Blood's Echo, page 21
“How do you know he has her?” Sam asked.
“Remember how Bartolo texted me that picture of a wolf after the restaurant fire?”
Sam nodded.
Anderson put his palms up. “Who’s Flaco?”
“He was my confidential informant. The one Bartolo tortured and killed after the botched interdiction. Bartolo kept Flaco’s cell, and it had my phone number in the memory. He used it to send me this.” She held out her phone with the image of Gabby on the display screen. Sam’s jaw tightened as he looked at it.
Anderson’s face suffused with color. “That asshole sergeant from last night. He’s the mole.”
Sam’s eyes snapped to Anderson’s. “What sergeant?”
Veranda responded. “Anderson came into the safe house after he drove me home yesterday.” She put her hands up to stave off Sam’s unspoken question. “Nothing happened. He was inside for less than five minutes before Diaz showed up and ejected him.”
“It was him,” Anderson said. “Diaz was at the briefing yesterday. He must have gone straight to Bartolo and told him about the cigarette butt.”
Sam looked back and forth between Veranda and Anderson. He stroked his mustache but said nothing.
She threw her hands in the air. “Can we worry about how Bartolo found out about the evidence later? Right now, let’s focus on the fact that this bastard has Gabby. I’ve come up with a way to get to her. It’s not perfect, but it’s our only chance. I’ll need help from both of you.”
“Shoot,” Sam said.
She knew they wouldn’t like certain aspects of her plan. Especially the last part. She squared her shoulders. “When Bartolo spoke to me, he said he had a way to verify that the cigarette butt had actually been signed out from the forensics lab. Threatened me not to give him fake evidence.”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “He told you he had an inside guy?”
“Not exactly. Just hinted at it. I think he wanted to leave me wondering how he would know what was going on at the lab. He also made a comment about knowing every move we made.”
“So where does that leave us?” Anderson asked.
“First, we should assume the mole will be aware of what’s going on with the evidence in the arson case, even if he can’t access it directly.”
“You mean Diaz,” Anderson said.
“We don’t know that for sure.” Sam raised a hand in a calming gesture. “Let’s hear Veranda out.”
She turned to Anderson. This part of the operation depended on his cooperation. “You need to go to the lab and sign out the cigarette butt.”
“What?” He reared back, appalled. “If you think I’m going to turn my evidence over to that—”
“We’re not going to give him the real evidence.” She turned to Sam. “Is Murphy on his way?”
Sam nodded. “He lives in Mesa. It’ll take him another ten minutes to get here.”
“Good,” Veranda said. “Anderson will turn the evidence over to Murphy, who will sign it into the lab under his name for his investigation. He can request processing and receive the results. That way, the chain of custody is maintained. When we get to trial, the prosecutor will add Commander Murphy to his list of witnesses to call to the stand.”
Sam grimaced. “I’ll withhold judgment on the feasibility of all this until I hear the rest of your plan.”
“While Murphy submits the real evidence for testing, we mock up a fake to look exactly like it. We find the same brand of cigarette, smoke it down to a butt and burn it a bit to look like it was recovered from a fire scene. Then Anderson sticks it in an evidence bag, fills out the label, and dates it and initials it just like the original.”
“Let me get this straight,” Sam said. “You want to do precisely what he told you not to?”
“Yes. In fact, he gave me the idea. Bartolo’s relying on the mole to tell him the evidence is signed out, and it will be. We’ll have to get as many components as possible ready ahead of time, because we want a short time window between when we check out the evidence and when Bartolo calls. We don’t want Bartolo to think we’ve been playing with it for hours.”
Everyone was silent for a moment as they considered the plan.
Sam spoke first. “Okay, so you’ll have fake evidence. How do you get it to Bartolo?”
Veranda tilted her chin up and looked directly into Sam’s eyes. Let the shit storm begin. “I plan to follow his instructions. Take it to his warehouse and turn it over to him in exchange for Gabby.”
Anderson clenched his hand into a tight fist. “Like hell!”
Sam glared at him before he turned to her. “Veranda, you’d be walking into a setup. Bartolo will kill you both. He has no reason to release your sister.”
A lump caught in her throat. “Don’t you think I know that?” She looked from one man to the other. “There’s a slim possibility that I can rescue her somehow. The point is, if I do nothing, she’ll die for sure. This way, at least she’s got a chance.”
Sam’s forehead creased with lines of concern. “Veranda, I can’t support this. There’s a high probability that you and your sister will die. You’re offering yourself in exchange for a hostage, and you know we never do that.” He lowered his voice. “We don’t do it because it usually ends badly.”
“I agree,” Anderson said. “There has to be a better way.”
She played her final card. “You two are investigators. My specialty is operations, remember? Trust my judgment. I figured out a way to get backup from SAU.”
A confused frown crossed Anderson’s features. “What’s SAU?”
Veranda spared him a glance. “Special Assignment Unit, it’s what the PPD calls our SWAT team.”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “How does SAU fit into this?”
“We can pre-alert the team about the situation. We know they can be trusted because our interdictions were never compromised.” Sam nodded as she continued. “SAU has the capability for rapid response. We can have everything in place before the deadline if we work fast.”
