Birds of a Feather (18 page)

“I take it they wouldn't have to worry about being arrested if they did that,” said Jack bitterly.

“No. If political pressure was put on our government for her murder, then someone else would be framed and arrested for the crime. Perhaps someone who wasn't even a criminal.”

“So what do we do?” asked Jack, aware that his feelings of optimism at what he thought he had accomplished had turned to frustration and despair.
Peaks and valleys … always peaks and valleys …

“If we find the tunnel and you approach the Mexican authorities for help, there is a very real possibility someone involved in her rescue will have been bought off.”

“If we locate the tunnel, what about using it to conduct a raid from your side of the border?” asked Jack, looking at Adams.

“I was thinking the same thing myself,” replied Adams. “I think under the circumstances that might be the safest route to take.”

“That is a better idea,” said Rubalcava, “although I am sure the American end of the tunnel will be heavily guarded, as well. To get there in time to save her may be difficult, but it might still be the safer way to do it.”

“We have people trained for such matters,” replied Adams. “Although recon could take a day or two. It will have to be done properly so as not to alert the men at Casa Blanca before we reach it.”

Rubalcava smiled. “Of course you have men train-ed for these matters. The same ones who taught the commandos hired by the cartel. They might even know each other.”

“Don't rub it in.” Adams scowled.

“So we won't be doing any arrests at The Old Warehouse tonight,” noted Jack.

“Guess it depends on what you find out this afternoon,” said Adams. “There are thousands of bad guys — the important thing is to rescue the girl.”

“Definitely,” agreed Jack. “Besides, with luck I should be able to convince them to join me at The Old Warehouse a second time and make it coincide with when the raid does take place.”

Rubalcava glanced at his watch. “I should get to the office.” He looked at Adams and said, “Can you have your wife call me before lunch? Perhaps with the time needed, you should tell her that she wants to rendezvous with me for the whole afternoon.” Rubalcava grinned when he saw Jack give him a sideways glance and said, “It is not what it seems, I assure you.”

“Somehow, you two didn't strike me as the type to be into wife-swapping,” replied Jack, giving a lopsided grin.

Rubalcava's face became serious as he turned his attention back to Adams. “I will then join you and perhaps we can set up on the highway west of the city.” He looked at Jack and added, almost apologetically, “If we see Big Al's SUV it may give us a general location of where you are going, but I know we will not be able to follow if he turns off the main highway. In that area there is a maze of dirt roads. There would be little traffic and the dust would announce the presence of any vehicle.”

“I understand,” replied Jack. “Big Al's SUV is silver and El Pero's is white. I suspect I will be riding with Big Al. If you do see us turn off, what with the time I have been given, I don't think I should be gone much more than half an hour. If the roads are dusty, you may even have a general direction of where I am being taken.”

“Even if we do know where you're at,” noted Adams, “I doubt we could ever get to you in time, even if we did know you were in trouble.”

“I'm aware of that,” replied Jack.

Adams and Rubalcava looked at each other and grimaced. The idea of standing by and not being able to save an officer in trouble would be a gut-wrenching experience.

Despite the light rain in Vancouver, Jarvis was proud of the colours he had recently earned, making him a full member of Satans Wrath. He wanted everyone to see he was now sporting the full club logo on his back. As he pulled out of the compound of the west-side chapter clubhouse, his bare muscular arms, black with tattoos, gunned the engine of his Harley Davidson as he roared out on to the street.

Minutes later, a car with two men pulled alongside him and the passenger rolled down his window and gestured for him to pull over.

Jarvis pulled to the curb, but kept his bike running as the car double-parked beside him.

“Who the fuck are you two guys? Cops?” asked Jarvis.

“No,” said the passenger. “I'm Miguel and this is Ramiro. We need to talk to Señor Damien.”

“What are ya? Fuckin' reporters? Talk to our media guy.”

“We're not reporters. We have a very valuable gift for Señor Damien. It's business. We need to meet him, but were warned the police could be watching your clubhouse.”

