A Touch of Greed Page 3

“Well,” Garza said, “one day we may decide to live far away from here where English is the main language and it would be important for you to be able to speak with your neighbors.”

  The boy’s eyes brightened. “You mean we could have neighbors? Like Pablo and Salvador? We could live next door to them?”

  Garza smiled, ruffling up his son’s hair. “Maybe,” he said.

  A thought seemed to cross Julio’s mind and his face became somber. “Is that where Mama is?”

  Garza had waited as long as possible for this conversation, but needed to wait just a little longer. “Maybe,” Garza said, keeping the lie alive.

  “When?” Julio asked, anxious to know his fate.

  “I don’t know, hijo. Maybe soon.”

  Through the upstairs kitchen window a pair of headlights could be seen traveling up the dirt road toward the complex. The road was three miles of pure desert landscape with no shelter along the way. It was the only way in and the only way out.

  Following his father’s gaze, Julio began to gather his homework.

  “Yes, Papa,” Julio said without being told a thing. “You have a business meeting, I know.”

  Garza sighed. He took his son in his arms and said, “I do everything for you, Julio. Do you understand?”

  Julio looked up into his father’s eyes. “No, Papa.”

  Garza pulled him into his chest and smiled. “Someday you will, hijo. Someday.”

  The boy left the room and Garza headed downstairs, passing three soldiers on the way. The last one was bigger than the rest and didn’t carry an assault rifle around his shoulder. When Garza saw him, he slowed his stride down the final couple of steps.

  “Visitor, Jefe,” Victor Sanchez said.

  “Yes, I know,” Garza said. “Bring him to the basement.”

  “As you wish.”

  Garza grabbed Victor’s arm. “Make sure you check him thoroughly, eh?”

  Victor nodded.

  Garza crossed the tiled foyer, down a wide corridor to an open room where five of his soldiers sat around a card table, playing Mexican Poker. One wall was lined with large surveillance monitors, two of which were infrared cameras scanning the perimeter of the facility.

  Garza pointed to the wall. “Is anyone paying attention?”

  They all looked at their boss with startled expressions and three of them spoke at once. Their voices overlapped, but two of them gestured toward a soldier at the table with no cards in front of him. It took Garza a moment to realize they were telling him that one person sits out each hand to watch the monitors.

  Garza waved the back of his hand, then headed down a second set of stairs. The basement was bare cement walls with no pictures or decorations of any kind. There were dim spotlights recessed in the ceiling and a large screen television fronted by a leather sofa and wooden coffee table. It was a place for Garza to relax and watch baseball games at night. He’d grown to love the sport and became a big Los Angeles Dodger fan. There were a couple of recliners on either side of the sofa, but Garza always preferred to stretch out on the couch and rest his feet on the coffee table.

  Garza chose the basement for his meeting because it was out of eavesdropping distance from the rest of the building. Once the door was shut it offered complete solitude. There was a bar at the far end of the room and Garza felt the need for a drink.

  He poured himself a shot of mescal, then threw his head back and downed it in one gulp. The door at the top of the stairs opened and Victor Sanchez came down the steps followed by a man wearing a white Polo shirt, chinos and topsiders with no socks. He had a neatly trimmed beard and a large briefcase. The man looked like a tourist, but for the aged eyes. Two piercing tunnels of intensity which had Garza checking with Victor and getting the nod that the man was unarmed.

  The man approached with his hand extended. “Mr. Garza. I’m Sadeem.”

  Garza gave Sadeem, or whatever his real name was, an extra firm handshake, then pointed to one of the recliners. “Have a seat.”

  The man sat and put the briefcase between his legs. Victor took a few steps back to stand guard, but Garza motioned him out of the room and Victor hesitantly complied.

  Garza knew some negotiating techniques from the many books he’d read and when he sat down in the opposite recliner, he crossed his legs and kept his mouth shut. According to his books, the first person who broke the silence was the weaker of the two.

  But when Sadeem finally spoke, it was with a Mid-Eastern accent that Garza couldn’t quite determine. It was either the accent or those cold vacant eyes which made Garza’s book knowledge seem irrelevant.

