James Born - Burn Zone

"I did take something from the container, but I swear I don't know what it was exactly."

"What do you think it was?"

The big man scratched his chin as he formulated an answer. "I just saw the metal and some wires, but I was thinking it might be some kind of machine."

"To do what?"

He hesitated and finally said, "I think it has something to do with oil wells."

"Like how?"

The tall man shook his head. "I ain't sure, but I think it might be a drill head or maybe even something to fuck up the oil flow."

"How'd you figure that out?"

"I ain't stupid. I know the folks bringing it into the U.S."

Duarte had a lot of questions, but decided to go with "Where'd you take it?"

"A motel over in Metairie."

"Who'd you give it to?"

Linley paused, appraising the ATF agent again. Duarte lifted his hand with the engraved stein.

"Okay, okay. I gave it to a young fella from Omaha."

"Look, you're dragging your feet. Just tell me the whole story, and I'll be out of here. Keep stalling, and I might have another accident." To emphasize his comment, he lowered the stein, but flicked a cast-iron tank a little bigger than his hand off the shelf, then while it was still in the air he kicked it hard. It flew in a straight line directly through a windowpane on the side of the house. He hadn't meant to aim for the window, but he wouldn't admit it to this moron.

Linley yelled, "Would you cut that out? I'll tell you." He took a breath and said, "His name was 'Ike' and I called him on a pay phone in Omaha. The president of the National Army of White Americans, Mr. Jessup, hooked us up. All I did was deliver the crate to him. Mr. Jessup spent his whole life in the oil business."

"The NAWA? You're kidding me, right?"

"Nope. We're allowed representation."

Duarte sighed, then said, "How much they pay you?"

"Nothin'."

"Then why'd you do it?"

"To help my country. They is gonna use whatever it is to help build a stronger country."

Duarte eyed the man. "A stronger country for whom?"

"Americans, you dumb-ass. You seen what's going on in this country? We need to do something, and I done my part. I ain't ashamed of it either. Figured the association has some way to set things straight."

"Like what?"

The big man's eyes shifted, then he said, "Maybe taking control of oil production. Hell, I don't know." Sticking to his same story.

Duarte questioned him some more about "Ike" and the motel. At least he had a lead.

When he had all the information he could use, Duarte said, "Look, Mr. Linley. Give me the phone number to this Ike and whatever else you know, and you can forget I was ever here."

"But I'll know by my smashed stuff."

Duarte looked at the remains of the few items he'd broken and at the hole in the window. Then he looked up at Linley. "Believe me, you got off easy."

IN THE LOBBY OF THEIR HOTEL, ALEX DUARTE SHOOK HIS HEAD. He had just recounted all that Cal Linley had told him the night before.

Lina looked at Félix, then back to the ATF agent and said, "Oil doesn't fit in with our sources here in the U.S. I don't see it as a possibility."

He looked over at Félix. The DEA man had seemed more and more disturbed by the death of his informant, Gastlin. Often cops took the full brunt of responsibility for the deaths of people who worked for them. Duarte had seen the subtle signs that Félix was being eaten alive by this. Félix had made a note of Cal Linley's name on a small pad.

Félix finally said, "He does sound a little crazy, bro. Why would he do shit like that for no money? And what would 'help the country' in a crate that fit in the back of a truck? Could oil equipment be more valuable than pot?"

Lina sounded interested now. "What would be more valuable than the pot?"

"Coke or maybe even heroin. That would bring in a hell of a lot more cash than pot."

Duarte sighed. "There's something wrong here. It may have to do with our load, and it maybe points to Ortíz."

Lina said, "Or it might distract us from working on the case. It could work both ways."

Duarte nodded and said, "Regardless, I'm staying a few more days until I'm satisfied."

Félix said, "I'm with you then, bro. Maybe I can help." He paused and then said, "You really think this guy Linley might know something about Gastlin?"

"He might know someone who does. It's a long shot, but I feel like I have to follow up on it."

Lina became more agitated and said, "You're both foolish. It was a load of pot, and you feel guilty your snitch got killed. That's it."

Duarte kept his dark eyes on the FBI agent. "Lina, it's not like I'm asking you to jump in on this. I just have a few leads to run down. Maybe it is nothing."

"You have a report on your interview?"

"No report on that interview."

She shook her head like a frustrated teacher.

Duarte let her calm down a little and said, "Have you seen the colonel? I've got a few questions for him."

Lina shook her head. "No, he's been gone since early this morning."

Félix shot a look at her. "Keeping pretty close watch over him, aren't you?"

"That depends, Félix."

"On what?"

"On whether it's any of your fucking business." She turned and stalked off toward the elevators, leaving Duarte and Félix in the little sitting area of the hotel lobby.

Lázaro Staub let his eyes burn at the terrified man from Omaha who was sitting on the trunk of the rented Impala. Pelly leaned against the car's driver-side door with that perpetual smirk under his five o'clock shadow even though it wasn't yet nine in the morning. And he was in a town named Lafayette, about three hours from New Orleans.

Staub shook his head and glanced at Pelly. "I'm surrounded by idiots. First you and your hired asses, then this moron manages to lose our package altogether."

Ike said, "There were just too many of them. I'm sorry, Mr. Ortíz, but they surprised me."

"I'm afraid you'll be in for a horrible surprise if we don't have the truck with my package back in our possession in the next few hours." He looked up at the clear sky and the expanse to the north. "How big is this town?"

"What, Lafayette? I dunno, hundred thousand maybe."

"Where would one take a rental truck?"

Ike shrugged and shook his head.

Pelly cleared his throat.

Staub looked at him, "What? What is it, Pelly?"

He started in Spanish.

Staub said, "Speak English, so we don't have to translate for this idiot."

"If you look at it like a business, who would want the truck?"

Staub thought about it until he heard Ike say, "The rental company?"

Pelly nodded. "For parts, if the truck is not working. Perhaps the reward, no?"

Staub's narrow eyes darted from side to side. "You may be right, Pelly." He looked at his assistant. "Get on it." He glared at Ike, wondering the exact cost if he were to eliminate this problem right now.

Duarte showed his ID to get into the New Orleans office of the ATF. The office had moved since Katrina and seemed a little cramped in the temporary building on the outskirts of New Orleans.

He needed some analytical help and knew the best person for that would be one of the office's intelligence analysts. After a few greetings and small talk, he caught up to a young agent named Hugh O'Conner who had been through the academy with him.

The New Orleans agent slapped Duarte on the back. "Heard you were out here on a case, but I thought it was at the port."

"It was. I'm just doing some follow-up."

"How's South Florida?"

"Good."

"Miss the army at all?"

"Nope."

O'Conner smiled. "Still the talkative one, huh, Alex?"