by Diane Capri
She saw his point, but Richard wasn’t fighting for his life here.
Maybe he was right. Her priority was fighting a cartel. His priority seemed to be nothing but talking about a cartel. She saw little value in his priority and he thought hers belonged, as he put it, in the cop shop on the other side of the river.
All around her, reporters doing live shots spoke the questions that everyone feared. “Is this terrorism?”
“Why Typhoid fever?”
“Why Tampa?”
As she hobbled back to the network news van, Drew rushed over to her.
“Here, take my arm,” He reached his forearm out and allowed her to use it to bear some of her weight as she hopped along. “So do you think they targeted Tampa because of MacDill Air Force Base?” he asked. “Trying to hit the U.S. where we use our resources to hurt them and all that?”
“I dunno. It doesn’t seem right. That’s miles south of here. If the typhoid contamination was a little closer to MacDill.” She shrugged. “Even then, why not try to get it directly in MacDill’s water source, you know?”
“Maybe because it’s not that easy. Maybe you can’t just drop something directly in MacDill’s water source.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jordan eyed the televisions when they reached the doorway of the network news truck. The television volume was still turned to an audible level. Jordan pointed to the headline. “They’re coming back on air about it.”
“Breaking news now, about a Typhoid fever outbreak in Tampa,” the anchor said. “We’re waiting for reaction from Tampa government officials.” The anchor turned to her co-anchor. The camera cut from a one-shot to a two-shot. “You have to wonder, Louise, how this will impact the U.S. World Cup bid.”
The question smacked Jordan right between the eyes. Detective Grey had said something like that to her in the wee hours of Saturday morning when she was still half asleep, too.
The World Cup bid had been a huge story for Tampa, but it mostly been out of sight, out of mind for her. Sometimes general assignment reporters covered World Cup-related stories, like the one Theresa did, but Jordan hadn’t been assigned to any. So the World Cup bid coming up wasn’t exactly at the forefront of her mind.
Jordan’s lips slowly parted, and she and Drew looked at each other wide-eyed. El Pulpo could be targeting Tampa because the U.S. World Cup bid was relying on Tampa.
Totally feasible.
If Tampa couldn’t control a simple typhoid fever outbreak, if people were dying from a bacteria that western medicine said was totally controllable with antibiotics, the U.S. could lose the World Cup bid. The World Cup wouldn’t be held in an area rampant with Ebola or Aids or any other deadly communicable disease, either.
After a moment of silence, Drew ran out of the van toward Antonio. If she knew Drew, he had it covered for Channel 12. And Jordan had something else to do.
She limped out of the van using the heel of her bandaged left foot. Agent Ryser was stationed at the far end of the row of media. On her way there, Jordan passed the mayor being interviewed by a flock of distinguished reporters.
“An absolute disaster for Tampa,” the mayor was saying. “For the whole community. For tourism, for the economy. For the U.S. And of course, for the victims and their families. Our prayers are with them this evening.”
“Who will host the World Cup if the U.S. doesn’t win the bid, Mr. Mayor?” One of the reporters called out.
“It’s looking like Iran is the most likely country.” Groans and disbelief came from the gaggle off reporters. The mayor shook his head. “I know. I couldn’t believe it either. But that’s what I’m being told.”
CHAPTER 26
“I heard you literally stumbled upon some evidence,” Ryser said, looking at Jordan’s foot.
“So you heard about the rum bottles. That was fast.”
Ryser smiled again. “We’re the FBI. We know everything.”
Jordan shrugged and shook her head. “This proves the cartel dumped the typhoid water here, right?”
“Not exactly, but it makes a strong connection between the ship and this location.”
“Because those are unique rum bottles,” Jordan said, leaning in. She was hoping for an inside scoop.
“Correct.”
“Here’s the other thing,” Jordan said. “I was thinking about, why this lake? Why Tampa at all? What’s the big deal here? And why does El Pulpo want everyone to know about it? So think about what’s coming up in Tampa. What has been the big story for everyone except me over the past few weeks? The World Cup bid. The vote to choose the location is two weeks away. This whole typhoid fever thing is about El Pulpo trying to sabotage the U.S. World Cup bid.”
