Allies

by Wolf Riedel

  Tuffy dropped the smile and instantly glanced around to see if there was anyone else in the house. He’s absolutely right, he thought. A headquarters for local drug pushing wasn’t the place to discuss high level hits.

  “This will have to do for today,” Meraz said ushering Tuffy to the kitchen table. “I’ll look into setting something up for the next time.”

  Meraz opened the fridge door and looked around before holding out a bottle of Budweiser.

  “Beer?” he asked.

  “Sure,” said Tuffy who took the bottle and twisted off the cap. “¡Salud!”

  “¡Salud!” said Meraz taking a sip from his own bottle as he took a chair opposite Tuffy.

  “How did things go with the girl?” he asked.

  “Good,” said Tuffy. “No one saw me go in or out. Did anyone report her missing yet?”

  “No.” He shook his head and took another pull at the bottle. “But I doubt if they’ll bother telling me anyway.”

  “They should,” said Tuffy. “Having a girl disappear from the house and there being an obvious window that was broken into isn’t something routine; even at their place. They should report it.”

  Meraz winced.

  “Obviously they should,” he said. “But I’m not surprised that they haven’t and I don’t expect they will. They don’t know what her significance was and I expect that they won’t consider this a big deal although I think they’ll be moving the underage ones out of there for the time being as a precaution. I won’t get upset if they don’t report it. I don’t want to highlight that I have any interest in one girl.” He paused. “But I’ll mark them down for the fact that they’re not being very open with me.”

  It was Tuffy’s turn to wince albeit he did so without any sign of it crossing his face.

  Meraz changed the topic.

  “What are you doing with the bodies these days?” he asked.

  “Swamp,” said Tuffy. “Buried with the head and hands separate from the body.”

  “They’ll have DNA to match body parts to,” said Meraz. “Won’t need the head or hands.”

  Tuffy shrugged noncommittally. “It’s a good place. No one will find anything there but I’ll be scoping out other ways to dump. I think it’s good to rotate methods. I don’t want to set up an MO.”

  Meraz nodded.

  “That makes sense,” he said. “Too many guys get caught out on that. Adolfo was plain stupid setting a fire that just drew the fuckin’ cops to the bodies. Absolutely Stupid!”

  “Have you got anything further for me on the two guys I’ve been tailing?” Tuffy thought it was time to change the subject.

  “Yeah. I do,” Meraz replied. “I’ve now got a team ready for the one you won’t hit. Have you made a decision yet?”

  “I was hoping you’d have a little more for me. Technically neither one is hard to take out although the one down in Wauchula looks a little harder. The guy works in the guns and ammo department of the Walmart in a rural part of Florida so my guess is he’s a gun lovin’ cracker with a house full of weapons. The other one looks a little more established in urban St Petersburg; probably less guns but the place is a bit harder to hit.”

  “They all deal in guns, Antonio,” said Meraz. “They’ll all have them.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” said Tuffy, “but my bet is that folks living in the suburbs lock them up better so that the kids don’t get at them while the rural guys probably prop them up next to their beds at night.”

  Meraz smiled. “The question is still which is the weaker link?”

  Tuffy shrugged. “Don’t know. I haven’t gotten close enough to them and I doubt if I will even with more time. If I was to guess, then my guess would be that a guy who works full-time on a big airbase and who has a nicer house and cars is probably higher up on the food chain than a guy who works at Walmart and lives in a little house out in the country. I’d say hit the hick and pull in the city boy.” Tuffy paused. “Unless you’ve got something more for me.”

  “No,” said Meraz. “I think that’s a plan. You take out Noda and my guys will grab Cabello. Can you brief my guys this afternoon?”

  “Sure, Jefe,” Tuffy gave the matter some thought. “Your guys don’t know who I am. Right?”

  Meraz nodded. “I haven’t told them your name. Hernandez and me; we’re the only ones who know what you do for us.”

  “Good. Let’s leave it that way. I’ll brief them by telephone.” Tuffy chuckled. “Maybe I need a new gang name.”

  “For the time being you’re just the sicario. Call yourself that when you talk to them. Get yourself a new burner for this job.”

