"I always thought when the FBI said HBO, it meant he'd be 'home by one.'"
"Very funny. I didn't think you made jokes."
"Only about the FBI. But I'd still like to know what you said to the U.S. attorney's office."
"Believe me, when national security is at stake, they don't fool around anymore."
"How is Ortíz a threat to national security?"
"How was Mohammed Atta until after 9/11? We're a lot more proactive now."
Duarte looked at the young woman. He didn't guess she was older than him. Maybe thirty or thirty-one. "How'd you qualify for a counterterrorism slot?"
"You don't qualify in the bureau. You apply, then get trained. I was assigned to Newark out of the academy."
Duarte made a sour face.
"Newark's not a bad assignment. You can't live there, you have to live in an outer suburb, but it's not as expensive as New York, and there's a lot of shit that goes on." She waited for him to comment, then realized to whom she was speaking. "Anyway, I was dating an editor with the Newark Star-Ledger. Nice guy, but he lived over in Ocean Grove, and we just didn't see each other very often. After we split up, with the bureau shifting resources because of 9/11, I took a transfer to D.C. and never looked back."
"Where's your family?"
"Connecticut."
"You don't get to see them much then?"
"No big loss." She saw the look on Duarte's face and said, "Why, are you close with your family?"
"You might say that."
"What about your girlfriend, Alice?"
"What about her?"
"She's very pretty."
"I agree."
"And a crime scene tech."
"Forensic scientist."
Lina shrugged. "You guys serious?"
"Don't know."
"What's that mean?"
"I didn't think I'd have to explain 'I don't know.'"
"Just like a man. I'm sure you don't know the meaning of 'commitment' either."
Duarte shrugged and settled back for the rest of the flight.
10
FÉLIX BAEZ BUMPED HIS WAY THROUGH THE BUSTLING TORRIJOS airport in Panama City, Panama. He felt like he was on a caffeine buzz. He had dreamed of a major case that might get him some travel since his first days in the DEA academy. It was a harsh reality to learn that the agency valued arrests in quantity, not necessarily quality. Because of his heritage and ability to speak Spanish, Félix had been put on the street buying a kilo here and a few ounces there. He didn't resent it-in fact, he enjoyed undercover work-but he knew it was cases like this that made a difference. If he could bag a guy like Ortíz, people would notice.
He wasn't too worried about Gastlin trying to flee. Even though the tubby dealer had been to Panama before, Félix had sensed a real willingness to cooperate. It was after he'd been in the county jail a few days. He just seemed more subdued and helpful. He clearly wanted to have the charges dropped for good and avoid prison time. Félix hated to admit it, but Gastlin was starting to grow on him. He just hoped his charm and good looks didn't push the snitch to make another pass at him. Félix had been careful to mention how interested he was in Lina Cirillo so Gastlin would realize he definitely wasn't gay.
In fact, Félix had put some of his best moves on Lina, and although she was friendly, he hadn't even got to kiss her good night when he dropped her at her hotel. He'd thought that by surprising Duarte and his girlfriend for a drink, Lina might feel inclined for companionship, but, boy, had he been wrong. Was she a dyke? No, something about her gave off a strong sexual vibe around men. Well, maybe he'd have a chance to try again.
As he stood among the crowds of people rushing in both directions, a tall man with light hair approached him. He was wearing a loose, untucked shirt and baseball cap, and Félix smiled, thinking that even in a foreign country an FBI agent looked like a fucking FBI agent.
"You the DEA guy?"
Félix looked at him and shrugged.
The man looked a little panicked.
Félix started to speak Spanish. "No sé. No habla inglés."
The man backed away, eyeing Gastlin as he did. Félix suppressed a smile and started to follow him, this time raising his voice. "Hey, Mr. Undercover. I'm Félix Baez."
The man stopped and said, "I can tell this'll be a fucking peach of an assignment. Good thing the Panamanians are working most of it with you."
"What do you do?"
"I'm your taxi until I can hand you off to them."
Félix nodded to Gastlin, who scurried to catch up, then made the informant carry his single suitcase to the FBI man's beat-up six-year-old Crown Vic.
Félix chuckled. "This your G-ride?"
"Down here, this is a damn Bentley. Get in."
The capital city of Panama sprang up slowly at first as they traveled from the airport, until it seemed like out of nowhere towering apartment buildings were crammed onto each block. Félix didn't want to look like a tourist as he watched the people trying to move on the crowded sidewalks. The traffic resembled something out of the worst sections of Miami, with no one appearing to obey any particular rules.
They stopped in front of a relatively small office building in a quieter section of the city. Several blocks of two-story buildings covered the area to the east. On the west was a view of the ocean. The ocean didn't smell like the one off Miami Beach. There was more of an industrial tinge to this odor.
"This your office?" Félix asked the driver.
"Nope, we're in the embassy. This is the off-site narcotics division of the national police. They're gonna be working this shit with you."
"What about you guys?"
"We got other issues."
"I need to speak to the DEA here."
"They're out on something, that's how I got this detail. They'll hook up with you later. The boss here, Staub, has a personal interest in your case. You'll get a lot out of these guys, and they don't have to answer to an attorney general for their actions."
Félix said, "You coming in?"
"Nah, I'm gonna drop your bags at the Holiday Inn and head back to the office." He handed Félix his card. "Call my cell if you need anything."
"On what?"
The FBI man smiled and handed him a cell phone. "So you don't think we're useless. That's our undercover phone. Local number, and you can use it till you leave."
Félix smiled. "Thanks. I still think you're useless, but I appreciate the phone." He slid out of the car, the door creaking as he shut it. Gastlin was right by his side.
The FBI agent nodded and headed off down the street.
Félix approached the front door of the building, with Gastlin locked in step beside him.
Félix turned and stopped, almost causing the informant to run into him. "How'd you ever do business down here if you're this frightened?"
"This is different."
"How?"
"I'm with the cops. Someone might get shot."
Félix shook his head and pushed on through the large glass door.
As he pulled out his ID and told the armed, uniformed man at the counter he needed to see Colonel Staub, the guard kept looking over to Gastlin. The guard, an odd-looking, younger man with a bristling five o'clock shadow and a name tag that read Pelligrino, picked up the phone and turned away from them to speak. Then he walked away and talked with the second uniformed guard.
Félix felt naked without a gun and started to think he was not going to be allowed in the building.
The second guard spoke to Félix. "Mr. Baez, you may see the colonel, but non-law enforcement personnel are not allowed in the secured area. Your associate will have to wait down here."