Caesar the War Dog 4

by Stephen Dando-Collins

‘I see.’ More than forty-eight hours had passed since Caesar’s abduction, and Ben was uneasy. ‘So, it’s not necessarily a kidnap for ransom we’re looking at?’ he said, thinking aloud.

  ‘I guess not,’ De Silva conceded, ‘but why else would they take Caesar?’

  ‘Maybe they like what one particularly clever labrador can do,’ Ben surmised.

  Beside him, De Silva looked bemused. ‘Come again?’

  ‘Caesar is the most famous explosive detection dog in the world. Right?’

  ‘Right. But …’

  ‘And we had two car bombs here in San Antonio, one of which Caesar detected.’

  ‘Yeah …’

  ‘So, ask yourself “what if?”’

  ‘Huh?’ De Silva wasn’t following.

  ‘What if someone wants Caesar to protect them from car bombs – from IEDs?’ said Ben.

  ‘Hell’s bells, partner, I think you’re onto something!’ De Silva exclaimed. ‘It adds up.’

  ‘Are the cartel bosses that smart?’ asked Sergeant Austin.

  ‘They could be that paranoid,’ said De Silva, ‘thinking the opposition is coming after them with a bomb, just like they did with Rocky Marron.’

  Austin shook his head, unconvinced. ‘Every cartel member I’ve come across has got tacos for brains.’

  ‘One of those guys is just crazy enough to try something like this,’ De Silva declared.

  ‘Has the Mexican Government caught many of the cartel bosses in the past?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Over the last five or six years, with the military involved, they’ve locked away maybe fourteen or fifteen cartel bosses. We’ve put another two behind bars here in Texas.’

  They drove to SAPD Headquarters on South Santa Rosa Avenue. There, in the captain’s top-floor office, De Silva handed Ben a photograph that had been taken at the Laredo border post several days earlier. It was a close-up of a white pick-up in a line of vehicles. The head of a large dark dog could be seen standing in its tray. Ben studied the picture carefully.

  ‘It looks like Caesar,’ said De Silva.

  Ben nodded slowly. ‘Could be,’ he said, deep in thought, ‘but it’s too far away to be sure. What have you been able to find out about the pick-up?’

  ‘We got Mexico’s Federal Police – the Federales – on it. The plates were from a stolen vehicle of a different make and model. The Federales have been on the lookout in Nuevo León for the pick-up with a brown labrador, but it’s as if they’ve been swallowed up over there in Mexico.’

  Ben sank into a chair. He’d been travelling for more than a day and he was suddenly hit with a wave of fatigue. ‘It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack,’ he said dejectedly.

  ‘Right now, we can’t even find the haystack.’

  Sergeant Austin arrived with three steaming cups. ‘Is the Australian Government prepared to offer a reward for Caesar’s return, Ben?’ he asked, handing the Australian sergeant a coffee.

  ‘Like the US, the Australian Government has a policy of not paying ransom demands,’ Ben replied.

  ‘So, are you just going to sit here in San Antonio and wait for news?’ Austin queried. ‘Could be a long wait.’

  ‘No way,’ said Ben. ‘I plan to search for Caesar myself.’

  ‘Hell, yes!’ Da Silva slammed a fist on his desk. ‘We gotta do something. Not sure what, but we gotta do something.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Austin, sounding sceptical. ‘What happens if we somehow locate Caesar over there in Mexico. We don’t have jurisdiction there. And I don’t trust anyone else to go in and get the dog out.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ said Ben. ‘The Secretary-General of the UN has placed GRRR on alert. If the need arises, GRRR will join me to go in and extract Caesar.’

  De Silva raised his eyebrows. ‘You got friends in high places.’

  ‘Caesar has friends in high places,’ Ben responded. ‘Besides, he’s an integral part of GRRR, and GRRR never leaves a team member behind.’

  Sergeant Austin took a sip of his coffee. ‘So, how were you planning to track down your dawg?’

  ‘Let’s start with the cartel bosses,’ Ben suggested. He looked directly at De Silva. ‘Captain, you said you think Caesar’s been taken to Monterrey. Tell me about the Mexican crime bosses there – the ones you think might have ordered Caesar’s abduction. Help me get a handle on these people, starting with Rocky Marron’s brother.’

