Troubled Sea (13 page)

What? I saw Pam give him his pills. Right after
dinner
.

“You did?”

Hetta gritted her teeth as she listened to the rattle of a pill bottle, and water poured. “I did. You take these, big boy, and I’ll be right back to make good on my promise.”

“Don’t know what I’d do without you to take such good care of me, Pammy,” Bud sighed.

“Live longer?” Hetta whispered into Sam Houston’s ear and, once again, started to creep away. The evil twin spoke, stopping her in her tracks. “I’ll tell you what you’d do without me. You’d probably have Hetta. Seems to me you two have a thing for each other. I don’t know what you see in her, Bud. She’s short, fat, old, bossy, and stupid.”

Hetta pulled a face and mouthed, “Hey, I’m not stupid!”

Bud,  Hetta  was grateful to hear, responded angrily. “Jealousy don’t sit pretty on you, Miz Pam. Hetta’s my best friend and you’d better get that through your pretty little blonde head. And she ain’t old
or
stupid.”

Hetta nodded.
Thanks, Bud, but you could have addressed that fat part. Bossy and short? Okay, I
’
ll give her that.

“And,” Bud added in warning, “I wouldn’t be putting me to a test of having to choose between her and you if I was you. Go get in the shower before I lose my new good mood.”

“Take that, bitch,” Hetta muttered. Sam Houston wiggled the ear she tickled with her breath. “Me too, Sam. I’ve had an earful.”

Hetta returned to bed, mollified that Bud drew his sword on her behalf, but wondering just where Pam really was tonight. Walk on the dock, my ass.

“Where were you?” Jenks mumbled, cuddling up to her and squashing Sam Houston between them.

She kissed his forehead. “Just checking on the twins.”

Chapter 22

Nothing is but what is not.—Shakespeare

“Wake up, Nikki, we’ve got a hot one.”

Agent Nicole Kristin moaned into the phone and squinted at her clock just as the digital readout changed to 2:45 a.m. “It better sizzle, Jerry, I just got into bed.”

“Uh, want to call me back?”

“No. And wipe that lewd and lascivious tone from your voice. I’m alone. Speak.”

“Remember that mysterious explosion the other night in the Sea of Cortez?”

“Yep.”

“And the memo I sent you from the State Department about a couple of
Gringos
found dead on their yacht in that same sea?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Tilt! Both incidents have been tied to drug runners. The same drug runners.”

Nicole sat up and threw off her covers. “No shit?”

“No shit. Get on down here to the office, but first, pack your SPF30 and bikini ‘cause we’re headed for Margaritaville and mariachis. We’ve been invited to join the posse in Mexico.”

“All right! How come?”

“Seems some American citizens getting offed by bad guys, especially dope-dealing bad guys, is enough for State to let us get involved. We’re in. And, miracle of miracles, at the request of the Mexican government.”

“Hallelujah! I’ll be there in a flash. Make some really strong coffee,” Nicole said, already heading for the shower. An hour later, her damp hair pulled into a ponytail, she was in Jerry’s office.

“Jerry, something plagues me,” Nicole said, waving a communiqué in the air. “We’ve had scads of reports from pleasure cruisers who’ve seen drugs floating, or even had
pangistas
trying to bum gas from them. A trifle frightening for the boaters, but so far, no big deal. Cruisers to date have been immune to serious confrontations. But then, none of them ever saw a helicopter blow up a panga as far as we know.”

“I’d put that in the not everyday occurrence category,” Jerry said dryly.

“And why would the
drogistas
suddenly take it in their heads to start offing their own pangas? And then go after
Gringo
witnesses? I mean, the Jenkins saw a panga with drugs in it. Scary for them, but not the first time it’s happened down there. Of course, in all the other sightings, the
pangueros
were still in their pangas and just in need of some gas. But not this time. The panga’s abandoned and then, lo and behold, here comes an unmarked, as far as we know, chopper, blows the boat and dope to Kingdom Come. Why?”

“You tell me, Agent Kristin.”

“I have a theory.”

“Shoot.”

“As you know, we’ve been getting those little dollops of info lately, pointing to the possibility of a couple of loose cannons operating outside the cartels. If that’s the case, they can ill afford any record of their existence, for instance, a panga full of dope turning up in the Tijuana Cartel’s territory. It’s extremely unhealthy to move in on those TJ guys, as evidenced in Ensenada not so long ago.”

