“Okay, you pick up money at the Around the Clock Deli on Amboy Road. Ask for George . . . he’s like a brother to me. How he recognize you? What you look like?”
“Mexican, 5’8,’’ I’ll be there with my good-looking girlfriend . . . ”
“Yes, yes, I have heard a lot about you, Fernando.”
In the meantime, the task force decided to rent a limousine to get over to Staten Island. There was no way to convoy a group of federal cars in traffic over the Verrazano Bridge and execute the pick-up. The group needed backup for safety reasons and corroboration, as well as someone like a cab driver to navigate the bridge and the streets of the island.
So Poli, A. J., Susan and Tim “Rico” Tubbs were chauffeured over to Staten Island. At the front of the Around the Clock Deli, A. J. and Tubbs got out and stood tall as Fernando’s bodyguards, followed by the loving couple holding hands.
The couple entered the store and approached an Asian-looking man behind the counter.
All Poli had to do was say, “I’m Fernando,” and the man would hand him a brown paper bag of hundred-dollar bills totaling $50,000.
Poli and Susan returned to the limo, and all four agents proceeded to examine the cash and put it into evidence bags. Then all four let out a cheer, just like teenagers having won a state championship game. They celebrated with beers on the way back to LaGuardia.
“That was too fucking easy. They just gave Poli the money!” said Susan as the adrenaline rush from the undercover gig was coming down.
When A. J. picked up some of the cash and fanned it, Susan admonished, “Put that away! What if somebody sees that and robs us?!”
“Don’t worry, I got your back, I’ll protect you,” countered A. J.
“Thank you, but I got your back,” she rejoined, as she opened up her purse and showed A. J. her semi-automatic. Susan had worked as a firearms instructor in Chicago.
“Oh, excuse me!”
Levity aside, the agents now had an indication of the magnitude of Nick Díaz’s operation. Without blinking an eye, he had authorized fifty grand to be disbursed far from his home base. And to top it off, the following week, he authorized another fifty grand pick-up in Philadelphia. Slowly but surely, the task force was tracking his entire smuggling and money-laundering operations. His takedown was imminent.
Maan Singh dressed for a wedding in Ecuador.
Nick Díaz is taken into custody by Agent Mike Dusenberry in Ft. Lauderdale.
Edsel Geno Hanna, pilot hired by Nick Díaz to smuggle aliens.
Burrows, boat captain hired by Nick Díaz to smuggle aliens from the Bahamas to South Florida.
Nettin Shetty, who assumed the name of Nick Díaz after his arrest in the Bahamas.
The Dallas Team plus Poli Acosta. Front row left to right: Fidencio Rangel, George Ramírez and Tim “Rico” Tubbs; back row left to right: Susan Rivera, A. J., Poli, Steve Van Geem and Judd Granger.
A. J. Irwin, Hipolito Acosta and Tim “Rico” Tubbs in the Bahamas.
Hipolito Acosta, Susan Rivera and A. J. Irwin in a limo after picking up $50,000 from a Staten Island Deli.
The North Bergen, New Jersey apartment and Hawala brain center of Gunvantla Shah.
A. J. Irwin receiving an award from Commissioner Doris Meissner.
Amer Sultan following his arrest in San Antonio, Texas.
Gulu, Acosta and Rivera at a restaurant in Nassau, Bahamas.
Assistant U.S. Attorney Matt Yarbrough, Deputy District Director Yvette La Gonterie, Mike Dusenberry, A. J. Irwin and Hipolito Acosta on the ceremonial picture of the Seek and Keep Wire Room in Dallas—the very first wiretap conducted by INS. A fax transfer of $150,000 came through seconds after monitoring starting.
El Almirante fishing vessel before departing La Esmeralda, Ecuador, with 23 of Maan Singh and Navtej Sandhu’s clients destined to the United States.
Alien clients who were in Nick Díaz’s smuggling pipeline when Bahamian police raided the stash house that A. J. found.
Hostal de la Bavaria in Quito, Ecuador, used by Maan Singh to house their clients. Owned and operated by their associate Francisco Mera.