  Da Silva nodded. ‘You got it, Ben. I’ll get our criminal intelligence section to set up a detailed briefing for you.’

  Enrico Vargas stood in the garage looking at Caesar. ‘What’s the matter with you? Eat!’ Squatting down, he pointed to the plate he had placed in front of the labrador. ‘Here. Very tasty. It’s birria. I had it for dinner myself.’

  Caesar sniffed the meat on the plate, then looked at Vargas with an expression that seemed to say, That’s not for me, mister.

  ‘It’s beef. That’s what dogs eat, isn’t it?’ Vargas was becoming increasingly frustrated. ‘Come on, César, you must eat.’

  But Caesar was totally disinterested in the dish. He lay down with his head on his front paws and watched Vargas carefully.

  ‘I also cannot eat when I am away from home. Are you lonely, amigo?’

  Caesar sneezed in response. Birria, an expensive delicacy in Mexico, was made with a base of dried roasted chilli peppers and also included a host of ingredients such as garlic. That chilli pepper base was tickling Caesar’s nose. As hungry as he was, there was no way in the world he was going to eat a chilli dish. Plain, unadulterated beef was what he was used to. But virtually everything eaten by Vargas, and most other Mexicans, had chilli in it. Never having had a pet dog in his life, Vargas had no comprehension of what dogs ate.

  Leaving the plate of food in case Caesar changed his mind, Vargas took the lift to the top floor. He found Lola in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner. After remodelling the kitchen on an expensive design Lola had seen in Architectural Digest, the oven sat unused. Instead, Lola spent her days sunning herself by the pool and, because money was no object, she ordered in food every day.

  ‘Lola, you have to help me,’ Vargas said to his sister. ‘I have been reduced to looking after a dog! I had an important job in the Mexican Army before your brother convinced me to work for him – a very skilled job. It’s not right that I should have to clean up after a dog.’

  ‘You didn’t need much convincing to come and work for Carlos, Enrico. He pays you ten times more than the army did,’ replied his sister, wiping the granite benchtop. ‘And don’t come to me complaining about cleaning up after the dog. You screwed up. You didn’t get the guy that was in charge of the smelling dog. So you fix things, and El Loro Verde will be happy with you again. It’s simple, little brother.’ She headed for the pantry.

  ‘It’s not simple, Lola,’ he protested, following her. ‘I’ve got Diego and Tommy looking for a dog handler, one who can talk to César in dog language, but these dog people don’t grow on trees. And César has gone off his food – he would not touch the birria. I think he is lonely.’

  ‘Lonely?’ Lola laughed.

  ‘Sure. Let him play with Rosa.’

  Lola looked horrified. ‘Are you crazy? He would eat Rosa!’

  ‘I would watch them to make sure that Rosa is okay, trust me. We cannot have César being unhappy. We need him to find bombs.’

  ‘What is the point of him finding bombs if you don’t know when he has found them?’

  ‘One problem at a time, sister. Diego and Tommy will find a handler. But first we must keep César happy. And if we keep César happy, we keep El Loro happy. Sí?’

  Lola shrugged. ‘It’s your problem.’

  ‘Well, maybe you can give me some of the special American dog food you get in for Rosa.’

  Rosa enjoyed the most expensive dog food that money could buy. It was produced in California especially for the pampered pets of Hollywood movie stars. Lola had it flown in by the carton-load from the US for her pink chihu
ahua.

  ‘You are not getting any of Rosa’s food for that smelling dog,’ she said defiantly. ‘And you can forget about him playing with Rosa. She is a high-class dog and will not be having anything to do with your common working dog. You understand me, little brother?’

  Vargas sighed. ‘Sí, you make life very hard for me, Lola.’

  Sergeant Juanita Del Ray yawned as she stepped out of her police van. She had been on duty since before dawn, and it had been a long, hot, humid day. But now her workday was over. The sun had gone down and with it came the cool of evening. Juanita checked her watch and nodded to herself. She had time before she had to head home. A single mother, Juanita earned good money by Mexican standards. To earn that money, she had to work long hours, and every now and then she needed time to unwind after a tough day like today.

  She walked over to the restaurant across the road. The rundown establishment, which was in need of fresh paint and new fittings, was crowded with football fans following a game on a large TV screen.

  ‘Viva the striped ones!’ Juanita called. Her local team, FC Monterrey, were playing away in Guadalajara.

