by Lou Dobbs
FORTY-EIGHT
Sitting at her desk, Kat Gleason ran through all of the intercepts that had come over the line in the last two hours. Now that she knew what to look for, she didn’t want to risk missing any more vital information.
Larry, the Wise Nerd, had come up with information on the phone number Tom Eriksen had given her. She was trying to keep it all straight in her mind when she came across the transcript time-stamped from earlier in the day. She read through it and realized it was the two people who had been talking about an assassination of “a big mouth.”
The line that caught her attention was toward the end of the conversation where the man calling from a Chihuahua phone line identified the target specifically as “Dempsey”—and went on to say that he would be in the lobby of the Marriott about six o’clock this evening.
Kat considered the information and knew she had to act quickly. They had been wrong. Senator Ramos was not the target of assassination. Ted Dempsey was.
Just as she was searching for her cell phone, a secretary stuck her head in the door and said, “You have a call from Fort Meade on the secure line.”
Kat didn’t have time for this.
* * *
Hector made it across the border easily. He suspected that by the time he returned, rumors about Pablo Piña’s death would be running wild.
Hector had scooped up the bodies of Piña and the two security men, dumped them in the back of their own Tahoe, and left the SUV near the headquarters of a rival drug gang. If his reasoning was correct, the leader of the other drug gang would claim credit for Piña’s death and reap the rewards of an undeserved reputation.
The only one that could connect him to the drug lord’s death was the shop owner, and he could be trusted to keep his mouth shut. Hector wasn’t about to start executing witnesses who had no involvement with any crime. It wasn’t like he’d been given a contract for the shop owner.
Now, in El Paso, he had already retrieved his favorite pistol from the private postal center. He chose the Browning for this job. He didn’t foresee other people around that he would have to shoot, and no one would be wearing body armor. It was tucked securely in his pants with a casual button-down shirt hanging over the butt of the pistol. He carried the leather notebook to hide the pistol when the time came. This was his last shot at the simple hit. There was no way he wanted to chase Dempsey all around the country while he did his show. There was going to be no fuss and no drama in the way he did it tonight. He intended to walk up to him in the lobby of the Marriott, draw his pistol, shoot the talk show host twice in the head, then dash back to Ciudad Juárez as quickly as possible.
Any plans after that were futile. For all he knew he might be in a private war with the survivors of Pablo Piña’s organization.
Now he had to focus on his one assignment.
* * *
Tom Eriksen checked the street signs as he reached the outskirts of the suburb known as Canutillo. He didn’t turn his head as he said, “How do you think we should handle this witness?”
Lila said, “I’ll talk to her because she’s female. But something tells me she’s not just a witness. The way her brother referred to her makes her sound like she might be involved in this scam like he is.”
“But she doesn’t work for TARC.”
“This isn’t the Middle East. The enemy of my enemy is not necessarily my friend. You know how these shady witnesses can be. I think we need to come down hard on her first and show her who’s the boss.”
“I’ll leave that up to you. But we should get our chance to talk to her in the next couple of minutes.”
Lila started writing on a small notepad and said, “I’ll have a few questions ready as soon as we see her.”
* * *
Kat Gleason started talking the moment she lifted the receiver of the secure phone. She didn’t want to give her supervisor a chance to cut off her explanation and make her shut down any information to Tom Eriksen at the FBI. She focused on not speaking too quickly, but she wanted to get her ideas across.
“I pieced together information from other parts of the task force to verify that there is, in fact, a plot to assassinate a U.S. citizen being discussed with someone who lives in Mexico. But now it looks like the target is Ted Dempsey, the talk show host, and I even have a time and place for it. I have to pass this information on immediately to the FBI.”
Her supervisor said, “Wow, take a breath, Gleason.”
Kat was quiet for a moment, but she was anxious to pass the information along to Tom Eriksen.
Her supervisor said, “So, essentially you’re saying you’re going to ignore my order and not keep our abilities quiet.”
“I don’t have any other ethical option since I learned about the time and place of the attempt. I’m paid to piece together all possible information. You have my official conclusion. There is no time to debate this. For safety reasons we have to pass on the information right now.”
“And where is the FBI agent you want to pass information to?”
“Interviewing another witness. He and his partner are the ones that arranged protection for the senator, but not Ted Dempsey. We have to get moving on this right this second or it’s gonna be a big mess.”
Kat was a little surprised by the long silence. It didn’t matter to her going forward. In about three seconds she was just going to hang up the secure phone and do what needed to be done. She had enough faith in Tom Eriksen and knew he would figure a way to stop the assassination.
Finally her supervisor broke the silence. “Very well. Call him. Write up a good report to explain your reasoning. Then—”
Kat didn’t have time to listen to the rest of the bureaucratic bullshit. She slammed the secure phone back on its cradle and started frantically digging for her own cell phone.