CHAPTER 8
As the task force was moving toward indictment, the pigeons came to roost in the form of internal strife. Throughout Seek and Keep, the task force encountered incompetence, petty jealousy and just downright laziness. The basic problem was that most INS officials were content with the routine of interdicting aliens as they entered the country, processing them, filing paperwork for a simple prosecution, developing statistics and kicking the foreigners out. To move officials beyond that staid routine of catching the small fries and tossing them back is to make waves, and to go counter to the set patterns that keep the machine rolling, legislators happy and increasing the budgets from Washington. At the end of the day, all that most of them care about is the numbers, regardless if they represent a major smuggler put out of business or a small fry escorted back over the border—and everybody goes home happy at five pm or even earlier. The common saying in the government is, “Big cases, big problems. Small cases, small problems. No cases, no problems, we make it to happy hour on time.” Most agents do not have the gumption to take on their district or regional managers to pursue a major case. Major cases are long-term and involve multiple players, jurisdictions, demanding prosecutors and resources. Permission to pursue such cases has to climb the chain of command, and are generally met with the same attitude that is predominant in the field: no way.
Poli and A. J., thus, were swimming upstream, meeting opposition from their colleagues, from the bureaucrats up the rungs of the hierarchy and from others in the agency and the DOJ that just did not want to get splashed by the waves A. J. and Poli were making. If the operation went south, nobody wanted to be tarred by association; but if it was successful, they’d all push their way up front to take credit. Beyond the Keystone Cop antics, there was meanness to many of the reactions that A. J. and Poli faced, not to mention the discrimination and racism they encountered within the INS as Hispanic agents or, as some would class them, “taco benders.” It was said that only an Hispanic could work undercover because no one would believe an Anglo was a criminal. An early example of the type of opposition they faced was when A. J. sent his report on Amer Sultan to the El Paso Intelligence Center (EPIC), which collects, reviews and disseminates intelligence from the many government agencies. An agent plagiarized A. J.’s complete report and sent it back out to the worldwide INS intelligence community to be read by anyone who had “secret” clearance.
One day, Mike Ryan, INS Task Force Supervisor, walked into A. J.’s office and slammed the report down on his desk and proudly announced, “You’ve made the big time.”
So, A. J. picked it up and thumbed through the report and saw that, indeed, it was exactly as he had written it.
A couple of weeks later, Ryan called A. J. into his office and asked him to close the door.
“That fucking Roger Thompson has turned you in for a security violation,” said Ryan. Thompson was a full-bird colonel in the Army Reserves, in line to be a general, and straight-laced and by-the-book as they come.
“What now, Mike?”
“That EPIC report about the pilot . . . you didn’t have the proper security clearance to see it.”
“You fucking gave it to me . . . and I wrote it!”
“Calm down, it’s all a bunch of bullshit. But get ready for an Internal Affairs investigation.”
“Where’s Roger? I’m gonna go kick his fuckin’ ass.”
“I’ll go with you when this is all done. But let’s get this taken care of first. Trust me,” said Mike.
“What are we supposed to do until this investigation is over?”
“Well, let’s just keep working, but lay low. Let’s not draw any attention to ourselves,” said Mike. “And let’s start working right now on getting your security clearance upgraded, and see if we can expedite it.”
“Mike, this is gonna happen again. Why don’t we get
everybody’s security clearance upgraded to at least ‘secret’?”
“Good idea, A. J. Oh, I better check my own clearance, too.”
A few weeks later, the Internal Affairs investigator, Bobby Rodríguez, interviewed A. J. and had a hardy laugh at the bum deal. He, nevertheless, processed the interview quickly, and A. J. was cleared without any further flak.
In January of 1998, word had sped throughout the human smuggling community in South America of the effectiveness of sending clients on American Airlines to Miami. Major smugglers started reaching out to Maan Singh and “Fernando” to get into a good thing. Numerous human traffickers moving people of diverse nationalities were literally coming out of the woodwork and, for the first time, operation Seek and Keep, as well as the INS as a whole, became aware of the magnitude of smuggling that existed. There were Syrians, Chinese, Iraqis, Iranians, all making their way to the United States, and here was an opportunity to reveal their networks and prime movers.
