Troubled Sea (19 page)

“Why is it I don’t feel like breaking into a chorus of “Shrimp Boats Are A’ Comin’ ?” I told you I saw my plaid goons on that shrimper, and they were pretty damned chummy with the crew. Maybe they’re
all
watching us.”

“They say paranoia is one of the first signs of old age, you know,” Jenks teased.

“Oh, yeah? They also say that just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean someone isn’t out to get you.”

Jenks threw up his hands. “Okay, I know when I’m beat. We’ll go to La Paz and cozy up to that Coast Guard cutter, or, if we hear that life on the Sea is safe again, we’ll go on to San Carlos. Then decide what to do next. If you still feel the same way you do now, we'll put the boat away, take a bus to the States. How’s that for a plan?”

“I like it. But I hate it. I hate it that these drug-peddling assholes have messed with our lives.”

“Let’s think positive, Tex. They’ll probably nail those gunslingers from the copter in a day or two, and we'll be back to broke, but happy.”

“Yeah, and there ain’t a cow in Texas.”

Log of the
HiJenks
, November 18, Puerto Escondido

Wind: Calm

Sky: Clear

Water Temp: 70 F Barometer: Steady, Normal

The operative word for today is paranoia! I didn’t write the details of the guys who I thought followed us from La Paz because I decided they were just fishermen. But then the boat they were on left without them, and this morning I found them camped on Rattlesnake Beach. And they had guns!

Jenks, the logical one, says they haven’t really done anything wrong, and he’s right, but I FEEL something is wrong. Those guys followed us and they are watching us and I want to know why. And who sent them? Don Quixote?

At least Jenks agrees we'll leave here and head for La Paz. We'll be safer there. I hope that Coast Guard boat didn't leave yet, but anyhow I’ll just feel more secure in a marina. Until we go home.

Home? Yes, home. I quit. I give up. Uncle. Call me a sissy, but stalking, murder and mayhem are not my bag. Unless
I'm
doing it! H. The Cowardly Lion.

As Hetta was putting away her laptop, Swarthy made a phone call from the RV park office a quarter mile away. “She...” he glared at the desk clerk, who quickly exited the office to give him privacy, “suspects we are following them. Made us for sure. What’s our next move?”

There was a slight hesitation on the other end of the line, and then, “I suppose you should stay in the area, but perhaps check into the motel. If
HiJenks
leaves port, get on that shrimper and follow. Discreetly?”

Chapter 29

God grants liberty only to those who love it, and always ready to guard and defend it.—Daniel Webster

Captain Bill Xavier scanned
Endeavor’s
Thanksgiving menu and wrestled with whether to allow limited shore leave for the holiday, in spite of their enhanced alert status. His executive officer, Rich Arrington, rapped on the door, then entered, waving a piece of paper.

“By the cat-ate-the-canary grin on your face, Rich, I detect good news.”

“Not exactly. Could be. Might not be. Looks like we just lost our semi-whatever status down here.” He handed a communiqué to Xavier. “Something big’s a-brewin’ along the Arizona border, and they want us to move up into the Sea. Seems we stirred the pot when we sent in that
HiJenks/Hot Idea
report. Things have snowballed.”

“Arizona border? Who do they think we are? Excellent navigators to be sure, but we’ll play hell getting this tub to Arizona. Ours, however, is not to question, and all that noble crap.”  Xavier scanned the orders again. “Maybe they’re expecting the old one-two whammy,” he said, referring to the cartels’ habit of staging two operations in tandem in case one gets blown. “At any rate, that settles the question of any shore leave.”

“I’d say so.”

“According to this, Operation Black November is scheduled to make a big bust around the Douglas/Agua Prieta border tomorrow. If that’s so, the drugs must have already been picked up and are on their way. But there may be a second drop planned. Anyway, let’s get underway.”

“Aye, sir. I’ve already accounted for all personnel. They are either on board or on the way here now. But wait, there's more. We got something on that Gibbs character. The one in Marina del Cortez?” He pulled a note from his pocket and unfolded it with flair. “One bust for possession. Scuttlebutt is he had some interesting clients who paid hard cash for fast boats. Then he upped and paid cash for
Water Witch
. Told everyone he’d inherited some money. The IRS is checking that out. Anyhow, he quit his job selling yachts and came down here. No visible means of support.”

