Miguel's Gift

by Bruce Kading

  Hayden turned to the next page. There before him was a set of still photos transferred from a video camera mounted above the entrance of the Chase Manhattan Bank in Panama City. The six black-and-white images showed two men. One was running away from the bank and carrying a gunnysack in his right hand, his shoulders bent over as if he were trying to avoid shots fired from inside—a black hood covering his head. The man next to him was aiming a shotgun toward the entrance of the bank. This man’s hood had been removed, perhaps to better view his adversaries. In the fourth shot of the series, a barely visible puff of smoke could be seen rising from the shotgun, its muzzle tilted up at a forty-five-degree angle from the recoil. Though the photos were blurry and taken from a distance of at least forty feet, he could see that the man carrying the shotgun was the same person known in Chicago as Salvador Rico.

  The three-page report of the bank robbery stated that the getaway vehicle was cornered by a police roadblock just minutes after leaving the bank. The driver and another of the bandits had been shot down in a hail of bullets and the money recovered. But Solis had rolled out of the backseat of the vehicle and disappeared into the dense tangle of buildings in the heart of Panama City.

  The manhunt yielded nothing in the days after the robbery, though it was rumored that the fugitive had fled south into Venezuela. Police intelligence officers were convinced he was still holed up somewhere in his Panama City neighborhood, though frantic searches of suspected hangouts produced nothing. Two days after the robbery, fingerprints on the shotgun identified Liriano Solis as the shooter.

  Hayden looked over at Kane, who was contentedly munching a donut and reading the morning newspaper. “You need to take a look at this stuff,” said Hayden, tossing the Interpol report onto Kane’s desk. “I’m going downstairs for coffee.”

  The cafeteria on the second floor of the Federal Building was almost deserted when Hayden took a seat at one of the long tables, far from the cash registers and occasional customers. Since the coffee was always bitter and the collection of day-old pastries unappetizing, there was little activity between meals. Bright fluorescent lights and cheap plastic chairs did nothing to enhance the atmosphere. Still, it was quiet and there were floor-to-ceiling windows for an expansive view of the plaza, which was dominated by an enormous orange metal sculpture by Alexander Calder.

  Rain fell against the windows as Nick sipped his coffee and tried to absorb the news confirming that Rico was a killer and would be desperate if cornered. Though Panama had no official death penalty, Rico would be keenly aware that prison guards could be counted on to avenge the dead security guard, probably through torture and grisly death.

  It had suddenly become eerily dark outside. Deep volleys of thunder began to rumble overhead, seeming to shake the building, and rain thudded loudly against the cafeteria windows. The lights flickered off for a moment but almost instantly came back on.

  Out of nowhere, Tom Kane pulled up a chair across from Hayden.

  “That report from Panama is priceless,” chirped Kane. “The bureau is using a killer as an informant.” Kane cackled with delight and rubbed his hands together as though he’d won a pot of money in a poker game. “We’ve got Byrd by the short and curlies!”

  “Byrd isn’t the issue at the moment,” said Nick seriously.

  “Come on—this stuff on Rico is great.”

  “Great?”

  “Absolutely. The press will love it, and so will Stark. The magnitude of the case just skyrocketed.”

  Hayden looked at Kane impassively and for a moment felt envious of his partner’s blissful approach. “We could arrest Rico right now on a murder warrant,” said Nick. “We know where to find him. He could split any time before Thursday.”

  “You mean before the operation?” said Kane, clearly startled by the suggestion.

  Nick continued. “What if he gets suspicious, decides the whole deal with Miguel doesn’t feel right? What if word leaks out about the operation? Byrd finds out, tips off Rico—then what do we have? We lose a killer and end up with nothing but a document case.”

  Kane was incredulous. “You wanna take him down on the warrant and that’s it? It isn’t just Rico we’re after; it’s the whole organization! Two more days isn’t going to make any difference.”

  “We could still arrest some vendors,” Hayden suggested, with little conviction. “Try to flip them on Rico’s lieutenants. If they’re holding large numbers of documents, we could get the US Attorney to file for possession. That’s all they really wanted when this thing started.”

