by Jim Dutton
Nick already had a chilled bottle of Chardonnay on the dining room table. “This wine befits you—it is described as having an intense mix of flavors with a long finish. Parker has given it a rating in the upper nineties. It should be an excellent pairing with the duck.
“A wine connoisseur too. If I’d only known, I’d have been attracted to you sooner.”
“You mean my always mussed hair, and growing pot belly weren’t enough?”
“Don’t destroy my newly discovered mental image of you. Let’s eat.”
Ana started with a taste of the risotto. She chewed it slowly, then swallowed. Her eyes closed and a smile blossomed on her face. “Heavenly and rich, but not heavy, and so moist.”
“I’m glad you like it. Try the salad. Spend a moment with each part. Ana took her time tasting the various parts—the crispy outer skin of the duck, the mild goat cheese, the sugary taste of the raspberries, and the pungent, but sweet orange slices. She finished her tasting adventure with a mouthful of greens, lightly coated with a citrus-infused balsamic vinegar.
“Your mother was right. The taste treats of the individual parts of the salad far exceed the taste of everything jumbled up in a mixed salad. ‘To your mother,’” raising a glass of the Chardonnay. Ana smelled the bouquet before taking a generous first sip. “And the Chardonnay, I can’t believe the complexities of the flavors.”
They didn’t talk much during the main course. It would’ve interrupted their eating and sipping of wine. Ana brought up the case at one point. Nick said, “Let’s not talk anymore about it tonight. Pretend it’s far away. We’ll just enjoy each other and the evening. Can you say now that you’re surprised? If not yet, I have one more gastronomical treat for you, dessert.”
“Does that mean I have to say I’m not yet surprised so I can get dessert? I definitely want dessert.”
“I know you do and it’s chocolate mousse.”
“You know all my weaknesses.” Nick brought out the two bowls of mousse from the refrigerator and placed the sliced strawberries on top. Ana grabbed one of them out of Nick’s hands, “I can’t wait. Give me a spoon.”
Nick complied and Ana had her first bite before she sat down. “This is so, soooo good! I’m utterly surprised and pleased and thankful for your cooking, master chef.”
After an Amaretto aperitif while looking over the ocean, Ana and Nick ended up in her bed. “I thought we weren’t supposed to do this Nick.”
“We aren’t, but sometimes good things happen. We just have to let it flow.” Nick spent endless moments in time, caressing and kissing her scars, on her leg, her arm, and the newest one, the stitches over her eye. “I can’t put into words how much I feel for you.”
“You don’t have to. You let your cooking do the talking.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Nick looked over the Sunday New York Times at his breakfast table—his one indulgence on Sunday morning. The multigrain cheerios with dried strawberries, bathed in non-fat milk, was a far cry from the gastronomical delight he had prepared for Ana two weeks earlier. It seemed like months ago.
The trial had gone pretty well over the last two weeks. Josh and Nick had split the witnesses. They introduced evidence of drug seizures—the college boy’s vehicle stop in Missoula and all the warehouse seizures. The evidence got tedious after awhile. But, the jury perked up when Nick showed them the Department of Defense satellite photos of the oil tanker truck being unloaded at the Otay Mesa ranch.
The jury seemed to understand the extensive reach of the Familia cartel and the high volume of heroin and marijuana being distributed. Agents testified about the seizures at Vancouver, Missoula, Chicago, and Salt Lake City warehouses, demonstrating the national and international nature of the cartel’s distribution. Nick and Josh, through surveillance testimony at the various locations, were painting a picture that the thousands of pounds of marijuana and the hundreds of kilos of black tar heroin that were seized were just the tip of the iceberg as to the actual quantity of drugs distributed by the cartel.
The emphasis on the amount of drugs supported the investigation’s evidence of the millions of cash dollars being deposited into U.S. border banks for transfer to a Mexican financial account. The money laundering side of the cartel’s operation would be explored later in the week after testimony the next day about boats smuggling drugs to north county San Diego beaches.