“But he lives at the marina, drinks in town, and has a high-end cell phone.”

“It gets better. That blonde I saw him with? The one who lives with the Texan on
All Bidness
? She’s
Mrs
. Buzz Gibbs.” Arrington raised his eyebrows dramatically and waited for that surprise to sink in.

“The plot sickens,” Xavier said with a shake of his head. “So, maybe Bud’s the cash bull. The blonde funnels moola to the ex and everyone’s happy. Jesus, I hate this kind of crap. People are killed for less. Oh, well, not our worry for the moment, but when we get back to La Paz I plan to have a little talk with Mr. Gibbs. I still think the punk’s dealing. Even if he is dipping into the Bank, and broad, of Bud.”

Chapter 30

Let them fall into the snare which they have laid.—Ovid

At Fort Huachuca, Russell Madden briefed Nicole, bringing her up to speed on the latest as to who was in charge of what. After only a few hours sleep, she and her Black November team were high on adrenaline, caffeine, and anticipation. Even with the tension almost palpable, Nicole noticed a lot of joshing among the technicians as nervous energy turned to humor for relief. Far better than choler.

Should a “civilian,” one not accustomed to this type of operation, enter the huge room, they'd see busy, but relaxed, workers, each engrossed in their own tasks. Nicole saw a well-oiled machine of dedicated souls with a single mission: Let’s win one. It had been far too long for far too many. Politics, ineptitude, avarice, and terror combined to foil these crusaders for years. Now they had a chance to triumph. A combination of two new presidents, a newly formed coalition of professionals on both sides of the border, and an openly declared war on drugs, promised an opportunity long denied.

Russell verbalized what many others were thinking. “This better work. I sure hope to heck we know what we’re doing. We’re gonna have to bite the big one if this thing turns out to be a fluke.”

Nicole made a cross with her index fingers and held her arms out as if to ward off evil spirits. “Bite...uh...your tongue, Russ.”

Russell chuckled, said, “Nice save,” took her by the arm and steered her to a console nearby. A young man with pale skin and hair was glued to his screen, mesmerized by something Nicole couldn’t decipher. Russell tapped the technician on the shoulder and he practically jumped out of his chair. He whirled as if to confront his attacker, saw Nicole, and sprang to his feet. “Sorry, Gray, didn’t mean to startle you. This is Nikki Kristin. She’s my boss.”

Gray stuck out his hand and, after a rapid shake, Nicole and Russell pulled chairs up on both sides of the console. Nicole leaned in for a close look at the screen and caught Gray gaping at her cleavage.
Maybe I ain’t over the hill just yet
, she thought, but an arched eyebrow admonished Gray, who reluctantly returned his eyes to the monitor.

“What are we looking at?” Nicole asked.

“Rabbit, ma’am.”

“Rabbit? Like a Volkswagen?”

“No, ma’am. Bucktoothed, furry critter, ma’am. Wanna see a scorpion, ma’am?”

“Only if you quit calling me ma’am.”

“I was joking about the scorpion, but watch this,” Gray said, moving his mouse and giving it a few clicks. The image zoomed, making Nicole slightly dizzy. She leaned away to focus, but still couldn’t make out the topography and said so.

“Just takes a little getting used to, ma...uh...Nicole. I’ll superimpose something over the screen that'll help make sense out of all of this.”

Nicole watched as a template suddenly appeared on the screen, its black lines outlining an area. In the center of the box was a blinking cursor.

“We use this for the Aerostat dog and pony shows. That blinking dot is us, the lines mark the fort’s boundaries. Wanna peek into the men’s steam room at the gym?”

“Gray, you’d best stick to business if you know what’s good for you,” Russ warned. “We don’t call Nikki the Terminator for nothing.”

Nicole rolled her eyes at him, but Gray bought it and quickly moved his cursor along what he told her was the Mexican-American border, then zeroed in on a location, clicked his mouse, and a longitude and latitude jumped onto the screen. “These coordinates are accurate to within a meter. We relay them to the Border Patrol, and their field units are equipped with GPS receivers to locate the target. We can switch the display to either radar or infrared. Vehicles show up fine on radar, but humans better on infrared.”

