Tequila Sunset (15 page)

McPeek glanced down at Cristina’s hand. “Jitters?” she asked.

“Something like that.”

“I get them, too.”

“Tell me we’re almost there.”

“We’re almost there.”

Cristina had no idea where they were now. McPeek had taken them well away from the areas where tourists went and deep downtown. Cristina noted that she was seeing more and more heavily armed trucks passing and then they passed a sandbagged machine gun emplacement on a street corner manned by uniformed soldiers.

“And we’re here.”

There was no way to tell what the building had looked like before. With its small windows and high sides it would have looked like a fortress anyway, but the concrete car barriers, barbed
wire and huge metal roadblocks welded together to make giant jacks transformed the structure utterly. Two pick up trucks with mounted weapons in the bed blocked the way and a half-dozen armed police occupied the traffic stop.

McPeek put down the driver’s side window and readied her ID. Cristina did the same.

TEN

A
FTER THEY PASSED THROUGH THE CHECK
point they were guided into an underground parking structure. Another policeman armed with a shotgun put a paper ticket under the car’s windshield wiper and waved them on. They parked in a spot marked VISITANTES.

When they got out of the car, Cristina felt exposed though there were nothing but rows and rows of parked vehicles around them. The gun under her arm was heavy and she was certain everyone could see it. She wanted to clamp down on the weapon, but she knew that would only call more attention to it.

“Come on,” McPeek said.

Elevator access to the building above was also secured by an armed policeman. This man wore a simple uniform and a pistol in a holster. McPeek greeted him as if they had met before. Cristina nodded to the man. She wasn’t sure whether to smile.

They went up four floors and came out in a hallway lined with identical doors. McPeek went left, Cristina tagging behind, until they reached a large room full of desks, some empty and some occupied. McPeek waved. “Matías!”

A man rose from his desk and waved back. He met them halfway.

Matías Segura was in his thirties, clean shaven and neat. He wore a charcoal-gray suit and a red tie. Next to him and McPeek, Cristina felt underdressed. She saw that most of the other men in
the room were in suits or shirtsleeves and ties. Anyone whose idea of a Mexican policeman came from a movie or a TV show would be totally disoriented by the view.

“Matías,
¿cómo estás?
” McPeek asked.

“
Estoy bien. ¿Y tú?
”

“
Muy bien, gracias
.”

The Mexican policeman turned to Cristina. “
¿Quién es este?
”

“Matías, this is Cristina Salas of the El Paso Police Department.”

“
Mucho gusto
,” Matías said and he switched to English. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, thanks. You don’t need to speak English on my account.
Yo hablo español
.”

“No, no, I am happy to speak English for my American visitors. Please, won’t you come into our conference room? It’s the only place where we can sit down.”

Matías led them across the room to a side door and opened it for them. A motion detector flicked the lights on for them when they entered. Cristina saw a big table surrounded by chairs, a projector set up on the far end. It could easily have doubled for the conference room at the Federal Justice Center, except the seal on the wall was the federal seal of the United Mexican States.

“Can I get either of you coffee? Something to eat? Options are limited, but we can try,” Matías said.

“I’m fine, thanks,” Cristina said.

“A cup of coffee would be good,” McPeek said.

“I’ll be right back.”

Matías vanished and McPeek took a seat. “What do you think?” she asked.

“Of what?”

“Of Matías. He is some kind of handsome. He’s married, though.”

“Yes, he looks nice,” Cristina said.

“He’s also a damned solid cop. Don’t let the good looks fool you.
Last year he cleared fifty-eight cases against Los Aztecas.”

“Just the Aztecas?”

“I’ll let him explain.”

Matías returned with a cup of steaming coffee and a fistful of creamers and sugar packets. “There you are,” he said. “Anything else?”

“Oh, no. Thank you.”

“I live to serve,” Matías said and he made a little bow.

“Agent McPeek says you make a lot of cases against Los Aztecas,” Cristina said.