“So,” Jerry picked up her line of reasoning, “unless the new guys want to end up as fish food, they can’t leave no stinkin' witnesses. Which, of course, make these guys all the more dangerous to anyone who stumbles upon them or their operation. You think these hot heads could be anyone we know?”

Nicole shrugged and grinned. “We
could
round up the usual suspects. My hunch is they’re
Gringos
, running a fairly small, but well-funded operation outside the usual Mexican connections. I say well-funded’ because of the helicopter, and the luxury of being able to destroy their own dope. A lot of it, according to the report. The sketches we’ve gotten so far hint at ties to the Far East. A whole new can of worms. ‘Course, its all speculation. Nothing to twist our knickers. I need to check out a couple of reports. What time is de plane, Boss? For that matter, where are we going, and what are the chances of getting some sleep on said plane?”

“Sonora. Don’t know which airport yet, but we’re gonna end up in San Carlos. We’ll know in an hour, when all of the arrangements are made. State Department interest notwithstanding, we’ll still only rate a commercial flight. As for sleep, you know what they say about rest and the wicked.”

“Weary,” Nicole corrected. “No rest for the weary. The bad guys are the wicked. We are the weary.”

Nicole’s ears popped, her eyes opened and she saw, through the small turbo prop’s thick porthole, the Sea of Cortez sparkling lazuline in the afternoon sun. An island floated off the wingtip and she scanned her mental map for a name. San Pedro?

Across the narrow aisle, Jerry was reared back, mouth open, as sonorous as a D8 dozer in low gear. She reached over and poked his shoulder. The snoring stopped, but Jerry slept on. She rested her head against the cool headliner next to her seat and the next thing she knew they were taxiing up to the Guaymas Airport terminal building.

“Aha, it’s alive,” Jerry said. “You must really be beat on your feet, you slept right through the landing.”

“But not your snores. And you’re right, I’m beat. I can assure you there won’t be any mariachis in my future this night. Just a cold margarita and a soft pillow. What time is it?”

“Few minutes before two. We’re late.”

“An auspicious beginning in mañanaland,” Nicole deadpanned.

“Tomorrowland. Sounds like something from the Disney folks.”

“Actually, mañana really means ‘not today,’ but everyone thinks it means tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Profesora Kreestin.”

“
De nada
.”

When the plane rolled to an abrupt halt, Jerry and Nicole, the first to debark, were met on the tarmac by a tall, handsome man in uniform, and a thin, bespectacled woman wearing an impeccable dark suit and yellow power tie.

The woman stuck out her hand. “I am Anne Wolf of the American Embassy, Ms. Kristin, Mr. Fisher. Allow me to present
Comandante
Jaime Morales of the Federal Judicial Police of the Republic of Mexico.”

After handshakes all around, Ms. Wolf handed them her card and, after explaining she had flown in from Mexico City just to escort them past immigration and customs, did just that. Very efficiently.

Nicole, her passport and bag in hand, watched the diplomat’s retreat. “What did we do to deserve all the VIP treatment?”

Jerry shrugged. “Careful use of the taxpayer’s dollars, it ain’t.”

Jaime heard his remark and chuckled, “It is the same in our country. Much money wasted on bureaucratic matters.”

“So I’ve heard,” Nicole said dryly. Jerry shot her a dark look, but Nicole ignored him. “And
Comandante
, it’s
señorita
, but please call me Nikki.”

“Okay, Nikki. And you must call me Jaime. Or James if you prefer.”

“Don’t anybody call me Geraldo,” Jerry quipped.

“Fine by me, Chief. Coman...uh...Jaime, you speak excellent English. Did you study in the United States?”

“No,
señorita
Nikki, my sister is married to an American. They live in La Paz, and when I was much younger I lived with them while attending the University of La Paz. We spoke English at home because my sister believes that all Mexicans should be bilingual. The conversations around the dinner table were something we called Spanglish. In one sentence, we would switch back and forth three or four times.”

“It was the same in my family,” Nicole said. “My grandfather was Cuban.”

“Ah, then you are part
Latina
.” Jaime beamed.

“Not the part that counts,” Nicole said icily.

Jaime looked perplexed while Jerry stared at his assistant in disbelief. He had never heard Nicole be rude to anyone she wasn't busting.

Nicole looked away, but not before Jerry saw her cheeks color.