“Very impressive. Can we see Douglas and Agua Prieta on this screen?”

“Oh, sure,” Gray told her. “That is, unless very low clouds move in. ‘Course, when the wind comes up, and we have to reel her in, the coyotes—those jerks who smuggle illegals across the border—make a run for it. Rain is a problem for us because of the winds generated by storms. Storms are a problem for the illegals, too. One time a coyote stashed a bunch of folks in a culvert, told ‘em to stay put till dark, and along comes a downpour and two guys died in the flash flood. Trapped like rats against a trash screen. Didn’t stop anyone though. Numbers are way down from a few years back, but we still figure on around two-hundred thousand this year.  And that's the ones we apprehend. No tellin' how many get by.”

A wave of unease washed away some of the elation Nicole felt at being part of Black November. So we bust some guys with over a hundred kilos of coke. So what? Next week, or maybe even the next day, more people die, more drugs cross the border, and the cartels make more money. It was downright depressing.

“Here you go, that's Douglas. And Agua Prieta across the iron curtain.”

“Looks like, in this case, it really is iron. Just like the one we have in San Diego. What a shame, huh?” She clucked her tongue. “Oh, well. Gray, zoom in on
Comandante
Morales’s vehicle and give me the coordinates, please. Then set me up to access Aerostat data on my own monitor.”

“Yes, ma…uh, sure thing, Nikki. They told me to give you guys anything you want.”

Back at her own console, Nicole took a swig of her umpteenth bottled water of the day and tried to shake off an
arriere pensee
, a shadow of unease, plaguing her. If someone suggested to Agent Nicole Kristin that what she was feeling was “womanly intuition” instead of a professional analysis based on experience, she'd sock them, but privately she had to admit that’s what it got down to.
So much for gender equality.
She shrugged, stared at her screen and figured out which vehicle Jerry and Jaime were in. With a wicked grin, she mentally launched a surface-to-air missile at them.

“Get ‘em?” Russell asked over her shoulder, startling her.

“Jeez, Russ. What are you? Clairvoyant?”

“Naw, I just know how pissed off you are that the boss and Jaime left you behind.”

“Not.”

“Too.”

“Okay, so I’m a tad miffed, even though I know I best serve this operation as a monitor jock. What's that saying? ‘Words are women, deeds are men’?”

“If I said that you’d clobber me.”

“All too true.”

“I assume that Bronco contains Jerry and Jaime.”

“Yep. And I sincerely hope they get calluses on their asses.”

“Nice talk, Agent Kristin. Very professional,” Russ said with a grin. “The good news is, everything’s all set and it’s still...” he looked at his watch, “five hours until kickoff. Just in case, though, everyone’s in place.”

“Yeah, and I guess in this case a woman’s place is at home in front of her multimillion dollar system?” Nicole grumped.

“I wouldn’t touch that with a telephone pole,” Russ said, and walked to his own console.

Nicole sighed, circled her neck to work out a kink and stretched her legs. Her screen still targeted Jerry and Jaime’s vehicle and she found herself thinking of Jaime. Wishing she were in that car with him.
Oh, hell. Oh, dear. Pray tell I’m not really missing him. This is a very bad omen, dear girl. Every man you’ve ever been attracted to turned out to be a rascally rat.”

“Cheese?” Jerry asked, offering Jaime a slice of plastic wrapped Velveeta.

“Thank you,” Jaime said, then inspected the package suspiciously. “Uh, what kind of cheese is this?”

“A gourmet delight to me. Nikki calls it heart sludge.”

“Oh, then I will like it.” Jaime grinned and took a bite. “Good. How long have we been sitting here?”

“Three hours, and it’s still four hours till midnight. You know, this Border Patrol truck looked bigger this morning. And the seats were softer.”

Jaime and Jerry, sitting in a utility vehicle in the Walmart parking lot in Douglas, Arizona, finished off the Velveeta while listening to radio chatter crackling along the border. Jerry’s borrowed INS uniform was uncomfortably tight, so he opened a few buttons and shifted in his seat. Evidently Border Patrol agents don't come in XXL.

