“He can’t be planning a flight on a commercial airliner, Chris. The nearest field down there is Tia Juana and there’s no flight leaving here for the border town before noon. Private plane?”
“I don’t know. But if he plans to spend only a couple hours at Rosarito Beach, it sounds like a private plane. Why not be ready in the event he uses his own or a chartered plane? And bring in the Mexican authorities on this one — and Interpol. He’ll have to pick up more heroin tomorrow. I think we should be prepared to nail him on either side of the border, in the event that he has some switch planned. He’s tricky and he might just have me in mind as a border jumper. We want him with the heroin. And while the Bureau isn’t interested in a homicide charge, I haven’t forgotten that blonde girl. I’d particularly like to see him apprehended on our side of the border. If there’s any change in the way I suggest to clean up this operation, let me know before morning. Otherwise, I’ll play it by ear and act according to what Gortoff does. Once we’re in the air I’ll have to use my own judgement anyway.”
The older N Man, a senior to the driver and Padgett, interrupted. “I don’t know what instructions will come through from Washington when we send your report in, Chris. But I can see a flaw in your suggested plan to get Gortoff tomorrow. From the care and trickery he has used so far, he’ll never try to land back here, on any type of plane, with a shipment of heroin. He’ll more likely drop the stuff in waterproof containers to be picked up at sea; or even drop it on land somewhere. And we’re not interested in picking up some lieutenant of his on a transportation charge. Furthermore, neither Washington nor the San Francisco Police are too keen on your continuing as a pusher. It’s the sort of thing some queasy politician or newspaper would raise holy hell about. I feel you ought to be prepared to take him into custody at the first opportunity when you know he is in actual possession of the shipment of heroin. If it’s below the border, we’ll work with the Mexican authorities and have you under surveillance all the time. We’ll be down to Rosarito Beach before you get there. And we’ll cover the Tia Juana airport just in case he has any plans in mind for a switch there. We’ll also have an air cover for any plane you and he take off in from here. If the Stardust moves out to sea, the Coast Guard will keep it in sight.”
“If I apprehend him, I’ll have to testify in court. That will end my undercover career for the Bureau.”
“Frankly, Chris, I feel that would be a good idea anyway. You’ve worked your way in deeper than we ever dreamed was possible. You’re close to the top man — and that proximity to evil brings you real close to the sort of risk not even the Bureau asks you to take.”
“I hope I’ll be real close to Gortoff when he tries to resist arrest, if I’m the man to arrest him,” Padgett stated in a flat, serious tone.
“We’ll leave that personal feeling out of our reports, Chris.” The older N Man and the driver left the car. “Good luck, Chris. We’ll be in touch if there’s any change in plans for tomorrow.”
As Padgett drove back down to the city, he saw the tailing car relieved by another Bureau vehicle. He yawned from fatigue when he parked on his Geary Street hotel’s parking lot. The lobby clock clicked off three o’clock when he walked into the elevator. Gortoff was sitting in an armchair of his room when he switched on the lights.
“No wonder you’re making such a clean-up, Chris. You play this sort of an eleven-inning ball game every day?” The narcotics king grinned.
“Every day, Karl. Seems you do too. And you’re out of your territory. What brings you down here?”
“We’re leaving now for Rosarito Beach, Chris. Remember what I said? I never trust. You didn’t think I’d tell you what time we were going to take off for a pick-up did you. I don’t even let my pilot know the exact time I’m going to take off. And I never let Garcia know the exact time I plan to arrive at the Beach. In this game, Chris, you last only when no one knows your next move. Garcia and my pilot have worked for me for five years. I trust them only as far as I can see them. Not because I think they would sell out. Like you, I have little holds on them. But they could be tailed. And so could you. I can’t take a chance on any one of you slipping up. So I play it my way — real careful. Ready to go?”
“I’m ready. Where?”
“The airport. We’ll drive out in your car, Chris.”
It was the one break the N Man needed. Wherever his car went, an electronic tracer enabled tailing fellow N Men to follow it. As he drove the green Chev out to the San Francisco airport, Padgett made no effort to spot a tail. He knew he was tailed by another Bureau vehicle, even if it remained out of sight in the almost impenetrable fog.
“Pull down to the private hangars,” Gortoff ordered. “It’s that one.” He pointed to a hangar from which a red and white, twin-engined Beechcraft was being towed.
Padgett read the white lettering on the red plane, “Stardust”. He laughed, “You have an obsession for naming your properties, ‘Stardust,’ Karl.”
“I’ll let you in on a secret, Chris. It’s my favorite name for heroin too. I’m even a sucker for a dame who sings the song.”
“Like the blonde we buried at sea, Karl?”
“Like the blonde you buried at sea, Chris,” Gortoff smiled without looking at him.
Padgett listened as Gortoff gave orders to the pilot. “Tia Juana, George.” He turned to Padgett, “I need some sleep, Chris. We can get an hour or so shut-eye before we land.” He tripped his reclining seat in the Beechcraft and was asleep before the plane was cleared by the control tower to take off.
Padgett fought sleep until the plane taxied from the hangar. He peered through the plane window into the fog, seeking some sign of the tail which he was confident had followed him from Geary Street. He thought he saw an unmarked panel truck, a familiar one, at a neighboring hangar, but he wasn’t sure. He felt for his shoulder holster and dropped off to sleep.
The Mexican immigration officers were not interested in documents. “Touristas,” Gortoff began to explain in good Spanish, and laughed when the border official did no more than greet him and welcome two more sought-after American visitors to the border sin spot.
In the short drive south from Tia Juana to Rosarito Beach, Gortoff ran down his Mexican operation to Padgett — who wished dearly for a tape recorder and a witness. “I bought into a casino down here when gambling was legalized a couple years ago. It’s a perfect front for disposition of U.S. currency, hot, cold or queer. Most of our trade is from the LA gambling crowd who prefer the run down 101 to the desert drive over to Vegas. As a result, I can deposit any sort of income in my Mexican bank accounts. I beat the IRS and I also beat snooping federal agencies who might be interested in the source of my income.”
“How’d you get located down here?” Padgett asked casually.
“You’ll laugh when I tell you,” Gortoff expanded. “I was a pusher like yourself. I hustled around the West Side in Downtown Manhattan for a couple years and picked up a proposition to run stuff up from Guatemala. I got in with a Guatemalan pharmacist who operated a refinery on the side and had my own source for heroin. But I couldn’t compete with the syndicate in the East and live. So I came out here. I haven’t gone wrong since.”
“You’ve got it made,” Padgett laughed. “Your own refinery, your own outlets and your perfect fronts and set-up to account for the income.”
“I’ve got it made, as you say, as long as I’m hyper-careful, Chris. And I am that careful. Like on this trip. I’ll introduce you to Garcia. He looks after my casino interests down here, and my other interests. He’ll see that the stuff is delivered to you. You pick it up. You will carry it to the plane up at Tia Juana. You will fly it back up to Frisco. With me, Chris, it’s always a you, a he, or a she. Never me. That trip on the Stardust down and up the coast was an exception. Even then I wasn’t taking a chance. Those metal cannisters would have sunk to the bottom of the Pacific if there had been any sign of heat. And even then, you moved it ashore. And the other two kilos were picked up offshore by somebody else. Like I said, Chris, I never take a chance. And I’m careful — real careful.”