Eldiarez, a chief in the plainclothes team, shook his head. “Not really. We’ve been circulating his photo in the hopes that something triggers, but for now, nobody knows anything,” he announced glumly.
“What about leaning on our contacts on the periphery of the Sinaloa cartel?”
“Not a whisper,” Eldiarez told him. “If Sinaloa is behind an attempt on the president, it’s the best kept secret they’ve got. Which isn’t surprising given that it would have come straight from Aranas, who probably wouldn’t have broadcast the fact. Every time we arrest one of their men, we give them the third degree, but so far there’s not much to report. That isn’t surprising considering that anyone rolling on Aranas would be a dead man. Even if someone did know something, it’s unlikely they’d volunteer it.”
“We’re also watching every airport and bus station,” Briones offered, “with the photograph being widely circulated, but you know how that goes…”
Cruz did indeed. The likelihood of a professional of El Rey’s caliber slipping up and getting caught through the rookie mistake of not altering his appearance so that it didn’t match the known photo of him was exceedingly slim, but they didn’t have much else to go on, so it was another checklist item. The whole thing smacked of going through the motions, though. Unless they got some kind of a break, all they were doing was taking the predictable steps El Rey would expect, bringing their possible success chances close to zero.
Cruz scowled at the room. “We need to do better than this. We’re going on five days since the tip came in from CISEN, and we’re no further along than we were then. I know you’re all doing everything you have been asked to do, but we need to push the envelope and be more aggressive. I’m not sure how to move this along, but my sense is that we’re currently dead in the water. Am I wrong?”
Briones tilted his head. “What about the original lead? Can’t we put pressure there? That seems to be our only viable option at the moment.”
“I’m meeting with some people this evening to discuss exactly that, but for now, consider it a dead end. It was picked up as chatter, so there’s nowhere to push. We just have to wait and see if we get anything more,” Cruz warned.
He couldn’t tell anyone about the true nature of the source, or the identity – hell, he couldn’t even hint that there was a source. But Briones had it right – for all CISEN’s reticence, they needed to lean on the arms dealer if they were going to get anywhere. Cruz had a six p.m. meeting scheduled to broach that very topic, although he wasn’t expecting much to come out of it. Still, it couldn’t hurt to tighten the screw on CISEN.
“All right. I need everyone to get creative. If the president gets killed, it will be because we didn’t do enough. That’s the bottom line. I have our friends at CISEN looking at financial transactions involving known Sinaloa entities on the off chance there’s some sort of a money trail, and I have to believe that if we focus enough energy on the two events, we’ll figure out how he’s planning to make his attempt. Bring me anything, no matter how seemingly inconsequential. Even if it’s a gut feel or a hunch. Because, as of now, we’ve only got a few weeks. That’s all I have,” Cruz concluded.
He had a sinking feeling as he scanned the resigned faces of his subordinates. He remembered the last time they’d been hunting El Rey – it had been a needle in a haystack, regardless that they’d been sure he was going to make his move at the financial summit. This time, they didn’t even know when, or even if, he would act.
Cruz shook off the sense of despondency, squaring his shoulders as he stood up. It wouldn’t do for his men to see him in despair. A good leader always projected strength and confidence, even he didn’t feel it.
Briones joined him as he walked back to his office. “Not much, huh? Is there any chance you’ll be able to get CISEN more involved?” he asked.
Cruz shook his head. “I’ve been on the line with the president’s people twice a day, and they feel like they have a good handle on the security aspect, which means nothing to me. And CISEN is being their usual self. They act like we don’t matter, which maybe in their universe we don’t. Cross your fingers because I’m not expecting a lot of further cooperation,” Cruz admitted.
His limp was a little more pronounced today. Even after the physical therapy, when the weather changed it could hurt.
Briones slowed his pace to match Cruz’s. “We need to do something, because as it sits, we’re stalled.”
