The Crisp Poleward Sky Page 9

  “Thanks for the ride,” Susan said. She turned and walked across the sidewalk and into the airport lobby.

  Once inside, Susan went to the ticket counter and bought a one-way ticket to Chicago. Going home, she thought.

  It had been a quick trip, taking care of unfinished business for the Diaz boys. She’d settled the score with the snitch in North Utica. He thought that witness protection would be enough, but he hadn’t counted on running into me, she thought. And then Eduardo Diaz. Now that their father was dead, Benito Diaz was solidly in charge. And she had a good relationship with Benito. He owed her, now.

  * * *

  “You did well, Susan,” said Benito Diaz.

  Susan Del Gato, sitting across from the older Diaz brother said, “Yes, thank you.”

  Diaz looked into her face for a moment. “Was there any trouble?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. “I was able to handle the Simpsons quickly and then make my way to Leavenworth. It took a few days, but it’s done. And there’s no trail.”

  “Did the Simpsons give you any trouble?” he asked.

  “No. The wife actually invited me in, when I told her my car’d broken down up the street. It was a rural place, farms in between every house. Lots of corn,” she remembered.

  “And where is the weapon?”

  “I used a kitchen knife. Left it there.”

  “Clean?” asked Diaz.

  “Bleached it,” she said.

  “Good,” he said. “The government was hiding him after he testified against us.” ‘Us’ referred to the Diaz organization.

  George Simpson, whose real name was Peter Vandum, had been a low level lieutenant in Diaz’s El Paso operation, primarily involved in car theft and loansharking. When he was arrested, he rolled on the organization and identified several people at higher levels. FBI sting operations arrested four of these, and Peter Vandum’s testimony had put them in jail. Then, the US Marshals had put Peter and his family in the WITSEC program, and moved him to North Utica, Illinois.

  Their fatal mistake came when Peter’s wife, Emily’s sister, had been in an automobile accident. Emily had contacted her sister, Judy, in the hospital in Richmond to be sure she was alright, and then stayed in touch by phone for a week or so until her sister was discharged. Susan Del Gato, who had arranged Judy’s automobile accident, had been watching closely and was able to track the origin of Emily’s calls back to North Utica. After that, it was just a matter of time.

  “We were fortunate.”

  “Yes, good,” said Diaz. “Was there any trouble in Kansas?”

  Susan had wondered about a contract to kill Benito Diaz’s father, which seemed as though it could turn into an emotionally-charged event. But both Benito and Raul had assured her that it had to be done.

  “No, no trouble in Kansas,” she said. Then she added, “It was all over very quickly.”

  Benito Diaz nodded absently. “Good.”

  “Thank you for sending the exit vehicle,” she said.

  Diaz nodded. “We were glad to help.”

  Susan lit a cigarette and drew a deep breath. Diaz waited patiently.

  She said, “You’re in charge now.”

  “Yes. But in fact, I already was,” he said. “The killing was retribution for the people he gave up when they caught him.”

  “I see,” said Susan.

  “They insisted the score be evened. But the results are the same,” said Benito Diaz.

  Susan nodded. “You know, I’ve been thinking,” she said.

  “Tell me.”

  “Well, we seem to work together well. Perhaps you can use my, uh, talent more often…”

  “Perhaps so,” said Diaz.

  They were in Mexico, in one of Benito Diaz’s homes located in the outskirts of Juarez. The afternoon was hot and humid and there was no protection from the sun. Inside, Susan sipped water and perspired as the air conditioning worked to keep up with the afternoon heat.

  “There’s something else, though,” said Diaz.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “I would like you to work with my young cousin, Luis. He’s in the same line of work as you are. He gave you the ride to Dallas.”

  “I pretty much work alone,” said Susan, gently resisting Diaz’s plan. “I know I can trust myself,” she continued.

  “Yes,” said Diaz. “I know. But I’d consider it a personal favor.”

  Susan thought for a moment. Then she shrugged and smiled. She let out a puff of smoke and said, “OK. For you, Benito.”