  “So we’re supposed to throw away all the work we’ve done just to arrest Rico two days before we were going to arrest him anyway? Look, we need a criminal prosecution to make our detail a success,” Kane said with finality. “I’m not going back to area control without something to show for it. Hell, I might never get out of there again. Stark wants something good, especially since we’ve briefed him. He’s told the front office about it. It’s out of our hands now.”

  Hayden stared out the window at the black sky and cascading rain. Kane was right. Stark was salivating at the prospect of a big case going down on his watch. There was no way he would approve of arresting Rico prior to the scheduled operation on Thursday.

  Kane waved a hand across an invisible plane in front of Hayden’s face. “Base to Hayden. You in there, little fella?” he said in a high, mocking tone.

  “Knock it off, Tom. I need time to figure this thing out.”

  “No, you don’t need more time. You’re overanalyzing. I know what you’re thinking—that Miguel is going in wired and he’ll be in danger, and yeah, he will. But I’ve got a news bulletin for you. That’s what informants do.”

  Kane waited for a response, but Hayden looked away and said nothing.

  “By the way,” continued Kane in a lowered voice, “I passed through area control earlier and heard Denton and some other guys talking. I guess you guys ran into each the other night, huh?”

  “What about it?”

  Kane leaned forward over the table and whispered. “I’m no shrink, but there’s something happening with you, and it ain’t good.” He paused, hoping Hayden would confide in him, but Hayden, clearly annoyed, stared across the table. It was nothing he could speak candidly about with Kane.

  “I know it’s pretty bizarre, giving them water,” said Hayden sarcastically. “It’s downright neurotic.”

  “It’s not just the thing with Denton,” said Kane evenly. “It’s ever since we collared Miguel. If you start caring too much about these people, you can’t do the job. It’s that simple. You’re paralyzed.”

  Nick recalled a McCloud lecture about agents caught in the paralysis syndrome—frozen by an exaggerated sense of what might go wrong. That phase wasn’t supposed to happen for years, if ever. And though Kane had a valid point, it wasn’t that simple.

  “McCloud used to tell us to never forget these are people we’re dealing with,” Nick said. “It doesn’t mean you can’t do what’s necessary to get the job done.”

  “OK,” said Kane, raising his palms defensively, “but we’re getting down to crunch time, and I’m not gonna let a good case go down because of some irrational concern about an informant, so you better get your shit together.”

  Hayden said nothing, knowing his partner had the upper hand.

  “It’s too late to pull back,” declared Kane, as he rose from his chair. “Anyway, we have a lot to do to get ready for Thursday.”

  As Kane stalked away, Hayden saw that the rain had stopped and it was suddenly much brighter outside. A column of sunlight slipped through a gap in the skyscrapers, illuminating the wet granite plaza. A few people emerged from buildings, glancing warily at the sky.

  * * *

  When informed that Salvador Rico was wanted for murder and armed robbery in Panama, Richard Stark, as expected, insisted that the operation go forward as planned. “We’re not even sure it’s the same guy,” he said. “You can’t rely on blurry photos. We’ll need
prints for a firm ID, and we’ll have those on Thursday.” Hayden, seeing it was inevitable, kept his silence, and the two agents resumed their preparations.

  On Wednesday morning they were summoned to Connelly’s office to brief him and Stark on the upcoming operation. They split up the briefing—Hayden going over the undercover deal with Rico, Kane outlining the anticipated arrests and searches of document-manufacturing pads in other parts of the city. Everything appeared to be a go for Thursday.

  Jack Connelly, ninety days from retirement and wary of anything that might disrupt the serenity of his departure, was visibly nervous. “You fellas let Richard know if you need anything,” he said, waving a hand toward Stark. “I’ve told him and the other chiefs that this case gets priority for manpower and equipment.” The smell of vodka wafted across the desk. It was more excitement than Connelly could handle in the last weeks of his career, and he’d needed a jolt, even though Stark was for all practical purposes in charge. As the meeting continued, Connelly sat like a spectator watching a tennis match, his head bobbing back and forth between Stark and the agents.