“Agreed. It seems like this week is going to be a write-off. I’ll let you know if anything positive happens.” Cruz slurped the now-cold coffee he had been nursing and retreated into his office, dreading the meeting that evening with the state’s intelligence service.
~
Lush fields of coffee plants rolled over the grass-topped hills, their full, leafy finery swaying in gentle time to the caress of the light breeze. Workers dotted the green-hued expanse, harvesting the beans. A smear of white clouds lingered over the mountain top, offering welcome shade for the laborers toiling in the field.
This was one of Aranas’ hideaways, in the mountains on the outskirts of San Salvador – a working coffee plantation well away from prying eyes, in a country distant enough from Mexico for the cartel chief to be safe from attack or capture. He paid off all the local law enforcement groups, including the government functionaries, so El Salvador, as well as Guatemala and Honduras, were safe havens.
The colonial home had breathtaking views, and only one winding approach road, which was heavily guarded by hardened sentries under orders to shoot first and ask questions later – and the locals stayed well away, making it one of the most private areas in the region.
Aranas sat on the expansive patio, watching the laborers go about their backbreaking tasks as he sipped rich brew from a Delft china cup. It was a miraculously beautiful day, and he felt strangely at peace – as he always did when at this home.
A man cautiously approached from inside the house, taking care to close the wooden French doors behind him to keep any bugs out as he stepped onto the veranda. “Don Aranas, we have more information on the task force that has been set up to hunt El Rey. It’s being headed up by Romero Cruz, and it has committed significant resources to finding our operative. Photos are everywhere, and they’ve stepped up activity.”
Jacinto Felestero was one of Aranas’ trusted deputies, who had been with him for as long as he’d been the head of the cartel – over two decades, now.
“How did they get on to him? Did we ever discover that?” Aranas asked.
“No. Cruz is playing that very close to his chest. All we know is that they’re in a state of high alert and believe he will strike at one of two possible events within the next month.”
“That complicates things. Somehow they now know El Rey is targeting the president, which is unacceptable. There aren’t many places such information could have come from. My inner circle, or El Rey’s contacts. I can’t believe that one of his people, whoever they are, tipped off the Federales. That leaves my group – a disturbing idea, obviously. There are only four among us who knew. Including you, Jacinto.”
Jacinto’s face darkened. “Don, I swear on my mother’s grave, I haven’t spoken with anyone about it…” The danger of being suspected was obvious.
“I know. I’m not saying I think it was you. I’m saying that the circle who knows is small, and all are trusted beyond any doubt. Perhaps one of them murmured the wrong words to a mistress? Or made a call on a line that has been compromised? It’s a shame our source in Cruz’s group can’t get us better information – I’d like to put a stop to any further leaks,” Aranas speculated. “No matter. I think we need to throw a wrench into the government’s hunt for El Rey. I have an idea. I know this man Cruz, and I’ve also gathered a fair amount of information about him. I believe he has a weak spot.”
Don Aranas pushed his empty coffee cup away from him and glanced up at the thinning clouds as they relented to the piercing rays of the sun. He invited Jacinto to sit, and
laid out his plan.
If everything worked out well, Cruz’s life would become extremely complicated within a few days, and the search for the assassin would be the last thing he’d be focused on. It was simple, and effective. Create a bigger problem for the man, and he’d shift his energy to solving that one.
It was human nature. And Aranas was a post-grad student of human nature.
Yes, Cruz would soon be otherwise occupied.
~
Cruz stared across the table at Rodriguez, astounded by what he was hearing. This wouldn’t do.
“I don’t think I’m being clear,” he began. “At the rate we’re going, El Rey is going to be successful in getting to the president. While I understand that you may have some operation going that involves the arms dealer, I’m telling you that the commander in chief is going to get assassinated if I can’t get help from you in putting pressure on him.”
