A Touch of Greed (3 page)

Nick led the way, walking with authority in order to diminish any chance for confrontation. Although he was seething, he kept a placid expression and nodded as he passed people at their desks. They headed up the staircase and upon reaching the top, Nick approached the solitary desk where a woman eyed the three men warily. He held out his credentials and smiled.

“Margie, you don’t know us,” Nick said, affably, “but we’re old Navy buddies of Roger’s and I want to surprise him.”

The secretary looked over the three agents who acted like they were visiting Santa. “Well, he’s on the phone right now, but once he’s off, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Nick pointed to the phone on her desk with a solitary green light designating a current call in progress. He held his index finger to his mouth in a mischievous gesture. “Shh,” he said, heading toward the closed door. “Once he sees us, he’ll hang up. Promise. He might get a little animated, though. We were a pretty close group.”

Nick headed to the door with Matt and Stevie behind him. As he grabbed the doorknob, he turned to the secretary, who was halfway out of her seat. “If he doesn’t get off the phone within five seconds, you can come and chase us out.”

This put the secretary back in her chair with a dubious glare.

Nick smiled. “Start counting.”

The three agents entered the windowless office. Matt closed the door behind them.

Roger Decker was a stocky guy with a beefy, motorcycle cop mustache. His desk fronted a gigantic wall map of Arizona with mountains and buttes protruding from its surface to accent the topography. Decker sat behind his desk with the phone to his ear. As soon as he saw the trio approach, he pulled the phone down and said, “Who the fuck are you?”

Nick calmly grabbed the phone from Decker’s hand and slammed it down on the cradle. A complete look of astonishment covered Decker’s face. Matt came around the desk and pulled up on Decker’s white, button-down shirt, until the man was upright, then shoved the Deputy Director against the wall.

“This is a hostile takeover, asshole,” Matt spat at him.

Nick slid into the Director’s chair and began tapping on the keyboard.

Stevie seemed to want to explain things, so he held up his FBI shield. “We’re with the Bureau,” he said.

Decker looked confused.

Matt gave Stevie an angry glare. “Did you forget your instructions already?”

The technologist looked apologetic.

Nick pointed to a chair in front of Decker’s desk. “Sit down.”

Matt reached for Decker again, but this time he shoved Matt’s arms away and moved to sit in the chair on his own. A tiny show of defiance in an otherwise submissive situation.

Decker’s face twisted into a nasty snarl. “What gives you the right to barge into my office like this?”

Nick found the page he wanted, then twisted the thin monitor so Decker could get a good view. “This gives me the right,” Nick said. “I received this picture from Antonio Garza a few hours ago.”

The Deputy Director’s face became pale and his eyes wide. Subconsciously, he rubbed his neck. “El Carnicero?”

“The very same.”

Stevie stretched to see the photo over Decker’s shoulder. He looked like he might get sick. The picture showed two headless males sitting with their backs against a gray wall, nothing but bloody stumps on top of their shoulders. Their heads sat in their laps with forced smiles on the faces.

“These two men were working undercover,” Nick said. “There were only three men who knew their identity and one of them had to give them up to Garza, there’s no other explanation for this.”

Decker looked as if he had just bit into a lemon. He twisted the monitor away from him.

“Okay,” Decker said, “you made your point. But what has this got to do with me?”

“These three men work out of this office.”

“What?” Decker held up his hands. “You were running an undercover operation out of my office and you didn’t consult me?”

Nick folded his arms. “I don’t have time to explain our motives. The less people who knew meant the less people who could tip off Garza.” Nick gestured toward the monitor. “Obviously, we had one too many people involved already.”

Decker seemed disgusted. “Who are you? You never told me your name.”

“Nick Bracco.”

“Bracco?” Decker said, his eyes darting side-to-side until a flicker of recognition came across his face. “You’re the terrorist expert. What are you doing messing with drug cartels? This is way out of your league.”

“No, Mr. Decker, I’m not messing with cartels. I’m messing with Antonio Garza. He’s not a drug smuggler. He’s the gatekeeper for any cartel who wants a guaranteed entry into the United States. These drug lords know that thirty percent of their product will get confiscated, that’s already built into the price. But if someone needs assurance that a certain product will make it across—they contact Garza. He’s the one who can make it happen.”