  “You have quite a reputation, Mr. Garza,” the man said with a sly grin, which passed as his smile.

  “Yes, I do,” Garza said.

  Sadeem positioned the briefcase onto the coffee table and fell back into his chair. Garza couldn’t help but gaze at the case.

  “The shipment will be ready in two days,” the man said. “Will you be ready?”

  This was meant to be antagonizing, but somehow it came out as a threat to Garza’s ears.

  “Do you question my abilities?” Garza responded.

  “You have a tunnel?” Sadeem asked. “Is that how you guarantee the transfer?”

  Now Garza was certain this was some test. The man glanced around the room as if searching for a security camera.

  “You begin this relationship with an insult?” Garza said. “Is that correct?”

  The man’s demeanor changed. He seemed more of a businessman than an interrogator. He reached with both hands and unlatched the briefcase, then opened it up and turned it toward Garza.

  The first thought that went through Garza’s mind was, there’s too much there. He’d seen stacks of hundreds which added up to a quarter million or even a half million, but this was way more than expected.

  As if Sadeem could read Garza’s mind, he said, “Five million.”

  Garza tilted his head. No one overpays by four million dollars unless they want something extra. Something more than expected. Something dangerous.

  “Now do you understand why I ask so many questions?” the man said.

  “I understand that you want more than we agreed upon.”

  “No,” Sadeem said firmly. “We want nothing more than what you said you could provide. Safe passage to the United States.”

  The basement was completely still as the two men stared each other down.

  Garza rubbed the back of his neck and it came to him. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner?

  “This shipment,” Garza said. “It is not drugs, is it?”

  Sadeem shook his head. “It’s the reason I ask whether you are using a tunnel. There are certain . . . uh, requirements the shipment needs in order to remain stable. The temperature outside is too hot. This load should not be left outdoors for long periods of time.”

  Now Garza understood the payment. “Precisely how dangerous is this shipment?”

  “In its current form it is completely harmless. However, should the container be opened, there is no guarantee.”

  Garza was ready for another shot of mescal. He was also ready to send this man and his briefcase and his smug attitude on his way. But there were five million reasons why he didn’t. The man seemed to understand this and he became even more comfortable in his recliner.

  “Recently, you have invited the interest of some American law enforcement officials,” Sadeem said. “Is that a wise decision?”

  Garza could feel his blood pressure rise. He wasn’t used to having his decisions questioned and it didn’t sit well with him. He wondered why the man was so at ease in Garza’s lair, swollen with soldiers geared to protect him.

  Garza came to his feet and felt the man’s eyes follow him as he began a slow pace behind the recliner. “You spoke about my reputation,” Garza said. “Did it occur to you that I might have provoked this attention on purpose?”

  “No,” Sadeem said. “That hadn’t crossed my mind.”

  “Then
please allow me to do my job.” Garza pointed to the briefcase. “Obviously, someone thinks very highly of my abilities.”

  The man nodded. Garza had made his point. Sadeem was obviously a courier and no more. People of importance had hired him to make the delivery and he appeared to be overstepping his boundaries.

  “Okay.” Sadeem stood and slowly made his way to Garza. “I have enough information. You will meet our men precisely when we have agreed. Yes?”

  Garza looked at the man’s outstretched hand. One last gesture before he could take custody of his largest payday ever. Deep inside he didn’t trust this man, yet he couldn’t place strict evidence on his suspicions. Over Sadeem’s shoulder sat the open briefcase, the five million taunting him. Garza wondered whether it was designed to be positioned that way on purpose, or whether it was pure greed which had him firmly shaking Sadeem’s hand.

  “Yes,” Garza. “We will be ready.”

  Chapter 5

  The three Border Patrol agents sat across the desk from Nick, side-by-side, with nervous ticks and darting glances between their fellow employees and the Deputy Director who sat in a chair next to the desk facing them. Matt and Stevie stood in the rear of the room. It was just past lunchtime, but without windows, Nick had to rely on the digital clock on the wall to determine the time of day.

