Path to Justice

by Jim Dutton

  “Nick, even though I’m career law enforcement, you’re preaching to the choir. It makes my skin crawl knowing that at any time out on the street we can be outgunned by a psychopath with a machine gun.”

  They heard heavy steps running down the hall. Mario emerged, out of breath, gasping, “How’s Ana?” They told him the little they knew. “I came as soon as I could after interviewing Felicia’s cousin, that idiot Alan. I corralled his probation officer and we caught Alan still at school. We started with Felicia almost being shot by a passenger on a motorcycle outside his aunt’s house. The kid went white and said, ‘Oh no!’ It turned out that yesterday afternoon, Alan ran into a couple of older gang-bangers at the mall who were from his neighborhood. They’re part of a local Hispanic gang that has ties to the Familia. He told us the chance meeting seemed innocent enough to him. They just asked, ‘Where is that hot cousin of yours, Felicia?’ They made some snide remark about getting into her pants. Alan told them that she was coming home tomorrow but they didn’t have a chance in hell of getting into her pants. They could dream on. They all laughed and the two gang-bangers walked away.”

  “Did you believe him Mario? asked Nick.

  “Yeah, he was pretty shook up. According to the PO, he is not a gang-banger, or a wannabe, but knows gang members and has a few gang member friends.”

  Pepe said, “That could describe half the teenage, Hispanic males in Chula Vista.”

  “Did Alan say if either of them owned a motorcycle?”

  “He didn’t know if they did Pepe,” replied Mario.

  Pepe continued, “A motorcycle enthusiast, living eight houses down from the aunt’s house, saw the cycle turn onto the aunt’s street just before the shooting. He told me it looked like a Ducati Streetfighter. Generates 130 horsepower on a 400 pound bike. It retails for a cool $13,000. The bike is red hot for the young racing crowd.”

  Nick added, “Throw in the $2,000 Israeli machine gun, and you have someone with a lot of money or access to a lot of money. Fits the Baja Norte cartel. Mario, can you follow up on the two gang-bangers?”

  “Will do Nick, I’ll get right on it.” As he turned to go, Mario said, “Let me know when Ana gets out of surgery.”

  Pepe stayed with Nick. “Nick how are you doing?”

  “Not so good. I feel responsible.”

  “Nick, you understand what we all knowingly take on with this job. Is there something more than that? You feel something special for Ana, el jefe?”

  “No, I feel the same way about all you guys.”

  “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter Nick. I’ve worked with you for 20 years. I know something is going on between you and Ana. Maybe nothing physical yet, but I see the way you look at her when you don’t think anyone is noticing.”

  “You always could read me like a the book. She is special to me. That’s all you’re going to get out of me.”

  Nick was saved from more of Pepe’s probing by the doctor. “Who’s Nick Drummond?”

  “I am. How is she?”

  “She had lost so much blood, I thought she might not make it. But she’s strong. We got her stabilized and performed bypass surgery where the bullet tore through her posterior tibial artery. I grafted a part of one of her lesser arteries from her left leg to the damaged artery. Essentially, I made a bypass from the two intact ends of her tibial artery with the transplanted one stripped from her other leg. That’s what took so long. She’s in recovery and is still sedated.”

  “When can we see her?”

  “Well, she’ll be in recovery for another hour and than we have to make sure she’s doing all right. Maybe in a few hours, if she’s awake. I can have the nurse page you when she can have visitors.”

  “I’m staying right here until I can see her. Will there be any permanent damage?” added Nick, with tears welling up in his eyes.

  “She needs to go through physical therapy. She may walk with a slight limp because of the muscle loss and the overall trauma. But beyond that, she’ll be fine. The wound in the left arm just went through the flesh. She’ll recover completely from that.”

  “Thank you so much Doctor. Can you have a nurse give us any important updates?”

  “Sure can. Remember when you see her that she’s just starting the healing process from a life threatening trauma. She’ll tire easily.”

  Pepe, sensing that Nick would want to see Ana alone, said, “Let me know as soon as you have seen her, so I can come over and pay my respects to one gallant, tough lady.”