In the fading light, he and Jaime saw the lights of Agua Prieta glimmering through a cloud of dust raised by other Border Patrol vehicles as they patrolled the U.S. side and maneuvered into position. By dark, teams on both sides of the border were tensely waiting, ready to spring into action, but the Aerostat picked up no unusual activity save that of the Task Force. And the Task Force was doing its best not to alert every Tomás, Ricardo and Harry along the border that something big was brewing.

Jerry threw a candy wrapper onto the floorboard of the truck and impatiently picked up his phone. He punched a few buttons and waited.

“Hey, Jerry, how’s it hangin’?” Nicole asked with false cheer.

“Lost all the nerve endings in my butt hours ago. What’s the weather bureau’s latest, Nikki?”

“So, so. Some nasty clouds are moving in and it might even rain. The blimp boys tell us if the wind picks up as predicted they’ll have to reel her down.”

“Dammit. Anything else I should know about?”

“We got a message for Jaime from his son, Juan. Something about a shrimp boat.”

“Hold on, I’ll put him on.”

“
Hola
, Nikki,” Jaime said. “You have a message for me?”

“It’s from Juanito. He says you got a call from the shrimper, whatever that means. He told them to stay on the job, but take no action.”

Jaime hesitated for a moment and then said, “Thank you. If he calls again, tell him he’s doing fine and I will call tomorrow morning. We should have this wrapped up by then,
no
?”

“I certainly hope so.”

“I miss you. Jerry and I have only each other for company.”

Nicole’s stomach fluttered. “Well, you didn’t have to leave me behind, you know,” she huffed. “But I’m doing just fine here, thank you. Oh, and tell Jerry I’m about to take a big bite of pepperoni pizza. With extra cheese. And the cheese is all hot and gooey.
Ciao
.”

Jaime hung up the phone and relayed Nicole’s message to Jerry, who grimaced, squirmed in his seat and growled, “That woman has a definite mean streak.”

Nicole was still enjoying her shot at Jerry several hours later when her hot line buzzed again. She figured he’d had time to come up with an appropriate retort by now.

“Christ almighty, Nicole. Who authorized this?” Jerry yelled.

“And a good evening to you too, fine sir. Or rather,” she checked her watch, “good morning. Who authorized what?” she asked with feigned innocence.

Operation Black November officially began at midnight, and fifteen minutes later, a white car entered the almost deserted Walmart parking lot and screeched to a halt next to Jerry and Jaime’s Border Patrol vehicle. In the car were two FBI agents, a cameraman, and Leslie Stahl. Jerry was poleaxed.

Nicole let him vent for a minute, then warned, “Mind your blood pressure there, Jer. I just heard about the “60 Minutes” thing myself. And to answer your question, the approval to make you and Jaime television stars came from someone just a little lower on the ladder than God. I think it has a nice ring. Operation Black November, starring those totally unknown legends, Jerry “The Fish” Fisher and Jaime “The Latin” Morales. You'll vie with “American's Got Talent” next Sunday night, just in time for the upcoming congressional hearings on funding more anti-cartel programs with Mexico.”

“For God’s sake, the idea here was to be as low key as possible until we proved the HLCG worked. What if we fall on our asses? And do those idiots in Washington think people in Southeast Arizona don’t have television sets? I mean, any ten-year-old could recognize Leslie Stahl. What’s she supposed to be doing here with a cadre of cameramen? Buying toilet paper at Walmart?

“Calm down, boss. It’s a done deal. Hey, think on the bright side; they didn’t ask you to wear makeup.”

Jerry popped two Tums and was about to say more when Nicole cut him off. “Hey, guys, we’ve got bogeys at the Naco border. Gotta go.”

“
Mañana
.”

“
Mañana
.”

“
Mañana
is good enough for us,” Dennis caterwauled, his less than dulcet tones mixing with those of his companion’s, and their combined voices flushing small nocturnal animals from the cover of cactus and mesquite.

“Garth Brooks don’t have to worry about any competition from you, Denny,
mi amigo mio
,” Freddie slurred.

“What’s the next chorus?” Dennis asked, turning towards his friend’s voice and almost slipping off his burro.

Freddie wailed, “The window she is broken and the rain is coming in. If someone doesn’t fix it, I’ll be soaking to my skin.”

“But if we wait a day or two the rain may go away, and we don’t need a window on such a sunny day.”