Sam’s bushy brows drew together. “We call out SAU, do a quick and dirty ops plan, wire you up—”
“Whoa.” She held up a hand. “We don’t use wires anymore. We use micro transmitters. The problem is that Bartolo has the technology to detect them, and he’ll scan me. I have a plan for that though.”
Before she could elaborate, Anderson seemed to brighten with an idea. “What about the FBI? Don’t they handle kidnapping cases?”
Two sets of eyes fixed him with a withering glare. He spread his arms. “What?”
She fought to keep her voice under control. If Anderson had been a cop, he would never have made the suggestion. The FBI had cultivated a mystique. People thought they could solve any problem. She had no such illusions. “We’re under a tight deadline. There’s no time for interference from the Feds.”
She assumed his suggestion was an attempt to keep her out of harm’s way. A well-intended but completely misplaced gesture.
“SAU deployment requires authorization from a supervisor,” Sam said, moving the conversation forward.
Veranda turned back to her partner. “That’s one of the reasons I needed you to call Murphy. As a commander, he has the juice to get things done. We’ll fill him in when he gets here. He can explain to the SAU supervisor that they can’t make any notifications until the last possible second. We don’t want to run the risk of the mole getting wind of this ahead of time.”
She hesitated a moment. It kept coming back to the mole. Every contingency she could think of was tainted because of his possible interference. Was it Diaz?
Sam interrupted her thoughts. “What’s your plan to get around Bartolo’s electronics scanner?”
“We use a micro transmitter with a kill switch. Some of our newer micro transmitters can be deactivated manually. I can tuck it into my hair band. When Bartolo finishes his scan, I pretend to adjust my ponytail and switch it on.”
“Why not put it in one of your pockets?” Anderson asked.
She braced herself. This would probably push him over the edge. She tried for a nonchalant expression as she answered. “It doesn’t always happen, but when Bartolo is feeling particularly paranoid, he’s been known to strip search people for weapons or listening devices.”
Anderson’s face flushed to the roots of his hair. “Could this get any more fucked up? The whole operation depends on you being able to turn on the transmitter. What if you don’t get the chance? What if he knocks you out?”
“This is what I do,” she snapped. “Over the years I’ve been in hundreds of dangerous situations where I deal with bad guys, most of them paranoid tweakers on meth. It’s what undercover work is all about. You start with a plan, but you can’t account for every possibility. A good narc goes in, assesses the situation, and adapts. You learn to think on your feet, hide your emotions, and lie your ass off … or you die.”
Sam broke the awkward silence that followed her words. “Does SAU have the proper transmitters?”
She nodded, relieved they had moved past the last hurdle. “Long range too, so everyone should be able to stay out of sight.”
“How does SAU back Veranda if she can’t turn on the transmitter or if it doesn’t work?” Anderson asked.
Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s a problem. We won’t be able to see her, so we’ll have to put her on a timer.”
“A timer?” Anderson looked back and forth between them.
“SAU makes entry at a predetermined interval from my first contact,” Veranda said. “No signal needed.” She turned to Sam. “I don’t like it though. They could come in at the wrong moment.”
Sam shrugged. “I defer to your operational expertise. You have a better idea?”
She discarded one possibility after another. “I don’t.”
Sam narrowed his eyes at her. “If we don’t hear you on the transmitter, SAU will go in after five minutes.”
She set her jaw. “Ten.”
Anderson crossed his arms. “How about two?”
She shot him an exasperated look. “Fine. We’ll settle on five. But that’s only if you can’t monitor the conversation. If you can hear me talk, wait for my verbal signal for SAU to make entry.”
“What’s the code phrase?” Sam asked.
She thought a moment. It had to be something memorable, that she could easily work into the conversation, but wouldn’t come up on its own by chance. “When I ask him how he likes orange jumpsuits.”
Sam snorted. “Appropriate.”
Anderson shook his head. “I hate this plan. You’re still turning yourself over to Bartolo.”
Veranda put her hands on her hips. “I’ll have an entire tactical team backing me up. Our SAU trains for this. Extractions and hostage rescues are what they do.”
Anderson looked at Sam. “I can’t believe you’re supporting this suicidal plan.”
Veranda tapped Anderson’s elbow to gain his full attention. “Sam is trying to make a burrito out of a turd sandwich. He knows I’m going in one way or another. He wants to improve my odds.”
Anderson’s lips tightened to a thin white line before he said, “What if I don’t cooperate? What if I don’t sign out the evidence?”
She gave him a wry smile. “Then my odds will truly suck.” She straightened. “I’m doing this, with your help or without it. Sam understands that, even though he doesn’t like it any more than you do. You need to get on board.”
She could sense Anderson’s resolve crumble. His bright blue eyes searched her face. “I can’t stop you, can I?”
She shook her head.
His shoulders slumped as he heaved a sigh and looked at Sam. “Just explain to me how we can keep her alive.”
Sam tapped his chin. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about that while we tweaked our plan.”
Veranda was pleased to hear him call it “our” plan. He was with her.
“You mentioned Bartolo having Flaco’s old cell phone. Why don’t we ping his location?”
