Karen Vail 01 - Velocity (35 page)

“My unit cal s me Guy.”

“Seriously. Guido? I mean, that was a joke we had growing up. You know, somebody screwed you over, you’d threaten to send Guido after him.”

Turino cocked his head. “What are we in, junior high?”

Dixon pul ed her hand away, then dipped her chin. “You’re right. I apologize. I haven’t had a whole lot of sleep. It’s been a tough couple of weeks. I’m a little giddy.”

Turino eyed her a moment, then nodded. “Then I suggest you find an empty room and get some rest.” He turned to the others. “We got a lot of work to do. Best we get down to it. First, I need to know who al of you are so I can match names in my file with faces.” He nodded at Dixon. “The tired, ditsy blonde. You are?”

Dixon clenched her jaw. What the hel , she deserved that. “Roxxann—”

“Dixon. Yeah, got it. And who’s Redmond Brix?”

“Redd is fine,” Brix said. “And that’s Burt Gordon and Austin Mann.” He indicated each with a quick nod.

Turino folded his arms across his thick chest. “I’ve been briefed on everything that’s gone down. The Mayfield thing, the Georges Val ey AVA board stuff, Superior Mobile Bottling, and Guevara. You people’ve done a good fucking job on al that.” He frowned a moment at Dixon, stil registering his disappointment with her, and said, “You should al be commended. And it makes me feel good that I’l be working with al of you. Gets under my goddamn skin when I have to work with a bunch of rooks.” He threw back the flap of his bag, reached in, and extracted a thick file folder. Held it up and said, “I’ve got al your reports here, and some classified reports from our deep cover op.”

“You got copies for us?” Dixon asked.

“No. It’s deep cover. You got questions, I may be able to answer them. If something’s relevant, I’l let you know. And that’s where I’m gonna start, if that’s okay with you.”

Dixon set her jaw. “Just so we’re clear,
Guy
. I’m the lead investigator of this task force. So if I ask a question or make a request, I do expect you to make sure we have what we need to make correct and prudent decisions. We’re al professionals, and we’re al on the same side here. The information shared in this room stays in this room.”

Turino sucked on his upper teeth. “I assume that doesn’t include the documents you left on the table in this here room, the one the Crush Kil er stole right from your own house.”

Dixon felt her blood pressure building.

But it was Mann who spoke. “I completely understand your need to protect your assets undercover. If I was the guy with my bal s on the line, I’d want a hard-ass like you protecting it. But there’s a certain level of trust we need here if we’re going to work together. That’s not an ATF thing, a DEA thing, or a Napa County sheriff thing. It’s just common sense.”

“I’m glad we’re getting al this out in the open. Better that way. And like you said, Roxxann: Let’s be clear. We’re al on the same team, and I trust you people.

Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here. But Operation Velocity is an extremely sensitive op spanning two continents and five countries, and might be on the verge of costing one of our men his life. So excuse me if I offend some of you. I’l take what you said under consideration. But you have my word: I’ve been doing this a long time, and I have a real good feel as to what’s necessary information to release and what’s not. I’l make sure you have what we need to find Task Officer Hernandez.”

Dixon, Mann, Gordon, and Brix shared looks. None of them had anything to say, so Turino opened his file and splayed it open.

Dixon’s phone buzzed. Text from Vail. They were ready. “Hold up,” Dixon said.

“We’ve got Karen Vail and Hector DeSantos joining us by teleconference. Any of you know how to work that RoundTable thing we used the other day?”

“I got it,” Mann said. He settled himself in front of the laptop that sat in the middle of the conference table, made sure they were logged into Live Messenger, then started the RoundTable device. “Are you there? Karen?”

Vail—and a male figure—appeared on the laptop and on the projection screen.

On Vail’s computer, she would see each of their likenesses strung along the bottom, with the person whose voice was loudest taking the top position as an enlarged image.

“Hi everyone. Long time no see. This cool-looking dude to my right is Hector DeSantos.”

A sad-sounding chorus of grunts and greetings issued forth from the various task force members.

“Special Agent Guy Turino’s joined us. DEA.” Dixon knew that if she introduced him as Guido, Vail would likely have some smart comment—and Dixon already regretted subjecting Turino to that once.