“If you're in business with Damien, why don't you call him yourself?” asked Jarvis as he looked around, wondering if the club was trying to test his response.

“We've never met him. We don't have his number. We want you to call him.”

Jarvis hesitated about what to do. Although he had earned his full patch, he was not senior enough to ever be allowed to talk to the National President directly. “Tell ya what,” he replied. “I'll take you to an alley where it is safe to talk. You wait there and I'll go talk to someone.”

Lance Morgan, president of the west-side chapter of Satan's Wrath, went to the clubhouse and listened to what Jarvis had to say. When Jarvis was finished talking, Lance called Damien and spoke briefly.

“Damien doesn't know either of these guys,” said Lance when he hung up. “Maybe they're trying to set him up for a hit. Take the boys over and check them out.”

Twenty minutes later, Miguel and Ramiro had guns shoved in their faces by six members of Satans Wrath. They were both jerked out of their car and slammed up against a garbage dumpster and roughly searched. Lance was watching from a distance and waited until Jarvis gave him a wave before walking up to them.

“No weapons,” said Jarvis. “They do have a new Rolex watch in their car though. It's still in the box.”

“Are you Señor Damien?” asked Miguel meekly. “It is for you. A gift from Big Al. There is also a picture in a brown envelope.”

Jarvis retrieved the items from the car and handed the watch to Lance.

Lance nodded appreciatively as he examined the jewel-encrusted watch. Jarvis then handed him the picture.

“That is Big Al,” said Miguel helpfully, pointing to the picture. “Many beautiful ladies, yes? I think your man is having a good time.”

Lance's jaw gaped open as he looked at the picture. “My man?” he spluttered.

“You do not know him?” asked Miguel, looking shocked.

“Fuckin' rights I know him,” replied Lance hotly, before turning to Jarvis and saying, “Hold these two until I get back with Damien.”

In Juarez, Jack and Adams walked down the alley to return to their car.

“What are you going to do now?” asked Jack, with a final glance at Rubalcava, who was walking away in the opposite direction.

“After I drop you off at the hotel, I'll go to the office and feed the bosses the scenario you told me,” replied Adams.

“I'm so groggy from lack of sleep, do you mind running it past me? What did I suggest?” asked Jack.

“Fuck, I always heard you Canadians were polite. What you're really wanting to know is if I have it right … right?”

Jack grinned in response.

“Okay,” continued Adams. “I'll tell the bosses you met some of the bad guys last night and give them the news about what you learned, except for the part of you being taken to Casa Blanca. I'll tell them I'm contacting my CIs to ask about a possible location for Casa Blanca and also line up a potential arrest scenario for everyone to be in place at The Old Warehouse.”

“Which, by the sounds of it, we'll have to postpone.”

“Yeah, but hopefully by then we'll know where Casa Blanca is. How long we postpone it may depend on what you find out. If she's already dead …”

“I know.” Jack sighed. “That would change everything. Will your people expect to cover me at the Armadillo? They might expect me to go there to see if Slater is around.”

“I'll tell them it's not needed. I'll say if he is there, that you're only swinging by to invite him to The Old Warehouse, as well.”

“Sounds like we have our ducks in a row.”

“Then I'll split from the office and be waiting for you with my friend on the highway.”

“They pick me up at twelve and I should be back to the Armadillo by three. I figure we should be going by you around one.”

“Yeah,” said Adams glumly. “
If
we are on the right highway and
if
you are in the right vehicle so we can spot you.”

“Don't worry if you don't. If it isn't near the radio tower, I'll figure out some way to find the place again, even if I have to crawl up on the roof and mark it with a big
X
.”

“It was finding you I was thinking of … before you're
X
'd.
C-X
'd that is.”

Jack normally would have smiled.
C-X
was a term used in target-practising to indicate the kill zone of the heart or lung vicinity. At the moment, Adams's comment didn't seem all that funny. He glanced at Adams and sombrely replied, “Like you said before, there is nothing you can do, regardless.”

