Rick Mofina - In Desperation

He would do the same with his own bureaucracy.

But he was uncomfortable sharing the information. He feared infiltration. The information could be intercepted by someone on the cartel payroll. There was always risk everywhere. No one knew that better than Cruz and his stepsister. For a moment he pictured his father’s grave in the cemetery.

Then it became clear to Cruz who he needed to call first.

The El Paso Intelligence Center was ensconced on the secured grounds of Fort Bliss in a squat light brick building with beautiful palms at the main entrance.

The EPIC’s parking lot offered a view of Juarez, just across the brown shallow water of the Rio Grande. The staff often changed shifts to the echo of gunfire rising from Juarez, a reminder that while U.S. law enforcement went about its work, the cartels went about theirs.

The installation was the nerve center of the U.S. government’s war on drugs and global crime. It was operated by the Drug Enforcement Administration, supported by personnel from nearly twenty federal agencies, and a number of state, county and local departments.

Using a network of cutting-edge law enforcement databases, it connected the dots in real time to help track the history of a suspected terrorist detained at an airport, or aid a patrol officer who has just made a routine traffic stop, or anything to help an investigation.

Some three hundred analysts, intelligence experts, federal agents and a spectrum of other specialists examined a galaxy of information scraps, pulling them together to provide fast tactical support to investigators across the U.S. and around the world.

One of EPIC’s best analysts was Javier Valdiz, a DEA intelligence expert. A short time ago, he’d received an urgent query submitted by the FBI’s fingerprint lab in Clarksburg, West Virginia. Latent prints collected at an Arizona motel identified Ruiz Limon-Rocha and Alfredo Hector Tecaza as suspects in the kidnapping of Tilly Martin.

Valdiz was coordinating queries related to her abduction when the FBI requested he analyze Limon-Rocha and Tecaza’s backgrounds.

Valdiz had to be careful, as EPIC analysts, depending on their level of security clearance, had access to extremely sensitive intelligence, some of it arising from live, undercover operations.

In the case of Ruiz Limon-Rocha, Valdiz’s research showed that he had been a sergeant and a member of the Airmobile Special Forces Group in the Mexican military. Research on Alfredo Hector Tecaza revealed that he had been an infantry corporal in the same branch of the military. Further EPIC analysis showed that, one year ago, Limon-Rocha and Tecaza were recruited to join the Norte Cartel by an upper-tier member.

Who brought them on?

Valdiz wondered about that just as his line rang. “Valdiz.”

“Esto es Cruz, cómo es usted, mi amigo?”

“Esteban. Very busy.”

“You may not know, Javi, but I am working on the case of the two American ex-cops south of Juarez. I am not supposed to call you directly.”

“For you, my door is open.”

Before being assigned to EPIC, Valdiz had worked as an undercover agent until a bullet during a gun battle with a cartel put him in a wheelchair. Valdiz would have bled to death in the desert if the Mexican state cop partnered with him had not risked his life to carry him to safety.

That cop was Esteban Cruz.

“What do you need, Esteban?”

“This is urgent.” Cruz explained quickly, then emailed Valdiz the attachments. “We need to get an alert out. We need to intercept this sicario. ”

Valdiz read through the information.

“If our guy entered at El Paso and was going to fly to Phoenix, the flight itself is ninety minutes. Then add at least an hour for security screening and check-in,” Valdiz said.

“They might still grab him at the airport.”

“They might. But if he drove, it is a six-or seven-hour drive. We’ve missed him.”

“Unless he took a train, or a bus.”

“The border guys would have scanned the passport,” Valdiz said. “We can get people to the terminals to check with ticket agents, look at security cameras. We’re talking only a few hours. We can do the same at the airport. Hang on.”

Valdiz took care to submit his analysis on Limon-Rocha and Tecaza to his supervisor to approve and forward to the FBI in Phoenix.

Then he turned to another monitor and launched into rapid typing, working on the alert for the sicario.

Phoenix, Arizona

The secretary waved Hackett into ASAC Bruller’s office.

Seth Bruller-Assistant Special Agent in Charge of the Phoenix Division-was standing alone at his desk, sleeves rolled up, on the telephone.

He shot Hackett a look that made it clear: he was not enjoying this end of the conversation.

“Understood…yes, sir…I appreciate that…we will, sir.” Bruller ended the call, undid his collar button, loosened his tie and glared at Hackett.

“That was headquarters. They’re not happy, Earl.” Bruller snatched the file containing the inventory of items and material collected from the motel by the Evidence Response Team from his desk. “Damn it, where’s our lead on this?”

“We’re waiting for Clarksburg to process the latents,” Hackett said.

“Still?”

“They’ve been promising it momentarily for the last three hours.”

Bruller dropped the file, shaking his head. “Have we got anything else? A plate, a sighting, anything?”

“Nothing’s surfaced. We’re going to informants in Tijuana, Juarez, Phoenix and L.A.”

“And?”

“We’re leaning on them.”

“Not hard enough.” Bruller seized a printout of a news story. Hackett saw the logo for the WPA newswire. “What about Gannon, the brother who’s running all over the place. You get anything from him?”

“Just attitude. If he’s got anything, he’s not saying.”

“His niece’s life’s at stake. Why doesn’t he work with us?”

“Gannon doesn’t trust us.”

“ He doesn’t trust us? ”

“That’s right and I don’t blame him.”

“What?”

“Look at the facts-Salazar and Johnson were American ex-cops.”

“They were bad cops. It happens.”

“And you recall that little memo warning us of cartel infiltration of U.S. law enforcement?”

“What about it?”

“I don’t know what happened with the motel, Seth. It was almost like they could hear us coming. We were so close, their coffee was still warm.”

“Are you saying these guys were tipped from inside the task force?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

“I’ll tell you what to think-think about doing your damned job by looking for criminals, rather than looking for blame!” Through his glass walls Bruller saw heads turn to his office. He sat down, repositioned the two framed photos of his boys in their Scout uniforms and pursed his lips. “You say Gannon doesn’t trust us. Well, I don’t trust the fact he just happened to be in Mexico when all this came down with his sister. It’s just a little too coincidental, don’t you think?”

“The New York Division interviewed his editors,” Hackett said. “Gannon’s reason for being there checks out. Our people found no red flags in his background. He was on assignment in Juarez when this happened.”

“What about Galviera? What did we find on him?”

“Nothing other than what we know.”

“That’s it?”

“It’s already in the report you have, Seth. He had financial trouble. He gambled. He was going to lose his company and sought relief through Salazar and Johnson.”

“And who else? Did you pursue that? Where are your informants? Who else did Galviera associate with? For Christ’s sake, Earl!”