Birds of a Feather (12 page)

“We checked out the Cactus Sunset and then the Armadillo Motel to see where I would be staying on Wednesday,” replied Jack. “After that we went for a drive and had a cold beer.”

“What do you think of our city?” asked Weber.

“I like it,” replied Jack. He glanced at Adams and added, “Seems like there are some really good people around here.”

Jack saw the trace of a smile of appreciation on Adams's face as they briefly stared at each other. What he didn't notice was the subtle wink Davidson gave Weber.

Jack woke, had breakfast, and was waiting in the lobby at nine o'clock when he spotted the metallic-silver Camaro and went out to meet Adams.

“Hey there, two-gun gringo, how you doin'?” asked Jack.

“I don't have a hangover, so that's good.”

“You only had two drinks last night.”

“I don't like to drink much in front of Davidson and Weber. Besides, I had to drive. How long did you have to put up with them?” asked Adams.

“Not late,” replied Jack. “They left shortly after you did. I was tired. I wanted to get a good night's sleep.”

“Good. This morning when I dropped in to pick up the car, I told them I was taking you around to familiarize you with the various nightspots in El Paso. I said it might come in handy for you to know the area for when you do your undercover stuff.”

“Good thinking.”

“You have breakfast yet?”

“Already ate.”

“Likewise. Let's get to work.”

An hour later, Adams pulled up and parked near a small bridge southwest of the city. A U.S. Customs booth was on one end and a Mexican Customs booth was on the other.

“Get out and take a look,” said Adams. “You probably won't believe it.”

Jack got out of the car and walked up to the bridge. A small stream of Mexicans walked across the bridge and were stopping to be checked at U.S. Customs. Jack walked to the far side of the bridge, stopping short of the Mexican Customs. Below the bridge on one side was a clump of bushes. The growth on the opposite side the bank was sparse and he could see dozens of Mexicans walking across the small stream and clamouring up the far bank to enter the United States without clearing customs.

“You're right, I don't believe it,” said Jack, getting back in the car.

“Only the honest ones clear customs,” said Adams bitterly. “We don't have the manpower to rein in the thousands who cross illegally. Most work here during the day and go back the same way at night.”

“That shallow stream they walk through … I thought it was the Rio Grande that separated you from Mexico?”

“That is the Rio Grande. Most of the water has been run off for irrigation long before the river reaches here. Out here it is easy to cross, although there is talk of building a high wall as a barrier, so maybe that will change. I'll take you back to El Paso and show you other places in the city that aren't quite as easy as out here in the countryside.”

As they approached El Paso, Adams turned up the volume on a police radio. It was a report of gunfire at the bridge where they had just been. The customs agents in the booth at the end of the bridge said someone was firing shots at them from the clump of bushes on the Mexican side.

“Are we heading back to help?” asked Jack.

Adams shook his head. “It would be over before we got there. They do it all the time. The good news is the Mexicans are lousy shots, except of course for the ones we trained and who were then hired by the cartels.”

“Actually, I'm a crummy shot, too,” admitted Jack. “What did you mean about that last comment? The ones you trained who joined the cartels?”

“It's not common knowledge and normally I wouldn't talk about it, but someone has already let the cat out of the bag on the Internet.

“Like toothpaste out of the tube. Hard to put it back in once it's out.”

“Exactly. What happened was someone in Washington woke up and realized we were losing this so-called War on Drugs. Cartels are popping up everywhere in Mexico and a lot of them are at war with each other as they continue to expand and take over territory. Washington realized it would only be a matter of time before they firmly establish themselves in the U.S. and elsewhere.”

“Like Canada.”

“Yeah, so someone figured it would be a good idea to try and contain the bloodbath in Mexico. Our government trained an elite group of Mexican soldiers to be expert commandos and snipers. I don't think there would be anything on paper about it, but basically it was implied that the Mexican government could use these guys to selectively take out the heads of some of the cartels.”

“Can't say as I feel real opposed to that idea,” replied Jack.

“I feel the same way. Except it backfired. The cartels pay a lot more money than the military does. A lot of the commandos we trained were hired by the cartels … and they can shoot the eye out of a scorpion up to a mile away.”

“Something I should probably keep in mind,” said Jack sombrely.

The next spot Adams took Jack was near the centre of El Paso. The Rio Grande basin had widened a little and a high chain-link fence acted as a barrier. Adams parked the car and said, “No use getting your feet wet. Sit and watch a moment.”

Within a couple of minutes, Jack saw two Mexican men and a woman approach the fence from the Mexican side. They walked a short distance to a clump of bushes and suddenly appeared on the American side.

