“Hit the place with the fire balls and withdraw.”
The quartet proceeded carefully to the windows of their respective target buildings and lobbed in the incendiaries.
Jack wanted the place wiped out completely.
With the guards gone from the front gate, the team returned to the Ford the conventional way, out through the front entrance.
Palmer drove quickly to where Malky waited with their dead partner. Although Rico was no longer alive, the team lifted his body gently into the rear of the vehicle and headed back downtown.
Jack looked back at the flames engulfing the property as the roof caught fire. As large pieces of timber fell into the central building, flurries of sparks sputtered skyward.
“Where did the bastard go this time?”
None of the five spoke until halfway back on the road to the DEA office building.
“Ellis, can we make arrangements for Rico to be flown back to the UK without any stupid questions being asked?” asked Jack.
“Everything’s possible in Tegus. But why do you want him back in England?” said the DEA station chief.
“Frankly, I’ve no idea at the moment on how to deal with a funeral for him,” said Jack. “But we sure as hell aren’t gonna leave him to an anonymous grave in this Godforsaken hole. As far as I know, his family were killed in Mexico a long time ago. There’s no immediate next of kin.”
“Are you kidding, man?” said Ellis. “Rico Sanchez is as much family as we have in the DEA. Let me take care of it. His file records with us go ‘way back, Jack. We know his home village. I told you yesterday, he’s near as dammit one of us. You’ve my promise he’ll be taken care of properly. Okay, big fella?”
Jack didn’t speak, instead, instinctively held out his right hand and received another of the DEA man’s gorilla handshakes. With his left hand forefinger and thumb he pressed his eyelids as if to relieve a tiredness. In the darkness of the van’s interior, Malky McGuire saw Jack’s motion, and was the only one who knew his partner was fighting back tears. The balance of the journey reverted to silence apart from the Ford’s battering from the apology of a roadway system.
Palmer entered the deserted basement car park and came to a halt close to the elevators.
“You stay with Rico,” said Ellis to his DEA partner. “I’ll send a couple of people down in a few minutes. You know where to take him. Gentlemen, please come with me.”
The others filed out of the van, Jack last of all.
“You sure about this?” he asked Ellis.
“We’re good. He’s in the best of hands. Trust me.”
The four men squeezed into the elevator, intended for six normal-sized people. As the sliding doors opened on the eighth floor, a couple of men stood, ready to go down. Instead of waiting for Ellis, Palmer had radioed up for help in dealing with Rico. Their boss grunted and patted each on the shoulder as they took their place in the elevator. Jack’s watch touched five o’clock, with dawn creeping across the silhouette of the city’s buildings, but the DEA offices were still active. Some of the personnel had changed shift since their departure. The data screens kept rolling.
“Coffee, somebody,” Ellis instructed over his shoulder as he led the ISP trio into his office. The ubiquitous percolator migrated back to the campaign table, accompanied by a tray of clean mugs, spoons and sugar.
“We can debrief without Palmer,” said Ellis. “He’ll add whatever makes sense when he gets back later. Let’s do this while it’s fresh, huh?”
“Agreed,” said Jack. “Donnie, the plane was a complete takeout, right?”
“A hundred percent, cargo and all.”
“Confirmed drug cargo?”
“We didn’t open the packaging, if that’s what you mean, but I’ve seen enough of that shit to know the load was real. All gone in smoke, for sure.”
“Question for all of us, any reason to think anybody remained alive in the buildings?” Jack continued.
“If there are, then Superman still lives,” said Ellis. “That was as tight an offensive as I’ve seen in my years of combat field work. Nobody came out after the second wave of hits. I’d say bodies will be hard to identify without forensic DNA tests. So, no, nobody survived who was inside after the second wave.”
“Which brings us to you, Malky.” said Jack. “The chopper first. Enough to ensure it’ll never fly again?”
“Unless sumb’dy’s got a magic wand and a wizard’s spell, it’s no’ goin’ anywhere for the next hundred years except maybe a scrap yard,” said Malky.
“Talk us through what happened with Rico, and what you saw afterward.”