“You think we didn’t know that already, Jordan? We’ve been working this case for more than two years.” Ryser leaned against one of the big black SUVs and smiled. “Come on, I told you. We’re the FBI here. We know everything. Why is it that you think you’re the only one who knows how to do their job?”
Jordan didn’t bother to defend herself on that point. After she sent that tweet last night, Ryser wouldn’t listen anyway. “But why would El Pulpo sabotage the World Cup bid?”
Ryser grabbed her arm, forced her to lean some of her weight into her body, and opened the SUV’s passenger door. “Here. Get in. Sit down. Take the pressure off that foot.”
“Thanks,” Jordan said. “Where are we going?”
“Nowhere.” Ryser closed her in, walked around the front and settled into the driver’s seat. “Look, I can’t tell you how we know, but you’re right about the bid. I’m impressed that you’ve reached that conclusion so quickly and without the benefit of our resources.”
Jordan stretched her leg out and rested her foot gingerly. She’d like to know exactly what those resources were. “So, the World Cup. This has happened before?”
“Not exactly. But similar things have happened before. Bribery and corruption in the bidding process isn’t normal, but it isn’t uncommon, either.” Ryser shook her head. “We’ve investigated various plots to skew the vote for hosting the World Cup over the years. I’m not a big soccer fan, either. But for reasons that are a mystery to me, inordinate amounts of money usually change hands.”
“So it can go either way, right?” Jordan asked, pressing her theory. “Large amounts of money are paid to get the World Cup or to knock countries out of the running so a different country wins the bid?”
“Bingo.” Ryser nodded and flashed a thumbs up. “We think that’s what El Pulpo’s doing here. Knock out the U.S. and Iran wins the bid.”
“Iran? Seriously?” Jordan didn’t know a lot about Iran, but most of what she knew had to do with nuclear weapons and religions that were foreign to her.
“You’re not a soccer expert, are you?” Ryser smiled and shook her head in mock dismay. “Iran has about a hundred years of soccer success to rely on. Big medal winners. Huge fan turnouts. They want the World Cup and someone is prepared to pay big to be sure they get it.”
“But why? I mean, why would El Pulpo care?” Jordan couldn’t wrap her head around it. “El Pulpo has operations all over the world. Doesn’t El Pulpo win no matter where the World Cup is held?”
“You’re a talented investigator, Jordan. Think it through. The only thing that makes sense is that someone’s hired El Pulpo to corrupt the process.” Ryser smirked. “For a hugely unreasonable fee, of course.”
Jordan let the truth of the situation sink in. as if she was seeing bullet points on a television broadcast.
El Pulpo was mammoth.
El Pulpo networks operated everywhere.
El Pulpo wouldn’t do something like this on the cheap.
Gobs of money would be paid to contaminate Tampa with typhoid.
Too much money for El Pulpo to ignore.
After taking the job, El Pulpo would have done everything possible to ensure success.
Contaminated water wasn’t reliable enough on its own.
Dr. Peters, the CDC investiga
tor, had said multiple contamination methods were likely. What else had El Pulpo put in play besides the bacteria in the rum bottles?
When she realized the answer, or at least one answer, Jordan blurted it out. “Mack’s!”
“What?”
“Mack’s. Right there.” Jordan pointed to the restaurant, sitting a few yards away. “It’s a raw bar. They make the best raw conch salad. The typhoid bacteria are spread on food, right? Mack hires Haitians and other workers from countries where both typhoid and El Pulpo are prevalent. What if a few of those employees are infected?”
Ryser waited.
Jordan gasped. “What if some of Mack’s employees are El Pulpo soldiers, even?”
“We’re on it. The CDC has already started testing.” Ryser nodded again. “For my money, I’m betting you’re right.”