“It isn’t that easy, Capitan. He’s integral in an ongoing situation that is bigger than your hunt for El Rey. We’ve been working on it for years. Years, not weeks. And frankly, if we push him or threaten him, he could just go dark on us, and then everything on our operation collapses. It isn’t that we don’t want to help you. It’s that we don’t have any way to leverage the man, so we can only politely request more help and see what he delivers,” Rodriguez explained.
“How about if you give me his name, and within an hour I’ll haul his ass in and throw him into an interrogation cell for a week? That won’t require anything from your side and could seem to be completely unrelated to anything you’re doing.”
“His first phone call would be to us, netting the same end result. If we didn’t get him out, he’d never work with us again. If we did, just a whiff of him having been in custody might terminate his usefulness to Aranas, and he’d be found floating in a river somewhere. No, the lousy truth is that this is far too delicate a situation to handle that way. I’m sorry. But he’s off the table,” Rodriguez concluded.
“I can go to the president.”
“If you thought that would help, you already would have. We both know that. And even if you did, once he understood the scope of the operation, he’d shoot you down, and then we’d be right back in this room. So how about we cut to the chase and think constructively?” Rodriguez sat back and steepled his fingers. “Here’s what I propose. I can set up a working group within CISEN to coordinate with you, and we’ll put our resources to work with yours to see what we come up with. Pick two men from your side to work with ours; we will get them classified clearance, and then we can proceed more productively. We have the ability to do a wide variety of things that you’d require a judge to sign off on. Bugs. Bank record checks. Networking with other international intelligence services. I would imagine that could speed up your investigation considerably…”
Cruz studied him. It wasn’t a bad idea, and was more than he’d thought he would walk away with. Much as he hated to admit it, Rodriguez was right. CISEN had a tremendous network and unilateral capabilities Cruz could only dream of as a police agency. Even with the powers of his task force, he could only do so much. CISEN working with his team could be a game changer.
He nodded. “Fair enough. I’m not going to lie to you. We’re not seeing the kind of progress I would hope for so far, and could use any help you can offer. Right out of the gate, if you have a more complete list of Aranas’ shell companies and attorneys, we could see if there’s a payment scheme we’ve missed. How would you envision this working?” Cruz acceded.
They discussed the logistics of creating an internal task force for the next hour, and by the time Cruz walked out of the building, they had a good framework. He’d assign the men, and hopefully within a few days would see some results.
Rodriguez watched Cruz depart and shook his head almost imperceptibly. The man was a bulldog. It would be valuable to understand what his group was doing, but in the end, there was no way he could jeopardize any of CISEN’s operations to help him. A working group would be perfect. It would create the illusion that CISEN was doing everything in its power, while giving them complete access to Cruz’s intelligence, which could be useful in Rodriguez’s planning.
At no point did he feel remorseful at refusing to pressure the arms dealer. He probably could have given them more than he had, but Rodriguez wasn’t about to risk his other project by pushing the arms dealer. He’d ask the nice man politely for more intel, but beyond that there wasn’t a chance in hell he would do anything to risk the relationship. Some things were bigger than Cruz’s concerns over the president’s safety. Regardless of who was president, CISEN needed to stay separate from the day-to-day operations of law enforcement. It was one of the harsh realities of the clandestine world – regimes would come and go, but the agencies would remain long after the masters they supposedly served had departed.
Chapter 15
Dinah fumbled with her shoes, then grabbed her purse and a pile of homework she’d graded, before returning to the dining room and kissing Cruz.
“Is there any chance you’ll be home at a normal hour today, my love? Or should I plan on making another late dinner?” she asked.
Cruz sighed wearily. “I’d like to say yes, but with this latest El Rey situation, the truth is that I probably won’t. It’s added to my workload tremendously, and all the other stuff still needs to get done, too. So, plan on a late one, and I’ll call you mid-afternoon with an update…”
She looked at the time. “Shit. I’m barely going to make it. I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later today,” she said, bolting for the door.