  “Thanks Pepe, I’ll let you know.”

  Nick got tired of staring into space and at the light green walls of the waiting room. His thoughts turned to the NRA, The NRA used to support major federal gun control legislation—the National Firearms Act of 1934 and the Gun Control Act of 1968. It was founded after the Civil War to improve American training and marksmanship. It wasn’t until the mid-seventies that they began to focus on opposing gun control, and created a Political Action Committee for that purpose. Now, it has devolved to being an obstructionist organization, with the primary focus to defeat any gun control legislation, no matter how sensible and whether or not the public supported it. Just thinking about what the NRA had become pissed Nick off. Nick needed to get up and move around.

  Nick told the admissions nurse he was going to the cafeteria and would be back in 15 minutes. The cafeteria didn’t cheer him up. At 8:00 p.m., hot dinners weren’t available. There were a few plastic wrapped sandwiches, apples, and candy bars. Nick went with the turkey and cheese; it had the farthest out expiration date—the next day. He indulged himself and got a Coke and a Snickers bar. Nothing like sugar to perk someone up for awhile. Nick was back in the waiting room and tried to finish his sandwich. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten white bread—probably when he was a kid. Time slowly marched on. Nick dozed off.

  Nick was gently shaken awake and heard a female voice say, “Sir, she’s doing well, is awake, and wants to see you.”

  The nurse ushered Nick into a private room on the intensive care ward. Ana was lying on the bed with an IV in her arm and a drainage tube extending from her right leg. Her eyes were closed and her skin was so pale that Nick couldn’t detect a blush of life. Nick took her hand and held it to his heart. “Ana, I’m so sorry. I’ll never forgive myself. Waiting to hear about your surgery was the longest period of my life.”

  Ana slowly opened her eyes. It took a few seconds for her to focus on Nick. In a voice so soft that Nick had to lean close to her to hear, she murmured, “Sometimes a lady will do about anything to get her man to come to her bed.”

  “Trust me, it didn’t have to be something this drastic. A sore pinky would’ve been enough. I’ve been thinking about nothing but us.” Nick put his head softly on the crook of Ana’s neck. She began to doze off. Nick sat by her side the rest of the night. When she woke in the morning, a hint of color had returned to her skin.

  The nurse came in and asked Nick to leave because they were going to do a number of tests. Nick got a chance to talk to the doctor after the tests. “She’s doing remarkably well. She can go home in a few days if everything progresses as we expect. She’ll be on crutches for a week or two and will be able to get back to more normal activities in about a month. She won’t be running a marathon anytime soon.”

  “I wouldn’t bet against it—her running a marathon.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Jerry came into Nick’s office and said, “I know we’ve all been worried about Ana the last few days, but we need to implement the interdiction plan for the Familia’s drug smuggling by sea. In a few days, it’ll be the beginning of the three night window where there’s virtually no moon and low, middle of the night, tides along the north coast of San Diego. The Coast Guard is willing to allocate a high speed cutter for the first two nights. Local law enforcement will assist. We need to narrow down the most likely landing locations for
the smugglers and coordinate surveillance and interdiction.”

  “Okay, right Jerry. I’ve been distracted the last few days. But Ana is doing well and went home yesterday afternoon. Her mother flew in and is taking care of her. It’s time to for me to get back on track with this case. Let’s have a meeting at two this afternoon with a Coast Guard representative—you, me, and young AUSA surfer, Josh. He has surfed all of the north county beaches. He may be able to provide some inside information as to likely landing sites.”

  “Thank you for coming on such short notice Commander Ritter. I’m Nick Drummond, the head of a task force investigating the Baja Norte Familia. I understand that Jerry has filled you in on our investigation. Let me emphasize, we’re dealing with a very violent, sophisticated outfit. It’s also personal. We believe that one of our agents was shot by a cartel member while she was about to meet a protected witness in our case, the former girlfriend of one of the cartel’s lieutenants.”

