Border War

by Lou Dobbs

  This was no game, and there were far too many variables. He had relied on his training and experience to guide him in his confrontation with the armed killer. The federal government was good about training its law enforcement people on tactics and marksmanship. But the lesson Eriksen had learned over the past month was that experience carried the day in a time of crisis. Now he really did feel like a hardened veteran. John Houghton had stayed so cool under fire because he had learned to stay cool under fire. Now Eriksen had to learn to be patient and let things develop.

  He couldn’t help glancing up at the clock on the wall. A little less than two minutes had gone by. In thirteen minutes he expected to hear Andre’s phone ring, and then he’d have to talk fast to keep the big DHS supervisor from saying it was all bullshit and walking out of the room to destroy any possible evidence linking him to the mayhem that had occurred in and around El Paso in the last month.

  No one in law enforcement shut off their phones during a meeting. They needed to be available for emergencies. The whole profession accepted the practice, so Andre would be vulnerable when the call came to him.

  The assistant U.S. attorney, who was dressed very casually and had obviously been called out from home, had a concerned look on her face. Her intense eyes conveyed apprehension—logical enough since she thought she was dealing with a rogue FBI agent who held the keys to a blockbuster case. Eriksen had already mentioned TARC and Eric’s statement in case something happened to him and he couldn’t pursue the matter, either because he was in custody or the conspiracy was bigger than he realized and he was dead. Eriksen didn’t like to consider either idea.

  The lawyer looked directly at Eriksen, cleared her throat, and said, “Agent Eriksen, the U.S. Attorney’s Office is not looking into the shooting. That’s the El Paso Police Department’s jurisdiction and has to do with FBI policy, but you’ve raised some questions about TARC, and we need to have a unified statement when we face the press.” She looked around to make sure the rest of the group agreed with her premise. Only Mike Zara looked appalled at the idea that they were skipping over the part where Eriksen shot someone in a hotel lobby.

  The assistant U.S. attorney continued as if she were presenting a witness in front of the jury. “How did you learn about the assassination attempt?”

  That question caught Eriksen by surprise. He hesitated, not knowing how much he could divulge and not wanting to put Lila in an awkward position. He spit out a few unintelligible syllables before Lila spoke up.

  Lila said, “The information came from one of my snitches in Mexico. It started out vague, but we were able to narrow it down as the days passed.”

  The lawyer turned to Lila. “Do you consider this a reliable informant?”

  Eriksen’s eyes flicked up at the clock. Eleven minutes until Kat called the phone. Lila didn’t hesitate at the attorney’s question. “The informant had been reliable in the past, but he was murdered yesterday in Juárez.”

  From the end of the table Mike Zara mumbled, “How convenient.”

  Eriksen watched Andre for any reaction. The big man was calm and taking notes.

  The assistant U.S. attorney turned her attention back to Tom Eriksen. “And the witness against TARC, he’s credible?”

  “Very.”

  There was still no reaction from Andre.

  Eriksen threw in, “And the witness is related to others involved in the case. I also have a number of bank records to back up some of the assertions.”

  Now Mike Zara cut into the conversation. “And who have you been updating on this information? Did Andre know about the alleged assassination attempt?”

  The assistant U.S. attorney looked at Zara and said, “Seriously? Alleged assassination attempt? There was a man waiting in the lobby of the Marriott with a pistol. If it weren’t for Agent Eriksen, we’d have a dead nationally known talk show host and everyone would be looking at El Paso as an extension of Juárez. I think we’re past the alleged stage in the assassination.”

  Zara’s face flushed red as he said, “Did anyone else know about the investigation?”

  Eriksen realized that Andre was deferring to him to answer. Maybe he suspected something. It was Lila who said, “There were security issues with the informant—now that he’s been killed, I’d call them legitimate security issues—that required us to maintain the strictest possible confidentiality. We did alert the Texas Department of Public Safety when we thought the target of the assassination could be Senator Ramos. In addition, we maintained relatively close surveillance of both the senator and Dempsey during the investigation.”