  ‘Juanita!’ yelled her friends. ‘Come, sit with us.’

  Juanita waved and made her way over to them. ‘Thank you for keeping the seat for me, amigo,’ she said, sliding into the chair.

  ‘Where is your police dog?’ asked a grinning, toothless man. He leaned in close to be heard above the noise. ‘Does he not support Monterrey?’

  Juanita laughed. ‘Toltec is not a big fan of football,’ she shouted. ‘He is back at the police kennels for the night. He prefers the sport of chasing criminals.’

  Monterrey won the game, and once it was over the restaurant began to empty. But some, like the sergeant, stayed to celebrate the win. Laughing with friends, Juanita sensed someone standing behind her. Looking around, she saw a stranger at her right shoulder. The man was wearing a dark business suit and an open-necked shirt.

  ‘You are Juanita Del Ray, head of the Monterrey Police Dog Unit?’ the stranger asked in a cold, unfriendly tone.

  Juanita nodded. ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘You must come with us,’ said another voice.

  Looking to her left, Juanita saw a second man. He also wore a business suit, which was a rare sight in this restaurant. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded.

  ‘We are from the office of the Ministry of Justice’s Internal Investigations Unit,’ said the first man. ‘We need you to come down to the ministry to answer some questions.’

  ‘Questions? What about?’

  ‘Corruption,’ said the first man.

  ‘Corruption?’ Juanita almost laughed. ‘I am the most honest officer in the entire police force.’

  This brought laughter from her friends at the table.

  But the second man in a suit was not amused. ‘Is that so? We have been watching you. Who paid for your meal tonight?’

  Juanita shrugged. ‘Me, but I have yet to pay for it.’

  ‘Where is the bill?’ asked the second man. ‘There is no bill, because your friend the restaurant owner does not charge you, a serving police officer. Is that not correct?’

  ‘I will pay for my meal when I leave.’

  ‘So you say. Under the laws of this state, and of this country, the fact that the restaurant owner does not charge you constitutes bribery, Sergeant Del Ray,’ said the first man, clapping a hand on Juanita’s shoulder. ‘Bribery and corruption.’

  ‘Come on! I will pay. That is not enough for you to waste your time with me …’

  The first man leaned in close. ‘There is more,’ he said in a low, conspiratorial voice. ‘Much more for you to answer for. So, come quietly, answer some questions at the ministry and there need not be any cause for alarm. Then you can go home to your children.’

  Juanita had heard of the shadowy Internal Investigations Unit, but its members wore plain clothes and kept a low profile. ‘Show me your ID,’ she demanded.

  The first man produced a business card with ‘Ministry of Justice’ printed on it.

  After inspecting it, Juanita nodded. ‘Okay, I will come with you. But I assure you I am an honest cop. I have done nothing wrong.’ She stood up. ‘You are not going to handcuff me, are you?’

  ‘That will not be necessary as long as you cooperate with us,’ said the first man.

  With each man on either side of her, Juanita was hustled out of the bar. From behind his counter, the restaurant owner watched the three of them leave. He frowned, not liking what he saw. Once they’d left, he called the police.

  Outside, the trio walked along the street and around the corner to an alley. The light here was poor, with the scene dimly lit by a street lamp on the corner.

  ‘We’ll have your gun belt, Sergeant,’ said the first man as they reached a dark-blue pick-up. The second man unlocked the doors.

  Without a word, Juanita unbuckled the belt. It held a bunch of her equipment as well as a Heckler & Koch USP semi-automatic pistol. She handed it to the first man, who motioned for her to get in the back of the four-door pick-up. Juanita did as she was bidden, and the first man slid in beside her and closed the door. The second man got in behind the wheel and started the engine.

  ‘Now, Sergeant Del Ray,’ said the first man, jabbing her in the ribs with her own pistol, ‘just stay calm and do as we say, and you will live to see your family again.’

  ‘What … what’s going on?’ she stammered, suddenly fearful for her life.

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough,’ said the second man. Reaching over from the driver’s seat, he held out a length of dark cloth. ‘Put this on, and do a good job of it.’

  Juanita did as she was told and blindfolded herself. Then they drove off, joined a busy street and turned north. Juanita didn’t know where they went after that, just as she had no inkling where she was being taken, or why.