A uniformed driver rushed forward, saving the trio from an awkward moment. He scooped up Nicole and Jerry’s bags and led the way to a highly polished, but aging, green Mercedes sedan parked in the center of a No Parking zone. They had barely piled into the car when the driver punched the accelerator, cutting off two oncoming cars. Nicole sucked in her breath and searched in vain for a seat belt.

Chatting along as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, Jaime asked, “Is there anything I can fill you in on during our drive into San Carlos?”

Jerry cast a worried glance at the maniacal driver and Jaime looked apologetic, misinterpreting Jerry’s concern. “Please forgive me, Jerry, I have not introduced my son, Juan. We call him Juanito. He is not my regular driver, but this
Hot Idea
incident is so sensitive I did not feel comfortable with another set of ears about. Juanito is a policeman in Hermosillo, temporarily assigned to me. What is the saying? Rank has its privileges?”

“Close enough,” Nicole said. “So, what can you tell us about
Hot Idea
? Our briefing was, well, brief.”

“
Hot Idea
was pulled from the water yesterday and moved to a storage yard in San Carlos. She was found, floating ten miles offshore, by shrimpers who saw smoke coming from the boat. When they could not raise anyone, they boarded, put out a small fire on the aft deck, found the Goodalls, and towed the boat into Guaymas. The port captain there conducted an initial investigation.”

Jerry, remembering the helicopter attacking the Jenkins used automatic weapons said, “We haven’t seen that information yet. Any bullets recovered?”

“No, none.”

Nicole, picking up Jerry’s line of thought, said, “Well, maybe the autopsies will...how about holes in the boat? Any pattern that would indicate automatic weapons?”

“Nikki, it appears the killers took
Hot Idea
without a shot being fired. Perhaps the Goodalls stopped to render assistance and were overpowered before they realized they had been tricked.”

“No good deed goes unpunished,” Nicole said grimly.

“Zactly.”

“So, how were they killed?” she asked.

“With machetes.”

Jerry’s mouth fell open. “Jesus!”

Nicole’s stomach flip-flopped, but she swallowed and coolly asked,  “So, do you think the boat was set on fire to try to cover the crime?”

Jaime, slightly surprised by her tepid reaction, said, “No, I do not think so. It appeared to be a carelessly tossed cigarette. Frankly we are puzzled. Or we were until the
HiJenks
report.”

Jerry asked, “Yeah, Jaime, what’s your take on that story of a mix-up? A case of mistaken identity?”

“I believe it,” Jaime said emphatically.

“I haven’t read the whole thing, just a summary. How many people in Mexico know you suspect the Goodall murders were a case of mistaken identity? And who are they?” Nicole asked.

“Very few. Me, Juanito,” Jaime nodded towards his son, “my brother-in-law in La Paz because the Jenkins contacted him first, some high officials and, of course, the president.”

“The president?” Nicole said, her voice momentarily losing its detached professionalism. To herself she asked,
His brother-in-law
?

“Why zactly do you think you are here, Nikki? Even with the new push for international cooperation against the cartels, we both know that without extraordinary circumstances we foot soldiers are kept on our own sides of the border.”

“Where are those other people? The ones who think they were the intended targets.”

“On my advice, Hetta and Jenks Jenkins should be on their way back to their boat at the anchorage in Puerto Escondido. We have no reason to believe anyone is looking for them at this time. They were, of course, very upset when they told their story to me in La Paz.”

This was the first time she’d heard the Jenkinses first names, and was surprised by Jaime’s statement. “You know them?” Nicole asked, confused. As far and she and Jerry knew, it was the United States Coast Guard who reported the attack off the Baja.

“As luck would have it, they went to John Colt, my brother-in-law, to confide their suspicions that
Hot Idea
was mistaken for
HiJenks
. Up until that time they were too frightened to mention the attack to anyone. It was only when they heard of
Hot Idea
that they decided to tell someone. And to further answer your question, even fewer people know the exact identity of the Jenkins. Those who were told know only that there was another boat involved, not which one. The Jenkins, for their own protection, remain largely anonymous.”

“What a nightmare this must be for them,” Jerry said. “Do the Jenkins know how the Goodalls were killed?” Machete murders were becoming more prevalent as Mexican drug gangs duked it out and wanted to leave a horrific message, but the killing of two innocent American citizens was highly unusual. Actually knowing someone who met such a fate was hard for him to imagine.