He was tempted to use the binoculars he’d brought along, but decided it might attract too much attention from some passerby. Instead, he dug out Kay’s digital camera from the center console and switched it on. He focused the zoom lens on Kaamil’s car. When its image was clear, he set the camera on the dash and flipped out the side LCD screen. He could see Kaamil’s table clearly without having to hold the camera.
Drake sat back in his seat and watched the two men. They were still talking and drinking their beer when a waitress brought two plates of tacos to their table. Kaamil didn’t acknowledge the waitress, but his passenger removed his sunglasses and smiled broadly, saying something that made the young woman laugh. With his sunglasses off, there was no question in Drake’s mind where he’d met the laughing Latino. He had convicted the man of meth production and distribution, the attempted murder of a prostitute, resisting arrest, and assaulting a police officer. He was surprised Roberto Valencia was out of prison. He had been sentenced to fifteen years, and even with good behavior, should still be behind bars.
Young Valencia was the son of Armando Valencia, one of the drug-smuggling kingpins operating out of Mexico. Armando had been a top lieutenant of Amado Carrilo Fuentes, when El Jefe died accidentally after a botched plastic surgery operation in 1997. Armando moved aggressively out on his own, and was soon moving tons of drugs from Columbia through Mexico into the United States. He was also the first to recognize the tremendous profit potential in manufacturing and distributing methamphetamine in large quantities, along smuggling routes already established for other drugs.
Meth, produced in sophisticated super-labs capable of turning out enough for sales of $750,000 to a million dollars a day, soon became Armando’s largest income producer. When the super-labs were targeted by the DEA and frequently raided, Armando used his Mexican gangs to smuggle the meth and allowed others to take the risk of production.
Armando’s son, Roberto, was born in California, the first child of his first wife. Armando had a habit, however, of marrying the prettiest girl wherever he lived. He remained faithful until the police were too close to capturing him. Then he moved on. Each time he settled down after escaping capture, he celebrated his freedom by starting over, with a new wife.
After Roberto graduated high school in Los Angeles, he tracked his father down in Mexico and told him he wanted to learn the family business. Four years later, Armando sent his son to the Northwest to oversee his meth network there. That’s when Drake met the young man. He had been arrested for trying to kill a prostitute who failed to please him. Further investigation connected him to a number of other crimes, including the sale of methamphetamine. Drake convicted him of attempted murder and assorted drug charges.
That was five years ago. Drake saw Roberto had lost his youthful appearance, but he still had style. Even in jeans and a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up above the wrist, his heavy gold chain and gold Rolex made him look like a rich playboy. What he and Kaamil had in common, Drake could only imagine. Whatever it was, he doubted it was legal.
~~~
Kaamil wasn’t a huge fan of Mexican food, but Roberto loved fish tacos. Roberto said it reminded him of growing up in Los Angeles. So, they ate fish tacos. Roberto was too valuable to their plan to upset.
“Are you ready?” Kaamil asked, drinking a little of his Corona.
“Don’t worry, enjoy your taco. I know the routines of the security guards, and their families. My men have even been in their homes. My men will do what I tell them.”
Kaamil watched Roberto carefully. He wasn’t concerned about Roberto. The man would put a bullet between the eyes of any man in his gang who disobeyed him. Behind the good looks and quick smile was a man who enjoyed inflicting pain and killing people, especially young women. Kaamil had buried enough of them at the ISIS ranch, as a favor for Roberto, to know. He was concerned about Roberto’s men. They were the ones who had to blackmail the targeted security personnel, and maintain control of them when their families were taken hostage.
“Do they understand there can’t be any witnesses, not even children? We’ll have to leave the country if there’s anyone left to identify us.”
Roberto finished his second taco and lifted his Corona to his mouth, running the rim of it back and forth over his lips. Kaamil thought his eyes looked like the eyes of a rattlesnake, unblinking and deadly.
“What is it you’re worried about, Kaamil? Are you worried my men won’t get your guys in, or that your young martyrs will chicken out? Decide Paradise isn’t worth dying for?” Roberto said, with a sneer. “You would do better to worry about your own men.”
Kaamil forced himself to remain calm. He thought, when this is over, I’ll kill you myself. What could you ever know about dying for a righteous reason? The only god you’re willing to die for is money, or maybe good sex. That’s why we will win, Roberto, that’s why we will win.
“Oh, I do worry about my men, Roberto. I worry their sacrifice will be wasted if you let me down. If you do, I will have to kill all of you. That’s just my worry. I need to get back to Portland. You need to get to the ranch and make sure everything is prepared for Malik’s arrival tomorrow. If you let him down, make peace with your god, you won’t live another day.
Chapter 23
While the two men were busy eating, Drake called his secretary.
“Mr. Drake’s law office. He’s not practicing law this week, he’s out pretending he’s Superman. May I help you?”
Drake suppressed a smile. “You know you weren’t supposed to tell anyone about the Superman thing. If it’ll make you feel better, this is all on the clock, so there’s a possibility you’ll be paid this month. Is your husband there by any chance?”
“Just one moment please,” she said, mimicking a receptionist at the D.A.’s office they used to joke about.
Drake knew she used humor to cover her feelings. He imagined this time those feelings were probably anxiety and fear. He had to stop thinking he was the only one involved in what was happening. Margo was more than his legal assistant. She and her husband were friends.
“Afternoon, Adam. Margo tells me you’re in Hood River. What’s up?” Paul asked.
Drake pictured him standing ramrod straight next to his wife’s desk, with his square jaw clenched, waiting for an answer.
“Sounds like I have some fences to mend when I get back.”
“She’s worried about you. We both are. She’s not used to guys gunning for you and hanging around the office. She wasn’t exposed to that, even when she worked for you in the D.A.’s office,” Paul reminded him.
“Paul, I’m sorry. I had no idea this was going to turn out this way. Margo told you, I followed Kaamil, the ISIS manager, to Hood River this morning. Well, I’m watching him have lunch with someone you may remember, Roberto Valencia.”
“Sure, I remember the punk,” Paul said, after a moment. “Young Mexican drug dealer, son of that Mexican cartel leader. I thought he was still in prison. What’s he doing with the ISIS guy?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m not getting warm fuzzies, watching these two breaking bread together. Valencia’s sentence was fifteen years. Can you find out when he was released and what his parole officer says he’s supposed to be doing? I saw him come out of an old yellow warehouse here in Hood River, down on Portway Avenue. Maybe someone in the department knows someone up here who can tell us who owns the building. Don’t tell them why you’re interested. Valencia may have bought some friends here.”
“I’ll make some calls. If things take a turn, let us know what’s happening, or Margo says don’t come back. I guess she means she wants you to keep in touch,” Paul said.