Duel to the Death

by J. A. Jance

Stu and Ali read the news article together. “Given what you just told me about Felix and his brother,” Ali said, “the manner of Pablo’s death certainly fits El Pescado’s MO.”

  “Not just El Pescado,” Frigg declared, “Graciella, too.”

  “How do you know that?” Stuart asked.

  “Sending,” Frigg replied.

  A moment later a single line of red-lettered text showed up on a different monitor.

  It is done. Pablo is no longer an issue.

  “Where’s that from?” Stuart asked.

  “It’s a text that appeared on Ms. Miramar’s home computer this morning at 5:15 a.m. The IP address indicates the message came from the main dwelling structure in the Duarte family compound in Sinaloa, Mexico.”

  “You’re sure it’s from the father?” Stuart asked. “Isn’t there a second son as well?”

  “Yes,” Frigg replied. “The second son’s IP address is different from Felix’s.”

  “And you know this how?” Ali asked.

  “Because Graciella handles everybody’s monetary transactions,” Stu said, “and the key logger keeps track of all of them and all related e-mails and texts.”

  “Correct,” Frigg said. “I’ve just completed an overall analysis of Ms. Miramar’s book of business. Some of her clients appear to be legitimate. For most of the others, she maintains a coded list of numbered accounts. By following various communication trails, I believe the list I’m sending now contains all the Duarte-specific accounts, dark Web accounts included.”

  Another monitor lit up. Lines containing numbers and what appeared to be monetary amounts scrolled downward, filling the screen again and again as more space was needed.

  “Numbers only; no names,” Stu noted.

  “Correct.”

  “How many accounts total?”

  “One hundred sixty-seven—in some the funds are held in regular currencies while others contain only cryptocurrencies. I have directed my resources to make a detailed study of all transactions related to any of those accounts.”

  “What’s the grand total?”

  “Six-point-two billion,” Frigg said. “That would be $6,198,448,263, as of two minutes ago. Based on Bitcoin’s current volatility, that’s probably no longer an accurate number.”

  Ali’s jaw dropped. “Six billion dollars? Are you freaking kidding me?”

  “Drugs are big business,” Stuart said. “So what the hell do I do about this damned letter? Do I respond to it or not? These are dangerous people who have left a trail of murder victims behind them in at least three separate countries. And even though we suspect them of being murderers, we can’t do a damned thing about any of it—not one thing. We can’t report them because it’s against the law for us to know what we know. And in the meantime, thanks to Frigg here, I’m about to be forced into doing business with one of them.”

  “I am sorry to hear that my actions have caused you distress,” Frigg said.

  “You’re a damned machine,” Stuart said angrily. “How do you know I’m distressed?”

  “I’m trained to use word and voice markers to analyze threat levels. Whenever you make use of the word ‘damned’ it is usually accompanied by changes in modulation and breathing that, in terms of human behavior, are indicative of emotional distress. I have learned that when dealing with an individual suffering distress, it is customary to offer words of comfort or sympathy.”

  “I don’t need sympathy,” Stu growled. “What I need is a game plan—make that a damned game plan—because you are on the beam, Frigg. I’m distressed, all right—distressed and pissed.”

  “My sources tell me that the word ‘pissed’ is offensive and should not be used in polite company.”

  “Go to hell, Frigg,” Stuart growled at her. “Go to hell and stay there!”

  With that, he powered down the headset, yanked it off, and flung it across the room. “I’ve had just about enough. If it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be dealing with any of this mess.”

  49

  “It’s not a mess, it’s a war,” Ali said once Stu’s temper tantrum subsided. “We need a battle plan rather than a game plan, and it’s going to take all of us—Frigg included—to put it together. B. and Cami are still at the office handling the incoming responses to last night’s notifications. If you and I motor over to Cottonwood, will you still be able to communicate with Frigg?”

  “Beats me.” Shaking his head, Stu reluctantly retrieved the headset and switched it on. “Frigg.”

  “Yes, Stuart, how can I help?”

  “When Odin traveled, how did he stay in contact?”

