The Covert Element (23 page)

"He’s here now."

I wanted to ask Bull what his definition of "is" is? But before I
could spit it out, there was a soft knock on the door.

I rose as Bull pulled it open.

I couldn’t see the visitor because Bull’s huge frame occluded all
but a few glimpses of daylight around the door’s edges. Bull took a
step toward the visitor and lifted the man in a bear hug. His head
barely peeked over Bull’s shoulder.

Bull put him down and fairly pushed his guest inside.

Sergeant Fuentes was not a tall man – maybe five-foot-six. His
outfit was crisp, tailored Tommy Bahama. The bristles of his crew-cut sparkled gray. If this was a man on the run from the cartels, he’d
done a great job of concealing his desperation.

Fuentes noticed me and immediately looked to Bull.

"He’s okay. Ex-somethin’ somethin’."

Fuentes smiled.

"Same old Red Feather. You could always say more in less
words, you know. For you, less words is more meat." His accent was
from eastern Mexico and his English wasn’t completely proficient.

He patted Bull’s shoulder respectfully.

"Hi," I said. "I’m James Becker. Call me ‘Beck.’ And he’s right. I
am
ex-somethin’ somethin’. Nobody better than me at keeping his
mouth shut when needed."

He and I met each other half-way. Each searched the other’s
eyes for insight as we gauged one another’s grip. I don’t know what
Fuentes saw in
my
expression . . . but he should play poker for a
living.

Bull looked outside for luggage, and finding none, returned to
his chair.

"He’ll help us out."

"I think he’s inviting you to have a seat. Oh . . . and he wonders
if you’d like some iced tea."

Fuentes laughed. "
Si.
Tea,
por favor
."

As I poured the tea. Fuentes settled into a vacant chair in our
seating group.

"You know, it was too many years ago when I would tell the
others what was Red Feather saying." He faced Bull. "Far too many
years."

I brought Fuentes his tea and sat down on the couch.

"
Gracias, amigo.
"

"
De nada. Es lo mínimo que podría hacer."
The very least I
could do.

"You speak
Espanol
very good, Señor Beck. Do you spend time
in Mexico? I cannot make out the accent."

"You know how that goes in the ‘somethin’ somethin’ business.
I’ve been here and there. Mostly now and then."

Fuentes laughed.

"You can help us with this situation. You, I like."

He swallowed some tea and reclined into the chair.

"You make a nice home here, Red Feather. A palace on the
mountain. And also, a jungle compound."

Bull smiled . . . I think.

"Bull tells me that you have a situation of sorts that we might
be able to help you with."

Fuentes looked at Bull.

"So you are now ‘Bull’? I like this. May I use it?"

Bull shrugged.

"Señor Beck. It is true that I contacted Red Fea . . . I mean, Bull
. . . for assistance. I told him I was running from the cartel and
required a refuge."

He looked back toward Bull again.

"But that was a lie."

I watched Bull’s expression. No change.

"I am not running from the cartel. I am chasing them."

Now
that
was an interesting turn of events.

"You’re chasing them in Minnesota? Isn’t that a ways outside
cartel territory?"

"You are correct,
amigo
. Not so long ago this was true. But no
more. At minimum, two cartels are now present in Minnesota,
making drugs and selling them. They cast seeds to the wind to see
which will grow. I am here to dig them out before they prosper."

If what Fuentes was telling us was true, this was one very brave
man. A solitary avenger battling an overwhelming foe. His strategy
of picking away at the edges had something to be said for it. And
Minnesota must certainly be an edge.

"Can we back up a little bit?" I said. "I’m not entirely sure what
you’re talking about. And I can tell that Bull is immensely
confused."

Fuentes glanced at Bull and laughed. The man had a face of
stone.

"You and Bull were in the Rangers together, right?"

"
Si
."

"And then you went back to Mexico, maybe twenty . . . twenty-five years ago."

"
Si
."

"Have you been fighting the cartels this whole time? Two
decades?"

"
Si
.
Los Cinco
killed my parents. I have no brothers or sisters.
So I fight to avenge my family . . . and to free Mexico."

 "How in the world have you escaped capture for all these
years? The cartels own the police, the taxis, the postal authorities,
even the mayors and provincial governors. Where did you hide?"

"As Señor Bull will tell you . . ." He looked at Bull and laughed.
"Perhaps not." Another laugh.

"The best place to hide is in open air. Americans say ‘in plain
sight.’ That is where I have lived. I have fished with cartel
fishermen, broken bread with cartel
policía
, slaved in the kitchens
of cartel mansions, tilled cartel fields. There is nowhere that I have
hidden . . . except everywhere."

