The Sienna Sand Page 3

  “And you want to visit the possible origins of this cannon fire?” asked Garcia.

  Peterson nodded. “If you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” said Garcia. “Do you want to ride with me in a, uh, less conspicuous vehicle?”

  * * *

  “We’ve mapped out a couple spots,” said CPA Peterson once they were situated in Jose Garcia’s black Mercedes. “Let’s start with the stadium.”

  “That’s Necaxa Sports Park,” said Garcia, looking at the map.

  “It’s our farthest point east,” said Zeke. “We can start there and then work our way west, back here.” They were still parked near the border crossing.

  Garcia shifted the car into gear. “To the stadium it is.”

  As they drove, they talked.

  “Do you think they could have shot this cannon from the roof of a building?” asked Garcia.

  CPA Peterson said, “Probably not. Sound moves in a straight line, and the more elevated the source of the sound, the more people would hear it. We’re betting on an open area at ground level.”

  “Could they have shot this cannon from underground? From a pit or a trench?” he asked.

  “That’s possible,” said Zeke. “But if that’s the case, they’d need a way to cover up the hole when they were done. It couldn’t remain open during the day.”

  Peterson nodded his concurrence.

  “Unless…” Zeke continued, thinking. “Unless the pit were well disguised. Say as a part of a construction project, or as roadwork. Something that could remain temporarily covered during the day.”

  “That is possible,” said Garcia. “How large would this pit have to be?”

  “Actually, not very large at all,” said Zeke. “The mortar disassembles into three pieces rather quickly and can be transported by hand.”

  “You mean it can be carried away?” asked Garcia. “And how loud is this cannon?”

  “The M252 makes some noise,” said Zeke. “It’s not a totally silent weapon.”

  Garcia pulled the Mercedes over and stopped next to an open grassy stadium surrounded by a white, four-foot high wrought iron fence. The markings of a soccer field were apparent on the grass. Next to it, occupying the remainder of the city block, were a baseball field with concrete dugouts and a building that most likely housed locker rooms and showers. The neighborhood was a residential one, and the park was surrounded by concrete block homes built close together with small yards, concrete privacy fences, and coral-colored barrel tile roofs.

  “This is a residential neighborhood, mostly,” said Garcia. “It seems to me that noises at night would alarm the neighbors.”

  Zeke looked around the area.

  “There’s nothing to muffle the sound,” said Zeke. “If they launched the projectile from somewhere in here,” he indicated the playing fields and the sports complex, “the sound would carry in every direction. There would probably be complaints from the neighbors.”

  Kimmy said, “Seems like that would be true.”

  Jose Garcia asked, “What did you say the range of the mortero is?”

  “It’s about fifty-nine hundred meters,” said Zeke. “That’s the maximum range.”

  “So there is much ground to cover to see where it originated.”

  “Well, we think there are some additional considerations that make that footprint smaller,” said Peterson.

  “Such as?” asked Garcia.

  “We have a pretty good idea of the route these projectiles took,” said Peterson. “We were able to track the last several of them as they crossed the wall. So we have their speed, their bearing, and the time they crossed.”

  “And if you extend those routes, they intersect?” asked Garcia.

  Very good, thought Zeke. He’s pretty sharp.

  “Yes,” said Peterson. “Most of them intersect near a Junior High School on the east side of Calexico, out near the alfalfa fields.”

  Garcia was quiet, thinking.

  “The shorter the shot, the quieter it is,” said Zeke, “Also, they’d want the projectiles to be in the air a minimum amount of time. The longer they’re flying, the more likely they’ll be spotted and reported. And the more likely something could go wrong with the delivery.”

  “That makes sense,” said Garcia, nodding slowly. “The range you mentioned, fifty-nine hundred meters, would go all the way south to Highway 2, and east and west to Calzada Manuel Gomez Morin.”

  “East and west?” asked Kimmy. “Same road, both directions?”