One player, Abdul Sampson, who was trafficking Afghans, wanted to “jump” Maan Singh, get him out of the way and deal directly with “Fernando” and “Andrés.” A. J. as “Andrés” was successful in moving a number of Afghans into the United States, which led to Sampson’s arrest and prosecution. Sampson was the first of potentially many others.
Another player soon surfaced who was reportedly the biggest Syrian smuggler in South America: Saac George, alias “Mohammad Kaddafi.” When his nationality was reported by A. J. and Poli, it raised many red flags in the U.S. intelligence community as someone who could do harm to Americans. A. J. warned Poli, “I’m not moving any Syrians, man. I refuse.” The pair, nevertheless, pursued special permission to include Syrians in the American Airlines scheme. As expected, they faced stricter requirements, to vet the Syrians with the CIA to make sure they were not terrorists. And so the Syrians were sent up the route to the United States, but the shadowy world in which the task force was now involved soon became apparent in July 1998, when one of the Syrians was killed on U.S. soil over a money matter. Soon, A. J. and Poli were receiving calls from Lou Nardi in this tenor: “I hope you’re fucking happy! You got a murder on your case, now.”
“Look, we already have been contacted by the Jacksonville P.D. We’re working with them, and we’ll help them solve it. If it’s part of this case, you’ll be the first to know,” promised A. J.
While A. J. and Poli thought the murder would be the worst thing to happen, they were little prepared for what was to come. Between June and October 1998, the task force brought in some fourteen Syrians to the United States, tying them directly to Maan Singh and Kaddafi. Their case was solved, so they thought, and at no risk to national security. But little did they realize that the enemy was within their own agency.
Max Avery, the INS officer in charge in Ecuador, informed Mike Ryan that the task force’s confidential informant, Babaco was a crook who was smuggling Syrians into the United States. Avery was holding a grudge against Babaco because at Poli’s behest, Avery was forced various times to meet with Babaco off embassy grounds to receive intel, and it just was too much trouble for the lazy S.O.B, as A. J. and Poli would characterize him. It was actually Kaddafi who, protecting himself, informed Avery about Babaco’s supposed smuggling activities. Avery was a client at Kaddafi’s front business, a tailor shop specializing in custom-made suits. Even Poli had a great suit made there for $150.
This was the same Max Avery whom Poli had humiliated by taking over his office at the U.S. embassy in Quito at the beginning of the case and, now, Poli was ruining his vacation in Ecuador by forcing him to work, to cooperate with Seek and Keep. Resentful as well as anxious to one-up Poli and A. J., Avery came up with the brilliant idea of running his own undercover operation, first by employing his tailor, known to him as Saac George, as a confidential informant whom he didn’t even bother to process, according to INS requirements. Next, Avery dispatched George to entrap Babaco into smuggling the Syrians, with the expectation that Babaco would not report his activities to A. J. and Poli, and with even a higher expectation that if he did report it, that A. J. and Poli would cover it up. But Babaco did, indeed, report it all to A. J., and Poli followed through all the way to the C.I.A, as stated above.
In the meantime, Avery was reporting his undercover activities to Ryan, who in turn was not informing A. J. and Poli. As the “Seek and Keep” task force was compiling the evidence and planning the takedowns, Avery and Ryan collaborated in their plan to take Babaco down and have him fired as a confidential informant. His collaboration would then have to be disclosed to defense attorneys, and his testimony would not be given credibility.
Ryan proceeded to call Assistant U.S. Attorney Matt Yarbrough for an appointment.
“Sir,” Ryan spoke in a funereal tone, “Max Avery has an informant that can prove that Babaco is actually the main smuggler, and A. J. and Poli are covering it up. I felt compelled to report this to you, sir. I don’t like doing this, but . . . ”
“I don’t believe that’s happening. A. J. briefs me on everything.”
“Yes, you’ll see. Of course, this is very sensitive. So, please, I trust you won’t share this with A. J.”
