Horns of the Devil - Jeff Trask [02] (17 page)

“No. Just make sure he understands that he’s still getting charged. He’ll just be working his sentence down if he follows directions.” Trask looked at Carter. “When can he buy again without it looking like it’s too soon?”

“He told us he sells the whole load twice a week,” Carter said. “Today’s Saturday, and he was due to go back in on Wednesday.”

“Good,” Trask said. “Wire him up. Transmitter and a recorder. I need some hard confirmation of the location, in case he can work it into the conversation. Have him say something innocuous about the office once he gets in. It’ll help with the T3.”

“T3?” Doroz asked. “He said no phones…” Doroz stopped himself. “Oh, you’re not talking a phone tap, you’re talking a bug!”

“Exactly,” Trask said. “Think we can get it in?”

“Get us the court order, we’ll get it inside,” Doroz said. He paused for a minute. “And I think we can tickle the hell out of it.”

“How so?” Trask asked. “Tickling” was the Bureau word for generating relevant conversation on a wiretap or bug.

“Think about it, Jeff. We’ve got reason to send ATF in on the arson at the convenience store. We can send the locals in because they’ve had a tip about the weed, and we can even go in as our big bad FBI selves to ask about the ambassador’s kid, the shooters we grabbed, whatever. Odds are they’ll lie to us in the office, then talk about what really went down after we leave. It’s worked before.”

“Excellent.” Trask nodded. “Something that will probably lead us somewhere and make one Ross Eastman a bit more comfortable.” He looked at Carter. “Good going, Dix.”

“Thanks,” Carter said. “I better go help Tim. We’ve got some work to do explaining the rules to Peewee.” He walked to the door of the conference room. “Open or shut, Bear?”

“Shut for now, thanks Dix.”

Doroz looked at Trask with the question on his face. Trask answered it.

“No, Bear, I don’t want to hear the tip call. I do want to verify that there
was
one, otherwise we’ll have perjured testimony when he says one came in. But no, I don’t want to hear Carter’s voice on the damned tape calling in his own tip. Hopefully, he thought far enough ahead to mask it or have someone read the script for him and use a throwaway cell phone. For now, I want the bug. If we have to manufacture our luck to get it, so what? If Dix is camping out at the car wash again, he’s not violating the Constitution, just Willie Sivella’s order.”

“Willie slapped a GPS on his car. I have no idea how he got around that.”

Trask froze in disbelief for a moment, then shook his head and laughed out loud. “I’m very glad that Dixon Carter is on our side,” he said. “One more thing.” He handed Doroz a slip of paper. An address was written on it. “Have your tech guys put a pole cam on this place for a few days, please.”

“OK. Where is this?”

“Northwest, up toward Bethesda. It’s Victor Scarborough’s office.”

“Skippy Turner’s old defense lawyer? I heard that Vic died last night.”

Scarborough had represented Turner, one of Doroz and Trask’s former defendants. Turner was a low-level heroin dealer who had sold his poison at local sporting events such as unsanctioned boxing matches and cockfights before being sent away for twenty years.

“Yep. Cancer. He did all his own work, was too cheap even to hire a secretary. Didn’t have many friends. There wasn’t even an obit in the
Post.
I was up there this morning. There are some streetlamp poles on the other side of Wisconsin. Have the techies aim the cam at the office, if that’s possible.”

“And why is it we’re watching this dead guy’s joint?”

“We aren’t. Not yet, anyway. I’ll get us the bug, you get me the pole cam. And once it’s set up, we’ll go see our friend the ambassador.”

“There’s that ‘we’ again.”

Trask walked out of the conference room into the squad area, stopping long enough to bend over Lynn’s shoulder and give her a peck on the cheek. “Do me a favor?” he said.

“Sure.”

“Give this a read and see what you think.” He dropped the file on her desk. “Eighteenth Street gangbanger got shot in Northeast. See if you see anything that the homicide guys missed.”

“Will do, sir.”

“‘Sir,’ huh? I could get used to that.”

“In your dreams.”

Trask returned to the conference room. He saw that Doroz was signing some overtime sheets for the task force officers. “Not even doing that in your office anymore, Bear?”