* * *
Ari slipped through the kitchen, the pistol up in front of him. He wasn’t scared or nervous. In fact, he had a grin plastered across his face. Cash had just gotten what he deserved, and Ari was looking forward to shutting up this DiMetti chick. She had caused way too many problems at the corporation. His corporation. He could call himself an executive at a computer company now. His mother finally had something to be proud about. Maybe he never finished college. Maybe he was never successful at anything except convincing the morons out here he was a hardened killer. But he was looking forward to a high-profile job with a decent salary so he could rub it in his mother’s and sister’s faces. They never believed in him. No woman had ever believed in him. And maybe that was why he was looking forward to planting a couple of rounds in Carol DiMetti’s pretty face.
As far as his standing with the corporation went, bringing her in alive to confirm that Cash had been part of the conspiracy might not be a bad idea. They also might be able to use her as leverage to bring her nitwit brother back into the fold. Ari understood they needed computer geek types working at a company like TARC. He also understood that they should be the easiest to keep in line with a few extra bucks or a decent show of force. If they were all like the little dweeb that Ari had met at the Dunkin’ Donuts who immediately gave up Eric’s hiding place, he didn’t think it would be too much trouble to conquer them all.
As soon as he was in the kitchen, Ari saw the closed door to the bedroom and silently shuffled across the kitchen’s tile floor to try the door handle. Locked. Ari cleared his throat and tried to keep his voice even when he said, “Carol, I’m not going to hurt you. Come out and we’ll clear this whole thing up.” He thought he sounded very diplomatic.
Nothing but silence.
“It will help your brother, too.” Ari figured that would sell her on the idea of surrendering and coming back to the corporate offices with him. In fact, Ari thought the whole family should be wiped out. He’d volunteer to track down her parents in Chicago if TARC would let him go.
He leaned in close to the door, hoping to hear something that might help. There was a familiar clack from behind the door, and it only took
him a moment to realize someone had just racked a shotgun.
FORTY-NINE
Carol DiMetti was scared. She had backed into her bedroom and immediately scooped up the shotgun Vinnie had given her. How could her simple plan have gone so wrong? She just hoped her brother was safe.
She couldn’t help but think back to the beginning when Vinnie didn’t want any part of it. She pushed him when she found that her brother had information linking TARC with the drug dealer in Mexico. She just wanted money, or at least a chance for Vinnie to earn more money. Poor Vinnie wasn’t smart enough to have ambition. She made him tell his boss he wanted a better job or he’d make public the information her brother had stolen on a thumb drive.
After Vinnie was shot, she thought Joe Azeri might be her ticket to a more comfortable life. Now he was dead in her front room. And she was facing this maniac in her own house.
She could hear him in the kitchen outside the closed door. The bedroom had two entrances, and through some odd design flaw from the 1960s someone had made a hallway into the rear of the kitchen. Her whole body shook as she held a Remington 870 pump shotgun that she knew was loaded with four rounds of buckshot. Vinnie had always said that 12-gauge buckshot was the only shot that could miss and still hit. He always laughed at his little joke, but Carol didn’t really get it.
Carol knew she was going to have to shoot this moron and raised the butt of the shotgun to her shoulder, locking it in place, just like Vinnie had showed her. Her whole body trembled. She picked a spot dead center of the door and slowly squeezed the trigger.
When the shotgun fired, the impact on her shoulder was tremendous, but the incredible explosion was worse. From practice, she knew to rack the shotgun’s slide back and saw the empty casing pop into the air and onto the cheap carpet. She didn’t hesitate to fire a second time, the gun blasting a second giant hole in the door. The whole experience felt like bombs going off.
Carol racked the shotgun again, but this time she took a second to peek through the two holes in her door. She saw the body of the man crumpled against the far wall. She leaned in and peered out the upper hole to see the pistol out of his hand and on the kitchen floor. His face had been nearly ripped off by the buckshot, and his exposed gums and teeth looked like bloody rags.
She didn’t know how long she’d been staring through the hole when she heard a noise in the front room and what sounded like more than one person entering the house. She froze and finally heard someone say, “Police. Put down your weapon and come out the door with your hands where I can see them and you won’t get hurt.”
God, how she wished she believed them.
* * *
As Tom Eriksen stepped out of his government-issued Taurus, he noticed a Cadillac and a Chevy in the driveway in front of the small house in Canutillo occupied by Eric Sidle’s sister, Carol DiMetti. Eriksen had been shot at enough in the past month that he had developed a good sense of tactics and attitude. He already had his hand near the grip of his Glock on his hip. His eyes scanned the entire neighborhood looking for any suspicious vehicles or people. It was late afternoon, and most of the driveways in this working-class neighborhood were empty.
His cell phone rang, and he glanced at the screen. When he saw it was Kat he realized it would have to be about the case. He flipped open the phone as Lila started moving toward the house slowly, just as cautious as Eriksen.
As soon as Eriksen answered the phone, Kat said, “I just got a new intercept on our line. The target of the assassination is not Senator Ramos, it’s Ted Dempsey.”
Eriksen took a second to process the information.
Kat didn’t waste any time before she said, “Whoever is going to do it is going to try and catch Dempsey in the lobby of the Marriott at six this evening. Are you going to be able to stop it, or do I need to call the El Paso PD?”