  “Already got myself a half dozen TracFones.” Tuffy pulled one out, clicked through the menu until he found the phone’s number and read it out to Meraz who keyed it into his own cell phone.

  “When?” asked Meraz.

  Tuffy shrugged. “Maybe tonight. Let me talk to your guys and we’ll see what works so that we can hit these guys at the same time. I think that’s the key. Your guys’ll need time to look the place over and figure out the best way to take Cabello. My job’s the easy one so I think we should let your guys call the shots on timing. I’ll be ready to go whenever they are. If they think they can do it tonight then we’ll give it a go.”

  Meraz nodded, rose and held out his hand to Tuffy. “We’ll go with that,” he said. “I’ll have my guys call you later this afternoon.”

  On the way to the door Meraz added, “And good work on the girl. Good to get that untidiness out of our hair.”

  CHAPTER 40

  PFP HQ, Matamoros, Mexico

  Saturday 17 Mar 07 1510 hrs CDT

  Winters sat back in his chair and threw his pencil onto the pad where he had been tabulating the results of the various captured weapon records that Garza had provided. Sage continued to work at a large highly polished table that he suspected was made from pecan wood. He liked the room. The furniture was old and well used but not shabby. The room itself was neat with whitewashed stucco walls and brightly painted door and window frames. Three sets of large single-pane glass French doors opened onto the narrow balcony that surrounded the building’s second storey and flooded the room with bright sunlight.

  Mark got up and made his way through one of the doors to stand on the balcony, his hands on the wrought iron railing, watching the bustle in the street below. The temperature had climbed steadily all day as had the humidity. Mark had long ago discarded any idea of wearing a windbreaker or jacket instead. He had rolled up the sleeves on his shirt and gotten rid of the tie. The morning’s application of Arrid Extra Dry was barely hanging on.

  I could get to like this place, he thought. The colors; the people; the outdoor restaurants and food. There’s a lot of life here.

  Behind him, in the room, he heard the main door open and close. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Sal walk into the room, give a nod to Sage, set his attache case on the table and walk out onto the balcony to stand next to Mark. Sage rose and joined them.

  “How’d it go?” asked Mark.

  “Really good,” replied Sal. “Garza took me around to three stations and a courthouse where they store the firearms captured from the gangs and I had a chance to look at and photograph a good number of them. All told we’ve got seven AR-15s that correspond to ones that were in Lewis’s records. Six of those in the hands of Los Zumas members and one from a suspected Zeta household. I disassembled those and took photos of all the mechanical components as well. They were all full auto conversions.”

  “Too bad we can’t get the parts to take back with us,” said Sage. “We could do forensic comparisons to anything we turn up in Tampa.”

  “Funny you should say that,” said Sal. “When I asked Garza about that he said that would be no problem. He said that they didn’t need them anyway and that the guns would eventually be destroyed anyway. He even gave me copies of the chain of evidence receipts that they have. I’m not sure how well those will work if we need to take things to co
urt in the US but at least for starters we’ve got the parts.” He hooked his thumb over at the attache case on the table.

  “Your lab up to this?” asked Sage.

  Mark shrugged his shoulders.

  “Not sure,” he said. “We’ve got some good folks up at Fort Gillem. I think that they should be able to handle it. They’ve got a rock solid firearms and toolmarks section.”

  “If you need a hand,” said Sage, “we’ve got FDLE folks in Tampa that . . .”

  Her cell phone rang.

  “Hold that thought,” she said as she stepped over to the table to answer it. “Detective Baumgartner . . . hold on.” She handed the phone over to Mark. “It’s for you. It’s Staff Sergeant DiAngelo. Said you’re not answering your phone.”

  “I ran it dead yesterday. Left it in my room charging,” said Mark as he took Sage’s phone from her hand in order to speak to his undercover operations handler. “Hi Tony. What’s up?”

  “Afternoon boss,” said DiAngelo. “Just calling to give you an update.”

  Hold it a sec. I’ve got Sage and Sal here. I’ll put you on speaker.”

  He set the phone on the table while the other two drew closer.

