by Jordan Dane
Being CIA, the guy knew how to manipulate the truth to get what he wanted. Santiago didn’t know if he’d been played, but Mercer knew how to dangle an enticing carrot. Bringing down the Jaguar and the Galvez cartel could make his career. He had no doubt Mercer knew he couldn’t resist the chase.
He gritted his teeth and stewed on the fact he might be a pawn in Mercer’s game.
“Sir?” A voice came from behind him. “I knocked, but I guess you didn’t hear me.”
When Santiago swiveled his chair around, he saw one of his CSI techs standing at the threshold of his office. Owen Purdue had helped at the crime scene where Mercer Broderick had crossed his path. Purdue came from a dynasty of cops and his father, Commander Kyle Purdue, had the juice to be the Chief of Police before he retired.
“Come in. What do you have for me?”
Purdue walked into the room, but didn’t sit until Santiago invited him with a wave of his hand.
“We’ve got three dead bangers and four guns fired from our prelim ballistics report. Plus we have the bullets the ME took from the bodies at autopsy and it looks like the dead guys killed each other. But there’s a fourth shooter who didn’t hit anything and I’m finding that hard to believe.”
“A fourth shooter?”
“Yeah, your CIA guy. He turned over his weapon, which is protocol. His gun had been fired, but he didn’t hit anything. Unless he came late to the party and these jerk offs were already playing freeze tag with bullets, it doesn’t make sense that he sat back and watched.”
“He’s CIA and an eye witness,” Detective Gonzales said. “We got bigger fish to fry with the Galvez cartel. Make your report and submit it. I’ll let you know if I need more.”
Purdue did a double take and stared at him.
“But, sir, there are unanswered questions.”
“Just report the facts, without speculation, and I’ll get back with you. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
Purdue stood to leave the room, but Santiago stopped him.
“Tell Rodriguez I need to see him.”
“Will do.”
Santiago stared down at the list of assets Ziffle had provided. Rodriguez worked in the Information Technology department of the EPPD. The kid was his ‘go to’ guy on anything with computers and tech stuff.
“You asked to see me, sir?”
“Yeah, I have a job for you, Rodriguez. Sit down.”
He handed him a copy of the list Ziffle had written down as part of his immunity deal.
“Protect this list. I want it back when you’re done, but I need you to confirm these accounts exist and put a flag on them. If any activity happens, I want to know about it before anyone else does. Can you do that for me?
Rodriguez looked at the list and nodded.
“Yes, sir. You got it.”
Santiago knew Purdue had raised the first of many questions involving Mercer’s debatable version of the truth behind the shootout. If Mercer came through with what he’d promised—the capture of the infamous head of the Galvez cartel—all these questions would go away.
But he needed to watch his back with Mercer. Everything hinged on the covert agent from the CIA. Mercer was the solution—and the problem.
***
Craft & Social
Downtown El Paso
Late afternoon
Santiago had suggested they meet at the Craft & Social in downtown El Paso. The detective had told Mercer that the bar was far enough away from Central Command that they could avoid being seen by other cops. They would have their privacy.
On the corner of Franklin Avenue and Stanton, the establishment had a distinctive blue and white striped awning and was located near the historic Gardner Hotel. The rustic, chic pub had craft brews and upscale food.
Mercer’s stomach growled as soon as he grabbed a seat in the back near the kitchen. The aroma of fresh bread, Italian seasonings, and beer reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
“Great choice. I’m starved.”
A waiter handed them menus, but Mercer couldn’t wait. While Santiago looked over the beer menu, Mercer ordered appetizers—a serving of tomato-basil hummus and an assortment of cheeses, fruit, baguette slices, and salami from their charcuterie menu. Mercer took the advice of the server on his beer, and Santiago ordered one of his favorites.
When they had their privacy, Mercer lowered his voice and got down to business.