  “Si, yes, it sort of circles the city, like a giant ‘U’,” said Garcia. “You might say that it runs ‘Wall to Wall’.”

  Garcia smiled at Kimmy.

  “That’s a lot of land to cover,” said Peterson. “But we think the launch had to be from a fairly undeveloped area, and we think the projectiles were shot from as close to the wall as they could get. Sort of narrows it down some.”

  “I see,” said Garcia. “Where to next, then?”

  * * *

  “It could have been shot from underground,” said Zeke. “The more I think that through, the more sense it makes.”

  “Sure, but if they have a tunnel, they wouldn’t need the mortar, right?” asked Peterson. “They’d just walk the contraband through to the U.S.”

  Zeke nodded. “I know you’ve found a good number of tunnels under the border. Tell me about that.”

  They’d been riding the Mercedes between possible launch sites with Jose Garcia and had stopped for lunch at a local cantina.

  “The tunnels? Sure,” said Peterson. “Most of them are under structures, abandoned buildings on both sides of the border. Some connect with underground sewer lines on one side of the border.”

  “How many are there?” asked Kimmy.

  Jose Garcia snorted lightly.

  Peterson said, “No way to know. There’s no consistent method of finding them.”

  Kimmy said, “Doesn’t sonar work?”

  Peterson shook his head.

  “The tunnels are getting more and more sophisticated,” he said. “We found a tunnel in San Diego County last year, about forty miles west of here. It was 650 feet long and about 30 feet down, underground.”

  “Sounds like they had some serious equipment to build that,” said Zeke.

  “Indeed,” said Peterson. “And it had solar power for ventilation and lighting, sump pumps in case of water intrusion, and a railroad track that ran the distance of the tunnel. Pretty impressive, actually.”

  “Were they using it to smuggle drugs or illegal immigrants?” asked Kimmy.

  “Best we can tell, it was used for both,” said CPA Peterson. “And I’ll tell you something else. For every tunnel we find, we think there are five to ten that we don’t find. All of them moving people and drugs across the border and into the states.”

  Kimmy nodded. “That’s pretty big business,” she said.

  It’s very big business,” said Peterson. “Last year, 521,000 people crossed the border and applied for asylum.”

  “Once you find a tunnel, how do you go about closing it down?” asked Kimmy.

  “Yeah, the whole interdiction thing, that’s another headache,” said Peterson. “We have teams for that. We coordinate with Jose’s people, and we post guards at both ends of the tunnel. Then, we send in the drones and the tunnel rats.”

  “Tunnel rats? Like in Vietnam?” asked Zeke.

  “Named after the same guys,” said Peterson. “They go down the entry holes and scare out whatever they find there.”

  “That’s a dangerous job,” Zeke said.

  “Interdiction is always dangerous,” said Peterson. “But we have a pretty good track record.”

  “Then what happens?” asked Kimmy.

  “Then we seize the tunnel, arrest anyone we find inside, and confiscate their merchandise.”

  “What do you do with the tunnels after you seize them?” asked Kimmy.

  Peterson looked at her. “We fill ‘em full of concrete. That
stops the bastards.”

  * * *

  The four agents spent the next two hours locating and inspecting three other possible launch sites. The first was a park, Parque Vicente Guerrero, located a mile and a half southeast of the border crossing, well within the radii identified by the Border Patrol agents. It was mostly grassy, and large enough that there were plenty of places a mortar could have been used without being noticed. The short metal fence wouldn’t have been a deterrent.

  “They could have fired it from anywhere in this vicinity,” said Zeke. “It’s pretty close to the border.”

  “And the west side of the park is bordered by a six-lane divided highway, and then an industrial area,” said Peterson. “It’s unlikely anyone would hear the mortar if they fired it from here. Or if they did hear it, they’d discount the sound as road noise or something industrial.”

  “This one’s a good candidate,” said Zeke.

  “I agree,” said Peterson.