“Bartolo already thought of that. I’m sure he’s been briefed on our tracking techniques by the mole. He said he would destroy the phone as soon as he disconnected.”
“Back in the war room you described the technical capabilities of the cartel. They’re very sophisticated.” Sam rubbed his temple. “Shit, I’m slipping. Should’ve thought of this before. He could have a trace on you. Maybe that’s how he knows where you are all the time.”
“You’re not the only one who slipped,” she said. “That also dawned on me after I spoke to Bartolo. I powered my phone off after I called my mother. I won’t turn it on again until I get to the forensics lab. If he is tracking me, I want him to see me there when he calls.”
Sam addressed both of them. “If this is going to work, we play it as tight to the deadline as possible. If word gets to the mole, we don’t want him to have time to communicate with Bartolo.”
Veranda nodded, but did not delude herself. She was certain the mole would tip off Bartolo before she set foot in the warehouse. She would have to rely on all of her skills to save Gabby, her first and most important objective. If Sam could put Bartolo behind bars, that would make her sacrifice even more worthwhile. Despite all of their plans and contingencies, Veranda, deep in her bones, did not expect to leave the warehouse alive.
27
Villalobos family
compound, Mexico
Adolfo’s hand tightened around the grip of the massive Desert Eagle pistol. His sister had gone all out when selecting the family firearms. Daria was obsessed with weapons of every sort, but she put special emphasis on the piece carried by members of the Villalobos family. He looked at the titanium gold nitride tiger stripe finish of the Mark XIX Action Express model. It was a cannon designed for two-handed shooting. To Adolfo, it was the definition of overkill.
El Lobo had summoned Adolfo, Carlos, and Daria early in the morning. As soon as they stepped off of the family jet at the Villalobos compound airstrip two hours later, they had been escorted to the armory. Adolfo was not sure what to make of this. Meetings usually took place in his father’s office. He peered at his siblings to see if their body language revealed any knowledge of what was going on.
Daria strolled down the rows of rifles, her slender hand out, caressing each muzzle as she passed. She licked her lips as she languidly stroked an Uzi.
Carlos had positioned himself in front of a glass cabinet. He practiced his quick-draw technique, whipping his gun out of the holster on his right hip and pointing it at his reflection.
Adolfo sighed, realizing his younger siblings had no inkling about the significance of the meeting. He would have to wait for his father’s arrival. In the meantime, he pulled out a box of fresh ammo and loaded fifty caliber rounds into his magazine.
His father pushed through the double doors to the armory. He had forgone his usual tailored suit in favor of range clothing. El Lobo looked every bit the alpha of his pack in black military-style dress, a tooled leather holster with the butt of a black pistol attached to the right side of his heavy belt.
A chill ran down Adolfo’s spine as Hector Villalobos surveyed each of his children in turn. As usual, his father addressed them in Spanish. “As you all may have guessed because he is not with you, we are here to discuss Bartolo. After I learned he is taking drugs again, I sent one of my most loyal men, Umberto Camacho, to replace Pablo.”
Perspiration prickled Adolfo’s scalp. Pablo had been Bartolo’s
second-in-command. Adolfo had last seen him that night at the warehouse when his brother killed Flaco, the snitch. Pablo was executed when he became a loose end after dumping Flaco’s body.
Adolfo was disconcerted to learn his father had sent an informant into Bartolo’s camp. El Lobo wanted a direct source of intelligence. Had he sent a spy into Adolfo’s operation as well? He pictured the men in his inner circle, replayed conversations in his mind, then snapped back to attention when he realized his father was speaking again.
“I originally called you all here after I learned that Bartolo had set fire to a family restaurant owned by Detective Cruz’s mother.”
Adolfo thought he detected a slight smile play at the corners of his father’s mouth. A moment later, the fleeting expression disappeared, and Adolfo decided he was mistaken.
Hector sauntered over to the glass cabinet next to Carlos. “Our police mole told me the arson investigator found a cigarette butt at the scene of the fire.” He leveled his gaze at his audience. “The butt was sent to a forensics lab where they will no doubt find Bartolo’s DNA, which is already on file from his past narcotics arrest.”
His father’s voice had become dangerously soft and Adolfo could tell he was livid.
Hector opened the cabinet door and drew the gun from his holster.
Adolfo froze.
Silently, Hector placed the black pistol on a lower shelf. “I had planned to discuss bringing Bartolo here to Mexico permanently. Unfortunately, I just received a rather disturbing phone call from Umberto Camacho, which forces me to change my strategy.” With infinite care, he lifted his personalized gold-plated Desert Eagle from its display stand on the next shelf up.
Daria broke her silence. “What did Camacho tell you just now?”
Hector gripped the slide and racked it back, chambering a round. “That Bartolo abducted Detective Cruz’s young half sister, and that he is trying to ransom her for the evidence against him. To make matters worse, he is holding her in one of our warehouses.”
Adolfo stifled a grin. His brother had just sealed his fate with this desperate scheme. He arranged his face to show a mixture of bafflement and concern. “That will expose us all. They’ll get search warrants for every property holding we own.”