“Los Aztecas, yes,” Matías replied. “They are my constant companions. Everything that goes through my desk is related to them. Everything. It’s why Jamie and I are working together on this
operación
. Are you aware of what we’re doing?”

“Cristina and her partner were just brought in to provide support on the street,” McPeek said. She stirred her coffee with a small plastic stick. “They’ve been on the tail of José Martinez for a while now.”

“Ah, José. We know him well. Please, Detective Salas, have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.”

Cristina sat down and Matías took the seat facing her from across the table. His hair was so black that it shone beneath the fluorescent lighting. McPeek was right that he was striking. She put it out of her mind. “So you have something on José?” she asked.

“We see José once every couple of weeks in Juárez,” Matías said. “He comes to meet with Julio Guerra’s people. José comes to stay the night, usually parties with one of Guerra’s people. Cocaine parties with lots of women.”

“You’ve never busted him?”

“They’ve passed their information on José back to us in the States,” McPeek said. “José gets a free pass, gets comfortable, does more business and we get to learn who he’s dealing with and what for.”

“Meanwhile he’s making deals that affect my city,” Cristina said.

“My city, as well,” Matías said quickly. “Believe me, I would like nothing better than to send him to El Cereso to rot with his Azteca friends, but he’s more valuable this way. We’re finding out so much about Julio Guerra’s dealings. It will be very satisfying when we finally go in for the kill.”

“So what are you learning, exactly?” Cristina asked.

“José is very interested in trucks,” Matías said.

“Trucks?”

“Transportation is a serious issue for
narcotraficantes
. It’s the reason they do business in Juárez in the first place: easy access to trade routes that they can use to move their product. A cheap, safe, reliable source of transport across the border is the Holy Grail for people like José. You have to remember, the street gangs do not have the power of the cartels and they do things at a much smaller level. To them, a few kilos of marijuana is a big deal. José wants more. And so does Julio Guerra.”

“The Juárez cartel controls the Aztecas on this side of the border,” McPeek explained. “Los Aztecas are the street soldiers for the cartel. What drug- and arms-dealing they do on the side is purely of their own devising; they don’t get access to cartel funds or cartel resources in any significant way. So when our Aztecas and their Aztecas start thinking bigger, I get interested.”

“So do we,” Matías added.

“You said ‘José wants more,’” Cristina said.

She saw McPeek and Matías share a glance. Matías spoke first. “It is a theory of Jamie’s and myself that José Martinez is no longer simply doing the Juárez cartel’s bidding. We think that José has designs of his own.”

“Based on what?”

“Increased frequency of meetings, for one,” McPeek said. “Also it’s
who
he’s meeting. Julio Guerra doesn’t do face-to-face with many people. According to Matías and his people, José has met with Guerra no fewer than four times.”

Cristina sat up straighter in her chair. Both McPeek and Matías were watching her. “This operation has to have been going on for longer than six weeks,” she said at last. “There’s no way you could have this level of information on such short notice.”

“I’ll admit there was some groundwork laid as far back as Special Agent Gorden’s tenure in El Paso. But you have to remember, Matías has been working cases against Los Aztecas for years. In fact it was intelligence passed from the PFM to the DEA that first got the FBI’s attention.”

“Los Aztecas are my life,” Matías said. “Every day, I come to work and deal with them. Nothing else.”

“I think you see now why this operation was put together,” McPeek said.

“Our Aztecas and their Aztecas want to become major players,” Cristina said.

“Exactly.”

“How will this fly with the Juárez cartel?”

“The Juárez cartel is losing the war against the Sinaloa cartel,” Matías said. “At this point, anything that makes their street presence stronger is a good thing. More money. More guns.”

Cristina ran her hands through her hair. She could feel tension riding high at the back of her neck. “I see now why you wanted me and Bob. We’re all over José; who he meets and what he does.”

“The more pressure we put on José Martinez on our side of the border, the more he’s going to want to close deals on the Mexican side,” McPeek said. “We’ll push him until he puts himself and Julio Guerra in a compromising position. Then we roll them all up.”