“The fence has been cut there,” noted Adams. “Happens all the time. When we repair it, they cut it again someplace else.”

“Sounds like that wall you said they're thinking of building is needed.”

“It should help.” Adams gestured to the Mexican side of the border. “I want you to take a good look at all the buildings so you can remember them in case you have to come through that way to escape. We're only about a mile upstream from the Bridge of the Americas, which is the biggest legal entry and exit point into Juarez. Don't under any circumstances think of trying to cross that bridge if you're on the run.”

“The Mexican Customs are bought off?”

“Everyone is. The police, military, customs … everyone.”

“Dangerous country,” replied Jack.

“I doubt you have any idea how dangerous. I stayed awake half the night last night wondering whether I should tell you some stuff.”

“What sort of stuff?”

“I have special military training. Occasionally I'm still used for covert missions. There are some things I've learned that people wouldn't appreciate me talking about.”

“Then don't tell me.”

“A couple of things I think I should, just so you'll appreciate what goes on around here. The first thing I already told you.”

“About the U.S. training assassins?”

“Exactly. Something else that happened is we Americans are getting blamed for something in Mexico we didn't do. There was a third powerful cartel in Juarez and all the kingpins of it were basically family members. They lived in five mansions on a mammoth estate out in the desert. They had their own runway, planes, helicopter crews … and a small army guarding it. One night seven unmarked Huey choppers packed with commandos flew in and killed all the top guys and anyone else they thought was involved with the cartel. The choppers then flew away, apparently without suffering a casualty. Everybody was pointing their fingers at us … but I know it wasn't us.”

“Another cartel?”

“We thought that, until we found out that afterwards one of the choppers crashed on a mountaintop when they were low-flying at night to escape detection. Where it crashed was what caught our attention. It was on the southern border of Mexico going into Guatemala.”

“Guatemala!”

“Exactly. It made us wonder, as well. Some locals reported a couple of men inside lost their lives, but another chopper stopped and retrieved the bodies. The only thing left behind was the wreckage … which had no markings or identification to indicate where the chopper came from or who owned it. Then we learned another key piece of information that gave us a pretty good idea who was behind it.”

“And it wasn't the CIA?”

“No. Turns out this particular cartel was supplying drugs to the Palestinians who were selling the dope to make money to buy weapons.”

Jack took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “That makes it rather obvious, doesn't it?”

“Yeah, I would say so. We're getting the heat for what the Israelis did.”

“I had no idea how dangerous Mexico really is. You paint a different picture than the travel agencies do.”

“What I told you is nothing. Right before you got here, I had a partner who went into Juarez. He got kidnapped and tortured for almost three hours by the police. They had him handcuffed to the bars and were dousing him with water and using a cattle prod on him. Luckily, four FBI agents found out where he was and rescued him.”

“Jesus Christ,” replied Jack in shock. “I had heard about the DEA agent who was kidnapped, tortured, and murdered. The one where the Mexican president's brother was implicated.”

“You heard right. The guy they killed was Special Agent Enrique Camarena. A few key people were eventually arrested, but the president's brother and a couple of guys under him will never be charged.”

“Did you know Camarena?”

“No … but you know how it feels.”

“It's like losing a brother, even if he did work in another country.”

Adams nodded silently.

“Guess I was hoping the cartels wouldn't try it again.”

“That kind of thinking could get you killed. They're becoming bolder every day. Greg had three years to pension, but he decided not to stay. He quit because of it.”

“You're working these guys alone? Don't you have a new partner?”

“No. Just my cop friend in Juarez, but I can't be seen with him.”

“So you are on your own.”

Adams nodded. “Now that I've opened your eyes a little, are you still sure you want to go into Mexico?”

“I'm sure I don't want to … but I made someone a promise I would do my best to find Lily Rae. I keep my promises.”

“Yeah, that's what I was afraid of.”

“Where to now?” Jack asked as Adams drove away from the border.

“This afternoon we'll go into Juarez. I'll show you another escape route. Then I'm going to introduce you to my friend over there, Jose Rubalcava. He might be the only guy who could help you out down there.”

“How often do you go into Juarez?” asked Jack.

“A couple times a week, but I only meet Jose a couple times a month. His phones are likely tapped by the cartel, so we use a preset time and place. It's too risky for him to meet me any more often than that.”

Jack was quiet as he thought of the gravity of the situation.

“We have some time to kill, so if you don't mind, I'd like to take a look at a house in El Paso,” said Adams. “I think about a dozen couriers come and go from it. It was the one my partner was watching when they lured him into Mexico.”