“Nope. I like it better in here.”

Crawford looked at the photo on the bookshelf. A pretty little girl who would grow up to be the gorgeous woman who was now cooking dinner for him in her apartment was being held by a man who would become the ambassador of his country to the United States. “How long have you known the ambassador?” he asked her.

“All my life, as you can see. I call him my Tio Juan. My uncle. He and my family are very close.”

“Did you come here with him after the elections in your country?”

“This last time, yes. I have lived in America before, when my father and my uncle Luis went to college in California with Tio Juan. I went to elementary school there.”

“Which is why your English is so good.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. What’s that you’re cooking? It smells wonderful.”

She giggled. “After three nights of fast food at your place, I thought you might like to try some Salvadoran dishes. We are having
bistec encebollado
, a beef steak simmered in onions, and
popusas
. They’re like tortillas, only thicker and stuffed with cheese. Sometime they are stuffed with meat, but we’re already having the
bistec
, so I thought the cheese would be better.”

“It smells great.” Crawford looked at another of the photos on the shelf. He could see the same girl, a teenager this time, standing with another girl and four adults. “Your family?”

“Yes.” She put a dish on the dining table, removed the oven mitts from her hands, and placed one on his shoulder. “That’s my father there, my mother, her brother and his wife, my Tío Luis and Tía Anna and Carolina, my cousin. The one I told you about.” She wiped tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse. “I miss them.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have figured that out.” He decided to change the subject.

“How long has Mr. Rios-García been with the embassy?”

She hesitated a brief moment before answering. “He got here just after Armando, the ambassador’s son, was killed.”

“Did you know him in El Salvador?”

“Yes,” she said. “Very well.”

She smiled and kissed him.

“Sit down. Dinner’s ready.”

.

Chapter Sixteen

August 28, 11:00 a.m.

T
rask and Doroz sat in the waiting room outside the office of the ambassador. Trask had decided to risk not notifying Murphy. Their excuse would be that it was a routine call, just a status report.

The pretty secretary with the long, dark hair offered them coffee again, which they both politely declined. The Eagles’ “Witchy Woman” started playing in Trask’s head.

He turned to Doroz. “With all the defense counsel running away from the case, our MS-13 friends might have to wait a bit for their trials.”

“First time I’ve been around that kind of problem,” Doroz said. “How does the court handle something like that?”

“Judge Noble’s first move was to ask for volunteers,” Trask replied. “He’s looking for the brave champions of civil rights, the ones who aren’t all speeches and no substance. The hypocrites will keep their heads down or claim schedule conflicts. These appointments will take some guts.”

“Any takers so far?”

“Just one that I know of,” Trask said. “Victor Scarborough. Solo practitioner. He has an office on Wisconsin, up toward Bethesda.”

The warning glance that Trask shot him caused the obvious question to freeze in Doroz’ throat. He paused for a second, and then gave a slight nod.

Good,
Trask thought.
He understood the play. We’ll see if it works now. Nobody’s neck’s
on the line.
He thought for a moment.
Just mine.

“The ambassador will see you now, gentlemen.” The secretary opened the door into the inner office.

As before, Lopez-Portillo joined them around the low table. He waved the secretary out after the handshakes. “How can I be of assistance today, gentlemen?” he asked.

“Just some routine questions, sir.” Doroz took the lead, as they had agreed. “We find that it often helps to reflect on a tragedy like this after some time has passed, after the initial shock wears off.”

“Of course.” The ambassador nodded.

“Things that may not have seemed significant when they happened can take on a new meaning, make more sense later. A remark Armando may have made to you or his mother, a new friend who seemed to have popped up just before your son’s disappearance. Have you thought of anything like that?”

“No.”

Trask saw that the ambassador appeared to have lost a considerable amount of sleep. There were lines around the man’s eyes that had not been there before. He seemed to have aged five years in a week.

He’s starting to look like Dixon Carter. The reflection on a lost life always brings guilt.
There’s the notion that something could have, should have been done. The weight’s a lot heavier when
that’s true.

“Are you making any progress at all?” Lopez-Portillo asked.