  “Now listen,” Roger Decker said, leaning forward with his hand on his knees, “no one is accusing any of you of wrongdoing.”

  Nick was allowing Decker to save face and discuss the matter with his agents first, but the fact Nick sat behind the desk let them know who was in charge. Decker had no interrogative skills whatsoever. His main detainee spoke a different language so many details ended up lost in translation. Nick felt his phone vibrate and when he pulled it from his pocket he could see the name of the person who had just left a text message. Nicole Hernandez. Ricky’s widow. A spike of bile rushed up his throat. He’d made a personal guarantee to Nicole that Ricky would be fine going undercover. He assured her the FBI would keep close tabs on both agents.

  Now he touched the screen on his phone and cringed when he saw the two word message.

  “YOU PROMISED!”

  Nick’s face flushed as he leaned back and shut his eyes before anyone could detect the episode he was having. He felt the outside of his empty pocket and realized he’d forgotten to take his PTSD meds for the day. He practiced his breathing exercises and gained control of his emotions. As his heart pounded, he gathered his thoughts, trying to grasp just what had gone wrong. Ricky and Jim were supposed to be picking up a client of Antonio Garza’s at the makeshift runway when they were ambushed by Garza’s men. Both FBI agent’s were exceptionally talented and couldn’t possibly have tipped Garza with their actions. Someone had to set them up. And Nick was convinced it was someone in the room with him right then.

  When Nick came upright again, the three Border Patrol agents looked as if they were getting sick listening to Decker explain the understandable consequences of dealing with nasty people. The scolding was a bit tame for Nick’s taste.

  “Roger,” Nick said. “Why don’t you run out and grab a sandwich.”

  Decker seemed annoyed at Nick’s patronization, but he must’ve seen the burning hostility brewing in Nick’s eyes because he retreated with a simple nod and was out the door.

  Matt shut the door behind him while Nick gestured to Stevie to get ready. The FBI techie took a flat stick from his duffle bag and began pushing buttons on the stick. The three Border Patrol agents kept an eye on what Stevie was doing until Nick snapped his fingers and said, “Over here. I need your attention on me.”

  As they returned their attention to Nick, Stevie waved the flat wand behind the men, slowly working up and down their bodies.

  Nick gestured to the desk in front of him. “Please place your cell phones on the desk.”

  The three agents did as they were told.

  Stevie worked his wand meticulously until he stood behind the agent to Nick’s left and nodded.

  Nick looked at the other two agents and said, “Get out of here.”

  The men looked bewildered, but didn’t hesitate at their good fortune. They gathered their cell phones and moved. Just before they left, Nick said, “Don’t leave the building until I say you can.”

  Matt closed the door behind them and took the vacant seat two chairs away from the remaining agent. He glowered at the agent. Intimidation was half the battle.

  “What’s your name?” Nick asked.

  “Greg Chapin.”

  The way Chapin fidgeted convinced Nick he had the right guy.

  Nick pointed to the front of his desk at Chapin’s cell phone. “Now let’s see your other one.”

  Chapin seemed confused. “My other one?”

  “Your other cell phone,” Nick explained. “The one you kept in your pocket when I asked for your cell phones.”

  Chapin hesitated too long. It seemed he was trying to decide how Nick could’ve known about the phone, or how much it mattered that he withheld the device. He looked at Matt who sat stone-faced, chewing on a piece of gum.

  “What makes you think I have another cell phone?” Chapin asked, being somewhat evasive and putting the burden of proof on Nick.

  Nick wasn’t in the mood for playing games. Not now. He leaned forward and glared at the agent. “Put the damn phone on my desk or I’ll have my partner rip your clothes off.”

  Chapin turned to see Matt cross his legs. He offered a menacing grin.

  Chapin reluctantly pulled a cell phone from the inside of his jacket pocket and placed it on the desk.

  Nick grabbed the phone and tossed it to Stevie, who began to play with it.

  Chapin paid too much attention to Stevie which added to Nick’s suspicions.