  Sitting in an office at SAPD HQ, Ben looked at images on the computer screen in front of him. As Captain De Silva had promised, he’d arranged for the criminal intelligence section of the San Antonio Police Department to give Ben a briefing on the three crime cartels that used Monterrey as their base of operations – the Árbol, the Estrella and the smaller, newer Americana gang. They also gave him a USB containing all the information they had. This was mostly historical background data on the known members of each cartel and the crimes associated with them.

  Ben’s mind turned to Caesar. He wondered how his canine mate was doing. Ben hoped his abductors were looking after him properly and taking care what they gave him to eat and drink. The list of items that humans loved but were harmful to dogs – in some cases resulting in death – was long. That list ranged from alcohol, tea and coffee to chocolate, commercial cat food, peanuts, tomato leaves and stems, and any fatty foods. Who knew how much care the gang members would take with Caesar’s diet?

  Ben forced himself to focus on the data in front of him. He’d discovered that there was precious little up-to-date information on the cartel leaders. The identity of the Americana’s current leader was unknown. Ben studied a picture of the boss of Estrella, Antonio Lopez, in his Marine Corps uniform. He was a handsome, businesslike man. Then there was Carlos Marron, also known as the Green Parrot. According to the SAPD briefing, Marron loved Elvis Presley and had not been seen in public in eight years – yet was known to live in Monterrey. Ben was looking at a blurry picture of the Green Parrot taken ten years ago, when Captain De Silva walked into the office.

  ‘Marron made up his own nickname, you know,’ said De Silva, as he stood at Ben’s shoulder. ‘I guess he thought it would make him sound a bit more romantic than plain “Charles Brown”. Or, as my guys like to call him, Charlie Brown – just like the cartoon character in Peanuts. They think he’s a bit of a joke with his Elvis hairstyle and all. Marron makes his men call him “padrino”. It means “godfather”. He’s watched way too many Hollywood movies, that one.’

  ‘He can’t be that much of a joke,’ Ben responded. ‘He’s ma
naged to avoid being arrested all these years.’

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s only because the Mexican police are an even bigger joke than he is. And no one has dared to rat on Marron. Not since one of his former gang members agreed to testify against him in court. That guy disappeared without a trace. The rumour is that he was fed to the sharks off the Pacific coast by the Velásquez brothers, criminal associates of Marron in Baja California, and that members of the Federal Police were involved in his disappearance.’

  ‘The Mexican police were involved?’ Ben swung around on his swivel chair to face the captain. ‘They protected the Green Parrot?’

  ‘Partner, if you pay enough, you can buy anything in Mexico – including the cops. Marron bought them off. Back then, pay for Mexican cops was lousy, but it has since doubled.’ De Silva shrugged. ‘Even so, beat cops see the cartels making millions and want a piece of the action.’

  ‘You don’t have much time for the Mexican police?’

  ‘I got zero time for the Mexican police. Those who ain’t corrupt are just plain lazy.’

  Ben ran a hand through his hair. ‘But if Caesar is in Mexico, I’m going to need the help of the Mexican police to locate and extract him, Captain.’

  De Silva nodded. ‘I know, I know. I’ve got one reliable contact with the Federales in Monterrey. A lieutenant by the name of Pedro Peters. Somewhere back in his history he’s got an American-born naval captain for an ancestor, which explains his last name. Peters should be able to help you.’

  ‘Good,’ said Ben, turning back to the screen. ‘Marron is on the top of my list of suspects because he had good reason to kidnap Caesar. More reason, at least, than the bosses of Estrella or Americana. Maybe he wanted to use Caesar to protect himself from more bombs like the ones that were targeting his brother, Rocky.’

  De Silva nodded thoughtfully. ‘That makes sense.’

  ‘I need to go down to Monterrey, Captain.’

  De Silva let out a long sigh. ‘It’s dangerous.’

  ‘I’m no stranger to danger. It’s all part of my job in Special Forces.’

  ‘Okay, soldier boy. Let me see what I can set up with the authorities in Mexico.’ De Silva pronounced it ‘Mehico’, as Mexicans would. ‘You don’t want to go wandering around alone – you’ve got no authority down there in bandit territory. And I’ll set up transport for you. But I’m not taking any responsibility for you once you cross that border. You got me, partner?’