Traffic on the way to the school was terrible, and she sat in her little Ford Focus anxiously glancing at her watch, the radio tuned to the Top 40 Latin pop station to drown out the cacophony of honking horns that was a staple of Mexico City morning rush hour. It normally took her half an hour to reach the school, allowing for the gridlock, but today was worse than usual, and it was looking like she wasn’t going to make it.
When she pulled into the parking lot adjacent to the school grounds, most of the usual slots were full, so she had to park at the back, increasing her travel time further. As she got out of the car, she barely registered the two men who approached her from the dark blue van that had double-parked a few spaces away, obstructing her view of the attendant. She had just locked her door and was turning around when her path was blocked by the larger of the two – a menacing-looking man with heavy acne scars on his deeply-tanned face. Dinah instantly knew she was in trouble – kidnappings in Mexico City were routine, although she’d never been worried about herself because she wasn’t wealthy, nor were any of her relatives. Usually it was those from prosperous families that were most in danger.
“Make a sound and I’ll kill you,” the man growled at her as his partner glanced around the area to confirm they were alone.
“I…please, I don’t have any money. I can give you what I have, but it isn’t much. I’m a teacher…” she said, shifting her bundle of papers and reaching into her knockoff Coach purse.
“You stupid cow. I don’t want your fucking money. Now shut up and turn around.”
She debated screaming, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. She was alone in the lot, and the security man was too far away to do anything. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a pistol, reading the intention in her expression.
“Do it. Scream and I’ll blow your head–”
His warning was cut off by a gurgle as a stream of pepper spray hit him full in the face. He thrashed around with his pistol, but his unseeing eyes were already swollen almost shut. His partner reacted quickly, but not fast enough. Dinah had already squeezed past the front bumper of her car and was running between the vehicles for the street entrance. Thank God I wore flat shoes today, she thought as she sprinted for the security attendant’s booth, still three hundred yards away. She thought she heard the sound of the van’s doors slamming and the roar of its engine. She ducked into another aisle and continued her be
eline for the street.
A gunshot erupted from behind her, and the window of a pickup truck a few feet from her head exploded in a cuboid spray of safety glass. She instinctively crouched lower and moved another aisle further away from the one the van was on, putting distance between herself and her assailants. Another shot punched a hole in the rear fender of an old Chevrolet Malibu she’d just run past – their accuracy was decreasing with distance.
Gasping for breath, she poured on a burst of speed and sighted a break in the walls that ringed the lot. It was just wide enough for her to squeeze through – she hoped. Dashing to the gap, she braved a glance at her pursuers and saw the van thirty yards away, with its passenger door swinging open as one of the men leapt out to chase her on foot.
Her dress caught on a fragment of rebar in the opening, tearing the fabric as well as the skin of her thigh. She involuntarily cried out at the pain from the abrasion and felt a trickle of blood running down her leg, but willed herself to keep moving. Dinah had seen the telltale shape of a pistol in the man’s hand as he’d exited the vehicle and knew that she had to make it to the school or some other densely populated place if she was to be safe. She was only seconds now from turning the corner of the block where she knew there would be a crowd of parents and several traffic cops. Even though they didn’t have guns, she had to believe that might scare the kidnappers off. And the gunshots would have attracted attention – it was only a matter of minutes before the area would be swarming with police.
Footsteps slamming against the pavement behind her spurred her adrenaline and urged her on, and within twenty seconds she was in the midst of a group of mothers dropping their children off for school. She dared another look back and saw the second man standing hesitantly forty yards away, as if considering whether to continue. Sirens wailed in the distance, and then the van screeched around the block, tires smoking from the momentum as it careened unsteadily. Dinah didn’t wait to see the outcome of the man’s internal battle and instead raced for the front entrance of the school. She heard screams from behind her and then another gunshot. A chunk of mortar flew off the wall a few inches from her shoulder before she was through the oversized double doors and sprinting down the hallway.
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