“They still using it?” asked Jack.

“Two days ago there were still some of their cars there.”

“Two days ago?” said Jack.
He doesn't know about yesterday because he was busy driving me around. No wonder he was pissed off at having to pick me up at the airport.

“Yeah. Lots of muscle cars. All with Mexican plates. I have no idea who they belong to. I'm thinking they'll be moving someplace else and would like to follow them. I know they work for the Guajardo cartel, but that's all I know.”

“And you think the Mexican uncle I'm looking for is either with the Guajardo cartel or the Sinaloa cartel?”

“Yes. Jose might know which one, based on what we found yesterday in the desert.”

A short time later they drove into a neighbourhood in El Paso with overgrown yards strewn with garbage and the odd partially dismantled or wrecked car.

“That's the house there,” sighed Adams. “The red one in the middle of the block. Usually the driveway is full of cars. They must have moved out yesterday.”

Jack grimaced as he thought of the frustration Adams must be feeling. “I'm sorry,” he said. “If you hadn't been running me around you probably would have been here.”

“I wouldn't call finding what we did yesterday a wasted day.”

“Getting those who kidnapped your partner would outrank that in my book.”

Adams paused as he looked at Jack and said, “Mine, too, but it's not your fault. Anyway, I'm going to take you home for lunch. Introduce you to my wife. After we'll head into Juarez.”

“Hold it,” said Jack, looking down the street. The largest, most muscular black man he had ever seen was walking along the sidewalk. He was in a postman's uniform and had a mailbag slung over his shoulder.

“You looking at the mailman?” asked Adams.

“Why not? Your targets know the house is hot so you've got nothing to lose. Why not ask him who lives there? Maybe he's got some mail for them and you could get some names.”

“Are you kidding?” replied Adams, sounding exasperated. “We're not even allowed to say hello to a mailman, without going in front of a grand jury and getting a warrant.”

“I'm not talking about opening the mail, just seeing the name on the envelope.”

“I know what you're saying, but we have privacy laws here that are strictly enforced. Two years ago a postman showed a policeman a name on an envelope. Not only did the mailman lose his job, he was also sentenced to three months in jail.”

Jack grimaced. The idea of an innocent person going to jail for helping the police sickened him. “But for this … can't you get a warrant?”

“No, I already tried. Despite what happened, having souped-up cars does not mean someone is a drug trafficker and I have no right to infringe on their civil rights.”

“Bet the mailman would help if he thought the situation deserved it.”

“Don't know what it's like in Canada, but take a look at that guy. Also take a look at this neighbourhood, which is likely where he lives. Do you really think he is police-friendly?”

“What if he showed me the mail and I passed it on to you. Could you list me as your CI in your application for a warrant and that way honestly deny that you received it from a postman?”

“Underhanded … but yeah, that would work, except he won't give it to you.”

“Let's try.”

Adams sighed. “Yeah, okay, I'll show you what it's like down here.”

A moment later, Adams and Jack approached the mailman as he stopped in front of the house and retrieved a large handful of mail from his bag.

Adams flashed his badge and said, “I am hoping you can tell me who lives in this place. Any names on the —”

“You all got a warrant?” asked the mailman.

“No,” admitted Adams.

The mailman's face darkened in anger as he clenched the wad of mail against his chest, purposely hiding the front of the envelopes from any prying eyes. “Then you all should know better than to be askin',” he snarled. “Get away from me! I don't even wanna be seen talkin' to you all.”

Adams looked at Jack as if to say
I told you so
.

“That's okay, sir,” said Jack. “We knew it was wrong to ask. It's my fault. I was hoping … well, never mind. Have a nice day.” Jack then turned as if to walk away and said to Adams, “I just feel so damn sorry for all those poor little black kids.”

“What?” said the mailman. “What did you just say?”

Jack turned around and said, “Oh, uh … I probably shouldn't be telling you, but what the hell, I think they're gone, anyway. Have you ever heard of snuff films? Where people are sexually tortured and killed so the film can be sold to perverts to watch and get their kicks?”

“Is that what they're doing in there?” roared the mailman.

Jack lowered his head and muttered, “I knew I shouldn't have told you, but we couldn't get a warrant.”

“Here, take it,” the mailman said, shoving the mail into Jack's hand.

“Are you sure? I don't want —”

“Take it!” he ordered.

Jack handed the mail to Adams, who took out his notebook and started writing.

“You all might like to know that three houses down the back alley from this house … on the other side of the alley, there is a policeman living there,” continued the mailman. “In case you need a place to watch it from or somethin'.”