  “Go ahead Tony,” said Mark.

  “We’ve got everyone from TPD and AFOSI up and running now . . .”

  “The extra guys from Benning too?” interrupted Mark.

  “Them too, boss,” DiAngelo continued. “Anyway. We’re getting good film on Silvera. We made some adjustments to get details on her workbench and there’s absolutely no question that she’s turning out parts for AR-15s. She’s got quite a little assembly line there and is turning out about a dozen parts every night. Ezzy’s been tracking her and it looks like the parts are going to another one of our army guys, a reserve green beanie in Wauchula by the name of Segundo Noda who works in a Walmart down there. We’re going to set up a watch on him, too as soon as I can scratch together a schedule.”

  “What about Cabello?” asked Mark.

  “Lucky’s all over him,” replied DiAngelo. “We’ve got his work and home phones covered but he never does any business on them—probably has throwaway cells for that. We’ve had some luck with mics and there’s no doubt that Cabello’s the boss man for this area but my guess is that he’s not the overall head man. We’ve got him working with two guys that we’ve only identified as Javiera and Droopy who we think are civilians and probably involved on the drug side instead of weapons. I’ve given that over to Platt and Riley at TPD to follow up on.”

  Mark looked at Sage who nodded her agreement.

  “Anything on the Betty-Lou yet?” Mark asked.

  “Nada, boss,” said DiAngelo. “But we’ve still got a few leads to follow up on.”

  Mark waited silently for DiAngelo to continue.

  “The way I see it, boss, is that we’re getting a good handle on the gun supply stuff here but we still don’t have anything on the receiving side and nothing yet to really confirm these guys are into anything to do with drugs.”

  “We’ve got things jelling a bit for us here insofar as receiving the guns is concerned,” said Mark. “We’ve found some that went through Lewis’s hands.”

  “That’s good news,” said DiAngelo. “Anything on drugs I should pass onto TPD yet.”

  “No,” said Sage. “It’s not solid enough yet to give them anything to work with yet. They’re better off to stay concentrating on this Javiera and Droopy thing.”

  “Anything else?” asked Mark.

  “No,” said DiAngelo. “That’s essentially it . . . Wait there is one more thing. We may have a name for these guys now. We think they may be calling themselves Los Paras.”

  “The paratroopers?” Sal asked. “I count two SF reservists, an Air Force mechanic, a radio operator, a couple of civies and maybe a reserve sailor. That’s not hardcore enough to merit Los Paras unless we’re missing some significant people. On top of that we’re no smarter as to who killed the Lewises or where the missing girl might be.”

  Mark, Sal and Sage had been debating DiAngelo’s information for barely ten minutes when the door opened and Garza entered.

  “Choy,” said Mark. “C’mon in. We’re just discussing where we’re at.” He gave Garza a brief and slightly redacted version of DiAngelo’s phone call. “Thanks to your records we now know that the people we are dealing with are involved in supplying the Zumas. We’ve still got a lot of gaps though especially as it concerns who might be after them in Tampa.”

  “Can you stay another day?” asked Garza.

  “Sure,” replied Mark. “What have you got?”

  “Maybe nothing or maybe a lot,” Garza replied. “We’re working up the takedown of a major Zuma cell. The word is that the cell has a large stock of weapons and may be one of their main armorers. Would you like to come along with us?”

  CHAPTER 41

  PB POWDER, Zabul Afghanistan

  Sunday 18 Mar 07 1115 hrs AFT

  The compound was large by Afghan standards but small for a patrol base. Four ten-foot, hard mud walls thirty meters to a side formed the perimeter. Inside were two two-storey buildings built kitty corner from each other. Two single-storey lean-tos occupied the opposite corners. An old archaic gate with a pair of concrete barriers set in a slalom pattern faced the dirt road which connected Qalat with the Pakistani border a few kilometers to the south. The compound sat on a small rise in what was essentially a flat ochre dirt and scree covered valley.

  Kurt was annoyed as they drove through the gate.