“You logged on at a good time.” Turino turned away from the screen and said,

“Al right. Picking up where I left off. This is a DEA operation, so DEA runs the show. We appreciate the cooperation of your respective agencies and we’l do our best to make sure everyone’s kept in the loop. You’re now official y federal TFOs—

task force officers. As federal agents, you’l be able to carry your sidearms across state lines and we’l have jurisdiction to conduct our business.”

Turino looked at the RoundTable camera telescoping up from the table surface and said, “Obviously, Vail and DeSantos, you don’t have to worry about that.” He reached into his file folder and spoke as he dug through some papers. “Because of Superior Mobile Bottling and Cesar Guevara’s involvement, this area’s been an important focal point for us—and might continue to be so.”

Brix had a can of Coke Zero in front of him. He twirled it slowly as he spoke.

“Since we’re al being honest with one another, I’d like to throw something out on the table. With DEA San Diego coordinating Sebastian’s and Hernandez’s op, isn’t it safe to say they wanted to be sure we’re al on the same page, that they don’t want us poking around without their knowledge? Seems to me, Guy, the easiest way to make sure they know what we’re doing is by bringing us under your thumb.

We’re happy because we’re part of the team, but in reality, you’re just keeping us busy.”

Turino scraped an open hand across his stubble. “I’m going to respect your intel igence, Redd. So the answer would be yes. And no. ‘No’ because I got better things to do with my time than be a baby-sitter. So yeah, they don’t want you poking your dicks in places that could fuck things up. But this’l be an active, working task force. And because I’m in charge of it, you can bet your last dol ar we’re gonna be at the epicenter of anything that goes down. That good enough for you?”

“Absolutely,” Dixon said with a glance at Brix.

Turino found the document he was looking for and set it in front of him. “Now then. I haven’t had a whole lot of time to put stuff together for this task force, but its goals and objectives are pretty damn clear. First off, it’s my job to get you up to speed on a few things you’l need to know about the drug trade and how these cartels operate. One or two of you may know some of this stuff, but you won’t know al of it, so I’m going to go through it because I think the answer of where we focus our efforts is right here.”

He glanced down at what was apparently his outline. “So. Il icit Drug Trade 101.

Running the show these days are Mexican drug trafficking organizations. You’ve heard ’em cal ed cartels. We also cal ’em DTOs. Bottom line is, no matter what we cal ’em, they
were
a big problem and have
become
a huge problem. They’ve set up shop in 230 U.S. cities, and are now expanding into suburbs and rural areas.

“To put this in perspective, in the past three years, Mexico’s had over 18,000

drug-related murders. And the violence has started spil ing onto U.S. soil. So let’s go through how these DTOs get their drugs into our country. California ports of entry are the cartels’ equivalent to an interstate highway that runs from Mexico into the U.S. The Arizona and Texas borders are just about as problematic. In California, Mexican cartels typical y enter at or between the six land ports of entry along the U.S.-Mexican border: Andrade, Calexico East, Calexico West, Otay Mesa, San Ysidro, and Tecate.” He pointed at the map, beginning west at San Ysidro and moving east toward Calexico.

“You got the obvious, stuff you’ve probably been briefed on at some point: trucks and cars bringing the shit in, hidden away in secret compartments. These cartels are extremely motivated and very wealthy, so they find al sorts of ways to get their stuff across the border. Spend a day at any port of entry along the border with Customs and Border Protection officers, and you’l see what I mean. Underneath the carriage, inside the dashboard, in the engine compartment, embedded in the seats, the tires. Name any part of a vehicle, we’ve probably seen it rebuilt or hol owed out and fil ed with drugs.

“Then you got drug mules, which you might’ve heard about. The cartels pay these people to carry drugs inside their bodies, in sausage link type packaging they swal ow and then crap out when they get across. That is, if it doesn’t burst and kil

’em before they reach their target. Or they carry the shit strapped to their bodies, in huge backpacks, across the desert or through the mountains. Real rough terrain. A lot of ’em don’t make it. A lot of ’em do. May I?” He pointed at the large map hanging on the wal near the window.