They drove back across the Bridge of the Americas to Jack's hotel in El Paso in utter silence. Both men were quietly wondering what the next few hours would bring. When Adams pulled up to the front of the hotel, he leaned over and shook Jack's hand.

“Good luck,” Adams said.

“Thanks. See you for a beer later,” replied Jack as he got out.

Adams remained parked for a moment as he watched Jack walk away.

I wonder if I will ever see him alive again …

It was eleven o'clock when Jack arrived back at the Armadillo Motel and saw Slater's pickup truck parked in front of a unit. Seconds later, Slater let him into his room.

“When did you get in?” asked Jack, flopping down into a chair.

“About ten minutes ago. I've been on the road since four o'clock this morning.”

“You poor guy,” said Jack, somewhat sarcastically.

“Yeah, I'm pooped. I was about to call my contact and let him know I'm here. Have you met any of the guys yet?”

“Last night. They took me out on the town. I met the uncle.”

“Everything okay?” Slater asked.

“Couldn't be better. You may as well hold off on contacting them. They're picking me up within the hour to show me some of their operation.”

“Will I be coming with you?”

“Definitely not,” Jack intoned.

“Good, then depending on what they want me to do with the money, I might be able to get some sleep.”

Promptly at twelve o'clock, Berto and Eduardo arrived in El Pero's white SUV. After a brief conversation, it was decided Jack would travel with Berto in the SUV and Eduardo would ride with Slater in his pickup truck to show him where to deliver the money.

“The place where we are taking Señor Slater is also where we are meeting Big Al and El Pero, explained Berto. “Señor Slater will stay there while the rest of us continue on. Once you have seen
Casa Blanca
, El Pero, Eduardo and me will take you back to El Paso. We can maybe have a few drinks, go out for dinner and then go to The Old Warehouse tonight.”

“Sounds great. Too bad Big Al couldn't join us.”

“Yes, that is unfortunate. Now, I am sorry but I must —”

Jack turned away and leaned spread-eagled against the wall. Neither Berto or Eduardo had their shirts tucked in and by the telltale bulges, Jack knew they were both armed.
Too bad they wouldn't accommodate me, too …

Fifty minutes later, the four men pulled up to an auto body shop in Juarez. Berto parked out front while Slater was told to park inside the shop. Jack was then directed to Big Al's silver SUV, which was parked farther down the street.

As Jack walked over, Big Al and El Pero got out to greet him. He and Big Al then sat in the back while El Pero got in the front. Sanchez stared at Jack from where he was sitting behind the wheel and Jack smiled at him. The smile was not returned.

Jack had not seen any telltale signs to indicate if Big Al or El Pero were armed, but there was no doubt in his mind Sanchez was.

Eduardo left Slater at the body shop and rejoined Berto, who then pulled up behind them in the white SUV. Jack felt slightly relieved. Not only were the vehicles known to Adams, but two SUVs travelling down a highway would be easy to spot. The windows were too tinted for anyone to see for sure which one he was in, but it didn't matter as long as both SUVs stayed together.

“Now I must do this,” smiled Big Al apologetically as he held up a black cloth bag with a drawstring.

“It's okay. I need some sleep, anyway. Nudge me if I snore.”

Big Al smiled as he placed the bag over Jack's head and tied it shut.

Jack purposely avoided conversation as they drove. He tried to keep track of turns, stops, and any noises, but with the air conditioner running, along with the radio on and idle conversation, he quickly lost track. He also had the distinct feeling they had driven in circles a couple of times to make sure they weren't being followed.

Adams and Rubalcava were sitting parked in Adams's car at a gas station on the outskirts of Juarez when they saw the silver SUV drive past, followed by the white.

“Bingo.” Adams smiled and pulled out to follow them. It was a paved road, but traffic was light, with only about one or two vehicles every minute. Adams stayed far back and tried to keep two cars between him and the SUVs.