Nick started the testimony on Monday morning with the gun battle between the Coast Guard and the drug runners’ Donzi speed boat. Nick was trying to establish by the end of the trial that not only was it Luis’ Donzi, but he was driving it the night of the shoot out. Commander Ritter wowed the jury with his description of the 87 foot Marine Protector, with the two, fifty caliber Browning machine guns mounted on either side of the foredeck. The jury was enthralled by his riveting description of the smaller rigid hull inflatable boat (RHIB). The Marine Protector had launched the RHIB to intercept the smugglers’ outboard-powered, inflatable boat at South Ponto Beach, Carlsbad. As the RHIB approached the surf, it took automatic fire from the second smuggler’s boat, the high speed Donzi ocean racer. Commander Ritter told how he sped towards the gunfire at full throttle and within seconds had engaged the Donzi with his twin 50 caliber machine guns. Bullets flew over the low lying boat. The Donzi immediately swerved away from the RHIB and headed down the coast towards Mexico. The Protector couldn’t keep up. Its radar tracked the Donzi traveling at 70 miles per hour. Ritter contacted the trailing Coast Guard Defender Response Boat to intercept the smuggler’s boat.
Coast Guard Lieutenant Ron Selby, who commanded the Defender Response boat, testified about the intercept.
Nick asked, “After you received the order from Commander Ritter to intercept the smuggler, what did you do?”
“I headed north at top speed, just under 50 m.p.h., in wind-caused chop. Our mobile surface radar system picked up a speeding boat approaching us on our right side. My radar operator estimated contact in 20 seconds.”
“What order did you give, if any?”
“I ordered my crew to prepare for incoming fire and to retaliate on my command. I heard the loud whine of a rapidly approaching boat along the shoreline. In just seconds I heard automatic fire. As we closed, I saw a man, standing, braced on the front passenger seat of an ocean racer, firing a machine gun. Its bullets raked the front right of my boat. I ordered my crew to return fire. Three of my crewmen opened fire with automatic weapons. The boat passed within 15 feet of us. It was like a high speed, high tech, medieval joust, using machine guns instead of lances. Our fire struck the man standing in the passenger seat. He fell into the water as we passed.”
“Could you see the driver of the smuggler’s boat?”
“He was crunched over, only exposing the upper, right side of his body. He continued to drive past.”
“What happened next?”
“I radioed Commander Ritter for instructions as to following the ocean racer south, or picking up the body in the water. He told me we wouldn’t be able to keep up with the smuggler’s boat and ordered me to rescue the man in the water.”
“Did you do that?”
“I drove directly over to him and two of my crew donned life jackets, jumped into the water and hoisted him into our boat by the rear, water level, platform. We had a medic on board. He checked his vital signs. He was already dead. He had multiple gunshot wounds to his upper torso and a couple to his upper thighs.”
“Were any of your men injured in the encounter?”
“One man sustained minor cuts to his face from shards of fiberglass being kicked up from one or more of the smuggler’s bullets. He was taken to the Naval Hospital, treated and released.”
“Are you familiar with ocean racers?”
“Yes I am. I attend ocean races and occasionally act as one of a two-member crew on a racing boat. Sometimes I drive, other times I’m the navigator.”
“Can you describe the smuggler’s boat that you exchanged gun fire with.”
“Yes. It was a 20 to 23 foot ocean racer, with a deep hull, no windshield. Its engine was on board, powering an outboard shaft and propeller. By its lines, speed, and engine configuration, it was a Donzi. The photos from the Defender’s foredeck night camera confirmed my visual observation. It was a 22 foot Donzi Classic.”
“Is this a photo of the Donzi taken that night?
“Yes, it is. The photo shows the passenger still standing. The view of the driver is blocked by the passenger. The photo shows the entire right side profile of the Donzi.”
“Your Honor, may I publish this photo to the jury by showing it on the overhead?”