  “We are happy to assist Nick. With our resource limitations, we can only give you two nights of our Marine Protector Patrol Boat. From Jerry, it sounds like the cartel uses top of the line armaments and transportation toys, like the Ducati Streetfighter. We don’t want to be outrun by any of the cartel’s boats, so I’ve also arranged for the use of our Defender Class Response Boat. It’s powered by two, 225 horsepower engines and has a top speed of 53 miles per hour.”

  “Fantastic Commander! Can you tell me more about the operational capabilities of your boats?”

  “Sure Nick, but how about some coffee first? I haven’t had any rot gut, government issue coffee since this morning.”

  “Coming right up Commander, we specialize in that,” said Jerry.

  After Commander Ritter settled in with his coffee, and a not too stale donut from the morning bakery run, he told the rest about his boats. “I’ll be in charge of the 87 foot Marine Protector. It has a top speed of 30 mph and two 50 caliber Browning machine guns mounted on the starboard and port foredecks. It’s capable of launching a rigid hull inflatable boat—RHIB—from its aft launching ramp, a 23 foot, Short Range Prosecutor, with a top speed of 35 mph when manned by 2 persons. The RHIB can be launched quickly while the Marine Protector is at speed. The rear ramp needs to be lowered to a 13 degree launch angle, and the front mooring hook disengaged. The RHIB slides into the water. It’s powered by water jets so there are no engine parts extending from underneath the boat to impede a launch or a beach landing. The secondary boat, the 28 foot Defender, can be manned by up to 10 people. Both the Marine Protector and the Defender have powerful, blinding searchlights, mounted on their bows.

  “Commander, it’s great to have you nautical types with your impressive support craft aboard. With our state budget, we fight over how many paper clips are allotted each year,” said Nick.

  Jerry said, “Commander, Josh, and I went over north county coastal maps and believe there are three likely beaches the Familia may use.”

  Nick said, “Excuse me Commander, I didn’t formally introduce you to Josh Sterling, but I see you’ve met. He’s an Assistant United States Attorney. But his true value at this point in time is his surfing. He maintains that he surfs for the love of the ocean and the challenge of the waves. I think he surfs every chance he gets to pick up on the wahinis. My prognosis is backed up by the fact that whenever he’s not surfing, he’s walking some puppy down the beach that attracts the local beauties better than bees to honey.”

  Enough old man,” said Josh with a grin. “I’m the Rodney Dangerfield of prosecutors. I get no respect. Just because on occasion there may be a comely young lady on my arm, it doesn’t mean I forego academic and manly pursuits.”

  “Ah,” said Commander Ritter. “To be young and confident, with healthy knees and a strong back. I used to surf a bit. My favorite north county beach was Swamis.”

  Nick added, “You’re an officer and a gentleman, describing Josh as confident, instead of being flush with youthful arrogance—ignorance is bliss. Sorry gentlemen, I digress, what did you come up with as far as the likely landing sites?”

  Josh responded, “I believe there are three likely sites. Each one offers different, distinct advantages and disadvantages. The closest to Mexico, is Black’s Beach. It’s below the Torrey Pines Glider Park, between La Jolla and Del Mar. Black’s Beach is a nudist beach by day because of its remoteness, but could be the perfect drug drop from a beach landing craft at night. There are no houses or roads overlooking Black’s Beach. Access is down a narrow path from the top of a 200 foot cliff where the glider port sits. There is a big expanse for parking at the glider port. The only possible people who could be around there in the middle of the night might be some love-stricken college kids. The University of California at San Diego is only about a half a mile away. I’ve been up and down that trail a few times. It’s tough enough to lug a surfboard along the trail. Carrying 50 pound bags of dope on a moonless night would be quite a feat.”

  Josh continued, “The second site is geographically opposite from the glider port site in that there’s a small access road down to Moonlight Beach in Encinitas. There are only a few residences on the cliffs overlooking the beach. About a quarter of a mile south of the access road, a residential street dead ends at stair access down the cliff to the beach. Smugglers could use either access.”

  Commander Ritter asked, “How much traffic would one expect on the beach in the middle of the night?”

