The Cartel Strikes Back: The Ted Higuera Series, Book 5

by Pendelton Wallace

  At lunchtime Maria and Kayla passed up sandwiches and cups of hot soup. Chris allowed his crew to eat in shifts. There is no rest on a race. He pushed his boat and crew from start to finish. A crew member might have a ten or fifteen minute break to use the head and grab a sandwich, then it was back on duty.

  Late in the day, Chris engaged in a tacking duel with Bonnie Lass, a Hunter 40 with an all-female crew, out of Tacoma. The Lass managed to inch ahead of Courageous.

  “Stand by to come about,” he shouted.

  His crew snapped into action.

  “Ready about,” chorused half a dozen voices as the crew members took their places and readied themselves.

  “Helm’s alee,” Chris roared, spinning the big stainless steel wheel. The Courageous spun on her keel.

  “Let go and haul.”

  Chris stepped to his right and took control of the other steering wheel, now on the high side.

  Alan, one of Dad’s young attorneys, cast off the starboard jib sheet. Ted pulled like a madman to haul in the port sheet. When the wind caught the huge Genoa jib sail, Ted used the mechanical leverage of the big sheet winch to finish the job.

  “’Vast hauling,” Chris shouted.

  The red boat settled into her new course, heading straight for the Bonnie Lass.

  The Lass did not yield the right-of-way.

  “Starboard tack,” Chris shouted at the top of his lungs.

  Chris changed onto the starboard tack so he would have the right of way, forcing the Lass to give way to the Courageous.

  The Bonnie Lass swung through the wind onto a starboard tack.

  “Stand by to come about,” Chris yelled as the Bonnie Lass crossed the wind.

  “Helm’s a lee.”

  The big red sloop turned into the wind once again, this time, moving away from the Tacoma boat. As Courageous surged ahead, they left the other boat in their wake.

  “Nice piece of sailing, son.” Harry beamed with pride. “I couldn’t have done better myself.”

  Chris felt a warm glow inside, despite the cold wet evening. He didn’t often get praise from his dad.

  Day faded to night. Chris drove his boat hard. Harry never left his post at Chris’s side, giving bits of advice and encouragement hour after hour. Although he gave his crew short breaks, Chris never left the wheel.

  They all began to feel the effects of fatigue. This was the wall. They had to push through it. Once they were on the other side, it would be downhill.

  As they approached the windward mark Kraken and Jaguar clung stubbornly to Chris’s stern. Hot Spur and Bonnie Lass were close behind. Chris had to time the rounding just right.

  “Number one chute, don’t you think?” he said over his shoulder to his father.

  “Sounds good to me,” Harry said.

  “Make ready the number one kite,” Chris yelled up to Candace on the foredeck.

  “Aye, aye number one kite,” she echoed.

  Candace and Alan went into a frenzy of activity making ready to hoist the spinnaker.

  “Stay as close to the marker as you can . . .” Harry had a panicked look on his face. “Chris … I ... Argh!”

  Harry grabbed his chest and collapsed to the deck.

  “DAD!” Chris yelled. “Ted, take the helm.”

  He released the wheel and turned to his father without looking to see if Ted acknowledged.

  “Dad? Are you all right? Can you hear me?”

  Harry’s face turned from white to blue in the cockpit lights.

  Chris put his ear to his father’s chest. “Nothing!” he shouted.

  “Harry!” Candace dropped the orange spinnaker bag on the foredeck and came charging back to the cockpit. “Harry, no.”

  Chris felt his father’s wrist then his neck. “No pulse.”

  “CPR!” Candace shouted. “Give him CPR.”

  Chris ripped off Harry’s life vest and unzipped his foul weather gear then measured the distance from his collarbone and began compressions. “Breathe for me,” he shouted to Candace.

  “Somebody, call the Coast Guard,” Chris roared.

  “Tim, take the wheel,” Ted shouted.

  Ted dropped down the companionway hatch. In the silence of the moment, Chris heard him yell.

  “Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is the sailing vessel Courageous. We have a medical emergency on board. One of our crew members is having a heart attack.”