  Eriksen suppressed a smile at how well played and well worded Lila’s comments were. He glanced up at the clock. Eight minutes left. Now he started wondering about the tactical questions related to his impromptu and imaginative ploy. Would he have to draw his gun? Right now he was carrying a backup Glock model 27. His duty pistol had been taken into evidence, which was policy of any police shooting. How would the other people at the table react? God, how he hoped it wouldn’t come to gunplay. If it did, he could count on Lila, and probably the IG would help cautiously. Mike Zara would freak out.

  Seven minutes. Eriksen felt his stomach tighten as he considered everything that could happen.

  The assistant U.S. attorney snapped her fingers to get his attention. He had apparently spaced out more than he realized. She said, “Are you all right, Agent Eriksen?”

  He nodded his head. “Yes, ma’am. Just a little tired.”

  “I can imagine. We should be able to wrap this up quickly. In fact, if you’re that tired we could do it another time.”

  Eriksen realized he needed to make this last at least another seven minutes. “No, I’m fine. I’d rather get some of this out on the table now while it’s fresh in my mind.”

  The attorney said, “What else have you discovered that links TARC and these different incidents together?”

  Eriksen had been ready for this question. He’d even practiced the answer. As he spoke, he turned to the whole group, but it was really more a ploy to be able to look at Andre and see his reaction. “The thumbprint of the man killed with a shotgun at the house in Canutillo matches the print on a casing found at the market shooting and a casing found in the Martinez apartment.” He waited until everyone absorbed that information, then added the bombshell. “That same print was found in the apartment of HSI agent John Houghton, and the El Paso homicide unit has reclassified his death as a homicide.”

  Now Andre looked up, but he appeared to be personally interested rather than concerned. Mike Zara had his usual sour expression, apparently upset that Eriksen had uncovered anything at all related to another federal agent’s death.

  Eriksen continued, “We still haven’t identified the suspect, but that connects a lot of activity that’s occurred the past five weeks. The other man at the house has been identified as Joe Azeri, also known as Cash. He was a small-time hood from New Jersey, and we are working on his links to TARC. El Paso homicide told us that it appears the man shot by Carol DiMetti with a shotgun murdered Azeri with two shots from a .380 into his throat.”

  Five minutes left.

  The attorney said, “Who told you to investigate TARC?”

  “Part of my job description.”

  Mike Zara said, “I never told him to go on any fishing expedition. If this case is as big as he says, it should be on an FBI squad supervised by an FBI supervisor.”

  Everyone in the conference room turned toward Andre, the supervisor on the task force.

  Eriksen hoped Andre’s cell phone didn’t ring right now, because he was interested in what the big man had to say.

  Andre considered Zara’s comment, wrote another note on his pad, then said, “This kind of investigation falls under the broad purview of the task force, so as far as I’m concerned, Tom and Lila are covered.”

  Now Zara leaned forward in his seat and said in his usual loud voice, “But did you tell him to investigate?”

  Andre remai
ned placid. “I don’t have to. They’re professional law enforcement officers. If they can’t do something like this, what good are they? My job is to help them, not to hinder them.” He glared at Zara. “That’s a lesson you might wanna learn.”

  Eriksen thought it was a nice speech. Too bad Andre was full of shit. It was almost time for Kat’s call. Eriksen let his hand drift down to the pistol in a holster on his hip.

  He would be ready for any surprises.

  FIFTY-TWO

  By Tom Eriksen’s calculations it was now a minute past when Kat was going to call. In his mind, Eriksen had imagined Andre’s phone ringing, the DHS supervisor reaching for the phone, then Eriksen and Lila taking action. It was a good plan. But Eriksen was beginning to learn that good plans rarely worked out as planned.