  * * *

  “This view is breathtaking,” said Tracy Johnson, standing at the large picture window in Zeke’s rented guest house. “I mean, it’s the sea, everywhere you look!”

  “It is impressive. Even beautiful,” Zeke said. He was looking across the room at Tracy as he said it.

  She had dropped her carryon bag by the front door and practically ran across to the large window on the opposing wall. The sea was blue-gray in the bright sun. The afternoon breeze had churned up rolling waves that roiled the sea bottom and seemingly disappeared beneath the cottage.

  “This alone makes it worth the trip,” she said. “And the sky is so, well, so blue!”

  “A crisp poleward sky,” Zeke said, “in honor of your visit.”

  “Poleward?” she asked.

  “Yes. The bright blue sky you see on a very clear day when you look north or south, toward the poles.”

  She knitted her brows.

  “It has to do with the temperature of the light,” he added.

  “Oh,” said Tracy. She looked at Zeke, then back out the window. “I tend to forget that you remember almost everything,” she said, softly, shaking her head in mock dismay. “That eidetic memory…”

  Tracy was wearing a short, sleeveless summer dress that fell to mid-thigh. It was simple and the color of white zinfandel, which matched her heels and her nails. Her long legs were bare.

  “I’m off to Phoenix again, after this,” said Zeke. “To meet with the ICE people.”

  Tracy nodded, her gaze still riveted on the sea.

  “Would you care for a glass of merlot?” asked Zeke.

  “Perfect,” said Tracy, finally turning away from the window to look at him. Then he saw her look around the room.

  “It’s a pretty nice setup, pleasantly isolated,” said Zeke. “The owners only visit on weekends, and they stay in the big house, next door.”

  “I could look at this all day,” said Tracy, looking back at the ocean, still feeling its hypnotic pull.

  Zeke walked to the small kitchen and took a new bottle of wine from the wine rack. He opened it on the small island and set out the bottle and two glasses. “We’ll want it to breathe for a few minutes,” he said, as he opened an app on his phone. Suddenly, Etta James’ mellow voice was softly filling the room.

  “What should we do while we’re waiting?” asked Tracy, almost innocently.

  “I have an idea,” said Zeke.

  “Does it involve me removing my clothing?” she asked. “Like the last time?”

  “It could.”

  “I didn’t bring much to wear,” said Tracy, teasing now, glancing at her carryon bag.

  “That’s all right. I’ve seen you that way before,” said Zeke, introspectively. “And I liked it.”

  “As did I,” said Tracy.

  They paused a moment.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she teased. “Do you remember what you’re getting into?”

  “Oh, I remember,” he said. “I do remember.”

  Chapter 8

  “I don’t think you should stop,” said Zeke. He was in his hotel room in Phoenix, talking with Clark Hall in D.C. on a secure phone line.

  “Well, according to Agent Ramirez, we’ve put a big hurt on Diaz’s pipeline. And on the MS-13 gang,” he said.

  “I’m sure they’ve both noticed ICE’s presence,” said Zeke, politely, “but we don’t really know the full scope of their operations. It
may be premature to say it was a ‘big hurt’.”

  Clark Hall was silent.

  “Ramirez and I talked about Diaz having an insider, perhaps in your organization,” said Zeke. “Partly because there were no MS-13’s at the first raid at the house in Phoenix. It was like they knew you were coming.”

  “That’s why I wanted to talk with you,” said Clark. “What do you know?”

  “It’s unusual that there were no MS-13’s in that raid,” Zeke repeated. “Who was watching the refugees?”

  Clark didn’t say anything for a minute, working things out in his head. Zeke heard some papers rustle. Then Clark said, “We recovered some refugees, victims, but none of the gang members were in the house when we raided it.”

  “Right,” said Zeke. “Remember what Ramirez said when we asked him about his course of action?”

  “He didn’t seem to have anywhere to go with it,” said Clark Hall.

  “He’s still interviewing the Nevada brothel refugees, hopeful that they can turn a staff member and get a foothold,” said Zeke.

  Clark Hall nodded.

  “And he said the Phoenix victims were all from the same extended family, never saw their captors and that they were pretty much a dead end.”