  Josh replied, “Not much. There are no roads that parallel the beach there. If anybody, it would be young people galavanting around.” Nick said to himself, Or a lust-filled, older guy, with a younger woman, regaining his youth with a midnight skinny dip.

  “Finally, another few miles up the coast in Carlsbad, south of the Batiquitos lagoon river mouth, is South Ponto Beach with easy parking access and low surf. The downside is that the coastal Highway 101 runs right along it. But, considering that cars are driving by at 50 mph, a beach landing by a boat with no lights would probably not be noticed during the middle of a moonless night.”

  They all studied the coastal map. Ritter said, “We could have the Marine Protector idling about a mile offshore from Moonlight Beach, which is between the other two beaches. The Defender Response boat would also be in the vicinity. We have surface radar capability on the Marine Protector and may be able to pick up a likely candidate for drug smuggling before it reaches land. The land surveillance teams can alert us of any suspicious land activity at the sites.”

  Nick said, “Commander, it sounds like you’ve done this before. I like the plan. We’ll coordinate with the land surveillance-interdiction teams to make sure we have the three sites adequately covered and set up a communication protocol with the Coast Guard.”

  “I’ve done it a few times. I was stationed in Florida. There was quite a bit of drug running in the Florida Keys.”

  Nick said, “As you know Commander, we’ve three target nights. Any way you could stretch it to provide coverage for all three nights?”

  “I wish I could Nick, but on the third night we’re scheduled to do sea exercises with my sister station in Long Beach.”

  “Okay, the first two nights it is. That will be this Monday and Tuesday. We’ll iron out the details and be in touch with you over the next couple of days. Thank you again Commander. I can’t tell you how much we appreciate your help.”

  On Monday night, at midnight, Nick found himself holed up in the glider port building, scanning the parking lot for any activity. There were four SWAT team members hidden two hundred feet below, on Black’s Beach, and another four men on the cliffs. The Commander of the Sheriff’s SWAT teams was beside him. All SWAT team members were using the same radio frequency. The frequency was also being used by the two other teams at the other beaches and the two Coast Guard boats. Everyone had been instructed to keep radio traffic to the essentials. The Glider Port team had to preface each conversation with Alpha, the Moonlight Beac
h team with Beta, the Carlsbad team with Cain, and the Coast Guard with Delta. Delta One was the 87 foot Protector and Delta Two was for the 28 foot Defender. The plan was to allow the Familia’s boat to land and begin to unload before the SWAT team moved in. The Protector, using its radar, would hopefully pick up the approach of the drug boat while it was still at sea. The Protector and the faster Defender would trail behind. Once the drug boat landed, the Protector would launch its RHIB to help with the interdiction.

  As the hours passed, Nick only had his cold coffee to sip. Each hour every team reported in. Nothing was happening. It was a clear night, with the stars affording some light in the moonless sky. The teams had agreed to close down the operation at 5:00 a.m., figuring the Familia would want to make the drop and get back to Mexico in darkness. Nick looked at his watch, 4:30. Just a half hour to go. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. So many different beaches, so many possible nights. A few minutes later Delta One came on line. Nick recognized Commander Ritter’s voice. “Our surface radar has picked up a 12 foot boat, close to the shore, moving northbound. It’s slow moving. I don’t think it is our smugglers, but we’re moving in closer and launching the RHIB to check it out. Over.”

  Two minutes later, Commander Ritter was back on the radio, saying that the RHIB had launched and intersect was expected in three minutes. Three minutes later the RHIB checked in. “False alarm. Some early morning exercise freak is paddling his ocean kayak for all he’s worth. Besides the paddler, there may be room for a pack of cigarettes in the kayak. He isn’t carrying any product. Over.”

  At 5:00, Nick got on the radio. “That’s it guys. Tonight, wasn’t our lucky night. Hopefully, tomorrow night will be. We’ll set up at the same time this evening. We want to be in place by 11:00 p.m. Thank you for tonight’s duty. Hope you’ll get some sleep. If not, at least drink some hot coffee.”