“We think we are,” Doroz said. “Unfortunately, we have to ask you to bear with us a while on that. If we fill you in on everything—especially since you haven’t been able to supply any facts yourself—your grief might cause you to start creating things to go along with whatever patterns we think we’ve seen. It’s only natural, but it can throw us onto some false trails. We need whatever evidence you might have to come from
you
, without us suggesting it to you. It’s a one-way street, for now. I hope you understand.”

“Yes. Of course,” the ambassador said quietly.

“The minute we have something firm, you’ll be the first to know.” Doroz nodded sympathetically.

The ambassador looked up at them. “Would additional investigative resources be of any help to you?” he asked. “I can always call in some favors from my friends at the State Department, and I have met your Attorney General on several occasions.”

Trask forced himself to reply in a natural tone of voice, at what seemed to be a normal pace. “I work for the Attorney General, Mr. Ambassador, as does Agent Doroz. We’ve already been assured that the full resources of the Justice Department are at our disposal, if needed, and we’ve assured our superiors that we will not hesitate to ask for that assistance if and when it appears to be needed. As Agent Doroz has said, we feel that we’re making some very good progress in the investigation, and when the time comes, we’ll lay everything out for you.”

“Will that be before, or after an arrest is made?” the ambassador asked.

“Probably afterward, sir,” Trask said, making a mental note of the strange question. “The warrants are not generally issued until the grand jury returns an indictment, and the arrests are then made immediately. That’s done in order to keep the defendant from fleeing when news of the indictment gets out.”
Unless
we do a complaint first
.
But I’m going to keep that a secret, too. I’d like to get a live defendant to
trial in this mess, and somebody seems to be shooting them at a pretty good clip.
“I hope you understand.”

“Yes, I believe so. We have always admired your Justice Department and,” he nodded toward Doroz, “the FBI as well. We hope to model some new systems in El Salvador after many of your institutions.”

“Thank you again for your time, Mr. Ambassador,” Doroz said, standing.

After the departing handshakes, they headed back out past the secretary’s desk. Trask saw that Doroz couldn’t help but glance at her just a bit longer than was diplomatically required.

“They do grow them pretty down there, Bear,” he said when they hit the sidewalk.

“There’s no denying that. Good idea to leave Puddin’ at the office today. He’s in a lovesick daze lately, and I can see why.”

“Did he actually register her as a source?”

“He gave me the form like I told him to. I threw it in the bottom of my desk, never put it in the system. Headquarters frowns on agents sleeping with sources, and I kind of saw this one coming. Whatever she gives us will be raw intel and corroborated by some other set of eyes before it lands on any reports.”

Trask laughed. “Our young Mr. Crawford is lucky that his boss has his back.”

“He’s a good kid. I may need him to have my back some day. I’ll put him on the pole-cam tapes after we get it installed, see if anything shows up.”

“Not a word to anyone else, please,” Trask said. “That’s our control on this little experiment.”

“For once, I hope you’re wrong, Jeff.”

“Why?”

“Because if you’re right, some very dangerous people are going to be very pissed at us.”

“I’ve got an alarm, a gun, a vest, a wolf, a very dangerous wife, and all the protection that the FBI and the Commonwealth of Maryland can provide.”

“Yeah,” Doroz said. “We’re from the government. We’re here to help.”

7:15 p.m.

“That was wonderful, Michael,” she said as she dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin. She looked around and shook her head. “Your apartment is spotless and your lasagna is amazing. You tell me that I’m too good to be true, but I think it is you who are too perfect. Do you have bodies hidden in your closet?”

“No,” Crawford said, laughing. “I’m just trying very hard to impress you, to not screw this up. The only thing hidden away is all my normal clutter.” He opened the closet in the entryway and took out a large box that had been concealed under the bottom of an overcoat. He tilted the box toward her so she could see the contents. “See? All these papers and magazines and bulletins would normally be spread all over the living room where I could just grab them, read and sort them, put them in stacks until I got tired of looking at them, and finally purge or file them. For you, I filed them already. Kind of.”

“When I come back tomorrow night, I want them spread out all over the place. I don’t want to change you. I like what I see already.”

“I think that’s supposed to be my line.”

She got up from the table and walked over to him. “The dishes can wait for now. Let’s go mess up your bedroom again.”