“As I said before, we heard the business from the chopper and the Cessna, then you guys doin’ yer stuff from the front. There was plenty o’ screamin’ when yeez started, but yer grenades did their job aw’right. That lot went quiet very fast. A coupla minutes into it, maybe a bit less than that, an’ the first dinghy came driftin’ toward us. My gut told me sum’thin’ wasnae right wi’ it. Lookin’ back, I know it was because it was too high in the water, wi’ nob’dy aboard. I yelled to Rico to get down. I dived for the ground. He was a fraction late and yeez saw the result. Maybe four or five seconds after that, I lifted my head and saw he’d taken a hit and went to him, takin’ prob’ly another three or four seconds. I saw the back end of another dinghy wi’ two men in it turnin’ the bend. I’d left the M16 where it was to go to Rico, so I couldn’t have fired at them, even if I’d had time to think about it.”
“Are you sure one of them was Corrado?’ asked Jack.
“Sure as hell. The bastard was smilin’ back at us. He didn’t have a gun that I could see, or he might’ve had a pop at me as well.”
“Okay, any other observations, guys?”
Everybody agreed the reports were as they’d been described.
“We leave Honduras this morning, as planned,” said Jack.
“An’ what about Corrado?’ asked Malky.
“Right now, we’ve no idea where to locate him. If he has any residual influence with his police pals, we need to be somewhere else when they decide to go looking for whoever took his place apart this morning. I think the cops’ first thoughts will be a rival cartel hit and that might suit their crime solving statistics, but we can’t take that chance. Corrado himself will know who’s done it. He’s no fool.”
“I agree,” said Ellis. “The authorities here’ll be happy with the least amount of work to put the thing to sleep. Case solved for them. I also agree there’s no way to figure where the bastard’s gone to now.”
“Do you guys have access to a direct connection with Hidalgo in Mexico?” asked Jack. “Or is he one of those people who stay invisible and unreachable?”
“On the contrary,” said Ellis. “Like most of the top honchos, he has lieutenants, heavies and mules who do all the dirty operational stuff. All legally deniable. He’s the paymaster. The money man. He’s got lots of cash businesses, legit on the face of it, but it’s common knowledge it’s all funded through the drug trade.”
“You can get a call to him, then?”
“Yup. What do you have in mind?”
“Maybe you can handle this yourself, Ellis,” said Jack. “He’s gonna know soon enough today his shipment’s been compromised. Tell him to expect a call in a day or two from somebody who was there. An interested party, let’s say. He’ll deny any connection with it, but I’m sure he’ll listen when I ring him.”
“I like that,” said the station chief. “I’ll get a call into him in the next few days once you’ve flown out and well clear of this place, and give you the nod and his number when it’s done.
The door to the office swung open, and a larger tray with a repeat of the previous night’s supper appeared.
“Burgers and tacos for breakfast! Love it,” said Malky.
“The twenty-four sevens are the only joints open this early,” said Ellis. “Enjoy.”
Jack had no appetite.
****
; Palmer escorted the ISP team to Toncontin airport departure terminal. This time, Donnie travelled alone on a noon flight out of Honduras. Malky and Jack left an hour and a quarter later.
Cornelius Corrado left Honduras a few hours before the ISP team. He and two henchmen crossed the El Salvador border in an ordinary truck laden with fruit and vegetables. A cursory glance at their passports from the officials at the transit point caused no problem. Five hours later, in San Salvador, the three men boarded a plane bound for Europe.
The odds in the deadly impasse with the men in black had tilted even further against the syndicate head. The escape via the river, with the hit on one of his adversaries was a big plus, but hardly scraped the downside of losing the two aircraft and the property. Both of these reversals dwindled into insignificance measured against the loss of Don Hidalgo’s shipment.
The deaths of his men troubled him little. They were replaceable. A good commander looked after his men, but accepted the reality of loss of life as part of the deal. Lessons from South Carolina had also drummed into him the wisdom of retreating to regroup when circumstances dictated. The drug runs would have to take a temporary back seat in his plans, as Hidalgo wouldn’t be in any mood to talk. His reputation didn’t scare Corrado. He’d killed tougher men in his time, but he didn’t want to offer himself as a sacrificial lamb.