  “Courageous,” the voice said over the cockpit speakers, “this is the US Coast Guard, Neah Bay Station. How many people are on board your vessel and are they all wearing life jackets?”

  “We have eight people on board. All wearing life jackets.”

  “What’s your position?”

  Ted read off the coordinates from the GPS.

  “We have a chopper en route. They will be there in about an hour. Can you give your crewmember CPR?”

  Chris fought for his father’s life. He stubbornly compressed Harry’s chest and Candace gave him breaths. Minutes dragged on. Chris thought he would collapse from the effort.

  Alan tapped on his shoulder. “Better let me take over for a while.”

  Chris’s shoulders felt like they would fall off. “Thanks.”

  Candace kept up her breathing for Harry.

  The crew rotated giving CPR. They could only last a few minutes before yielding to someone else.

  From somewhere to the east, Chris heard the sound of helicopter blades.

  “They’re here,” Candace shouted.

  “Set off a flare,” Chris yelled. It was pitch dark.

  “Courageous, this is Coast Guard helicopter two four five one. We have a visual on you.”

  “Courageous here,” Ted said.

  “Get your sails down and turn into the wind,” the chopper pilot said. We’re going to lower a basket to pick up your crewman.”

  Ted relayed the information to the deck and the crew jumped to comply.

  Chris looked up at the big white helicopter with a diagonal orange stripe hovering over the boat, setting up hurricane-force winds. A door on the side of the chopper opened and a metal basket lowered from a winch. A powerful search light blinked on, blinding Chris.

  When the basket was inches off the deck, Chris and Candace lifted Harry into the container. Chris strapped him in and waved to the chopper. The helicopter lifted away from the boat.

  The basket with Harry aboard dangled at the end of the wire cable as the helicopter gained altitude, then the chopper slowly began to winch in the basket.

  In a matter of minutes the basket was inside the big bird and the helicopter sped back towards shore.

  Chapter 2

  The table was set for a feast with white linen table cloths and polished silverware. The crystal glasses were kept full of wine by an ever-present steward.

  Santiago Rodriquez looked to his right at his beautiful young wife. To his left sat his two sons, both of them older than their stepmother, who would one day take over the family business. Next to her stepmother his teenage daughter, the center of his universe, Elena, toyed with her food. At the other end of the table Santiago’s right hand man, Raul Ramirez, worked on his soup.

  Santiago was proud of his sons, Tony and Rojillo, even though they did not inherit his physique. Their mother was mostly Spanish and they were tall and thin like her. They also didn’t have his dark complexion, but their black hair and dark eyes made them heartbreakers.

  Muy macho, he thought as he looked at his boys.

  Santiago required his family to sit down together at least once a week. The meal was prepared by the finest chefs and served by trained stewards. The steward brought the Coq Au Vin, served with wide egg noodles, asparagus spears and a bowl of jalepeños en escabeche to the table. A lovely merlot from Santiago’s vineyards in El Valle de Guadalupe was the perfect complement to the meal. A flan torta covered with fresh fruit, his favorite, waited for dessert.

  The apartment, suited to any common garden-variety billionaire, would do for now. Hand-c
rafted mahogany furniture and Persian rugs filled the space. A giant television hung on one wall. There were no telephones, but who needed land lines these days anyway? Santiago made special arrangements to allow his cell phone to work.

  Santiago smiled at his private joke. His luxury apartment was on the bottom floor of cell block B of the Altiplano Federal Prison, just west of Mexico City. Altiplano was Mexico’s maximum security prison for the most dangerous criminals. How many garden-variety billionaires lived in a prison?

  He ran the prison with a firm hand. His money and power bought the guards. Fear kept the warden in check. His family and members of his Baja Cartel came and went at will.

  Santiago loved his nickname, El Pozolero (the soup maker). He earned it by boiling his enemies alive, turning them into his version of the Mexican soup pozole.

  El Pozolero appreciated the small army of prisoners working for him. His armed pistoleros guarded him day and night. His chefs, housekeepers and servants catered to his every want. He chuckled to himself when he thought about the women transferred to the otherwise all-male prison to serve his needs. Some were putas, but his current favorite, Margarita Lopez, was an accountant sentenced for stealing her clients’ funds.