  The sentries had given them virtually no check nor even acknowledged their presence. A young shirtless American sat atop a .50 caliber equipped Special Forces GMV next to an Afghan cradling an AK-47 and wearing sandals, a pink shirt, the blue-gray trousers of the ANP. Above them the GMV’s turret supported three poles with a canvas sun-shade. Beside them, sat a boombox belting out the driving beat of Mims’s This is why I’m hot while the two rapped the lyrics back and forth between them - This is why, this is why, this is why I’m hot - I’m hot ’cause I’m fly. You ain’t ’cause you’re not.

  Kurt hadn’t expected spit and polish nor a formal challenge process at the gate but he had expected a modicum of watchfulness and attention to duty and at the very least an indication of where the command team would be located. Instead they had received a casual wave.

  The building at the far side of the compound, won the raffle for most likely HQ based on the small cluster of radio and satellite antennas decorating the roofline. The second building was most likely the quarters for the Afghan auxiliaries that lived with the team. It was ringed with garbage, offal from slaughtered goats or the like and, by the smell that wafted over to Kurt, human excrement. Two additional GMVs were parked under the adjacent lean-to while a third was on a run-up platform with it’s heavy machine gun pointed over the wall to the south; a half dozen Afghans sat in the shade below the ramp. Two beat up Ford Rangers parked against the near wall appeared to be the ANP’s main transport.

  The drive to PB POWDER had been done in two stages.

  They’d set off at the first glimmer of dawn and had paid a quick courtesy visit to the ANA’s brigade commander and ETT commander at the high fort. Neither had much of an opinion as to any issues at POWDER leaving Kurt mildly disappointed. Whatever was going on near the border was either of too little concern at provincial level as a whole or the two commanders did not have an adequate handle on what was going on at the extreme fringes of their area of operations. He had hoped that there would be either greater awareness or concern at their next stop, FOB SWEENEY.

  The drive had been varied to say the least. The first third of the trip had covered mostly desolate and gently undulating desert interspersed by the odd cluster of a handful of compounds gathered around isolated wells.

  Near the village of Ahmad Sah Khel the road turned sharply from southerly to northeast as it paralleled a heavy ridge line that rose, on occasion, a thousand meters higher than the road. Here the road became rou
gher as it was cut by hundreds of wadis that made their way northward to combine, one by one, until they reached the Tarnak River. The spring run off here, which was currently at its height, finally gave signs of vegetation, not lush farms but a general greening that became denser the higher up the ridge one looked.

  The road had made a sharp hook back to the southeast just after they had passed through the village cluster of Shahbaz Kheyl. Up to the village there had been a gradual rise of several hundred meters while thereafter they quickly rose several hundred more into a narrow pass going through the ridgeline. While rugged, the pass was not dominated by high cliffs or crags. Instead the road passed between various worn peaks that rose merely dozens—not hundreds—of meters on either side.

  Coming out of the pass they had been met by a panorama of the road twisting its way through the shimmering green-tan valley skirting dark grey hillocks to a hazy, purplish ridgeline in the far distance. The road had taken them on to that gentler ridge and beyond to the lush village of Shinkay snuggled amongst ridges on the banks of a major seasonal river.

  The FOB itself had sat astride what had probably once been the main road coming from Qalat but now that road was closed except to military traffic. Civilian traffic had been rerouted along a road that skirted the south side of the FOB. Beyond lay the town whose greening fields were showing the promise of the year’s crop to come.

  SWEENEY’s defenses were well developed and occupied by a platoon from the 1st of the 4th’s BRAVO Company and the better part of an ANA company from the 205th’s 2nd Brigade together with their American ETT’s.

  Kurt had been impressed by the base. The air was cooler, almost chilly, compared to the lower elevation bases where he had stayed the previous days. More importantly though there was an air of professionalism here: HESCO barriers formed the main perimeter, mortar pits were strategically based to cover in all directions, structures and tents were neatly arrayed and protected by HESCOs or sandbags, perimeter sentries well armed, sighted and watchful. The gate guard had not only pointed out the location of the camp’s headquarters but also where the dining facility was and where they should park their GMVs. He had then radioed in their arrival to the TOC.