  Hayden and Kane were relieved when Stark announced that he would remain in the office during the operation. Supervisors in the field were problematic, often feeling the need to show they were in charge, which led to ill-informed decisions.

  “Call me as soon as it goes down,” said Stark with a thrust of his chest. “I’ll handle the PR stuff.”

  “And I’ll keep Director Farber informed,” offered Connelly, glancing at Stark for approval. “He’s very interested in this case, as you know.”

  “Yes, that’s good, Jack,” said Stark with a patronizing grin. Hayden was silently amused. All that was missing was a pat on the head and a cookie.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Hayden and Kane flung themselves into final preparations. They briefed agents as a group and then each of the three teams separately so that everybody knew exactly what was expected of them. Gradually things died down and the office became deserted and quiet. It was the first chance to consider nightmare scenarios that could scuttle everything and place Miguel in even more danger. By now a lot of people knew about the operation, and the circle of knowledge was likely expanding with each passing minute.

  “I can just hear them at McGinty’s after a few drinks,” said Hayden.

  “We told them to shut up about it,” said Kane. “What else can we do? Anyway, a beer sounds good right now.”

  “You go ahead. I want to go over a few things again.”

  “OK. I’ll talk to you on the radio in the morning.” Kane rapped his knuckles on Hayden’s desk and smiled as he swaggered out with a backpack slung over his shoulder.

  Alone in the office, Hayden continued looking over photos and thinking through the operation. Ten minutes had passed when he heard a slight movement behind him and turned around. It was Joe Willis, who had been forced to retire two weeks before. Though it was highly unusual for Willis to enter a room without loudly announcing his presence, there he was, sitting in Kane’s chair, staring morosely at the floor. There were circles under his eyes, and his normally fiery cheeks had gone pale. Wearing one of his familiar black sport coats, he looked more like an undertaker than an agent.

  “Joe, how long have you been there?”

  Willis coughed weakly and looked up. “Not long. I was having a beer with Moretti. He mentioned your case.”

  Hayden paused, looking him over. “How are you, Joe? How’s retirement?”

  Willis ignored the question but came suddenly alive. “Hey, listen, I know it’s not by the book, but how about I go along with you tomorrow? I’ll stay out of the way. It’ll be like old times, like the Padilla bust.”

  “It’d be OK with me, but with Stark in charge, there’s no way. If he found out, he’d have my badge.” That was true enough, but he could also see that Willis was different now—fragile and unsure. Who knew what he might do in the excitement of an ongoing operation?

  To Hayden’s surprise, Willis didn’t fight it. “Hmm. I see your point. I guess I shouldn’t have asked,” he said softly. It was painful to watch him caving in so easily. Willis lifted his eyes pleadingly for a moment, giving Hayden a chance to change his mind.

  “Sorry, Joe. I’ll give you a call to let you know how it went.”

  “No, that’s OK. You’ll be busy.” Willis was standing to leave. “Anyhow, I hope it goes all right,” he muttered sadly, and then slipped out the door like a ghost.

  By the time Hayden left the office, a light rain was falling. On the way to the garage he noticed McGinty’s was unusually packed for a weekday, but he resisted the temptation to stop.

  Back at his apartment, he ordered a pizza and watched a baseball game on television in an effort to slow the pace of his thoughts before going to bed. But he didn’t sleep well—waking at four o’clock in a cold sweat. It was the recurring dream of marching figures in the desert. Once again, he’d been unable to make contact with them.

  Part III

  16

  A bank of cool Canadian air had driven away the heat of the extended summer. This was good, Nick told himself. Miguel could wear a jacket without raising suspicion. It would go fine—unless Rico decided to again shake him down for a wire.

