Weston Ochse - Age of Blood

The Sinaloan cartel was perhaps the largest of the big cartels. Because they had infiltrated the Mexican military and judiciary, many of their operations had been unopposed, especially in the valuable Texas money corridor. Additionally, instead of fighting the Zetas they formed alliances with them and jointly destroyed the Sonoran, Colima, and Milenio cartels.

Both the Tijuana and Juárez cartels held only a fraction of the power they had enjoyed a decade earlier. While both still controlled the flow of drugs and humans through their cities, they were ignored by the other cartels, much as a person from the city would ignore someone from the country.

The Beltrán Leyva Cartel was believed to have disbanded. But as late as 2005, the cartel had its tentacles into Mexico’s police, political, and judicial offices. They were even able to place operatives in Interpol offices, in a program to redirect the country’s counternarcotics efforts away from their cartel, and place the crosshairs firmly on the Gulf Cartel. The last of the four brothers who once ran the cartel, Héctor Beltrán Leyva, went into hiding. Both the U.S. and Mexico had a multimillion-dollar bounty for the man’s capture and arrest. But no one would ever be able to claim it, Ramon told them, since the disappearance was actually the result of him infiltrating Leyva’s Badiraguato compound and disposing of the drug lord in a method that was untraceable. Over the period of a week, Ramon ate him, leaving the bones, hair, and nails to bleach beneath the hard, unforgiving sun on the slopes of Cerro Algodones.

After the information dump, Holmes ordered Laws, who’d reported that the hotel office had a serviceable computer with an average wireless connection, to contact SPG and have them form link analysis chains. They’d search for links in financial transactions, vehicle movements, personnel movements, as well as telephone and IP addresses. These methods had been used for decades, and resulted in uncovering culprits of seemingly unsolvable crimes, such as the Khobar Towers bombing.

Holmes wanted SPG to follow whatever linkage they could from the hotel security camera back to the nearest cartel. Once they determined the linkage, they could, with information from the Mexican federal judiciary, determine which members of that cartel were in the area. Holmes also wanted more information on Ramon, and asked that SPG do a deep dive to provide a comprehensive report. Finally, Holmes asked that Laws get a list of all current issues before the Sissy, including those brought forward from previous sessions.

Holmes approached the newest SEAL and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Yank, I want you to patrol. Keep the integrity of this building together. I don’t want a bunch of beegees sneaking up on us.”

Just then J.J. returned. When he saw Ramon, he asked, “This the guy?”

“Yeah, this is the guy.” Holmes turned to Ramon. “Who controls this area?”

“If you mean southern Baja, then the answer is no one. The answer is also everyone. The area has been in dispute. Just when someone establishes a foothold, the other cartels and the judicial system gang up on them.”

“Are there any Zetas around?”

“I’m sure there are.”

“What about Gulf Cartel or Knights Templar?”

“Probably some of them, too.”

“I assume they’d all be tied into the local politics and businesses.”

Ramon nodded. “I’d assume the same.”

“Okay, here’s what I want: Ramon, I’d like you to find the local Zeta facilitator and bring him in. Yank and I will go after the Gulf Cartel operative, and J.J. and Walker will go after the Knights Templar.”

“Uh, boss,” Walker said, “one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“We don’t know where they are.”

Holmes smiled broadly. “We don’t have to.” He pointed at J.J. and Ramon with both hands. “They can tell us.”

J.J. smiled awkwardly. “Wait a minute. What are you saying, Sam?”

“Don’t try and tell me you’ve been operating a charter without having paid, promised, or worked for one or all of the cartels.”

“But that would be cooperating with a criminal organization. I’d lose my clearance if I’d done such a thing.”

“Stow it,” Holmes said. “Save it for the polygraphers. I know what you have to do to survive. It’s one of the reasons we’re using you. Do you think we need an overweight, out-of-shape former SEAL to back us up, or do you maybe think we need your boat and your knowledge of the area?”

J.J. looked hurt. “I’m not overweight.”

Holmes gave him a disbelieving eye. “So?”

“I know the Zetas here,” Ramon said. “Juan Carlos is the man you’re looking for.”

Holmes turned to Ramon. “Does he know you?”

“By reputation.”

“Good, then when you go to bring him in he won’t say much.”

Ramon smiled. “He won’t say nothing at all. I assure you.”

“Not so fast. We want him to talk when he gets here, so let’s not do anything irreversible.”

Ramon nodded.

Holmes turned to J.J. “So? Memory any better?”

“I know a guy who belongs to the Gulf Cartel. He claims to be connected to everyone.”

“Excellent. Then you and Walker go bring him in. And if he knows the location of a Templar, bring the Templar along as well.”

“Alive?”

“Please.” Holmes turned to Walker. “And Jack,” he said, with a rare use of his first name.

“Sir?”

“You’re in charge. Make sure you guys don’t get into any situation you shouldn’t. Know what I mean?”

Jack knew exactly what his boss meant. He’d almost gotten the team killed several times because of his inability to restrain his curiosity and remain in position. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but it could never be the death of a SEAL.

They needed a car. While they could walk or take a taxi to Hotel Finisterra, bringing back a hostage in the same taxi might prove to be a little distracting, if not straight-up problematic. So J.J. made a call. Soon a thirty-year-old woman with flaming red hair, enough blue eye shadow for three people, and a muffin top that threatened the fabric of her pants dropped off a four-door gray and brown beater that had been a Toyota Corolla about a thousand years ago. J.J. kissed her and promised her something in Spanish that made her blush. She watched them leave with heavy lids, probably already imagining the benefits she would reap for her help.

J.J. spent the next thirty minutes doing surveillance detection. Hotel Finisterra was a mere 2.4 kilometers down Cabo San Lucas Street. They could have been there in two minutes, but then they wouldn’t have known if they were dragging any surveillance with them. It was bad enough that they were alone; they didn’t need to announce the place from which they were operating.

Cabo San Lucas had two faces. There was a tourist side that was glitz, brass, and crass, then there was the Mexican side that was tired, dirty, and hidden outside the exclusive resorts that desperately didn’t want anyone to leave them. And for the most part no one did. There were occasions where tourists, eager to see the real Mexico, would travel outside the guarded gates of the resorts to the stalls and shops that rimmed the outside perimeter of the seaside resorts. They’d buy shot glasses decorated with pictures of Pancho Villa, T-shirts with images of sharks wearing sombreros, knockoff purses, glued-together wooden dinosaurs, and worked-metal lizards, believing all the while that this was the real Mexico.

Having grown up in Subic Bay, Philippines, Walker couldn’t help but see the similarities. So many sailors spent their time on land within two miles of the main gate of the base, believing that all Filipina girls wore miniskirts, seductive smiles, and had long and flowing hair. They had faith in the idea that there was a bar every ten feet, that all food came from street vendors, and that everyone spoke a cute version of broken English.