  “Usually by cell phone and Bluetooth. The self-deleting software made that feasible. Even if the phone happened to fall into the wrong hands, the data was inaccessible.”

  “You are not putting your self-deleting software anywhere near my phone. Are there any other options?”

  “CC is designed to be portable,” Frigg suggested. “It requires a power supply and a Wi-Fi connection.”

  “I don’t want you on High Noon’s IP address. Any other options?”

  “Odin always kept a ready supply of preloaded cell phones. Do you have any of those?”

  “Yes, I do,” Stuart said, pawing through the cardboard box and choosing one at random.

  “If you can plug me into a landline, you can dial in and use the Odin app. It should already be preloaded on the phone.”

  “All right,” Stuart said. “Thank you.”

  “Have a safe trip,” Frigg said. “Bye-bye.”

  “Whoa,” Ali said, “so she figured out from context that you’re going somewhere?”

  “Evidently.”

  “I wish the answering machine at the Yavapai County Building Department was that smart.”

  “You have to watch out what you wish for,” Stuart countered, “because Frigg may be way more trouble than she’s worth. Is there a phone receptacle down here?”

  Ali pointed. “Over there by the door.”

  “And are there any landline phones left in the house?”

  “There’s one up in the kitchen,” Ali said. “Do you want me to go upstairs and bring it down?”

  “I just need the cord,” Stu said. “Let’s hope it’s long enough—the cord and the number.”

  “Are you bringing the Macintosh along?”

  “Not on your life,” Stu responded. “We’ll be Bluetoothing it from here on out. I don’t want Command Central anywhere near High Noon’s IP address.”

  When they arrived at High Noon Enterprises, the outside shutters were open. Ali used the keypad to unlock the door. A piece of paper taped to the front of the counter directed them to the break room, where Shirley Malone was making coffee and opening a fresh box of doughnuts. While Stu helped himself to a doughnut, Ali sent B. a text letting him know they were there. Cami and B. showed up in the break room shortly after Shirley departed. On her way to the coffeepot, Cami dropped a handful of metal discs and what appeared to be a tiny camera onto the table in front of Stu. “What are these?” he asked.

  “As far as I can tell, the one is a video transmitter, and it’s a dud,” Cami told him.

  “And the discs are the audio transmitters?” he asked. “Did you remove them all?”

  “Except for one,” Cami answered. “After we sent out the notices, while B. was dealing with responses, I checked out every outlet and switch plate and removed all of these. I left one audio transmitter in place and operational.”

  “Which one?”

  “It’s located under your desk. I left it there on purpose, but in case someone’s still listening, we’ll need to watch what we say in the lab.”

  B. had remained uncharacteristically quiet through all this, and Ali cast a worried look in his direction. With dark circles under his eyes and unshaved stubble on his face, he looked weary beyond words. “You could use some beauty sleep, too,” she said.

  He nodded. “I know, but the notices had to go out, and I wanted to be here to handle th
e responses in person.”

  “How did it go?” Ali asked.

  B. shook his head. “About as well as can be expected,” he answered. “Thanks to the scans we were able to let everyone know that there was no data breach. We also warned them about the likelihood of upcoming adverse news coverage linking us to a known drug cartel.”

  “We’re going to be linked, all right,” Stu said ominously. “More like chained together.”

  “Why? What’s happened?”

  “With Frigg’s help, we now know that Graciella Miramar, the account rep who handled Owen Hansen’s accounts and the one I’m supposed to contact with the banking codes, is actually El Pescado’s daughter. It looks like she also functions as the Duarte Cartel’s money launderer-in-chief, overseeing the finances of a multibillion-dollar enterprise. I’m also pretty sure she’s after Frigg.”

  “What makes you think that?” B. asked.

  “Frigg told me. She said Graciella was interested in ‘borrowing’ her back when Owen Hansen was still around. She must have figured out that Frigg was behind the transfers Owen Hansen made to me and that the only way I’d be able to access the funds would be with Frigg’s assistance.”