Decker shook his head. “You’re talking to me like I’m in kindergarten. I know more about Antonio Garza than you ever will, so don’t come in here and act like you’re a genius because you’ve figured that out.” Decker got out of his chair and roamed the interior of his office, looking at the three agents with disdain. “You’re upset Garza killed two of your men . . . well, shit, he’s probably killed over a hundred of my men. Men with families and courage and integrity. This war on drugs is expensive in more ways than one and no one outside of this building has any idea what’s going on out there.”

Decker returned to his chair and waited for a response. Nick looked up at Matt who was itching for conflict. Stevie stood in the background waiting to help.

Nick leaned forward and dropped his elbows on the desk. “First of all, I don’t give a crap about the drug war. If it were up to me I’d legalize the stuff and let nature take its course.”

“Then what?” Decker said. “Revenge? You think you’re going to get to Garza when the entire force of eight thousand Border Patrol agents couldn’t?” Decker glanced around the room. “You three?” He laughed. “Boy, are you in for a surprise.”

Nick stood up and ran a hand through his hair. He wasn’t about to give out any more information than he had to. He pointed to Matt. “Give him the names.”

Matt pulled a card from his pants pocket and handed it to Decker.

“What’s this?” Decker asked.

“Get these guys in here now,” Nick said.

Decker examined the card. “These are three of my best agents. I’m afraid your information is faulty.”

Nick was growing impatient. His stomach simmered with an intense desire for answers, but he wasn’t sure how much to trust anyone. Even Decker. He sat at the edge of the desk and glared at the Deputy Director. “Now,” he said.

Decker didn’t seem to have options. Any hesitation on his part could cause the appearance of a cover-up. Even if he thought his men were clean, he couldn’t afford to be complicit. He grabbed the cell phone from his desk and made three calls. His tone was firm, but not forced or phony. When he finished the final call, he looked up at Nick and asked. “What now?”

Nick turned to look at the physical map on the wall behind him and pointed to a specific spot. “Now, you’re going to tell me everything you know about this region of the border.”

Decker’s face lost its angry tone and was replaced by a new emotion. Pity.

“Please don’t tell me you’re going to do what I think you’re going to do,” Decker said.

Nick said nothing. The frightened look on the Deputy Director’s face was enough to allow a shred of doubt to creep into Nick’s mind. He just wished his plan didn’t include so many variables. 

Chapter 4

Antonio Garza sat at the kitchen table helping Julio with his homework. School was starting earlier in the year and Garza was adamant about Julio’s education. He wanted the boy to grow up and live a clean life, without the stress and terror his father had to endure. The dirty dinner plates were still beside them on the table.

“Papa,” Julio said, writing in his notebook. “Donde esta mi madre?”

“En Ingles, mi hijo.”

“Por que?”

“Because,” Garza said, looking around to assure their solitude, “we may not always live in Mexico.”

“Why?” the boy asked.

“Well,” Garza said, “one day we may decide to live far away from here where English is the main language and it would be important for you to be able to speak with your neighbors.”

The boy’s eyes brightened. “You mean we could have neighbors? Like Pablo and Salvador? We could live next door to them?”

Garza smiled, ruffling up his son’s hair. “Maybe,” he said.

A thought seemed to cross Julio’s mind and his face became somber. “Is that where Mama is?”

Garza had waited as long as possible for this conversation, but needed to wait just a little longer. “Maybe,” Garza said, keeping the lie alive.

“When?” Julio asked, anxious to know his fate.

“I don’t know, hijo. Maybe soon.”

Through the upstairs kitchen window a pair of headlights could be seen traveling up the dirt road toward the complex. The road was three miles of pure desert landscape with no shelter along the way. It was the only way in and the only way out.

Following his father’s gaze, Julio began to gather his homework.

“Yes, Papa,” Julio said without being told a thing. “You have a business meeting, I know.”

Garza sighed. He took his son in his arms and said, “I do everything for you, Julio. Do you understand?”