  El Pozolero mounted a satellite dish on the roof of his building bringing in all the networks on his TV and Internet access for his computers. The impotent warden just watched it happen. To further humiliate the phone blocking signal from the warden’s office go down whenever he wanted to make a call

  “Doña Martina,” El Pozolero said to his wife, “It has been lovely seeing my family, but now, unfortunately, I have some business to attend to. I will meet you in my room later.”

  El Pozolero rose from the table and nodded toward Raul. “Come my friend, it’s time for my weekly report.”

  The drug lord led the way to the main living area of the apartment. His “cell” was a little cramped, compared to his favorite villa on Ensenada de los Muertos, or Bay of the Dead, half way between La Paz and Cabo San Lucas on the southern tip of the Baja peninsula, but what could you expect in a maximum security prison?

  Ted Higuera. The name made him want to spit. The cunning gringo had set him up. He was the reason El Pozolero was rotting in a prison cell. Someday he would pay for his insolence.

  El Pozolero, known as Jefe, or Chief, to his subordinates, took a seat on the leather sofa. Raul sat his briefcase down next to an overstuffed chair and put his feet up on the matching ottoman.

  “Things are not going well, Jefe,” Raul said. “Every day our cartel is falling apart a little more.”

  “¿Sí? Tell me.”

  “The Sinaloa Cartel is moving in on our territory. They are trying to take over our distribution channels. Already, they have taken our big tunnel from Tijuana to San Diego.”

  El Jefe grunted and lit a huge cigar. “What are we doing about it?”

  “It’s hard, Jefe, our soldiers are not eager to fight. They think it’s a lost cause with you here in prison.”

  “And why are my captains not enforcing their will, my will?”

  “I hate to say it, but some of your captains are losing their loyalty. El Rata has gone over to the Sinaloa Cartel. That’s how they got our tunnel. It is in Rata’s territory.”

  “Mierda,” El Pozolero spat into a brass spittoon. “What are they anyway, women? Little children? Who is Rata’s chief lieutenant?”

  Raul thought a moment. “Chuey Martinez. He’s a good boy.”

  “Is he macho enough to lead the territory?”

  There was another pause.

  “He is small, but very smart. He is ambitious. Already he has sent five Sinaloans to hell.”

  “Good. Tell him he is my new captain in Tijuana. His first job is to take care of El Rata then he is to kill every Sinaloan in Tijuana.”

  “I will tell him, but it may be easier to say it than to do it. What are we going to do?”

  “There is only one answer; I must get out of here.”

  “We’re working on that, Jefe. Progress is steady. We will soon be ready.”

  ****

  Chris watched the sun peek over Mount Baker and the Cascade Mountains as he brought the Courageous into Neah Bay, north and west of Seattle. It would take him a day to sail home. The crew agreed that Chris and Candace had to get to the hospital to see Harry as fast as possible.

  Chris’s teeth chattered from the chilly early May weather. As soon as the boat was tied up Candace stepped ashore with her bag and Ted handed Chris’s bag to him.

  “You coming with us, amigo?” Chris asked Ted as he stepped onto the dock.

  “Is that okay? I mean, who’s going to take the boat home?”

  Chris laughed. “Not you. Kayla would probably do a better job. Besides, it’ll do Dad good to have you come see him. You know how he feels about you.”

  Ted dashed down into the cabin and appeared a moment later with his already packed duffle bag.

  “Ready to go,” he said, as he jumped to the dock.

  “Alan, I trust you to get Courageous home safely,” Chris said.

  Chris knew Alan George was one of Dad’s piranhas. Dad liked to fill his office with hungry young attorneys who would sell their mother’s soul for a chance to dissect a hostile witness.

  “Don’t even think about it, Chris.” Alan had a deep baritone voice. “Tell Harry that she’s safe in my hands.”

  Without looking back, the three walked up the dock to the helicopter waiting in the marina parking lot.