“I’ve arranged for a safe house to keep Ziffle while we’re confirming the asset accounts he gave us and waiting for you to get the Attorney General’s immunity deal in writing. My team will work with a contingent from the Equalizers. We’ll guard him in shifts.”
“I have men under me that I trust. Why use the Equalizers?”
“It’s their safe house and they’re not part of your police force. No offense, but we have to think outside the box. The Jaguar has a long reach. He could have anyone on the El Paso PD in his pocket. The sooner we get Ziffle under wraps in off-book accommodations—away from police headquarters—the fewer people will know where he is.”
“I wish you’d quit implying my brothers in blue are dirty.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s true, for a fact, but we can’t take any chances. Taking down the head of the Galvez cartel is a career maker, and a good thing for the people of El Paso.”
The server returned with their beer and left.
“One of my men, Stetson Debenham, grew up in College Station and has known Saxon Abbott since they were boys,” Mercer told the detective. “Abbott is hooking us up with his Equalizers crew. We got this.”
“I know Saxon. He’s a good man. He’s a computer genius and he’ll get you connected with the right people to do the job.” Santiago took a sip of beer. “And having a computer guy on the team may not be a bad idea, after what Ziffle said about how he communicates with el jefe.”
The detective told him about the unique way the money man stays in touch with the cartel boss. Elliot Ziffle had revealed that the Galvez cartel used an obscure online chat forum to communicate. Ziffle shared the keyword code to decipher the conversations within the virtual reality 3D chat room called NovaREAL. With the keyword, Mercer and his team could login to become Ziffle and arrange another meeting to trap the Jaguar.
They would have their Trojan horse.
“I’ve got a computer genius of my own. With us working together, you’ll have access to my resources, not just the El Paso PD.”
Mercer texted what he’d learned to Nilah Rolstad, his computer wizard and white hat hacker. She called him within a minute to share what she knew about NovaREAL.
“Hey, Wolf. Are you good to talk right now?”
“Yeah, shoot.”
“NovaREAL is obscure, man. A real dog. It’s a virtual reality 3D chat room designed by its users that never got off the ground.”
“But apparently it’s still operating.”
“Yeah, but I haven’t heard of anyone using it, for real…until now. Twinity, Second Life, and IMVU are way more popular. They have better graphics. If you wanna be a glittery unicorn with a mind-bending dick as long as your arm, you could live the fantasy, Mercer.”
“Good to know.”
She told him NovaREAL had been designed as a virtual meeting place for corporations to conduct workshops, hold interactive meetings, and save on travel expenses. A few universities tried conducting classes in it, but the application had failed.
“I don’t know why anyone would use NovaREAL, unless they were counting on the lack of online traffic,” she said. “The acronym agencies might dismiss monitoring that site for the same reason.”
“You could be right, but if we got our hands on the keyword and cipher they use to communicate, we could set up a trap.”
“Send me what you have,” Nilah said.
“I’ll get everything to you tonight.”
Santiago finished his first beer and shook his head after Mercer ended the call.
“I want Sax
on working with your person to crack this thing. He’s protective of the Equalizers. If there’s a computer angle, he’ll want to be part of the team,” the detective said. “Besides, two geniuses are better than one.”
“You act like you don’t trust me.”
“I don’t. You’re buying the second round.”
Mercer smiled. He knew Santiago wouldn’t be easy. He sent a heads up text message warning to Nilah.
Expect company. Saxon Abbott. Details to follow.
Nilah would not be happy. She didn’t work well with others and preferred to chart her own course. From what Mercer had heard about Saxon Abbott—the brilliant computer hacker and wealthy video game designer—the man could be an arrogant prick, but worth the aggravation.
Mercer knew Nilah. She had befriended Keiko, or perhaps their relationship could best be described as a white flag of truce. Nilah had told him she thought of Keiko as a complex computer with one helluva firewall and said there was never a barrier for the right hacker. If Nilah could work with someone as prickly as Keiko, she could handle Saxon Abbott.