The current strategy demanded rebuilding the lucrative migrant trafficking. Guaranteed cash flow. Don Hidalgo’s debt would have to be paid, but at a later date. The banks called that restructuring, possibly sweetening the repayments with an added premium. The month’s interest could be settled by a one-off cash payment. He could arrange that in the next week or two. What he couldn’t do was replace the Don’s lost profit opportunity, the street value of the cocaine. Nor the intangible value of the drug lord’s loss of face with his distribution network in Mexico and beyond
Yes, regrouping in Europe would suffice for the next few months.
CHAPTER 31
Private mail for Francine Louvet shared the same post office box as the mail delivered to the bank. Collections in the recent past routed via the sorting room in the bank basement. Since the attack on the vault, the new security measures switched the receiving area to the ground floor in a protected room at the rear of the building. As with the front entrance, all parcels and deliveries processed through a security scanner. Three days after Jack and his partners returned from Honduras, May-Ling fielded a call from the ISP close-in team leader at the bank.
“Ma’am, we’ve caught three postal items this morning, same packaging, same typeface, one to Francine for her residential address, another for her at the bank, and a third addressed to her treasury department chief,” said the agent. “The machine buzzed them immediately. The scan shows a simple trigger device inside each, but if there was any explosive material inside, it must have been very small.”
“What’s been done with them?” asked May-Ling.
“We’ve isolated them in the blast proof container outside at the rear of the building. The police bomb unit is here already and they’ll remove them elsewhere for detonation.”
“Have the bank personnel been alerted? The place cleared out?”
“No, ma’am, it was all done very quietly so far. As per procedure policy, with the items made safe so quickly, we felt it unnecessary to raise an alarm internally.”
“Good work, you guys,” said May-Ling. “Did you photograph the items for any handwriting or any marks? Posted from where?”
“Yes. Similar envelopes, and as I said, no handwriting. The addresses were typed. No other marks apart from the postal franking. All three were sent from a post office in Luxembourg. I guess the police’ll check if there’s any CCTV evidence of who brought them in.”
“I think that’s unlikely to give us much. They’ve done this before as you know. Thanks, and tell the team well done.”
“Thanks, ma’am.”
May-Ling convened the other directors in the board room and told them of the call.
“Our Mister Corrado is playing games,” she said. “He knows the bank would have security scanners for any packages or correspondence at the bank, and especially addressed to Francine.”
“What’s his angle, then?” asked Malky.
“It’s diversionary nonsense, like some of the other things he’s tried,” said May-Ling. “We need to continue to focus on his main target, which is Francine. His men in Luxembourg were capable of killing Pierre’s secretary with the car bomb. That’s the level of risk to be prepared for.”
“Ye think he’s here in town?” said Malky.
“No, I doubt he’s in Luxembourg, but consider this. He’s bound to be in Hidalgo’s sights after the hit on the drug shipment. The easiest place to find him would be in Hidalgo’s backyard. He won’t risk that right now. Where else can he pick up the threads of his business?”
“In Europe. The trafficking, right?” said Donnie.
“Makes sense,” said Jack. “It’s the most obvious place, but not at or even near the Mission hospital again. Suffering two hits is bad for business, and our security squad would make mincemeat of anybody else he brought in there. But the whole Libyan coastline is open. I asked Ellis to put a flea in Hidalgo’s ear to wait for a call from me. I’ll follow up with him now to see if he’s had any luck with that.”
“Meantime, I’ll brief the close-in team again,” said May-Ling. “I want everybody to be hyper-cautious and I’ll talk to Francine too. I don’t want any further off-programme heroics like her graveyard stunt.”
The meeting dispersed. Jack put through a call to the DEA office in Honduras.
“Tenby Inc., may I help you?” said a female voice.
“Yes, can I speak to Ellis please. This is Jack Calder.”
“Please hold, sir.”
Moments later, the station chief came on the line.
“Your timing’s perfect, Jack,” said Ellis. “I just finished my call with Hidalgo a few minutes ago and passed the message. As expected, he gave me waffle about not having any idea what I was talking about and I must have a wrong number. But he didn’t hang up until I repeated what we decided to tell him. Here’s the number to call. We know it’s his direct private line.”
