. They keep a low profile. They do not do the shooting like the Zetas and the Sinaloas,” said Vega, offering Bambi and Peyton both a paper plate.
“Federico’s right. Even if we found the contact in the hotel, we’d just be shutting down one avenue for the drug distribution. I’m pretty sure there are multiple ways the buyers are contacted. One I’ve been watching lately is the parasailing. In fact, I was about to try making contact with that suspect when Joe disappeared.”
“Wait,” said Rosa, twisting off the cap on her water. “You suspect the guy running the parasailing outfit of being a Dioses Maya?”
“Yeah. The two kids who wound up in the hospital had both been parasailing the day they overdosed.”
“But that might not be their only connection,” said Radar, waving off Vega’s snack. “Why couldn’t it just as easily be the bartender?”
“It might. We are concerned the hotel may be owned by the Dioses Mayas,” said Vega, passing out the rest of the plates and taking a seat. “Which would mean the dealers are en todos lados, yes?”
Bambi gave Peyton a confused look.
“Everywhere,” she translated, pulling apart her buñuelo. “So you come down here undercover before Joe Miller?” she asked Bass.
He nodded, tearing at the label on his water. “He’s been down here a few weeks.” He stopped and briefly closed his eyes. “Sorry, I still can’t get my head around it. Um, he was down here only a few weeks.”
“Why did the DEA send in another agent?” asked Bambi.
“The deaths in California happened and they tracked some of those drugs back to this area,” said Bass. “We needed more manpower.”
Vega nodded. “This cartel, they are…how you say…troublesome?”
“More than the Zetas or the Sinaloas?” asked Radar.
“No, excepto they are savvy, yes? They know how to work the internet.” He made a motion with his hand for Bass.
“They’re on social media.”
“Then they should be easy to nail down,” said Rosa.
Bass gave her a frank look. “Federico’s right. They’re savvy. They know how to hide their profiles, operate in the dark web, Rosa. They are virtually invisible.”
“Es verdad,” said Vega. “Son fantasmas.”
Bambi gave Peyton another confused look.
Peyton tightened her grip on her water bottle. “They’re ghosts,” she said and shivered.
CHAPTER 14
Rosa stood on the balcony the next morning, staring out at the brilliant blue water of the Caribbean. She’d never been to Cancun before, she’d never seen water this blue or sand this white. It looked impossible. She marveled that nature could make anything this beautiful.
She sipped at her coffee and let the warm wind rifle through her damp hair. As Vega had suggested, she’d traded her heavy business suits for a pair of shorts and a halter top. They weren’t staying at the Excelencia, but they needed to blend in with the tourists. It wouldn’t do any good to look like Federal agents. Someone had gotten wise to Joe Miller’s occupation. Rosa couldn’t believe his death was anything less than a shot across the DEA’s bow, a way to warn them off the case.
She shivered, thinking of Joe, of what they’d done to him, and she wanted to shut this cartel down, but they weren’t here for that. They were here to find Joe’s murderer. Stopping the cartel was up to Vega and Bass. She had to keep that front and center in her mind. Her people had to focus on Joe Miller and nothing else, no matter how badly she wanted it to be otherwise.
Her phone rang. She stepped back and picked it up off the glass table on the balcony. Adrian’s name flashed at her and she smiled, thumbing it on. A moment later his face filled her screen.
“Don’t you look tropical,” he said.
“Good morning to you.” She recognized her office behind him. “How’s your first day back in the saddle?”
“Quiet. How’s Cancun?”
“Beautiful,” she said and turned the orientation so he could see her view of the ocean. “Have you ever seen water that blue?”
“I have. I’ve been to the Caribbean before. It almost doesn’t look real, right?”
She turned the orientation back to her and took a seat on the lounger. “I know. It’s like a painting.”
“How are you?” he asked and his voice had taken on a serious quality.
She blew ou
t air. “I don’t know, Adrian. I haven’t been in the field in a long time. I’m rusty. And I’m having to force myself to remember why we’re here. They were talking about this new cartel, the Dioses Mayas, operating out of a hotel down here, or they think the hotel may be owned by the cartel, but Bass has been here six months and he can’t find a direct link to the cartel yet, or even discover how the American kids are getting the dope. You know the recent Fentanyl deaths in California?”
“The ones in Northern California?”
“Yeah.”
“I heard something about them.”
“They believe it was drugs brought in by college students who were approached by the Dioses Mayas. My past with the DEA makes me want to pursue that avenue, but we’re here for Joe.”
“And just keep that front and center, Rosa. Some of these drug cartels take decades to bring down. If they were easy, we wouldn’t be in a drug war.”
“I know and Bass says this cartel is savvy on social media. They operate in the dark web.”
Adrian shook his head. “It’s like swatting at flies.”
“I know.” She gave him a smile. “I miss you already.”
“Same here. Solve Joe’s murder and come home.”
Her smile fell. “Then you go back to DC. How is that any better?”
He leaned closer to the phone. “Maybe we need to discuss that, eh?”
She frowned, but a knock at her door distracted her. “Someone’s here.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you later.”
Another knock sounded.
She turned back to him. “I heard what you said, Adrian, and I’m willing to talk about it.”
He flashed a white toothed smile. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”
She blew him a kiss and disconnected the call, climbing out of the lounger and stepping through the French door into the tiled interior of her room. Crossing the floor, she peeked through the peephole on the door. Kaz Bass stood on the other side, wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, a baby blue t-shirt, and leather sandals. She pulled open the door, motioning him inside.
“Good morning,” she said.
Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5) Page 21