“Okay, let’s get a meeting immediately. How soon can Max be in Dallas? Let’s get a hold of Poli,” ordered Yarbrough.
“Okay, we’ll work on it. I’ll get him up here as soon as I can . . . in the next couple of days.”
As soon as they hung up the phone, Yarbrough picked up his receiver and called A. J.
“A. J., are you in earshot of Ryan?” asked Yarbrough.
“Yeah, he’s in his office, right next to me,” informed A. J.
“Hang up, go to your car and call me from your cell phone.”
“What’s up?”
“Just go to your car. I’m waiting.”
So from his car, A. J. called Yarbrough back, who detailed Max Avery’s allegations. It turned out to be a good idea for A. J. to go to his car. He literally lost it. He was furious. A. J., who was a college athlete and in great shape, was ready to fly to Quito and beat Max Avery’s ass and then pull Ryan out of his office and beat his limp-ass body into the ground.
But Matt admonished, “Don’t do it yet. Calm down.”
“I’m not fuckin’ calming down.”
“What have you done to piss these guys off? . . . ’Cause they really want you.”
Not really understanding what their motivation was, A. J. said, “They’re just stupid asses.”
“Look, Matt, if these guys take this bullshit to the undercover review committee, Frank Marín is going to yank the case out from under us. Everything we’ve done to date is gonna be thrown out because the informant will have no credibility on the stand.”
“The informant?!! You and Poli will have no credibility. You won’t be able to testify,” said Matt. “And you’ll have a giglio in your record, you’ll never be able to testify on any case again. It’ll ruin your whole careers.” “Giglio” is among the dirtiest words for federal agents, having derived from the 1972 Supreme Court case of Giglio v. United States regarding testimony from criminals.
“Oh, shit!”
“Is there a basis for any of this?” Matt asked.
“No, man, and I have all the reports.”
“We’ve gotta call Poli. Can you get out of the office without Ryan knowing you’re coming here?
“Hey, I’m ‘Andrés,’ I can do anything.”
On the way to the U.S. Attorney’s office, A. J. called Poli and told him the news.
“I bet you,” Poli said, “I can beat you to Quito to kick Avery’s ass. No, better yet, we’re gonna get him here in Dallas.”
“Okay, but I have dibs on him,” countered A. J. “Look, I’m on my way to Matt’s office. Stand by, we’ll call you together.”
At the U.S. Attorney’s office, Matt was waiting anxiously and, when A. J. arrived, they immediately called Poli on the speaker phone.
Matt repeated the essence of the discussion he had had w
ith Ryan. The outcome was that the three agreed that a meeting be called at the U.S. Attorney’s office in Dallas to clear the whole thing up.
While they were on the phone, Matt’s supervisor came in and Matt gave him a brief rundown on what was happening. He said he was comfortable with A. J. and Poli, and offered to attend the meeting if Matt wanted him to. Poli said, “Of course,” and agreed to set up the meeting in Dallas.
To A. J.’s chagrin, he found out the real reason Matt wanted A. J. to come to his office. He wanted to have lunch at his favorite Mexican restaurant and he needed A. J. to translate to Spanish. As they were finishing lunch, Poli called and said that he had set up the meeting for two days hence, that Avery needed a day to travel from Quito.
Finally the day of reckoning had come, and all the parties were assembled for the showdown at Matt’s office in Dallas.
The first thing out of Mike Ryan’s mouth was, “A. J. should not be allowed in this meeting.”
“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” said A. J.
“Young man, you need to remember your place,” countered Ryan.
Matt and Poli immediately rose and interceded to protect Ryan from A. J.
“A. J., let’s talk outside,” said Poli, pulling on A. J.’s arm.
So Matt and Poli escorted A. J. to the hallway outside Matt’s office.
“A. J., I got your back, brother. Let’s just listen to what they have to say,” said Matt. “Just go have a seat in the conference room and stand by. I’m gonna get you back in this meeting.”
“Don’t worry, partner, at the end of the day, it’s all gonna work out,” promised Poli, affirmative as usual.
The Hunt for Maan Singh Page 9