  Now there was an awkward silence, and people around the table looked at Eriksen as if they expected him to say something. He shot a glance to Lila, who was also looking up at the clock on the wall. He had no way of checking with Kat. Once Andre left the room, if he had any concerns about being suspected, he could just chuck the phone.

  Then Eriksen heard a low ringing sound. It sounded like an old-time telephone, but it was clearly electronic. This was it. He looked at Lila, who also acknowledged the ring.

  Eriksen turned to his right and looked at Andre, who matched his gaze but didn’t move. The phone rang again. It took a moment for Eriksen to realize the ringing phone was to his left. He spun in his chair. Mike Zara reached into his jacket pocket. Then the ringing stopped. Zara looked around the table and mumbled, “Sorry.”

  Eriksen caught Lila’s eyes.

  The leak wasn’t Andre. It was Mike Zara. That made Eriksen pause, confused and stunned.

  The assistant U.S. attorney cleared her throat and said, “Go on, Agent Eriksen. I’m sure there’s a lot more we need to hear.”

  Eriksen hesitated as he tried to process the information he had just learned. Lila stood from the table, excused herself, and rushed out of the room. He knew she was going to confirm the phone call with Kat.

  Eriksen had to stall. He started slowly, “Well, we…” All he could think about was John Houghton and duty. He had a duty to his friend, and to his friend’s widow and children, just like he had a duty as a law enforcement officer. He also was human, and anger started to build in him as he looked to his left at Mike Zara. The FBI supervisor still held that smug expression.

  Lila stepped back into the conference room, looked at Eriksen, and said, “She got what she needed.”

  Eriksen said, “I’m afraid we have a leak in the office. That’s one of the reasons we didn’t tell anyone exactly what we were doing.”

  It was show time.

  FIFTY-THREE

  It was the portly Department of Justice inspector general who looked at Eriksen with a very calm expression and said, “How about giving us some details on this serious allegation?”

  Tom Eriksen was careful to keep his eyes directly on Mike Zara. He noticed that Lila stepped around the room to a spot where she was behind the FBI supervisor. There was a clear sense in the room that Mike Zara was the focus of their attention.

  Eriksen looked at his supervisor and said, “Do you mind pulling the phone out of your coat pocket?”

  Zara didn’t change his expression and slowly folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, I do mind. I mind very much being part of a frivolous investigation. I mind wasting my time in a meeting like this. And I really mind having someone like you level any sort of accusation against me.” He unfolded his arms and placed his hands on the arms of the chair and slowly started to stand.

  In a firm, loud voice Eriksen barked, “Sit down. Do it now. Keep your hands on the table where we can all see them.” It was a subtle variation of a normal police command. But instead of telling Zara to put his hands where he could see them, Eriksen made everyone in the room feel like part of it by saying, “Keep your hands on the table where we can all see them.” The ploy worked. Andre was definitely leaning forward, ready for action, as was the IG. Now Eriksen had to make his case clearly and concisely.

  Eriksen said, “We’ve seen a consistent leak of information using a number of different investigative resources available to us. Two minutes ago an NSA analyst called one of the phones that had been used to pass on information. I believe it was the phone in Mike Zara’s coat pocket that just rang. All I want to do is look at the phone and see if it’s the switchboard number from the office. If it’s not, then I will have nothing to hold Mike on.” He noticed out of the corner of his eye Lila slide toward the IG and whisper into his ear.

  Andre weighed in with his deep, commanding voice. “Come on, Mike. It’s no big deal. Show us the phone, then you can skate right out of here. You can go join the other FBI supervisors in your secret nap room or whatever you guys do to fill the day.”

  Zara said, “You’re crazy if you think I’m gonna do anything like that. The whole idea is beneath contempt and doesn’t deserve my attention.”

  Andre reached into his own coat pocket and pulled out two cell phones. “I’ll do it.” He held up a BlackBerry and said, “This is my Department of Homeland Security phone.” He carefully set down the BlackBerry, then picked up a smaller Android phone. “This is my personal phone. You guys can look through either one and see how many times I called my wife and my kids. As long as it doesn’t leave this room, you can even see where I called my girlfriend. I have nothing to hide. At least from you.”