Julio looked up into his father’s eyes. “No, Papa.”

Garza pulled him into his chest and smiled. “Someday you will, hijo. Someday.”

The boy left the room and Garza headed downstairs, passing three soldiers on the way. The last one was bigger than the rest and didn’t carry an assault rifle around his shoulder. When Garza saw him, he slowed his stride down the final couple of steps.

“Visitor, Jefe,” Victor Sanchez said.

“Yes, I know,” Garza said. “Bring him to the basement.”

“As you wish.”

Garza grabbed Victor’s arm. “Make sure you check him thoroughly, eh?”

Victor nodded.

Garza crossed the tiled foyer, down a wide corridor to an open room where five of his soldiers sat around a card table, playing Mexican Poker. One wall was lined with large surveillance monitors, two of which were infrared cameras scanning the perimeter of the facility.

Garza pointed to the wall. “Is anyone paying attention?”

They all looked at their boss with startled expressions and three of them spoke at once. Their voices overlapped, but two of them gestured toward a soldier at the table with no cards in front of him. It took Garza a moment to realize they were telling him that one person sits out each hand to watch the monitors.

Garza waved the back of his hand, then headed down a second set of stairs. The basement was bare cement walls with no pictures or decorations of any kind. There were dim spotlights recessed in the ceiling and a large screen television fronted by a leather sofa and wooden coffee table. It was a place for Garza to relax and watch baseball games at night. He’d grown to love the sport and became a big Los Angeles Dodger fan. There were a couple of recliners on either side of the sofa, but Garza always preferred to stretch out on the couch and rest his feet on the coffee table.

Garza chose the basement for his meeting because it was out of eavesdropping distance from the rest of the building. Once the door was shut it offered complete solitude. There was a bar at the far end of the room and Garza felt the need for a drink.

He poured himself a shot of mescal, then threw his head back and downed it in one gulp. The door at the top of the stairs opened and Victor Sanchez came down the steps followed by a man wearing a white Polo shirt, chinos and topsiders with no socks. He had a neatly trimmed beard and a large briefcase. The man looked like a tourist, but for the aged eyes. Two piercing tunnels of intensity which had Garza checking with Victor and getting the nod that the man was unarmed.

The man approached with his hand extended. “Mr. Garza. I’m Sadeem.”

Garza gave Sadeem, or whatever his real name was, an extra firm handshake, then pointed to one of the recliners. “Have a seat.”

The man sat and put the briefcase between his legs. Victor took a few steps back to stand guard, but Garza motioned him out of the room and Victor hesitantly complied.

Garza knew some negotiating techniques from the many books he’d read and when he sat down in the opposite recliner, he crossed his legs and kept his mouth shut. According to his books, the first person who broke the silence was the weaker of the two.

But when Sadeem finally spoke, it was with a Mid-Eastern accent that Garza couldn’t quite determine. It was either the accent or those cold vacant eyes which made Garza’s book knowledge seem irrelevant.

“You have quite a reputation, Mr. Garza,” the man said with a sly grin, which passed as his smile.

“Yes, I do,” Garza said.

Sadeem positioned the briefcase onto the coffee table and fell back into his chair. Garza couldn’t help but gaze at the case.

“The shipment will be ready in two days,” the man said. “Will you be ready?”

This was meant to be antagonizing, but somehow it came out as a threat to Garza’s ears.

“Do you question my abilities?” Garza responded.

“You have a tunnel?” Sadeem asked. “Is that how you guarantee the transfer?”

Now Garza was certain this was some test. The man glanced around the room as if searching for a security camera.

“You begin this relationship with an insult?” Garza said. “Is that correct?”

The man’s demeanor changed. He seemed more of a businessman than an interrogator. He reached with both hands and unlatched the briefcase, then opened it up and turned it toward Garza.

The first thought that went through Garza’s mind was, there’s too much there. He’d seen stacks of hundreds which added up to a quarter million or even a half million, but this was way more than expected.

As if Sadeem could read Garza’s mind, he said, “Five million.”

Garza tilted his head. No one overpays by four million dollars unless they want something extra. Something more than expected. Something dangerous.