  Clark Hall thought for a minute. “You think Ramirez could be the leak?” he asked. “To Diaz’s organization?”

  “It’s possible.” Zeke listened, and let him process the connections.

  After a moment, Clark Hall said, “Ramirez is a common denominator. He knew that you were coming to his offices. He was involved in identifying the property for the Phoenix drug raid that went bad, that cake thing.”

  Zeke nodded and said, “Yes.”

  “He’s been somewhat resistant to accepting help or new ideas,” Zeke added.

  “The Nevada raid was solid, but it didn’t take down any Mara’s or any of Diaz’s men,” Clark added.

  “That’s right,” said Zeke. “Diaz has suffered minimal loss. It’s almost nothing in the scheme of his businesses. Acceptable losses.”

  Clark said, “Meet me in Phoenix, as planned. I’ll be there tomorrow. I need to chat with Ramirez, and I’d like you to be there.”

  “Sure,” said Zeke. “I’m already here, so I’ll wait for you to get here.”

  “Also, I think I want you to take a crack at interviewing some of the Mara’s we arrested. The ones that took a shot at you and your partner.”

  * * *

  Clark Hall looked formidable. He stood next to Agent Jorge Ramirez who was sitting at the conference table, and crowded close into his personal space. Ramirez was leaning away from his boss, not certain whether to get up and move or stay where he was seated.

  He must be six and a half feet tall, thought Zeke. Probably played college basketball.

  “I’m not pleased with this operation so far,” said Hall. “You found no bad guys in the Phoenix raid. Is that right, Jorge?”

  “Well, yes, but we saved seventeen people,” Ramirez replied.

  Clark Hall looked down at Ramirez. Then he sat down.

  “Jorge, I’ve been hired to help with the human trafficking, particularly the Diaz situation here in Phoenix,” Zeke said. “I think we need to take an aggressive approach and shut down his operation.”

  Clark Hall nodded, still looking at Ramirez.

  “Help me out, Jorge,” said Zeke. “There are just a lot of things going on that don’t seem to add up.”

  Ramirez looked up at Zeke. “Like what?”

  “Well, how did the bad guys know that I was coming to your DHS offices when they tried to kill me, for one,” said Zeke.

  “Yeah, I don’t know,” said Ramirez. “That was strange.”

  “And two,” said Zeke, casually holding out two fingers, “why weren’t there any bad guys at the Phoenix house raid?”

  “What about that, Jorge?” asked Clark Hall.

  Ramirez shook his head. He took a sip of coffee and set his cup on the table between himself and Clark Hall.

  Here comes a lie, thought Zeke. He’s blocking with the coffee cup.

  Ramirez shifted slightly toward Clark Hall and said, “No, I don’t know how that happened. It wasn’t our guys, I’m sure.”

  “Also, Jorge,” Zeke continued, “the earlier raid on the bakery was your responsibility, too, wasn’t it?”

  Ramirez looked at Zeke and then back at Clark Hall. “That was information we got from a CI,” he said. “It was a while back.”

  “So far you’ve got no bad guys in three actions,” said Zeke. “Except the four that tried to kill Kimmy and me in the parking lot. Is that right?” He let the words hang in the air as Clark Hall nodded his agreement.

  “Exactly my question,” said Clark Hall.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” said Ramirez. “I agree, something is going on. It seems like somehow the traffickers know when we’re coming. Or at least they know when to disappear.”

  “You think there’s a leak in our organization?” asked Clark Hall.

  “I don’t know,” said Jorge Ramirez, grudgingly. “There’s a lot of money floating around. And Diaz’s organization is pretty sophisticated. They could have bought someone, it’s possible. Not me, but someone.”

  “How about the Nevada action?” asked Zeke.

  “Yeah, we arrested the owners of the Ranch and some illegals. A few of the illegals were underaged,” said Ramirez.

  “But no MS-13 members,” said Zeke.

  “Well, no…”

  “And no one from Diaz’s organization,” added Clark Hall.

  Ramirez shook his head slowly. “No, that’s right.”