  Nick and Miguel met in the parking lot of a boarded-up auto repair shop on the North Side. A tall, wooden fence surrounded the lot, so they couldn’t be seen by the traffic on Belmont Avenue. Miguel parked next to Hayden’s vehicle and remained in his car.

  Nick grabbed the mic from under the dash. “Five-fourteen to five-eleven, I’m getting ready to wire him. How things look over there?”

  Kane’s voice came over the radio: “The Bolivian was looking around, so we all had to move a block away, but Meadows can still see the bar from his position, and we’ve got units that can see both ends of the alley behind it.”

  Hayden didn’t like it. From that far away it could take the agents two or three minutes to get inside the bar.

  “Ten-four,” said Hayden. “It’s nine thirty. I’ll let you know when our guy is headed for the bar.”

  Miguel slid into the passenger seat of the Firebird and shut the door.

  “How you feeling, Miguel?”

  “Good, Nicolas.”

  Hayden had decided not to tell Miguel about the outstanding murder warrant in Panama, Kane having argued that they still didn’t have a firm identification on Rico and that such a disclosure could make Miguel more nervous. Hayden finally backed off after convincing himself that Miguel would not have let the revelation deter him. As for being jittery, there wasn’t the slightest hint of nerves on Miguel’s part. He appeared to be as cool as the autumn air.

  It took five minutes to make sure the Nagra recorder and a transmitter were properly fastened to Miguel’s body. The Nagra was placed in a spandex holder at the small of his back and its two wires were snaked up his stomach to his chest. The transmitter was fitted inside padding just below Miguel’s waist, its wire and tiny microphone taped just below his collarbone. This unit sent a signal to the receiver on the backseat of Hayden’s car so that he could monitor the conversation. Draped in wires, Miguel looked like a suicide bomber, thought Hayden, and even a cursory pat-down would be disastrous. Baker had told him smaller devices were available, but their quality and range were very limited. Besides, a thorough pat-down would locate a wire, however small.

  To make sure the equipment was working properly, Nick had Miguel briefly walk around the parking lot and speak. As Miguel got back into the car, Hayden checked his watch. It was nine forty-five. It would take about ten minutes to drive to El Palacio. He reached inside his leather briefcase and removed an envelope filled with cash.

  “Here’s nine thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills,” said Nick. “They’re marked.” Miguel slipped the envelope into the inside pocket of his nylon jacket.

  Though they’d been over it before, Hayden again gave instructions on how the deal should go down. “Remember, ask to see the documents b
efore showing him the money. If he asks to see the money first, just pat the inside of your jacket. As soon as they give you the documents and we hear you counting out the money, we’ll be on our way in. I’ll be listening to everything. If they start to search you, try to stall them. We’ll come in right away. And don’t forget, we’ll make it look like we’re arresting you when we come in.”

  Miguel nodded.

  “I guess we’re all set, Miguel.”

  “I have question, Nicolas. I think about this . . .” He paused and looked out the front window, reluctant to bring it up.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  “Is OK if I carry gun when I go there?”

  Though it was reasonable, it surprised Hayden. He had come to think of Miguel as being almost fearless and above such practical considerations.

  “No, I can’t let you have a gun. Why? Do you have one in the car?”

  “If you go in there like me, would you have gun?” Miguel asked the question with no bitterness, just curiosity.

  “Yeah, I would, but I’ve got a badge. We never let informants carry weapons. It’s policy, but I don’t blame you for asking.”

  “Is OK,” said Miguel, turning to face Hayden. “I no think you let me.”

  “We’ll cover for you.”

  “I not worried. The Lord protect me . . . gun or no gun.”

  They sat in silence for a few moments.

  “I go now?” inquired Miguel.

  “Let me turn the recorder on. Lean forward a little.” Hayden felt for the lever beneath Miguel’s jacket and locked it into the ON position. “We know Rico and the others are in there, so there shouldn’t be any delays.”

  “OK,” said Miguel, opening the passenger door. He had one foot on the gravel and one inside the car when he turned to Hayden. “Thank you, Nicolas. No worry. Whatever happen now is God’s will.”