I knew that his "hiding" strategy was the only one that could
possibly have worked for so long. In warfare, as in life, one must
keep one’s friends close, and one’s enemies closer.

"You are, indeed, a valiant warrior, Sergeant Fuentes. I
commend your diligence. Since you are still drawing breath, I must
assume that your fight has been successful."

"I have eliminated many of their soldiers. Some I have killed
with my own hands. Others with explosives. And more I have
tricked into killing each other. The cartels are suspicious of
everything and everyone. Doubt is easily sown.

"But no lone man can defeat
Los Cinco
. It is like throwing the
starfish back into the sea. There are too many of them, and I am but
one boy walking
en la playa
."

"Pardon my questions, Sergeant, but I am very protective of
Bull here. I’d hate to see him get into something over his head." I
couldn’t really imagine what such a thing might be. Bull was
awfully self-reliant.

"You say you have come to Minnesota ‘chasing’ the cartels."

"
Si
."

"Where are they? Why haven’t we seen evidence of their
actions?" I knew the answer before I finished the question. "This is
why you know who killed the Mexicans. Isn’t it."

"
Si
. It is between the cartels. This is how I know."

Gangs, punks, psychos, druggies, skinheads, bikers . . . they’d
all crossed my mind as possible suspects in the murders – but never
Mexican cartels.

"Sergeant Fuentes. Tell us what you know about the killings,
por favor
."

"
Los Cinco
is the cartel which controls all of Mexico on the east
and northeast. From Tampico to Matamoros, few dare to challenge
them. But to the west are lands controlled by
Los Zetas
."

"The
Zetas
began as hired soldiers . . .
mercenarios
. . . for
Los
Cinco
. But it was not long before they understood that they took
upon themselves the most of the risks for
Los Cinco
. Why not make
the business their own?

"There was a great war between
Zetas
and
Cinco
for several
years. Many died on both sides. The
Zetas
did not respect the power
of
Los Cinco
. They had forgotten what money could buy. Even
though
Los Zetas
began with the best soldiers,
Los Cinco
soon
bought more, and armed them well.

"In the end, the two cartels still fight with each other, but it is
not so much. There is
mucho dinero
in selling drugs to America.
Enough money for both. Mostly, each will stay in its own lands.

"Then
Los Cinco
made
el Proyecto de Minnesota
, a plan to
make the methamphetamine drug in America. This project was kept
secret from
Los Zetas
and from everyone. Yet, I discovered it.
Los
Zetas
must have also."

I stopped the Sergeant.

"If the
Cincos
kept this Minnesota Project such a close secret,
how did you find out about it?"

"As I have told you, I work and live among
Los Cinco
. It was
when I served as . . . how do you say,
el camarero
?"

"A waiter."

"
Si
. I was a waiter at the
Cinco
villa on the mountain. I heard
Señor Calderon and Señor Santos speak of this plan in the north."

I was still skeptical. Then again, I am a product of my
experience. Skepticism goes with the territory.

"Did they give details? How did you track this plan to
Minnesota?"

Fuentes looked at Bull. Bull remained motionless. Fuentes
turned back to me.

"Señor Beck. I do not wish to be rude. It required many
contacts, much surveillance, chasing papers, and many other efforts
on my part. Will this explanation serve? For if not, the story will be
long in the telling."

"No, Señor Fuentes. That’s sufficient. I apologize for
interrupting you. After all you’ve been through, you shouldn’t have
to endure interrogation by me as well. Please proceed."

In point of fact, I was not satisfied by the Sergeant’s
explanation of how he had come by information that the cartel had
successfully kept hidden from its rivals. I would file that thought for
future consideration.

"
Gracias
, Señor Beck. You have no need of apology."

Bull and I waited as Fuentes gathered his thoughts.

"It was perhaps two months since I learned of young men of
Tampico being trained by
Los Cinco
for a special purpose. Twenty-five, maybe thirty, would gather at University in Tampico for many
hours each day.
Los Cinco
stood guard. Of course, the
policía
made
no trouble.

"Two weeks before today, these young men left their homes
and their families and went no more to University. I expected that
they would travel to
Proyecto de Minnesota
. So I followed.

"I have arrived here in Minnesota one week already. I saw the
fire at the drug house. I saw the dead men outside, and their killer
as well."

"You actually saw the guy who shot the Mexicans?"

"
Si
."

"And it was just one guy . . . not a bunch of guys?"

"I saw only one. But the men, they were dead when I arrive.
There were maybe more
Zetas
before that time. I cannot say."

"How did you know the man was a
Zeta
?"