  The IG said, “I only have one phone, but you can certainly look through it.” He pulled out an iPhone and set it on the long table.

  Eriksen dug his phone out of his front pocket and set it on the table, followed by Lila doing exactly the same thing. Finally, the assistant U.S. attorney, who had been watching all of this unfold in silence, pulled her phone from her purse, then dug deeper and pulled out a second phone. She said, “One’s the Department of Justice phone, and one is my private phone. And I don’t care if you see that I called my husband on it several times. I have to confess I even texted him once during this meeting. I had to make sure my kids got off to bed on time.”

  Now they all stared at Mike Zara, using the power of peer pressure.

  His eyes darted around the room, and a bead of sweat formed on his forehead. Finally, after a long pause, Zara said, “I’m not showing any of you anything. This is an outrage.” Somehow he still managed to keep his usual arrogance in his voice and make his argument sound righteous.

  Eriksen made his decision and knew he had to get the phone before Zara left the room. He said, “In that case, I’m placing you under arrest. Per policy, incident to that arrest, I’m going to search you and take your firearm and anything else you have concealed in your pockets into evidence.” He worded the statement carefully because it was rare you had an assistant U.S. attorney as a witness. When this came to court in a year or more, Eriksen didn’t want there to be any mistake about how he obtained evidence. Once he had the phone in his possession, he could always get a search warrant to look at the numbers, but the key was to grab the phone now.

  Zara gave no hint that he was going to comply.

  From across the table the IG stood up and said, “You heard him, Zara. You’re under arrest.”

  Zara stiffened in his seat, then slowly dug in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. Lila stepped toward him from behind him and jerked his pistol out of a molded plastic holster. Once he had emptied his pockets, Zara slumped back into the chair, looking like he had been through a battle.

  Eriksen wasn’t proud that he had been hoping he’d have a reason to punch the smug son of a bitch. Anytime a law enforcement officer was found to be involved in criminal activity it was a sad day for the entire profession. Corrupt police practices got so much airplay when they occurred, but no one stopped to consider how rare it was in the big picture. No news director ever played a news story about how virtually every other cop in the country was honest and ethical. Even Ted Dempsey would have to mention this in
cident.

  The inspector general looked across at Zara and said, “Do we have permission to look at your phone? If it’s not the right number, I’m sure the assistant U.S. attorney over here will authorize your immediate release, and you will receive an apology from my office for your temporary detention.”

  Zara knew he was done. He nodded slowly, then slid the phone across the table to Andre, who caught it with one hand.

  Andre examined the Boost prepaid phone. Then he opened the flip phone and spent a moment searching the call-log numbers. After a couple of seconds he looked up at Eriksen and solemnly nodded his head.

  Zara let out a breath and dropped his head to the table.

  Eriksen pulled a card from his wallet, looked down at his broken supervisor, and said, “You have the right to remain silent.”

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Ramón Herrera tried to relax as he read an electronic version of the El Paso Times on his iPad. He shook his head as he read the story again, taking a bite out of an English muffin and poached egg the chef had left on the table next to him on his ornate balcony.

  The FBI had arrested that idiot Rich Haben, and based on the exorbitant bond and the fact that he was still in jail, Herrera thought he probably had not cooperated. Yet. He could deal with the American businessman in a few days. Killing a prisoner in a U.S. jail could be a challenge, but he’d done it before.

  His normal contact inside the FBI was offline. No calls were going through to him and no news coming out.

  He knew that his assassin, Hector, was dead. The paper described him as an “unidentified gunman” who was shot by an FBI agent in the lobby of the downtown Marriott hotel. His contact at the Marriott had confirmed it was Hector. Worse, Ted Dempsey was empowered by the arrest of Haben. The talk show host was infuriating.