  “I guess it helps to have Seattle’s top lawyer in the family,” Ted said.

  Chris helped Candace climb up into the aircraft. “If we can’t use Dad’s connections at times like this, when can we?”

  Chris and Ted climbed in, secured their seat belts and put on headsets.

  “So, how did you get the helicopter, Chris?” Candace asked.

  “Easy peasy. I called Don over at Evergreen Flying Service, Dad has been keeping his plane there for twenty years, and he said they’d have a chopper waiting for us.”

  “What’s this setting you back, amigo?” Ted asked.

  “Does it really matter? Like they say, if you have to ask, you can’t afford it. Besides, I want to be there when Dad wakes up.”

  The helicopter lifted off as the sun began burning off the low layer of clouds. They climbed to two-thousand feet and Chris gazed at the great inland sea below them.

  The pilot took them east along the shoreline of the Straits of Juan de Fuca because it was a rough passage across Hurricane Ridge and the Olympic Mountains. They flew over Port Angeles and Sequim before turning south over Port Townsend.

  Admiralty Inlet and Puget Sound swept by far below them. The deep blue water was occasionally spotted with white sails, or a motor yacht, or a fishing boat. Tankers, container ships and cruise ships worked their way up and down the Sound. Small towns along the water’s edge flashed by, but Chris paid no attention to them.

  “Where are you going to put us down?” Chris asked the pilot.

  “I got permission to land on the helipad at Harbor View Hospital.”

  “That’s cool,” Ted said. “We don’t have to worry about parking.”

  “I’d hate to have to pay the parking ticket for this contraption,” Candace broke her silence.

  Chris looked over at her. Although her face didn’t have a lick of makeup (who needs it on a sailboat race?) and her eyes were red and wet from crying, she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. With long black hair, emerald green eyes and a peaches-and-cream complexion, any man would fall for her. That doesn’t even take into account her height, five-foot-ten, and her Playboy model’s figure. He understood how she enchanted Dad.

  She was a paralegal at Dad’s firm when one day, Dad realized he was in love. Chris thought back on when Dad first started dating Candace. He remembered how he and his sister, Sarah, hated her. Candace was closer to their ages than she was to Dad’s. Who did she think she was, trying to take Mom’s place?
<
br />   A tear formed in the corner of Chris’s eye when he thought about their mother who died of breast cancer when Chris was a senior in high school.

  Over the years things changed. Candace enrolled in law school at the same time Chris did and they spent three years as study buddies. Chris finished second in his class, an unfamiliar place for him; he was always first at everything. Somehow it wasn’t so bitter knowing he finished second to Candace. She was also the smartest woman he ever met.

  Candace sat with her arms wrapped around herself. She sniffled constantly and from time to time broke out into a full cry.

  Women crying made Chris uncomfortable. He felt like he had to do something to comfort them. All he could think of was to take her hand and say, “Candace, Dad’s going to be all right. You’ll see.”

  The sleek helicopter flew west of the Seattle skyline, over Elliot Bay, then turned inland to alight atop Harbor View Hospital on First Hill, also known as “Pill Hill” for the number of hospitals and medical offices there. Before the blades finished turning, Chris and Ted were out of the chopper. Chris reached up to help Candace down.

  Who am I fooling? Chris thought. She’s probably more capable of jumping down than I am.

  Candace put some serious holes in Chris’s macho attitude by out-riding, out-shooting and out-fishing him at Dad’s Montana ranch. She grew up as the only “son” in a family of three girls. While her sisters played with dolls, she went camping, hunting and fishing with her father.

  A nurse and an orderly waited for the three to disembark.

  “Mr. Hardwick? Mrs. Hardwick?” she said to Chris and Candace.

  “Yes,” Chris said.

  “Come with me, please. Doctor Potter is waiting to meet you.”

  With that she turned and headed back into the building.

  This hospital complex is so large that an Indian tracker would get lost here, Chris thought.

  The three followed the nurse as she negotiated the corridors and led onto an elevator.

  The elevator doors opened to a waiting area.

  “If you’ll just take a seat please, Doctor will be right with you.”