  “So,” Zeke said, “how can we improve on that record? Going forward, I mean.”

  Clark Hall was quiet. He looked at Ramirez.

  Ramirez said, “Couple of things, right?”

  Zeke nodded encouragingly.

  “We can keep the number of people with access to the information smaller.”

  “I think we have to assume that Diaz has excellent intel,” said Zeke. “Looking at his moves in this game, he’s avoided losing people, and he contracted a hit on Kimmy and me almost before we arrived in Phoenix.” He thought for a moment, and continued, “He’s set up an alternative route for his human trafficking, direct to the warehouses in Nevada. He’s either ahead of us, or reacting very quickly to everything ICE has done recently.”

  Ramirez nodded slowly. “OK, I’ll work back through the agency personnel files and see what I can find…”

  Clark Hall said, “No, I need you on the enforcement side of this, Jorge. I’m going to ask Zeke and his people at The Agency to do the personnel review. We may be too close to it.”

  “It’s possible that there is no leak,” said Ramirez, trying to regain control of the situation. “This could be a waste of time.”

  Clark Hall looked at him. “What are we doing on the enforcement side, Jorge?”

  “Well, honestly, we’re still finishing up the paperwork and interviews from the raid at the Ranch,” said Jorge, suddenly sullen. “We only have so many people to work with.”

  “Right,” said Clark Hall. “And what’s the next action?”

  “We’re hopeful that some of the staff at the Ranch will give us a lead. We’ve been interrogating them in our Vegas sub-office. We’ll flip them and try to work up the food chain…”

  “Anything from the refugees you found in the Phoenix house raid?” asked Zeke.

  “No, they don’t know anything. Their kidnappers wore bandanas and hats, so there’s no ID. Most of the time they were locked up in one of the bedrooms. About the only thing we determined is that some of their captors had tattoos on their necks and arms. And possibly on their faces.”

  “Are we deporting the refugees?” asked Clark Hall.

  “We have the paperwork in place for it, but we’re detaining them here until we’re satisfied that they’re all innocents,” said Ramirez. “But it looks like they are. They all vouch for each other, you know
family and extended family, all on the same route. And none of them had tattoos.”

  Clark Hall exhaled. “What’s next, then?” he asked, looking at Ramirez.

  “Well, we’ll finish up with the people from the Phoenix raid and ship them back to where they came from. I doubt they’ll share any information.” Said Ramirez.

  “Sure,” said Zeke. “They’re scared of La Mara, and they’re scared of you, of ICE.”

  Ramirez looked at Zeke, slightly annoyed, but he didn’t say anything.

  “Let’s focus on the attempt on Zeke’s life for a minute,” said Clark Hall. “Where are we on that?”

  “We have the four survivors in custody,” said Ramirez. “No one’s talking. They’re definitely MS-13, too. One of them needed stitches to reattach his nose.” He looked at Zeke.

  “Can we make them cooperate?” asked Hall.

  “No, not at all,” said Ramirez. “They’re stonewalling us. They know what the gang will do to them if they talk. And to their families.”

  “Course of action?” asked Clark Hall.

  “We’re turning them over to the State Police, and with the FBI’s help they’ll be prosecuted for attempted murder and a number of other things,” said Ramirez.

  Clark Hall nodded slowly.

  Zeke said, “Where did you get the information that prompted the first raid, the Phoenix house raid?”

  Ramirez said, “It was an anonymous tip.”

  “You said that you’d been surveilling them for a while,” said Zeke.

  “We had,” said Ramirez. “We were tipped off by someone who saw odd activity and shady characters around the house and called it in. The cops sent it over to us, thinking ‘human trafficking’.”

  “Do you have a transcript of the original call? The call to the police?” asked Zeke.

  Ramirez looked in his file. “I can get that,” he said.

  “I’d suggest that we go back to the beginning and take another look. There seem to be some things we’re missing,” said Zeke.

  Clark Hall nodded.

  “Let’s focus our efforts on the human trafficking, Jorge. We need to find their points of entry and close them down. I want that to be the first priority until it’s been resolved. Agreed?”