Mercer had his money on Nilah.
Chapter 4
Angel’s Triangle
El Paso
Dusk
Desolate.
Nothing more than tumbleweeds and dust.
Mercer drove onto Horton Street, looking for the address of the safe house that his contact at the Equalizers had given him. Although the sun edged toward the horizon and nightfall would soon come, heat still radiated off the asphalt and concrete in waves like a ghostly mirage. A row of bleak ranch-style houses looked as if a strong wind would topple them to the ground. Nilah had already Google searched the address and warned him the property would be located in one of the most crime-ridden neighborhoods in El Paso.
They’d be watching their back from all sides.
“This is it.” Keiko sighed.
“I can’t stay here. What if this place has bed bugs?” Elliot Ziffle made his case for them to move, but Mercer ignored him.
“They’ll feast on you. Neither of us will be sleeping,” Keiko mumbled.
Mercer shot her a glance—a silent and futile plea to quit screwing with Ziffle’s head.
“What?” She shrugged. “He should be more concerned with lead poisoning from a machine pistol.”
The address they’d been given matched a stucco house the color of fuchsia, nothing more than a matchbox. A high cyclone fence surrounded a dusty gravel lot marred with weeds pushing through cracks in the sidewalk. The only concession to yard color came from garbage bins in gray and blue that lined the street.
In the distance, residents had a view of Ranger Peak, Sugarloaf Mountain, and part of the South Franklin range that stood on the outskirts of El Paso. As austere as the neighborhood was, they would see anyone driving down the street or walking the sidewalk.
It would have to do.
Keiko got out of the vehicle and opened the cyclone fence. After Mercer pulled onto the property and parked behind the house, she secured the gate behind them.
“Make sure it’s clear before we take him inside.”
She retrieved the house key from where instructions stated it would be hidden and pulled her Beretta. Keiko moved through the ramshackle house without a sound until she gave him the ‘all clear’ sign.
“Okay. Let’s go.” Mercer pulled his SIG Sauer and escorted Elliot Ziffle inside. When he found Keiko, he said, “Lock it down.”
He wanted all window blinds and curtains closed and only minimal lights used. Backlit silhouettes meant exposure and gave positions away. Keiko did as he ordered.
The shadows were the best feature of the safe house and the word ‘safe’ carried a tinge of irony. Wallpaper peeled from the walls, water leaks stained the ceiling panels, and the worn, faded carpet smelled of cat urine. One bedroom, a single shared bathroom, a kitchen with appliances from the 50s, and living room furniture not even a frat house would want. Mercer saw why the Equalizers might have this dump as a safe house, but he knew Elliot Ziffle wouldn’t appreciate the upside.
“I’ll bring in the groceries and lock the car,” she said. “After he complains about the food, we can tuck him in with his flesh-eating bugs.”
Keiko smiled and winked. She had no intention of letting up on Ziffle. It gave her something to do besides counting cockroaches. Mercer opened his mouth to say something, but his cell phone rang.
“You asked for dossiers on Wolfe and Foster? Sending them now.”
“Thanks.”
On his order, his computer wizard Nilah Rolstad had run a background check on Micah Wolfe and Jet Ivan Foster, members of the Equalizers who would take the next shift at the safe house. Mercer didn’t want any surprises at shift change. He needed to know the men who would take over and have their photos for ID.
“Have you started confirming the list of assets Elliot Ziffle provided? If he’s being straight with us, those accounts should pan out. I want to know every dime the Jaguar has. Ziffle’s immunity deal depends on his list being legit.”
“I’m almost finished, but so far, I haven’t found anything bogus. The Galvez cartel is flush with assets and cash. Who says crime doesn’t pay?”
“I want you to keep track of the money. If anything changes, I have to know about it.”
“Are you expecting trouble? How much would you like me to help?”