“You may counsel.” Agent Cantana projected the photo. Nick looked at the jury for their reaction. It seemed to make an impact on them—the menacing, dark clothed man, facing towards the Defender, firing a machine gun.
Nick’s final witness was a member of the interdiction team at South Ponto Beach. He identified the tar heroin and the marijuana seized from the duffle bags brought to the beach by the smuggler’s inflatable boat. He identified Sergio Bustamante, also known as Chacal, as the dead smuggler transported to the RHIB by the Defender and brought to the beach. Bustamante was the same person who had accompanied Luis and Sendow on the first drug delivery across the Canadian border.
Friday night, Nick rewound the prior week in his mind. The coastal drug smuggling perked the jury up, giving them a much needed mid-trial shot of adrenalin. The testimony about the cartel’s money laundering operations was a bit dry. It’s difficult to make testimony about Hector Morales, and his L&M Freight company, sexy. The same with the testimony about the Sakias’ import-export front company, Latin American Productos. However, even in our jaded, celebrity, big money culture, the jury was impressed by 65 million dollars laundered by the two money laundering operations over a year’s time.
The Marshal’s Office was flying protected witness Sendow in from Molokai tomorrow. They arranged a safe house with a four-man team to provide around-the-clock security. Nick was looking forward to a meeting with him on Sunday evening to go over his testimony. A Marshal’s Office contact told Nick a few weeks ago that Sendow had changed. Nick was curious, but his contact hadn’t elaborated on the change.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
On late Sunday afternoon, Nick drove north to Cardiff-by-the-Sea, a sleepy beach town known for its donut shop. Nick loaded up on a baker’s dozen, and ate the thirteenth donut on his way to the safe house. It was located a few blocks inland, at the end of a cul-de-sac. DEA had seized the house a few years back from a biker gang who had used it to cook meth. The hazmat team had scrubbed the house clean. After the property was forfeited to law enforcement, it was kept as a safe house. It was out of the way, no homes backed up to it, and the side neighbors had no direct view of the house.
It was a small three bedroom house, with one bath. Its wood floors were in pretty good shape but the kitchen needed remodeling. DEA could probably sell it, “as is”, for close to a million dollars. Nick couldn’t help comparing it to his sparse apartment that he rented for two grand a month. Maybe it was time to move to Yaak, Montana, and hang out with Drury and Biker Sue.
Pepe was already there when Nick arrived. All four deputy marshals were on the premises. Sitting in the living room was a man Nick almost didn’t recognize. Lester Sendow, past accountant for the Baja Norte Familia cartel, now government witness, had lost 40 pounds over the six months he had been living on Molokai. His face was gaunt. He had a weather-beaten tan and his eyes were arresting. Nick had never noticed Lester’s eyes before. He couldn’t have told you their color. Nick saw they were deep blue, and sparkled. He thought, What in the hell happened to this guy?
When Lester stood up to shake his hand, Nick noticed the plain crucifix hanging around his neck. That was new. “You’re looking great. What’s with the new look?—slender, tanned, and an aura of calmness.”
“I’ve changed, I’ve been accepted as a candidate for priesthood by the Catholic diocese. At the leper colony at Kalaupapa Peninsula, I was only needed a few hours a day to help with the bookkeeping. Elaine’s Bar, the gift shop, and the Honolulu diocese were my only ‘clients’. It gave me time to hike around the peninsula, and explore the rivers and creeks cascading down from the towering cliffs. The beauty overwhelmed me. I knew God had played a role in such beauty.”
“The awe-inspiring surroundings conceal the harsh conditions of eking out a life. One would think that all plants would flourish in the ten square mile wonderland, but they don’t because of the volcanic soil. The early Hawaiians living there had to depend on sweet potatoes and taro.”