  “We’ll assign two agents, stake it out at night,” said Jose Garcia. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and catch them in the act.”

  “Where to next?” asked Kimmy.

  * * *

  The next site, it turned out, was located approximately three and a quarter miles from the probable landing site, and surrounded a lake in the southern part of Mexicali. A portion of this site was taken up by the City Zoo, the Bosque y Zoológico de la Ciudad. There were several possible launch sites in the area from the grassy fields around the lake.

  “Could be from here,” said Peterson.

  Zeke nodded. “This is about the maximum range they’d be able to use, though,” said Zeke. “Plus the longer distance would mean more noise. They might want to be closer, so there’s less of a chance of error.”

  Garcia nodded. “This is a distant location,” he agreed.

  They got back into the car and drove west to another park, a baseball field next to the Hospital el Buen Samaritano.

  “It’s a residential neighborhood, but the ball field is pretty big. It would support a launch,” said Peterson.

  They drove around the site, then pulled in and parked.

  “The hospital’s located up on the street,” said Zeke. “And there’s a good hundred meter buffer between the hospital buildings and the ball park. Seems like this would work.”

  “The neighborhood’s mostly commercial. Next to the hospital is a church, and across the street is a middle school. So yes, this looks like a good spot,” said Peterson, making a note on his smartphone.

  Kimmy nodded. “Let’s check it out,” she said.

  They walked toward the baseball field, across part of the open buffer behind the hospital.

  Zeke said, “Over here.”

  Jose Garcia and CPA Peterson stepped to where Zeke was standing, looking at the ground. There was a piece of plywood laying flat on the ground. He moved it and they saw a hole in the dirt about three foot square and equally deep. The bottom of the hole was covered with scarred and compressed dirt showing burn marks.

  Peterson said, “There’s a very good chance this is one of the launch sites.”

  “The location makes sense,” said Zeke. “We’re less than three miles from the landing area, best estimate. Not too much residential housing in this area, and it’s located close to two major highways for easy escape.”

  “Do you think these marks in the dirt are from the cannon?” asked Garcia.

  Peterson looked into the shallow hole again. “Could be,” he said.

  * * *

  “We’ll stake it out,” said Jose Garcia. “After I talk with the hospital and the park people, we’ll put surveillance cameras up around the site. We should be able to disguise them…”

  “What bothers me,” said Zeke, “is that the mortar is so portable. Agent Peterson identified a number of sources of origin when they tracked the projectiles going over the border. Separate radii on his map, although they overlapped a bit. After looking around this afternoon, I’m not convinced that the launch locations aren’t fluid, changing frequently.”

  “That could well be,” said Peterson.

  “And although there aren’t thousands of locations for the possible origin of the projectiles, the flexibility of a portable firing device makes tracking and locating a single source almost impossible,” said Zeke.

  Kimmy, standing nearby, nodded and bounced slightly on the balls of her feet.

  “It’s actually pretty smart,” said Peterson. “They stay invisible by changing locations frequently, and even if we were to find and stop them, another point of origin could be put in play quickly, as soon as the next night. It’s very fluid, as you said, Zeke.”

  * * *

  “I’d like to track the men responsible for the launches,” said Zeke.

  Jose Garcia looked at him. “You have no jurisdiction…” he said.

  “Not to arrest them, Jose. But if I can find them, I think we can seriously disrupt the operation.”

  Jose Garcia was thinking. “You’d need to team up with Mexican law enforcement,” he said.

  “Sure,” said Zeke. “How about you and I spend a couple nights doing surveillance?”

  Jose nodded slowly.

  Peterson said, “That might be a good idea.”

  “I’d have to get approval, but where would we start?” asked Garcia.

  “We have some good data, Jose, from tracking the projectiles. We know their maximum range, and we know their bearing…”

  “Bearing?” asked Garcia.

  “‘Direccion,’ said Zeke in Spanish. “The direction they’re headed. We also know what direction they’re coming from,” said Zeke.