Mercer knew what she meant. She could hack into the bank accounts without being detected. Nilah had proven herself to be scary good at her job. If she ever flipped to the dark side, she’d make one helluva criminal.
“Just keep on top of everything,” he said. “Set up alerts so we know what’s going on before anyone else does.”
“You got it.”
After Mercer ended the call, he dug into the dossiers Nilah had sent him, trying to block out the sound of Keiko messing with Elliot Ziffle over food.
***
Keiko dumped the groceries onto a kitchen table and put away the few things that needed refrigeration before she turned to see Ziffle sitting at the table with expectation in his eyes, as if she were his servant.
Pathetic. She had no patience for needy, weak men.
“Don’t look at me. I’m not your cook,” she said. “I’m here to keep you alive. When it comes to food, you’re on your own.”
Ziffle reached for the pocket watch he had clipped to his vest pocket and checked the time. His shifty gaze darted toward Mercer as he closed the timepiece.
“It’s time for my meds. I need to eat.” When Ziffle took on the appearance of a sad clown, she heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes.
“I brought you a few things for that sensitive stomach of yours.”
“You did?” He smiled and perked up.
One by one, she held up or pointed to grocery items on the table, as if he were a remedial student.
“Bananas contain serotonin and can get you through a crisis in peace and harmony. Raisins can bring down blood pressure. If you don’t have high blood pressure now, that could change after tonight. No harm in being prepared.”
Ziffle grimaced.
“Live-culture yogurt has gut-friendly bacteria. The canned white tuna has Omega-3s for anxiety. I brought ginger tea, for nausea.”
“Very kind of you. Thank you.”
“To be kind is a sign of weakness. No, I did this so you don’t explode in the bathroom we will share. Simple.”
Ziffle slouched in his chair.
“Turkey meat has tryptophan, an amino acid that helps the body produce melatonin to regulate your sleep. That could come in handy tonight. It’s best you are asleep when the bugs are eating on you.”
His lips flapped like a dying fish.
“That’s not funny. Did you buy any garbage bags? I’ll sleep in a plastic bag if I have to.”
“If you plan on sealing that plastic bag, you will need this. Chamomile tea can help with gas. I would be grateful if you would partake in it.”
When it looked as if Elli
ot would lash out in indignation, Keiko raised her chin.
“I bought you a Little Mermaid toothbrush.” She left the man sitting alone in the kitchen—speechless—as she strode from the room. “Glad I could help.”
***
Angel’s Triangle safe house
Hours later
Keiko had taken first watch and her eyes had adjusted well to the pitch-black darkness of the tiny safe house. In the run down neighborhood, municipal street lamps were scarce and few residences could afford to keep lights burning all night, even to protect their meager possessions. She peered through the draperies, careful not to show the movement, and stared into the night.
The neighborhood would have fewer cats by morning.
A band of coyotes had swept through the hood, demonstrating Darwin’s theory of survival of the fittest. Keiko had witnessed one of the confrontations that ended quickly. She did not interfere. Even if she could have saved the cat, she did not see why she should choose between the animals.
Even a predator needed to eat.
Mercer had fallen asleep on the sofa in the front room. She counted his slow and steady breaths, taking a measure of joy from each one. The intimacy of watching a man sleep, the trust he had in her not to cut his throat, had always intrigued her.
Her Russian father had raised her not to trust anyone.
Whenever she wasn’t on guard, she slept with one eye open and weapons stashed close at hand. Like the coyote, she had the heart and mind of a predator, but her ethereal Japanese mother had taught her how to lure men using her appearance as another weapon in her arsenal. She lulled them into dismissing the beauty she’d inherited and perceive it as a sign of weakness. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Her mother had been the strongest woman she’d known.
With the safe house secure, and their charge asleep in the bedroom, Keiko sat in a chair next to the sofa where her partner slept. She listened to the rhythms of the house, its special sounds, and counted Mercer’s breaths. On the outside, to anyone who didn’t know her, she would look serene and in a meditative state.