“Go for it,” Dixon said.

“You got a U.S. map?”

“Flip it. Third one down.”

Turino did as instructed and found the chart he needed. He pul ed a pen from his pocket and slapped the point against the map. “A majority of the il icit drugs coming into the U.S. are now crossing over the Arizona border. Right here.” He indicated an area south of Tucson. “Problem is most of this border is wide open. No rivers or other natural barriers. Checkpoints only in the larger cities or along the major highways in and out. Actual y, a lot of the border only has chicken-wire fencing, if that. Maybe sensors. But that’s it. The border’s more heavily regulated in bigger towns, so the mules take the routes of least resistance. Makes sense.” He glanced up. “Any questions?”

“Yeah,” Brix said. “How much are we talking about? I mean, so you got some poor guy you’re paying to ferry drugs across the desert or on a plane. How much is he real y gonna be able to carry, inside or outside his body?”

“Limited only by their imagination. Backpacks if they’re coming across land. If they’re coming on foot through a port of entry, or even on a plane, they’l stuff it in their underwear, their bras, or strap it to their bodies. They wear oversize clothing or baggy jeans to conceal it. Typical y, a mule can hold up to 800, 900 grams, and maybe even a little more. They pack the coke into wax-coated condoms that the mule then swal ows. Sometimes they use large capsules—10 to 20 grams per capsule, depending on the person. They practice swal owing large grapes whole until they can get 50 to 70 of them into their bodies. They ingest them prior to boarding the plane or crossing the border, then crap ’em out at the other end. But the measures we’ve got in place at airports—scanners, dogs, X-rays—nab a lot of

’em. Like I said, though, the capsules or condoms sometimes open and these people have gotta be rushed to a hospital for emergency surgery. A lot of ’em OD

and die.”

Dixon asked, “How much do they get paid for that?”

“Not a whole lot. Two to three grand, maybe even less.”

“And what does it net the cartel?” Gordon asked.

Turino bobbed his head. “Twenty to twenty-five grand. Per kilo.”

Vail piped in through the speaker. “How much can they carry outside their bodies?”

“That’s a much bigger issue, from a law enforcement point of view. The land-based border. You might not believe it, but like the rest of us, they also ship their products in FedEx and UPS packages. Then you’ve also got trucks, tractor trailers, and containers. Not to mention maritime—boats, fishing trol ers—”

“They’re also using submarines,” DeSantos said.

Turino pointed at the RoundTable screen. “Yes. That’s a fairly recent thing.

Semi-submersible vessels. But a far more dangerous threat, because of the volume they can move, is subterranean tunnels. It’s a trick they borrowed from Hamas in Gaza. These tunnels can be anything from large diameter PVC pipes to wel -engineered concrete structures equipped with electricity, ventilation, and rails for moving mining-type carts. Bad news is our GPR—ground penetrating radar—

can’t find these tunnels unless they’re right below the surface, and they’re usual y much deeper than that.

“But by far, most of the drugs coming into the U.S. flow across the Arizona and California borders. San Diego’s particularly bad, with San Ysidro and Tijuana leading the way. Ciudad Juárez/El Paso is another hotspot that’s gotten a lot worse and more violent lately. There aren’t any rivers to cross in these areas, so it’s an ideal place to transport your load into the U.S.”

“Isn’t this whole goddamn thing simple supply and demand?” Brix asked. “I mean, we’re a big part of the problem. If we’d stop buying this shit, the cartels would be out of business.”

“Good luck with that one,” Mann said, almost a grumble.

Turino nodded his head animatedly. “Exactly right, Redd. The U.S. is one of the largest consumers of il icit drugs in the world. And 90 percent of the coke entering the U.S. from Colombia comes in through Mexico. That’s why the Mexican cartels there have become so much of a problem for us.”

He stepped up to the U.S. map he’d pul ed. “Take a closer look at the border regions we talked about a minute ago.” Tipped his head back, found an area, and pointed a finger. “A lot of it is reservation land. And that’s been a big fucking problem for us. Because a criminal band of Native Americans facilitate the drug trade.”