  “And their speed,” said Peterson.

  “Yes, but that’s somewhat less valuable intel,” said Zeke. “I think we can do two things with the data we have. I think we can track the projectiles back from the wall along their individual routes,” Zeke said.

  “We should be able to,” said Peterson, “We just don’t know how far they’ve come when they get to the wall.”

  Zeke nodded. “And I think we can triangulate to approximate the projectiles’ destination. If we take the bearing of each projectile and see where they intersect, it should be pretty close to their target area, the place the projectiles are brought down by the laser.”

  “How many samples did you say you have?” asked Garcia.

  “Eight. We’ve been monitoring the wall for incoming projectiles for about three weeks and we’ve identified eight events. We’re still monitoring,” said Peterson.

  “I’ll get approval for a joint surveillance,” said Garcia to Peterson. “It'll take a couple of days. And you keep on doing what you’re doing, tracking these things.”

  Zeke nodded. “I’ve got to get back east for a few days. But I’ll be back out here for the joint surveillance as soon as we have approval.”

  Garcia nodded.

  “And I’d like first hand experience clearing a tunnel,” Zeke said to Peterson.

  “We’ll get you involved with the next one we find.”

  Chapter 4

  “By the way, old boy, have you heard of the Federal Correctional Institution Cumberland?” asked Clive. He and Kimmy sat around a small tea service while Zeke stood at the window of The Agency offices, looking out at Pennsylvania Avenue.

  “In Cumberland, Maryland?” asked Zeke. “Sure, it’s a Federal Prison about two hours northwest of here. They have about 1,400 prisoners.”

  Clive looked at him. “Sometimes that’s annoying,” he said.

  “What about the facility?” asked Zeke, smiling.

  “I received a call from their Warden’s office,” Clive continued. “Warden John Clark. They want our help with an, er, well, a situation.”

  “Alright,” said Zeke. “What’s the situation?”

  “It seems they’ve had a number of inmate deaths recently,” said Clive. “And it’s a statistically significant anomaly.”

  “Inmates killed by other inmates?” asked Zeke.<
br />
  Clive nodded, “We think so.” His coarse gray hair moved in synchrony with his head. Kimmy, sipping her tea seemed not to hear.

  “Is it the same perp?” asked Zeke.

  “Don’t rightly know,” said Clive. “But the MO is the same. Their necks were sliced.”

  Zeke nodded. “What’s been used?”

  “You’d expect shivs or bludgeoning. And maybe a wire or rope garrote. But these killings were done with a whole different set of weapons. Each killing was done with a steak knife.”

  “Not your typical jail workshop tool,” said Zeke. “How many deaths?”

  “Warden Cook said they’ve had four murders in the past six months. They can’t seem to figure out who’s doing it, and they don’t know how they’re getting the weapons,” said Clive. “But in each case the murder weapon was left near the body.”

  “Four murders in six months, all inmates at Cumberland,” Zeke repeated.

  “And it seems that someone or a team of some sort is smuggling the weapons into the jail.”

  “The steak knives that are being used to kill, you mean?” said Zeke.

  Clive nodded. “Also there’s been an uptick of cell phones and drugs and porn being smuggled in, they say. And cigarettes. And, they’re afraid that the next step will be guns.”

  “Guns?” asked Kimmy, suddenly attentive.

  “Yes. There was an incident last year where an inmate got hold of a pair of wire cutters and escaped from a prison in South Carolina. And in another case, but not at the FCI Cumberland, a guard was watching a prisoner in the infirmary, and the prisoner shot him dead. No idea how he got the gun,” said Clive. “They sound worried.”

  “I think I’d be worried, too,” said Zeke. “They want us to investigate the killings.”

  “Yes, they’re sending copies of the dead prisoners’ files over to me. And they’re not certain how the weapons and contraband ended up in the jail, either. Although there are several theories,” said Clive. “They’d like us to take a look and see what we can find out about that, too.”