  “Why the extra phone?” Nick asked.

  “I don’t want my government to hear every conversation I have with my family,” Chapin said with a rehearsed tone.

  Nick nodded. “I see.” He looked at Matt. “How many phones do you have?”

  Matt held up his index finger.

  “Stevie,” Nick said, “how many phones do you have?”

  “One,” Stevie said, examining Chapin’s cell.

  Nick returned his attention to Matt again. “Who tends to have more than one phone?”

  “Drug dealers.”

  “Who else?”

  “Anyone who’s trying to hide something.”

  Stevie came around the desk and handed the phone to Nick and pointed to something on the screen. Nick nodded while Stevie returned to the back of the room.

  While examining the screen, Nick said, “Where does your family live, Mr. Chapin?”

  The Border Patrol agent seemed to be thinking of the best answer to use in this situation. It certainly wasn’t going to be the truth, because the truth didn’t take that much time to consider.

  Finally Chapin said, “Phoenix.”

  “Then why is there only one phone number in your contact list and the number is a San Diego area code?”

  Chapin gave it a few moments to mull over. He put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. “It’s nothing sinister.”

  “I’m listening,” Nick said.

  Chapin bent over, groaned in pain, then came up with his gun, his eyes wild with fear. He pushed away from his chair and stood with the pistol trained on Nick.

  “I’m getting out,” Chapin said.

  “No you’re not,” Nick assured him.

  “You can’t stop me,” Chapin said, a crazy delirium planted on his face. He whirled around and pointed the gun at Stevie.

  Even though he knew it was coming, Nick winced as the gunshot rang out in the small room. Chapin howled, while clutching his bare hand. The same hand which held a gun moments earlier. Stevie quickly picked up Chapin’s gun from the floor.

  By the time Nick came around the desk, Matt had already holstered his Glock. He was the quickest draw in the Bureau and possibly the nation. Nick examined the Border Patrol ag
ent’s hand. It was red and scraped up, but nothing permanent. It was only Matt’s pinpoint accuracy which saved him.

  Resigned to his fate, Chapin fell to his knees, grasped his damaged hand and began to sob. He curled up on the floor as the anguish oozed from his body in the form of tears and moans and undecipherable words.

  Nick didn’t feel the least bit compassion for the man. He was certain Chapin was the reason Ricky and Jim were dead. The reason Nick had to call Nicole Hernandez and explain why he hadn’t kept his promise.

  The office door opened and Decker stood there with two armed agents. He stared at Chapin as the agent moaned, but otherwise seemed unharmed.

  “We’ve got it under control,” Nick said, then slammed the door shut.

  Matt opened the door and stuck his head out to say a few words, then pulled his head back and shut the door again.

  “You stupid bastard?” Nick spat, standing over Chapin, every muscle taut and ready to unleash a fury of kicks. “How much did Garza pay to have my friends killed?”

  “No,” Chapin uttered, his arms covering his head ready to be assaulted.

  Nick got down to a knee and burrowed into the man’s face. “How much!”

  “No,” Chapin murmured again. “She’s going to die.”

  Nick looked at Matt who stood beside him with a quizzical expression.

  “What did you say?” Nick asked.

  Chapin found the strength to shove Nick and sit up against the wall. “My daughter,” he said staring at the ceiling. His breathing was labored and his head flopped to the side. A look of pure despair showed in his eyes. “Garza kidnapped her two weeks ago. He’s going to kill her if I don’t tell him everything.” He looked up at the three FBI agents. “She’s thirteen.”

  “Shit,” Matt muttered.

  “Why didn’t you come to us?” Nick said. “You’re a government agent. We would’ve brought our best people to handle it.”

  Chapin rolled his eyes deliriously. “Yeah, right.” He pointed his thumb to the closed door. “Half the damn staff is on Garza’s payroll. He already knows you’re here.” Chapin covered his eyes. “She could be dead already.”

  The agent was near catatonic. He was of no value to Nick in his current condition. Nick was certain Chapin was overstating Garza’s reach, but he understood the paranoia.