“Yes!” Jordan fist-pumped the air. “Can I quote you on that?”
Ryser laughed out loud. “No. But I’ll get you a chance to ask Dr. Peters on the record. How’s that?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Finally. She’d scoop this story yet. Eat your heart out, Drew.
Ryser allowed her a few moments of gloating before she spoke again.
“There’s something else.” Ryser’s words snagged Jordan’s attention. “Two things, actually. The real reasons I wanted to talk privately.”
“My World Cup theory wasn’t the real reason?” She touched her tongue to the roof of her mouth and it stuck like double-sided tape. She was parched.
“There’s no easy way to say this. I know how disappointed you’re going to be.” Ryser inhaled and squared her shoulders. “Evan Groves and Hugo Diaz are dead.”
Jordan’s blood turned cold and she went completely numb. “What?”
“We got word about an hour ago. They were killed in jail.”
Jordan’s chest hurt and a bitter taste filled her throat. Her mother’s killers. Gone? This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. They hadn’t been charged with her mother’s murder. No public trial where the evidence against them would be shared.
Jordan knew Groves and Diaz had killed her mother. She could prove it. Groves and Diaz all but confessed this morning when she interviewed them at the jail. The confessions would have been recorded on the constant video surveillance. She’d planned to use that video to get them charged and convicted.
She couldn’t believe the chance to expose them had been snatched from her grasp, just like that.
“How did they die?” Her voice was suddenly as raspy as a lifetime smoker.
Ryser didn’t sidestep the question. “They were executed by El Pulpo. The same way Pipo Sanchez died.”
Jordan inhaled as much air as she could possibly squeeze into her lungs, then exhaled and let her head drop back against the seat. She closed her eyes.
“I know you wanted a public trial, but realize that your visit to the jail this morning is probably what caused El Pulpo to speed up the executions.” Ryser’s tone was somewhere between annoyance, sympathy and admiration. “If Diaz and Groves hadn’t confessed to you, the boss might have let them live a while longer. But they were marked men, either way.”
The news was still sinking in. She hadn’t told anyone she’d been to the jail yet. Of course, her detail would have reported her activities. And the cameras would have recorded the whole timeline. But it usually took a while to synchronize all that data.
How did Ryser find out so quickly?
The one and only mission she’d pursued for the last five years? Over? Just like that?
Her feelings were a jumbled mess. She had a thousand questions, but she couldn’t ask any of them just yet.
“Jordan? I’ve got one more thing I need to tell you. It’s important.” Ryser had turned in the seat to face Jordan.
“What is it? I’ve got to get back to the station.” She opened her eyes to look at Ryser. Her foot was throbbing and she was exhausted all of a sudden.
“We have techniques for listening to cell phone communications. Even burner phones. You probably know that.” Ryser rubbed her lips with her thumb and forefinger. “Some of those communications related to you.”
“Okay.” It seemed like in some way this was setting itself up as really bad news for her.
“We captured an exchange about the man El Pulpo calls the boss.” Ryser cleared her throat and shrugged. “Two men. Speaking Spanish. Talking quickly and very agitated.”
“Okay…. How bad is it?” The dryness in Jordan’s mouth now spread to the back of her throat.
“The boss is furious because the shrimp boats, the Medicine Factory, the drone operation, and the human trafficking operations were shut down.” Ryser stopped and took a deep breath. “His days as the leader of El Pulpo are numbered. The soldiers now see him as weakened. Stronger men will want to move up. To do that, they’ll need to get rid of him first.”
“So is that the worst news?” Jordan’s tongue felt thick in her mouth.
“We knew he was here, in Tampa. Which is why we were hoping to grab him when we raided The Grove Friday night.” Ryser looked across into Jordan’s eyes. “Your tweet worked. You wanted to draw El Pulpo out and that’s what you’ve done. The boss is cleaning house, tying up loose ends. That’s why he moved so quickly on Diaz and Groves. He wants you dead, too. His soldiers have failed to kill you. He says he’ll do it himself. He’s coming after you.”
