Sea of Cortez

by Garry Ryan

  Tommy covered his mouth but his eyes gave him away.

  Melissa laughed. “You’re joking!”

  Arthur frowned. “It happened in front of us.”

  “That and a pair of whales took care of Bonner, Manny and Fuentes.” Lane pulled out his phone to check the time.

  Melissa sat back open mouthed. “What exactly do you mean by ‘taking care of Bonner, Manny and Fuentes’?”

  Arthur rolled his eyes. “The whales killed them after they shot and killed their calf. The calf washed up on the beach in front of our resort. The mother and nurse tracked a cigarette boat, swamped it, then swatted the men in the water.”

  Melissa put her index finger on the table. “This is unbelievable.” She looked at Tommy. “Do you believe any of this?”

  Tommy turned to her. “If it was anyone else, I would have to say no. Lane has never lied to me before, so I think the story at least deserves verification.”

  Melissa studied Lane, who looked back at her to see if she had more questions. Instead she tucked her iPad in her bag, stood and walked out the door.

  Frederick sat in his Mercedes waiting for Brittany. He was parked in the lot behind his school. The sun was shining but the temperature was close to freezing. He reached over and turned on the heated seat. Then he tapped the face of his smartphone to check for messages. The first was from Pike. In town this week. When and where is the job scheduled?

  There was a tap on the glass next to his face. Frederick looked right and into the face of a blue-eyed man with mostly grey hair and one missing earlobe. He wore a grey coat with the collar turned up. Frederick was frozen for a moment when he realized where he’d seen the face before.

  The man tapped again. His face was a blank mask.

  Frederick reached for the switch and the window hummed open.

  “Frederick Lee?”

  Frederick nodded. “What do you want?”

  “I’m Detective Lane of the Calgary Police Service.” He nodded, lifting his chin to indicate that Frederick should look to his left. “This is Detective Li.”

  Frederick looked at the freckle-faced man on the passenger side. Li had wild black hair. Lee turned back to Lane. “Okay.”

  “We’d like to ask you some questions,” Lane said.

  Frederick smiled. “Of course.” He opened the passenger window.

  Nigel leaned inside. “We were wondering if you could check the calendar on your phone and see where you were the night of November fourth?”

  Lane tapped the leather on Frederick’s headrest. “While you’re at it, would you check the night of November sixth as well? We’re specifically interested in your whereabouts after nine p.m.”

  Frederick tapped the face of his phone and opened his calendar. “I think that I was home both nights. My parents will vouch for me.”

  Nigel pulled out his phone and tapped the face. “I’d like their contact information.”

  Frederick smiled. “Sure. No problem. Ready?”

  Nigel nodded.

  Frederick rattled off the home, cell and work numbers of his parents. “Anything else?”

  Lane tapped Frederick on the shoulder, noticed that the boy winced and smiled back. “No, that’s great. We thought you should meet us face to face. See you soon.” He turned and walked back to the unmarked Ford.

  A moment later, Nigel climbed in behind the wheel.

  Lane said, “That takes care of that part of your plan.”

  “Now we wait for Rendon to tell us who Frederick contacts.” He started the car, backed up and drove out of the parking lot.

  Alex Rendon stood and watched his three main computer screens while eating a bowl of what his father liked to call meatball soup. Dad made the meatballs and tomato sauce from scratch. This time the sauce had celery and red, orange and yellow peppers added. Alex used the edge of his spoon to break a meatball in half. Then he blew on the meat until he could pop the still dangerously hot morsel into his mouth.

  He chewed while Frederick Lee’s text message began to walk its way onto the screen. Cops are asking questions. You need to sweeten the deal. Lane was waiting for me after school.

  “Definitely a good sign,” Alex said.

  Pike’s reply came about a minute later. Get a burner.

  Alex picked up his cell phone.

  TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 25

  chapter 23

  Funding Local Economies Aimed at Undermining Cartels

  Redistribution defended as a new approach to ending the drug war

  CBC NEWS POSTED NOV. 25, 5:16 A.M. MT

  An estimated $3.5 billion of drug cartel money with connections to Canada has been seized and redistributed to communities in Mexico. Drug profits have been diverted to support schools and hospitals on either side of the Sea of Cortez.

  Arthur Merali, a Calgary accountant, played an integral role in the reallocation of these funds. He and his partner, Paul Lane, a member of the Calgary Police Service, were on vacation in San José, Mexico, when locals approached them.

  “They needed help fighting back against the violence and intimidation that is brought about by international drug trafficking, and the inability of local officials to end the war on drugs,” says Merali.

  The identities of those in Mexico responsible for the redirection of these assets are being protected to ensure their safety. The connection to Canada is part of an ongoing drug investigation.

  The Mexican communities involved include San José del Cabo, Cabo San Lucas and Culiacán.

  Lane rolled over onto his hands and knees. He took a deep breath, then peered overtop of his desk. Lori stood above him, her hands leaning on the other side of the desk. The light from the windows lit one side of her blonde hair, and her white blouse made her appear angelic. “What the fuck are you doing here? Arthur called me at home wondering where you are and if you’re okay. I came to work an hour early to find you sleeping.”

  “I was working late.” His mouth tasted like dusty carpet.

  Lori rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that. You’re hiding out. Not going home because that kid and Pike are trying to kill you. You don’t want to be around Arthur or the kids in case they become collateral damage.”

  Lane tried to hide the blush on his face as he got to his feet. Lori, you’re just smarter than the average momma bear.

  “Just tell me the truth. How close are you to nailing these guys?” She stood with her back to the door and her arms crossed.

  He looked on his desk and spotted two cups of coffee stuck in a paper tray. His eyes met Lori’s.

  “Don’t get used to it.” She pulled one of the cups from the tray and handed it to him; the other cup took a little more encouragement. “Well? How close are you? I’m not going to babysit you all week, you know.”

  He took a sip of coffee. Mocaccino! “Twenty-four to thirty-six hours. Pike is either here or very close. He and Lee are going to work out the details.”

  Lori pointed a clear-coated nail at him. “Alex Rendon is listening in?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Let’s get this mess cleaned up so you can go home.” She turned and opened the door. “After you have a shower, you’re taking me for breakfast.”

  Forty-five minutes later they were sitting in a booth next to a window. Lane sat so he could see the front door, the washrooms and the entrance to the kitchen.

  Lori sipped her tea. “Aren’t you going to eat your omelette?”

  He looked at the omelette oozing cheddar cheese, the four slices of whole grain toast and the wedge of orange. I really should eat. He picked up his fork, sliced off the end of the omelette and put it in his mouth. It tasted like paste but he chewed mechanically and swallowed anyway. All the while his eyes scanned the incoming and outgoing patrons and the outside traffic.

  Lori set her cup down. “I know about Nigel’s plan but I need to know what your plan is.”

  Okay. “Stay away from my family until this is over. Deal with Lee and Pike then decide.”


  “Decide?”

  “What to do next.”

  Lori looked up from her fruit cup. “You’re done, then?”

  Lane put another fork full of omelette in his mouth. “I want to spend some time watching Indiana growing up.”

  Lori winked. “And what will you do in your spare time?”

  The man who walked into Lane’s office wore a navy-blue sports jacket, white shirt and black tie. His face was shaved to shiny and his blond hair had a precise high-and-tight cut. He stuck out his hand. “Robert Whitemore. I’m with internal investigations.”

  Lane set his third cup of coffee on the desk and shook. He felt his mind running laps and his mouth did the same. “You’re a Lost Boy.”

  Whitemore took a moment to study Lane. “Your niece was at Paradise.”

  Lane waited. I’ve been expecting you and it looks like you’ve done your homework.

  Whitemore took a phone from his jacket pocket. “Mind if I record our conversation?”

  “Go ahead.” Lane reached for his coffee and held it with both hands.