Jack wrote it down, read it back to Ellis and said, “Thanks. There’s no time like the present, I’ll try him now, and let you know how it goes.”
The Honduran connection closed and Jack dialled Hidalgo’s number.
For Don Pedro Munez Hidalgo the non-delivery of a single drug shipment from one of his main suppliers didn’t trouble him as much as Cornelius Corrado thought it would. The drug lord’s distribution empire stretched all across the United States and up along the Canadian eastern seaboard. Servicing his network required not one but several major supply sources. If anything, the street value of the other incoming shipments would rise to compensate. Cocaine prices were highly volatile, sensitised more than most commodities, driven by an immediacy of supply and demand.
He was more concerned with the fact that Corrado owed him the lion’s share of eighty million dollars plus the squeeze, and instead of contacting him when something had gone wrong, chose to remain silent and invisible. That was unforgiveable. The call he had just received from an American voice he recognised intrigued him. That the caller had his direct line number was not surprising. These agency people had access to many sources of communication data and the line was part of his general business, was it not?
The telephone rang again. He paused for a few rings before picking up the receiver.
“Hello.”
“Good day. I’m the man you were advised would call you,” said a strong Scottish voice.
“This is the second miscall today. I think you’ve dialled the wrong number.”
“Listen to me and then decide,” said the man. “We have no fight with you, but the recent occupant of premises in Guatemala and lately in Honduras is of great interest to us. My understanding is the man we both know is indebted
in a manner he’s unlikely to honour. Our interest is highly personal, and I repeat, nothing to do with your business, in which we have no concern at this time.”
Don Hidalgo remained silent, listening.
“There’s a couple of things you may not be aware of. His group has been secretly building up deposits of more than seven hundred million dollars in banks across the world over the past several years. In the past month, all of that has been identified as illegal money. His accounts have been frozen by Interpol and the various central banks in the countries where these accounts are located. The man and his operations have been busted, big time. On top of that, he’s been trafficking migrants across the Mediterranean Sea from Libya for the last three years. We put a stop to that in the same way we did with both his bases in Central America. That makes it doubly unlikely he’ll be able to comply with his financial obligations.”
“You tell a good story,” said Hidalgo. “However, I know nothing of this man you’re referring to, and even if I did, I’d wonder why I’m getting these calls.”
Got him, thought Jack.
“I’m sure you can quite easily find out who I am and who I represent,” said the Scot. “If you check our background, you’ll know we’re resourceful and we don’t give up. Ever. I want to find this man, possibly a lot more than you do.”
“As I say, this is all nonsense to me, Mister… Mister?”
“On the telephone, I’ve no name, nor have you. You’re at liberty to deny any knowledge of the content of this call, and I respect that. All I ask is for you to use your resources to point us to where we might find him and leave the rest to us. I’ll give you a code word and a telephone number which will be used only once, to receive a message. Write this down.”
Jack spelled out the code word and the contact number.
Don Hidalgo didn’t respond.
Jack repeated the details and hung up.
The drug lord leaned forward onto his desk, deep in thought, his hands folded under his chin. Several minutes later he buzzed his intercom to tell his secretary to summon his senior lieutenant to join him. The man was on an outside errand twenty minutes’ drive away from Hidalgo’s office. This gave his boss more thinking time. Hidalgo considered the content of the latest exchange with the Scottish caller. The man wasn’t from the DEA, but clearly had strong links with it. The information about the trafficking in Libya disturbed him. Not because of any moral issues he had with it. Don Hidalgo’s own business allowed for no consideration of the hardship and distress caused by his own operations. No, his unease centred on two things. First of all, Corrado had been violently thwarted on at least three occasions by these men, whoever they were, which meant he was not capable of managing threats properly. Sooner or later, that could translate to unwanted and unwarranted pressures on the Don’s activities. The second and more powerful concern centred squarely on the debt. Without resources and the means to generate income at his former level, Corrado was set to default. The second caller was right.
DEADLY IMPASSE (Jack Calder Crime Series #5) Page 16