A chill went down his neck. All he said was, “On my way.” As he was about to call to Lila, Eriksen heard two heavy blasts. They were gunshots, either a rifle or shotgun. Immediately he drew his pistol and raced to the front door. Lila had already thrown herself against the front wall of the house and peeked in through the wide window.
Lila said, “Front room clear.”
Eriksen was next to the front door, so he tried the handle. The door was unlocked, so he shoved it open and slipped into the house. He had his pistol up and scanned the room quickly.
There was a dead man with two bullet holes in his throat on the couch. Eriksen took a second to check for a pulse but found none. Out of habit he picked up a 9 mm off the ground and stuck it in the small of his back for safety. This man had not been killed by a shotgun, so that meant there was more than one person left in the house.
The confidence that came with experience made him move quickly and efficiently as he cleared each room methodically. He paused for a moment for Lila to come in and cover him as he headed toward the kitchen.
Before he was completely inside the cramped kitchen, Eriksen saw the buckshot pattern across a closed door and the wall. As he peered around the corner he could see a second body with multiple buckshot hits and blood pooling on the ground. The man’s face had been partially ripped off, and his teeth were exposed where his lips should’ve been.
Even though he knew there was an imminent threat in front of him somewhere, all Tom Eriksen could think about was getting to Ted Dempsey.
* * *
Hector was early, so he walked around the entire building that housed the Marriott in downtown El Paso. The building also had some offices and stores around the front. It was like the hotel was an afterthought. There was nothing unusual about the late-autumn day. It was cool, but not unbearable, and there was hardly a hint of moisture in the air. He hated to admit it, but El Paso did feel cleaner and safer than his own home just across the border. He understood that Ciudad Juárez was a much bigger city, but still he wished they could clean it up so people didn’t have to live the way they did now. He understood why everyone wanted to cross the border into the United States. If only they realized how most of the norteamericanos felt about them.
As he came around the corner toward the front of the hotel, he hesitated when he saw a marked El Paso Police Department cruiser on the street directly in front of the entrance. Although he realized it was likely just a coincidence, in his business anyone who counted on things being a coincidence ended up dead. If he had to, he could deal with one cop and Dempsey. But if he killed a police officer, he would get little sympathy from the police back in Mexico. Cops all tended to stick together no matter what country they were from, unless they had really lost touch with any aspect of what brought them into police work in the first place.
He watched a young patrolman, nearly as tall as Hector himself, unfold himself from the patrol car and walk into the hotel.
This could be a problem.
* * *
Eriksen waited until Lila was in a good tactical position behind the heavy butcher’s-block island in the center of the kitchen. He called out in a loud voice, “Police. Put down your weapon and come out the door with your hands where I can see them and you won’t get hurt.”
There was a long pause as he held his position, staring down the barrel of his Glock .40 caliber. Anyone who came to the door with gun in hand would be dead in a matter of seconds.
Finally, a female voice from the bedroom answered him. “How do I know you’re the police?”
The question took him by surprise for a moment, and then he realized the position the woman was in. He called out, “I’m Tom Eriksen with the FBI. Your brother is safe at our office. He told us where you live.”
“That still doesn’t prove you’re a cop. You could be lying.”
“Then pick up the phone and dial 911. Call the cops. We’ll be happy to wait for them to show up. In fact, I’m telling you right now I need you to call 911.”
He heard movement in the bedroom and realized that was exactly what she was doing. She still wasn’t convinced to come to the door. Finally he hea
rd the lock click, and the door opened a crack. She popped her hands out and said, “I just called 911, but I believe you. I’m coming out.”
He stole a glance at Lila to make sure she was still in a safe and tactical position. “Step past the body and towards me.” He watched as she shuffled out of the room.
It was clear she was terrified, and she was surprised when Lila popped up from behind the kitchen island and wrapped the woman’s arms behind her back, handcuffing her and pushing her to the carpeted floor of the living room in a matter of seconds. It was a standard move for safety until they verified what was going on.
Now Eriksen could move forward and clear the rest of the house.
* * *
Hector risked walking by the front of the hotel and peeking into the lobby. The last thing he wanted was a witness who could identify a big Mexican guy casing the place just before a nationally known talk show host was shot in the lobby. But it was a chance he would have to take. He had to know exactly where the cop was and if he could wait for the patrolman to leave before he took action.
There was no sign of Dempsey, and the cop was near the front door, leaning casually on a counter and flirting with a very pretty concierge. Hector shook his head. How many great endeavors were derailed by romance?
The cop paid no attention to anything but the blond concierge. The lobby looked empty behind him, which made Hector think he could wait, unless the cop’s pickup line didn’t work and he overstayed his welcome. The other thing in Hector’s favor was that Dempsey could linger in the lobby.
Hector found himself standing and staring through the front door. Not a professional tactic. As he was about to move on he noticed the elevator at the far end of the lobby open and Dempsey step out.
The cop wasn’t moving.
Hector couldn’t let another opportunity pass him by. He turned and pushed through the heavy, ornate front door.