  Whitemore closed the door, sitting down next to Lane in a chair by the wall. He fiddled with his phone, then set it on the nearest corner of the desk. “I am in Detective Paul Lane’s office. He has agreed to allow the recording of this conversation.”

  “That is correct. You haven’t answered my question.” Lane sipped his coffee.

  Whitemore nodded. “Yes. I was excommunicated from Paradise when I was fifteen and I am what you might call a Lost Boy.”

  Lane waited.

  “What was the amount of your compensation from the three point five billion dollars recovered from Luis Bonner’s estate in Palmilla, Mexico?”

  “A T-shirt.”

  Whitemore lifted his chin, took a slow breath, then exhaled. “I’m referring to monetary compensation. In other words, what was your share of the take?”

  “Zero.”

  “What was Arthur Merali’s share of the take?”

  “Zero.”

  Whitemore’s grey eyes studied Lane. “What other forms of compensation did you receive?”

  “A contract was taken out on my life. Arthur and I were ambushed on the highway just north of Nanton. At this moment, Sean Pike has offered two hundred thousand dollars for my life.”

  “Yes. Two men are already in custody.”

  “Two Angels.”

  Whitemore looked at his hands. “You are referring to members of the Hells Angels Motorcycle Club?”

  “Yes. A member of the Angels, Manny Posadowski, was observed in several meetings with Luis Bonner, Ignacio Enrique and Sean Pike in Mexico earlier this month.”

  “You are referring to Manny Posadowski of the Calgary chapter of the Hells Angels?”

  Lane nodded as he adjusted the cardboard heat jacket on his cup. “We had a choice. Either leave the wine bottles with the account numbers or take them and transfer the money into communities where it might do some good.”

  “Wine bottles?”

  “Bonner printed the account numbers and respective bank names on wine labels. We observed Fuentes and Posadowski leaving an art gallery with bottles of wine. When we searched Bonner’s Palmilla estate, the connection was made. We were able to leave the estate with the bottles, set up new accounts and transfer the money to the San José and Culiacán accounts before any cartel members could access the funds.”

  “Chief Harper is under pressure because Ottawa, Washington and Mexico City want to know what happened to the money.”

  Lane shrugged. “And Pike wants me dead.”

  “Rendon is monitoring Pike and Lee. This ends our session.” Whitemore reached over and shut off the recording.

  “I’m tired of having my family mixed up in messes like this. The Angels would have killed Arthur if he wasn’t lucky.” Lane inhaled. “And a good driver.”

  Robert picked up his phone and slid it into his inside jacket pocket. “That’s why you’re not worried about this internal investigation?”

  Lane shook his head. “I can only tell you the truth about the cartel’s money. My family is the priority right now. I have to draw Lee and Pike out and away from my family.”

  “You took in a niece and nephew, didn’t you?”

  “Arthur and I did.”

  “An aunt took me in. She was excommunicated from the church and she took me in. I was lucky.” Whitemore stared at a spot in the distance just above and behind Lane’s head.

  “So maybe you understand,” Lane said.

  Whitemore stood up. “Maybe I do. But I still have to do my job.”

  “Understood.” Lane lifted his cup of coffee and tried to smile.

  “I’ll be in touch.” Whitemore left.

  Lane went back to work on the map he’d created on the metre-wide monitor. He put the pieces for Mexico on one side and was filling in names and events from Calgary on the other.

  There was a knock on the glass. He looked up and saw Arthur, who opened the door, stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s busy.” That sounds so lame.

  Arthur waved the excuse away with the swipe of a hand. “You’re hiding out to keep them away from us.”

  Lane shrugged, saving the data he’d added to his map.

  Arthur came around the desk and looked at the screen. “Move over. I want to take a look.”

  Lane got up and sat down in a chair next to the desk.

  There was a knock and the door opened. Nigel was staring at the face of his phone. “We’ve had some problems with the 911 centre. Rendon has been keeping an eye on a few of Pike’s old friends. One of those officers got a call from a burner phone. Rendon recognized the caller. It was Pike. He traced Pike’s next call. It was to Frederick Lee. You’re going to get a call from the 911 centre tonight. It’ll be a —” Nigel spotted Arthur when Lane’s partner leaned around the edge of the monitor.