“It’s a good plan,” Matías said.

“It’s thinking big.”

“But now you see where we’re coming from,” McPeek said.

“I can. I just wonder if we can make it all stick.”

McPeek nodded. “We’ll worry about that at the top. If you do your part, we can take care of the rest.”

Matías checked his watch. “Ladies, I apologize, but I must be present for a meeting in fifteen minutes. Don’t feel you have to leave in a hurry; please, take your time.”

They rose from the table and hands were shaken all around. “It was good to meet you,” Cristina said.

“Likewise. I can tell you have reservations about what we’re doing, but rest assured that we’ll make it work. Next time I will be better prepared to receive you and you can meet the whole team. I think you’ll find we have more than adequate resources to manage.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Yes. If you’ll excuse me…” Matías said and he left the conference room.

“And that’s Matías Segura,” McPeek said. “You have been introduced. Let’s see ourselves out.”

In the big room scattered with desks no one looked up as McPeek led the way back to the elevator. Cristina noted that from the inside the building did not seem so different from any other kind she’d been in; judging from the exterior she might have expected every window to be covered with a blast shield and every hallway equipped with barricades made out of sandbags. It was almost peaceful, though men were hard at work.

The uniformed cop in the parking garage nodded to them as they went past and mumbled a good-bye. Once they were in the car, McPeek paused at the gate and then pulled out onto the street. Armored vehicles moved aside to allow her to make way. Cristina found she was happy to leave the building behind; being in it made her feel like a target.

“Do you have another hour?” McPeek asked. “I know a good restaurant on the Avenida Juárez. We could get an early lunch.”

Cristina looked in the side mirror. The fortress was nearly out of sight. “Sure,” she said. “Lunch would be fine.”

ELEVEN

L
UNCH FOR
M
C
P
EEK CONSISTED OF A LARGE,
rare steak with a baked potato and green beans. She asked for a glass of red wine. Cristina decided on a salad topped with grilled chicken and peppers. When she asked, the server brought her a bottle of water.

“You’ll have to fill your partner in when you see him again,” McPeek said. When she cut into her steak, it bled red. The meat looked as thought it had been seared, but barely cooked. “Get him up to speed.”

“I will,” Cristina said.

“I’m going to make sure you get all relevant documents we’ve collected so far pertaining to the operation. You’ll be given everything new as intelligence comes in. I want you completely in the loop.”

“That sounds fine.”

McPeek took another bite, followed it with wine, and looked at Cristina over the rim of the glass. “What is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what’s the problem? I could tell you had concerns before, so tell me what they are. Don’t worry about me; I won’t break.”

“It’s not that,” Cristina said. “I guess maybe it’s a little too cloak-and-dagger. I’m a cop, Agent McPeek. I bust bad guys and send them to jail. There’s a reason I don’t do espionage.”

“We’re not talking about being international spies here. You’re not going to be called upon to do anything that you haven’t already done in the course of your work. I brought you here so you could get a sense of the scale we’re working on, the bigger picture. It helps.”

The salad was good and Cristina was suddenly aware she’d eaten half of it without realizing it. She picked at it now, thinking. “What’s the bigger picture for you?” she asked. “How does this play out at the federal level?”

“There’s concern that Juárez violence could spill over into El Paso. That’s nothing new. But the President has to look like he’s tough on the issue of border security and that means he leans on the Director, who leans on the Deputy Director, who leans on the Associate Deputy Director, all the way down the line. We put one in the win column, everybody gets a little praise and maybe some extra funding when it comes time for that.”

“Promotions?”

“Maybe. I try not to look that far ahead.”

“I get the feeling you’re always at least five moves ahead of the game, Agent McPeek,” Cristina said.

“Please, call me Jamie.”

Cristina drank from her water bottle. Even now, after years on the border, she would not drink of Juárez’s tap. “Where were you before this?”

“I was in Virginia with the Criminal Investigative Division, doing pretty much what I’m doing now.”