After driving for about ten minutes, Rubalcava said, “We are getting close.”

“How do you know?” asked Adams, concentrating on the vehicles in front of him.

“We passed an old farmhouse on the right. There were two tan coloured SUVs parked under a shed. A poor farmer could never afford vehicles that nice.”

Adams glanced in his rear-view mirror and nodded.

Half a mile further, the two SUVs slowed and turned right on to a dirt road.

“The road we are on basically faces west in the direction we are going,” said Rubalcava. “Where they turned, if they keep going north, they are only about four miles from the border.”

As they drove past, they saw that both SUVs had stopped to check in with someone parked in a crew-cab truck behind an empty fruit stand. Adams continued driving and watched in the rear-view mirror as the dust billowed up when the two cars continued north. Moments later, they disappeared from sight.

“Now what?” asked Adams, checking his watch. “From the times we were given, Jack should be on his way back out within thirty minutes.”

“Look, you can see the top of the tower from here,” said Rubalcava, pointing to the left. “It might be the closest vantage point we can find, unless these guys are also using it. The turnoff to it must be just up ahead.”

Adams glanced at the tower. “In this heat, a guy wouldn't last long up there. My guess is anybody out here on security will be sticking close to the air conditioners. If someone is there, I'll get out and make it look like I pulled off the highway to take a piss and then leave.”

A few minutes later, Adams parked beside the radio tower and was relieved to see no other vehicles present. At the base, scrub brush and a small cement building blocked their view of the main road from the sandy trail they had come in on. The facility itself was surrounded with a chain-link fence, topped with two strands of rusty barbed wire.

Adams parked the car beside the fence and went to the trunk and retrieved an old set of gloves, which he intended more for climbing the tower than getting over the fence. Touching metal exposed to the hot sun would be like putting your hand on a stove element.

Adams then hung a set of binoculars around his neck and used the hood of the car to help him climb over the fence. There was a ladder on the tower, but it faced the road and he was afraid to use it in case he was spotted. Instead, he climbed up the back of the tower where natural rungs in the girders accommodated his hands and feet. The mass of girders also gave him some cover. A couple of minutes later he climbed high enough to get a view.

“See anything?” asked Rubalcava from the where he stood beside the car.

Adams adjusted his binoculars and said, “I got an eyeball on the fruit stand that the truck is parked behind. Also the farmhouse we passed with the two tan coloured SUVs. The dust trail made by the two SUVs we were following disappears over a couple of hills in the distance. I should see them coming when they return to the main road.”

“I think we are in the best spot to watch then.”

“Jack is going to owe me a cold beer for this,” muttered Adams. Although he was fairly well-concealed, he was still cognizant of the truck behind the fruit stand. He knew the power of a sniper's scope and tried to remain motionless as he clung to the tower, sweat trickling into his eyes, down his armpits, and soaking into his shirt.

He remained on his perch for fifteen minutes when he heard the sound of gunfire coming from the direction of where he was looking. His muscles automatically tensed, ready to spring into action and his mouth gaped open as he strained to listen.
Two shots …

“You hear something?” asked Rubalcava.

“Gunshots!” replied Adams. The sound of two more shots was heard, then a flicker of movement caught his eye and he adjusted his binoculars. “There's another tan-coloured SUV hidden amongst some bushes on top of a sand dune about a half-mile northwest of the fruit stand,” he said quickly. “I hadn't spotted it until now. Two guys are getting out of it … one guy with binoculars … and the other guy just laid a sniper rifle laid over the hood,” he yelled excitedly.

“I don't understand! Is it the sniper that is shooting?”

“Not yet! I think the sniper is sighting in on where the gunshots came from,” yelled Adams.

A fifth shot was heard in the distance, followed almost immediately by a louder explosive clap from the sniper's rifle. Adams watched in horror as the man with the rifle received a high-five slap of congratulations from the second man.