  “Where will it happen?” Arthur asked.

  Nigel looked at Lane, who shrugged. “Well?”

  Nigel puffed out his cheeks as he exhaled. “We’ve got some planning to do. McTavish still doing tactical?”

  Lane looked out the glass and saw Lori approaching. “No, it’s some new guy. McTavish retired.”

  Lori stepped inside the office. She nodded at Arthur. “Rendon, Harper and Singh, the new tactical leader, are on their way. The Chief wants to meet in the conference room in twenty-five minutes.”

  Frederick parked his Mercedes in the garage. The door clunked shut and the overhead light came on. He looked at the green digital clock, noting it was twelve noon: ten hours before his parents would be home.

  He climbed down from the SUV, then walked to the furthest corner of the garage, opposite from the door into the house. A padlocked red metal toolbox sat on the floor underneath a couple of empty cardboard boxes. He pushed the boxes to one side, then used a key to open the toolbox padlock. He lifted the lid. From the top shelf, he took three twenty-round clips. He lifted the shelf and pulled out a plastic-wrapped Kevlar vest. Underneath the vest was a polished metal case. He lifted it out, opened it and grabbed the Steyr tactical machine pistol and a couple of thirty-round magazines. He closed and locked the toolbox, then set the Steyr and the vest on the floor behind the passenger seat in the Mercedes. A new Beretta was in the glove compartment. He reached inside, set the handgun and magazines on the seat, reached for a box of shells and began to load rounds into magazines.

  His burner chirped. He set the half-full magazine down, pulled the phone from his jacket pocket and read a text from Brittany. WHERE ARE YOU? He put the phone down, picked up the magazine and finished loading.

  He slid the full magazine into the pocket of his jacket, then picked up his phone and tapped a text. Got a promotion. Go home after school. Get your passport. We need to be in Edmonton by 6 a.m. tomorrow to catch a flight to Cabo.

  He pressed send and went back to loading magazines.

  Alex Rendon took a bite from a double burger. He c
overed his mouth with his left hand. “The short of it is that Pike and Lee plan to lure you into a trap tonight.” He closed his mouth and pointed at Lane. “And kill you.” They sat with Nigel, Harper and Harvinder Singh around the conference table.

  Singh wore her grey–blue tactical unit uniform with a Glock strapped to her right hip. Her brown hair was tied back and her brown eyes focused on Lane. “We will have units on standby at all four quadrants of the city. I will take the northwest.” She pointed at Lane. “I want you to be in constant communication with me. Alex will fix you up.”

  Harper sat next to Lane. Harper wore navy-blue pants, shirt and tie. “I want Nigel to be in communication as well as a backup. I want built-in redundancies and no mistakes when we take Lee and Pike down. Pike is especially dangerous because he knows our tactics and protocols.”

  Singh nodded. “Each of the other three teams will head for the indicated location once the dispatcher makes the call to Lane. HAWCS will be airborne as soon as the call is received.”

  “Lacey?” Lane asked.

  Singh smiled. “That’s right.”

  Nigel turned to Lane. “She the one who flew with you when Jones was driving his pickup with the nitro?”

  Lane nodded. “I ride alone on this one.”

  Nigel hit the table with an open palm. “What?”

  Lane looked at his partner. “I know you’ll have my back. That’s not the issue. I will be alone in the vehicle.” He looked around the table. “I trust that each of you will do your respective jobs. And I trust you will allow me to do mine.”

  Harper turned to look sideways at Lane. “What is the issue, then?”

  Lane leaned his elbows on the table and pointed at Rendon. “Your information indicates that Pike will be there. There will be at least two shooters. I want all of the tactical officers on the periphery because that’s where Pike will be. Lee is covered. I want you —” he pointed at Nigel “— out there to make sure Pike is covered as well.”