The heavy air closed in on her, particles of moisture clinging to her skin. “They’re going to—He wants to kill me? Himself? You’re sure?”
“We’re arranging protection around the clock instead of just at night, like you have now.” Ryser’s words were rushed, as if she could sense that Jordan was on the verge of a meltdown. “We’ll get this guy, Jordan. We’re closing in. It won’t be long.”
Blood funneled from Jordan’s head, rushing straight to her heart. She swallowed and struggled to speak. “What’s his name? What does he look like?”
“His name is Alden Walker.” Ryser showed her a photo. “He’s been the El Pulpo boss about ten years. Before that, he was a U.S. Army Ranger. Which means he was trained as elite military. He knows what he’s doing.”
Jordan blanched. She memorized the photo. If she saw him, she wanted to recognize him right away.
He was younger than Jordan expected. About the same age as her dad. Handsome for a guy his age. He looked like a rugged sportsman or an advertisement for financial services. The kind of guy who would blend in or stand out, as he chose. Close cropped, light brown hair and full lips. His skin was tanned and white squint lines fanned from the corners of his brown eyes, like he’d spent a lot of time outside in the sunlight.
“How tall is he?”
“Official records put him at six feet, but he always wears boots. So figure a little taller,” Ryser said. “He’s very fit. Broad shoulders, flat stomach. Lean. No tattoos or piercings.”
Jordan’s voice squeaked when she said, “Got it.”
“I’d tell you to carry a gun, but you’re not licensed.” There was no hint of humor in Ryser’s tone. “If you see him, Jordan, run like hell and call me immediately.”
“I have to warn my dad.” Jordan opened the passenger door and tried to walk back toward the network news van, where she seemed to recall she left her bag.
Ryser got out of the car and caught up to Jordan in three quick steps. She placed a hand on Jordan’s arm. “We have security watching your dad right this minute. He’s okay.”
Jordan continued onward, staring ahead like a zombie.
CHAPTER 27
Jordan had to get out of there. It was getting dark. She didn’t want to be outside inthe open like this, where it would be too easy to deal with her.
She got into her little blue car and zoomed off. Once inside the newsroom, she’d be safe from The Boss. Alden Walker. Her police detail would be waiting for her when her shift ended.
Claire was still in Fort Lauderdale with her parents. Claire should be protected there. Nelson was home with a police
detail, too. She would stay away from him until this situation with Walker was over.
She merged onto the interstate, heading north toward the station, and called Richard. He’d still been at the lake closing up when she got spooked and left.
Jordan’s sweaty hands kept Hermes straight in the middle lane. Her grip would hold if she didn’t make any quick moves. “Richard. I had to run. Did you hear what happened?”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“Evan Groves and Hugo Diaz? The Tampa based cartel members? They were killed in jail.”
“What? By who?” He’d responded almost before she’d spit out the word jail.
“An El Pulpo execution, I’m told.” She wiped one palm on her pants and then the other palm. She gripped Hermes’ wheel tighter.
A black SUV with dark tinted windows closed the distance behind her.
Ryser’s fast. She already had Jordan’s extra protection on the job. The FBI really does know everything.
The front bumper of the SUV grew larger in the rear view mirror until it felt inches away.
At the last minute, the SUV swerved sharply into the left lane.
She gasped. “Oh my god. Sorry. A car just whizzed past me. Anyway…”
The SUV ran alongside Hermes at the same speed. When Jordan sped up, so did he. When she slowed, so did he.
Jordan’s white-knuckled grip on the wheel fatigued her arms and her hands began to cramp.
The SUV moved even closer to Hermes. Jordan could have touched the SUV by sticking her arm out Hermes’ driver’s window.
The SUV accelerated, jumping up to pass her.
Then the black behemoth cut into the center lane and slowed, positioning itself directly in front of Hermes.
Richard said, “Jordan? Are you okay?”
The black SUV in front of her slammed on its brakes.
Jordan gasped again and slammed on her brakes in response.