“Thanks,” said Jack, “but we think the people in this house are moving someplace else, which is what we are hoping to find.”

“If they leave a forwarding address, I'll give it to you all,” said the mailman. “Just swing by in a day or two about this time and I'll be here.”

“Appreciate that,” replied Jack.

“I never would of thought,” said the mailman, looking at the house.

“Yeah, people make you sick sometimes,” said Jack. “We think they're also into dope.”

“Oh yeah, for sure. I figured that, what with the cars they got.”

“Here,” said Adams holding out the mail. “Uh …” he then handed the mail back to Jack.

“Keep it,” said the mailman. “I don't care if I never see it again!”

Jack glanced at Adams, who shook his head. “I guess we have what we need,” said Jack, handing the mail back.

The mailman reluctantly accepted it and Jack and Adams walked back to the car.

“God, that was something,” said Adams. “I never would have believed it.”

“I think most people are basically good,” replied Jack. “Sometimes the law screws up what should be common sense. Make sure you always protect that mailman. I feel crappy for giving him a line like that.”

“It worked.”

“Yes, but if word of it ever leaked, sometime someone will be working on snuff films and they'll have a door slammed in their face. In this case I weighed what happened to your partner and decided that what I did was acceptable. Rotten, maybe, but acceptable enough for me to live with it.”

When they got back in the car, Adams hesitated before putting it in drive and said, “I think you and I would be good partners. Wish we were.”

“I've got a feeling we would be, too. Guess we are for a few days.”

“Mind if we skip lunch? I'd like to go back to the office and check out some of these names. On the way I'll swing past a nightspot in El Paso that's popular with both Mexicans and gringos. I could see you ending up there.”

“Good idea. Maybe grab a burger and eat as we drive.”

A short time later, between popping French fries in his mouth, Adams pointed out the nightspot he had spoken about. It was a huge building and was appropriately named The Old Warehouse
.
Adams said inside was a massive dance floor with a high platform built on each of the four corners of the dance floor. At night, they played country music and dance instructors were on each platform showing people the moves. The outside of the dance floor was surrounded by tables for the patrons to drink.

Adams told him that on some nights women from Juarez would come over to compete in a beauty pageant. He said the place often attracted a couple of thousand people at night.

“Perfect,” said Jack. “Let's get to your office.” Jack liked The Old Warehouse. Not for being fun, although he was sure it would be, but if he had to use it as a ruse to lose a cover team it would be easy.

Adams and Jack entered the main office and Adams immediately went to his desk. Davidson was in his office talking to Weber and the other two bosses. He saw Jack and gave him a warm smile and waved him in. As Jack entered, Weber gave him a friendly pat on the back.

Conversation was light, with friendly bantering back and forth about the snow in Canada and what Jack must think of the spicy Mexican food.

When Jack noticed Adams stand up from his desk and give him a nod, he knew it was time to go.

“Anything you need, just ask,” said Davidson as Jack left.

Once Jack and Adams left the office, Davidson received a telephone call. “It's the D.A,” he said to the others. “Close the door.”

Weber complied as Davidson talked to White.

“The profilers are hitting it right on,” said Davidson. “An hour ago the two of them were wishing they could be permanent partners. Adams was also telling the Mountie about some military operations.”

“Perfect,” replied White.

“I've kept the profilers apprised. They say what Adams has told the Mountie so far is like foreplay for what he really wants to talk about. The Mountie couldn't have responded better than if he was working for us. They say Adams will definitely confess to him soon. Maybe even today.”

“Make sure he does it where we want him to do it.”

“We're on top of it. Adams is an experienced investigator. He'll do it when he feels there is nobody around but the two of them. Just like a Catholic going to confession.”

“You said building stress was the key. Putting them in a situation where they feel it is them against the world type of thing. Have you done that yet?”

“Not yet, but if Adams doesn't spill his guts today, we can do it tomorrow when the Mountie goes undercover. Mind you, it may not be necessary. They're putting enough stress on themselves by going into Mexico.”

“Going into Mexico?”

“Adams is taking him there right now to meet a CI. I think they are already under enough stress, but if need be, we'll ramp up the pressure tomorrow. Delay allowing the Mountie to go to the Armadillo by saying we're busy and can't spare the backup team. Tell him he'll have to wait an extra hour or so. Not a big deal, but with their personalities it will increase their stress load. If it doesn't, we'll come up with something else.”

“I wouldn't have thought they would have clicked as partners so soon.”

“They really are birds of a feather. It will be a shame to break up their little partnership, but hey, they can become penpals,” said Davidson with a smile.