“In 1866, the first victims of the Hawaiian king’s policy to isolate lepers were thrown into this harsh paradise, with nothing. Many of the people with Hansen’s disease, then called leprosy, died in the early years. People suffered and sacrificed so much until Hawaii finally abolished the isolation policy in 1969, twenty-three long years after Hansen’s disease was arrested in the peninsula’s residents from a cure found in the early forties. My faith was inspired by many, including Father Damien, now Saint Damien, a Belgian village priest, who came to live on the peninsula in 1873, and built shelters and a church for society’s castaways. He died of Hansen’s disease in 1889 in the arms of now, Saint Marianne of the Franciscan order, who arrived in 1888. She tended the outcasts until she died in 1918. The sisterhood still cares for the last few residents. Father Damien and Sister Marianne knew that once they stepped upon the peninsula, they could never leave.”
“You do seem at peace with yourself. Your nervousness and fidgeting are gone.”
“I’ve placed myself in the hands of God. Once I released myself fully to him, my everyday concerns went away, even the upcoming trial, which used to torment me daily.”
“I’m glad you’ve found relief. However, placing myself in the hands of another, even God’s, doesn’t come easy to me. I believe one is responsible for one’s own actions and people must act to combat the ill behavior of others. I can’t just leave it in God’s hands.”
“We’re not that different. I also believe in taking positive, affirmative action. My actions will speak for themselves and hopefully give others some solace. The consequences of everyone’s actions are in God’s hands. I can’t, nor do I want to, control that.”
“I could spend the rest of the evening talking religion and philosophy with you, but we need to go over your testimony. We’ll disclose your criminal past and your cooperation agreement to the jury upfront. You need to listen to the questions—mine and the defense attorneys’, carefully, and answer truthfully.”
“That won’t be a problem.” They spent the next several hours discussing his testimony.
While Nick waited for Judge Orsini to take the bench, he thought about his session with Lester the previous evening. What a dramatic change. He wondered if it was for real. Nick had seen a lot of defendants who had conveniently found God before they were to be sentenced for crimes. Nick chastised himself for being so cynical. Lester seemed sincere. He was the prosecution’s clean-up hitter—nailing down the three defendants as leaders of the Familia and tying them to the money laundering operations. Nick needed him to do well.
The jury were in their seats, Judge Orsini came to the bench, and the media pool camera was poised when Nick called Lester Sendow to the stand. He had insisted on coming through the public entrance to the courtroom, discounting Nick’s entreaties about security concerns.
Lester had to walk between Nick’s counsel table and the counsel table where Luis and attorney Lipman sat. As Lester went by, Luis leaned towards him and whispered, “You are muerto.” Nick always had acute hearing. He was taken aback by Luis’ statement of death in open court. Lester glanced at Luis when he made the statement and kept walking towards the witness chair, no expression on his face. Nick wai
ted while Lester took a seat and was sworn in. Nick then asked to approach the bench, with defense counsel, for a sidebar discussion.
Judge Orsini nodded his consent and motioned for the court reporter to come over. “Your Honor, I just heard Defendant Lopez say to Lester Sendow when he passed by, ‘You are muerto,’ meaning, ‘You are dead.’ I plan to ask Mr. Sendow about it. It’s highly relevant, showing an effort by Defendant Lopez to intimidate a witness, and is also relevant to Mr. Sendow’s demeanor as a witness.”
Luis’ attorney, Marc Lipman, immediately responded, “I object to Mr. Drummond’s proposed inquiry. If Mr. Drummond is allowed to go into this, I’ll call Mr. Drummond as a witness on the purported intimidation. Mr. Drummond, being a witness, must be recused from the rest of the case. Mr. Sterling will have to finish the case on his own.”
“This isn’t a basis for my recusal from the case. If Mr. Sendow testifies he didn’t hear anything when he passed by, that will be the end of it. I won’t separately testify to hearing it. If he testifies to what I heard, my testimony will be collateral, and I’ll only have become a witness because the defense called me. That’s not a basis for my recusal as a prosecutor. As this Court is well aware, prosecutors occasionally accompany law enforcement on search warrants and technically can be witnesses to the execution of those warrants. That doesn’t preclude them from later prosecuting the case.”