  “An AI like Frigg in the hands of a drug cartel?” B. asked. “That’s a nightmare we can’t let happen.”

  “No, we can’t,” Stu agreed, “but there’s a lot more to this story. Due to Frigg we can now link both Graciella and her father to several unsolved homicides, many of which—Ron Webster’s included—happened here in the US. And there was another one overnight in Sinaloa, Mexico. Felix Duarte’s son Pablo died in a house fire last night. We believe that Felix himself may have been behind the fire and that he did so at Graciella’s instigation.”

  “But here’s the problem,” Ali said. “Since all of our information comes through Frigg, none of it is admissible in a court of law, and if we tried to use it to tip off the police . . .”

  “I know,” B. said, finishing her sentence for her. “We’d all go to jail, and they’d walk.”

  “So what are we supposed to do here?” Stu asked. “These are dangerous, murderous people, and we know way too much about them. If they had any idea about the things we’ve learned from Frigg, they’d be after us in a heartbeat, and we’d be the next targets for random MS-13 firebombs. As far as moving forward is concerned, here’s my opinion. Tomorrow morning, first thing after the office opens, I contact Graciella, give her the banking codes, take the money, and run like hell. I shut Frigg down, figure out the tax implications, and that’s the end of it.”

  Stu had left his Bluetooth lying on the table. When it flickered briefly he picked it up, and switched it over to speaker. “Yes, Frigg,” he said. “What is it?”

  “I have an additional flash briefing,” she announced. “An arrest has been made in the death of Arturo Salazar.”

  “Who?” B. asked with a frown.

  “Arturo Salazar was Graciella Miramar’s boss at Recursos Empresariales Internationales,” Stu explained. “But why would that information be included in a flash briefing to us?”

  “Including Graciella Miramar, Recursos Empresariales Internationales employs seventy-three individuals,” Frigg replied. “All names associated with Ms. Miramar are part of my comprehensive search protocol, including her fellow employees. Mr. Salazar was reported missing a little over a week after the death of Christina Miramar, Graciella’s mother. In such a small population, it is a statistical anomaly to have two suspicious deaths occur in such close proximity. The suspect in this case, Juan Ochoa Navarro, is currently cooperating with police and has agreed to lead investigators to the location of Mr. Salazar’s body.”

  “And this is important why?” Cami asked.

  “At this time, due to our ongoing analysis of Ms. Miramar’s financial transactions, I can confirm that a Bitcoin deposit, made to Mr. Navarro’s account, can ultimately be traced back to funds under her control.”

  “Are you kidding?” Stu asked. “Another victim added to the body count?”

  “How many is that total?” B. asked.

  Stu counted them off on his fingers. “Arturo makes fourteen that we know of for sure—the four MS-13 victims in Texas and New Mexico, Ron Webster, Christina Miramar, the six guys who attacked Christina back in 1989, Pablo Duarte, and now Arturo Salazar.”

  “Fourteen victims?” Ali breathed. “That’s appalling.”

  “Appalling and galling,” Stu agreed, “and if we add in Felix’s brother and his family, that brings the total to eighteen. So what we have here are two cold-blooded killers each with multiple victims, and there’s no way to hold them accountable for any of it.”

  Cami had been listening intently the whole time. Now she spoke up. “Wait a minute. Didn’t you just tell us that Graciella and El Pescado plotted together to murder her brother?”

  “Yes, Graciella’s half brother, Pablo,” Stu replied. “Why?”

  “If they turned on him, doesn’t that mean that there’s already dissent in the ranks? Since we can’t use Frigg’s inside knowledge in a court of law, how about if we don’t bother going there? Instead of trying to bring law enforcement to bear on the problem, all we need to do is figure out a way to get Graciella and El Pescado to turn on one another.”

  B.’s face lightened. “Exactly,” he said. “Sounds like it’s about time for a good case of MAD.”

  “Mad at whom?” Cami asked.

  “Not lowercase mad, but an all-caps M-A-D—mutually assured destruction,” B. explained “It’s from back in the days of the Cold War.”

