“You don’t know this guy,” Tommy said. “He’s more powerful in prison than most guys are on the street. I make sure he knows who’s coming and why. It’s a sign of respect. You show up with your suits and yellow legal pads and he’ll sit there stone-faced.”
“So,” Matt said. “Can you make an appointment for this afternoon?” He turned to see workers in dirty jeans preparing to lower Jennifer Steele into the ground. He came back with both of his hands curled into fists. “Because I’m not sure I have the patience to wait much longer.”
Tommy pulled his phone out and backed away from the group. “I’ll do it.”
As Tommy walked off, Walt stared at a text on his cell phone. “We just got word from the operative in Mexico. That bomb is making it over the border in two days. Uranium can’t be brought in by boat, or by plane. It’s too easy to detect. So it limits Garza’s options.”
Walt pointed to Stevie. “Get a couple of drones set up along the Arizona border and have them transmit images back home for the next forty-eight hours.”
Nick looked over at Matt whose entire body was a tightly wound bomb just waiting to explode.
“You okay, partner?” Nick asked.
Matt shook his head. “No. But I’ll get there.”
Nick looked over Matt’s shoulder to catch Julie waving to him as she was escorted from the ceremony by two FBI agents. He waved back. She blew him a kiss.
Tommy returned with his palms open. “Mr. DeRosa will allow me a few minutes of his time this afternoon.”
“Okay, then,” Walt said. “Let’s get on the road.”
Matt grabbed Walt’s arm and glared at him. “You know I’m going to kill him, right?”
Walt gently tapped Matt’s hand. “You do what you have to do.”
Chapter 11
The black SUV weaved cautiously between saguaro cacti and mesquite bushes along the Mexican desert. As always, Victor sat next to Garza in the back seat, staring at his phone.
“What does that thing tell you now?” Garza asked, adjusting his sunglasses.
“Our American friend has confirmed the presence of a spy,” Victor said. “Someone is down here working with the US government.”
Garza frowned. “That is old news. I suspect he is holding back and rehashing the same information. He is stalling.”
“Maybe he’s had it confirmed from a new source?” Victor said.
Garza turned to his first lieutenant and pulled the sunglasses down to the brim of his nose. “Is that what you believe?”
Victor appeared anxious. “I am merely offering options, Jefe. If you want I should keep my mouth shut and agree with every comment you make. . then that is what I will do.”
Garza replaced his sunglasses and smirked. “No, Victor, do not change. I sometimes forget who I am speaking with.” He returned his attention to the desolate desert floor under the bright noon sun. “Please, continue.”
In the distance a large, beige tent came into view. Two green Humvees sat parked beside the tent.
“Jefe,” the driver said. “Is this them?”
“It is them,” Garza said with certainty. “Stop the car fifty feet from the entrance.”
The driver carefully rolled toward the tent while everyone else in the SUV kept their eyes moving along the horizon. Finally, the driver came to a stop and shifted the vehicle into park. Two soldiers stood on either side of the entrance, their AK-47s on their shoulders.
Garza had the driver sit still while he examined the landscape. He searched for extra tire tracks signifying the delivery of more men possibly waiting inside. There were none. Garza did not make enemies. He was simply an agent of transportation. He kept the flow of product flowing freely from one side of the border to the other. The cartels were used to an annual success rate of sixty-five percent. Garza boasted nearly a ninety-five percent success rate. And that included the necessary decoys he would employ.
Garza nodded to Victor and his number one opened the door and approached the tent. Victor held up his hands as the two soldiers frisked him for weapons. Once they were satisfied, they motioned him inside the makeshift meeting place.
Victor emerged a few minutes later with his right hand balled into a fist. This signaled to Garza there were no soldiers inside the tent. If he suspected something, he would’ve been scratching his shoulder. It was safe to enter.
“Stay here and keep watch,” Garza instructed his two men in the front seat.
As Garza approached the tent, he took off his sunglasses and placed them in his shirt pocket. He held out his arms as the soldiers frisked him, then gestured for him to enter.
Once inside, Garza met a man wearing khaki clothes and sandals. The man was older than Garza remembered, a mop of curly hair turning gray down his sideburns.
The man opened his arms with a genuine smile. Garza hugged the man and returned the back pat.
“It is good to see you again, my old friend,” the man said in Spanish. “El Carnicero.”
“Yes,” Garza returned the greeting in Spanish as well. “You look well.”
The man pointed to a beach chair in the middle of the tent. “Please, sit.”
Garza lowered himself into the seat and smiled at Francisco Rodriguez. One of the most powerful men among the world of cartels. The Mexican government was bringing down massive heat on the cartels and Rodriguez was their way of infiltrating the system. He was the opposition to President Salcido and if he took power, the cartels would control the country from the inside.
Rodriguez removed a flask from a canvas bag on the floor. He poured tequila into two separate shot glasses and handed one to Garza. They raised their glasses.
“To the future,” Rodriguez said.
“To the future,” Garza said.
They downed the drinks together. Rodriguez wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So how is Julio?”
“He is very well. Thank you.”
“Getting prepared to take over the family business?” Rodriguez said with a grin.
Garza wanted nothing of the sort, but knew the correct response. “Of course. He is a good student.”
“Good, good. So, tell me, how do you do it? How is it you find a way to transport goods over the border without any trouble?”
Garza smiled. “If I told you that, then why would anyone need me?”
Rodriguez laughed. “My friend, you will always be needed. Especially when I become president. I am here to tell you the three cartels leaders are all in debt to you. They call you, ‘El Presidente de la Frontera.’”
Garza certainly was the president of the border, but it was good to hear the cartel leaders speak of him that way. He held up his shot glass. Rodriguez filled both glasses and they downed the tequila with a satisfying, “Ah.”
“Antonio, once I am in office I will parcel out the territories and eliminate much of the violence. The leaders have already agreed on their specific regions and have arranged for a treaty amongst themselves. Once the violence subsides, the civilians will appreciate the calm and the protests will stop. This is my platform and I will perform my duty with honor.”
Rodriguez sounded more and more like a politician now and Garza could see the transformation in front of his eyes. A marijuana farmer turned drug runner turned ruler of the cartels. Then a familiar smile came across his face.
“When I am president,” Rodriguez said, “we will both rule this country together.”
“Pardon me, Francisco, but I already rule this country. And I do not need voters to keep me in power.”
“This is very true.” There was a gleam in Rodriguez’s eyes. He held up the flask with a questioning look.
“No, thank you.”
In the distance, the sound of helicopter blades emerged from the silence of the desert. Outside the tent, Rodriguez’s soldiers were shouting, “Federales, Federales.”
Rodriguez looked at Garza. “Something I should know?”
“I have brought you a present,” Garza said. “Something for you to offer our friends. They will know our relationship is sound and not question your authority.”