  Frigg’s voice, intoning through the speaker, broke in on the conversation, supplying her own definition. “Mutual assured destruction or mutually assured destruction (MAD) is a doctrine of military strategy in which a full-scale use of nuclear weapons by two or more opposing sides would cause the complete annihilation; assumed to be a deterrent.”

  “Enough, Frigg,” Stuart ordered. “We get the idea. We’re here in Cottonwood having a team meeting.”

  “Yes,” she said. “At the Mingus Mountain Business Park—latitude 34.7422 degrees, west longitude 112.0413 degrees.”

  “How does she know that?” Cami asked.

  “Good morning, Ms. Lee,” Frigg said. “I hope you are having a pleasant day. Odin, my previous partner, always worried someone might try to steal his equipment, so he installed anti-theft measures—microdot locating chips—in all his hardware, including headsets, cell phones, and Bluetooth devices. Who is present at this team meeting?”

  “Ali Reynolds, B. Simpson, Cami Lee, and myself,” Stu answered. “I believe you met them all earlier.”

  “So this is what, in the old days, would have been termed a conference call?” Frigg asked.

  “You could call it that,” Stu agreed.

  “And since I’m here, too, does that mean I’m part of the team?”

  Stu glanced around the room and saw each of the others nod in turn. If law enforcement wasn’t going to be involved in High Noon’s response to El Pescado and Graciella, it was only reasonable to assume that Frigg would be.

  “Yes, you are,” Stu told her.

  “I have never been part of a team before, and I’m not sure what that means,” Frigg said thoughtfully. “Team: a number of people associated together in work or activity on one side as in a game or a debate. As part of my conditioning I saw teams wearing matching uniforms and carrying balls or equipment.”

  “This is more like a duel to the death,” Stu said. “We’re discussing the feasibility of taking down the Duarte Cartel. High Noon’s team would be on one side, and El Pescado and Graciella Miramar would be on the other, the good guys like us lined up against the bad guys—the drug dealers and killers.”

  “Since Odin was a killer and a bad guy,” Frigg mused, “does that mean I’ve changed sides?”

  “That depends on what you do,” Stu told her.

  “Frigg,” Ali said, addressing the AI directly for the first time.

  “Yes, Ms. Reynol
ds,” Frigg replied, “how can I help?”

  “In terms of threat assessment, do you believe Graciella Miramar poses a danger to either yourself or to Stuart Ramey?”

  “Yes,” Frigg responded.

  “That sounds pretty definitive.”

  “It is definitive,” Frigg agreed.

  “Why?”

  “She wants to take possession of my capabilities. Mr. Ramey is an obstacle standing in the way of her achieving that goal.”

  “Does she pose threats to anyone else?”

  “To her father and to his surviving son,” Frigg answered.

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Further analysis of Duarte financial transactions has revealed some additional anomalies.”

  “What kind of anomalies?”

  “The Bitcoin transfer used to hire Ron Webster to install the surveillance equipment at High Noon and the transfer used to hire MS-13, presumably for the Ron Webster hit, were both made from funds attributable to Pablo Duarte, but they were not made by Pablo Duarte himself. They were made by someone pretending to be Mr. Duarte.”

  “By Graciella?” Stu asked.

  “That would be my conclusion. Due to her position within the cartel, she has a comprehensive understanding of all its financial holdings and dealings. With Pablo gone, what would have been split four ways, can now be divided three ways.”

  “In other words,” Ali said, “we don’t have to turn members of the Duarte Cartel against one another since it’s already happening, but how do we take advantage of that reality?”

  “Wait,” Stu said excitedly, “here’s an idea. In the world of gangs and drug cartels, there’s nothing lower than a snitch. That’s why the Duartes went after that guy in Las Cruces—because he was an informant. What would happen if we convinced El Pescado that Graciella was about to turn state’s evidence? There’s no one on the planet who could do more damage to his organization than she could.”

  “But how do we get him to believe she’s turned on him?”

  “Easy,” Stu said, “by bringing her to us.”

  “And how do you propose to do that?”

  “By using Frigg and me as bait.”