“How often do your men patrol Denton?”
Decker glared at Nick, the questions seeming to get to him. “Never.”
Nick raised his eyebrows.
“I have too much respect for my men,” Decker said. “You try to go there and you’ll find snipers hiding in the buttes along the way. They know every delivery vehicle that comes and goes. No one sneaks in and no one sneaks out.”
Nick exchanged glances with Matt. The two of them already knowing their next move.
Decker seemed to notice Nick’s demeanor change. “You don’t understand, it’s not a place to be messing with. I’ve lost too many men who tried to probe activity in the area.”
“What do you mean, lost men?”
“I mean anytime someone goes near Denton, they never seem to return. We investigate and come up empty every time.”
“How come no one ever hears about this?” Nick asked.
“You’re kidding, right?” Decker said. “This is the Mexican border. There were three hundred murders in the border town of Nogales alone last year. No one pays attention to cartel violence anymore. It’s simply a fact of life along the border.”
Decker looked back and forth between Nick and Matt. “You’re not considering going down there, are you?”
“No,” Nick lied. “Of course not.”
Garza woke up before the sun and had already downed two cups of coffee before
Victor came into the kitchen, yawning and scratching his head.
“Why are you up so early, Jefe?” Victor asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
Garza pointed to his head. “Too much on my mind.”
Victor took his steaming mug and sat across the kitchen table from Garza. It was still dawn and the sun had yet to create shadows on the desert landscape.
“Is it the package today?”
Garza shrugged. “This is part of it.”
“Something else?” Victor asked.
“This spy,” Garza said, with a scowl. “Someone is a double agent and it is troubling to know this fact so close to our delivery.” He glanced up at Victor to measure his reaction. His first lieutenant seemed to consider the dilemma.
“Our contacts cannot offer any names?” Victor asked. “Don’t they have suspicions?”
It was the reasonable question to ask. “No,” Garza admitted. “They do not have any idea who might be posing as a drug smuggler. However, I do have my own ideas.”
“Tell me,” Victor said, putting the hot coffee mug to the tip of his lips.
“I keep thinking about Sadeem. I have this feeling all along, this man is not who he pretends to be.”
Victor was nodding, something in his eyes gaining momentum. “Yes, Jefe. This is a logical conclusion.” Victor glanced up at the clock on the wall. “We have several hours before our meeting with him. Let me make some calls and find out what I can.”
Garza liked this thought. “Yes. We need to know who this man is. I had little concern until he requested to join us. Now, he becomes a liability. And maybe even a threat.”
“Who is a threat, Papa?” Julio said from the entryway to the kitchen.
Garza turned to see his son rubbing his eyes in his flannel pajamas.
“Julio,” Garza said. “What are you doing up?”
“I heard noises.”
Garza gathered his son into his arms. Julio fell into his father’s embrace.
“Mijo, you need to go back to bed,” Garza said.
“Can I have a glass of milk first?”
“Of course.”
Victor poured a glass of milk and handed it to Julio.
The boy finished the drink, wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve and placed the empty glass on the kitchen table.
“Who is the threat, Papa?” Julio asked again.
Garza searched for the proper words, finally looking at Victor for help.
“There is a coyote attacking some of the desert animals,” Victor said. “And your Papa is going to chase him away.”
Julio’s eyes seemed to brighten. “Really? Can I come with you?”
“Yes,” Garza said. “But first you need to sleep.”
“Okay, Papa.”
“Good boy.” Garza gave him a kiss on his cheek, then patted him on the butt as he went off to bed.
Garza went over to get another cup of coffee, then returned to the table. “He is getting too old and he is understanding too much.”
Victor nodded. “Of course, he is your son. It is only natural that he have your instincts.”
“Yes, but he must learn to avoid certain people and certain places.”
“You are thinking too much, Jefe.”
“Maybe,” Garza said. “But when Rodriguez wins the election, the Zutons will own the northern territory and there will be a bloodbath. I think it would be wise to leave Mexico for a while.”
The house was completely still while the two men were quiet with their thoughts. Finally, in an assuring voice, Victor said, “I can watch after him.”
Garza considered the comment. There was a tiny sense of relief which came with the notion. An insurance policy for his only child.
“Yes,” Garza said. “That would be good.” Then another thought occurred to him and Victor seemed to notice his expression change.
“Something else?” Victor asked.
“This package we are taking. It will be dangerous. I do not want this thing to linger. Tell Chizek to be prepared to accept this delivery by tonight. I want this out of my hands quickly.”
“What about the FBI?” Victor asked. “Are they getting close?”
“Maybe,” Garza said. “But they are already too late. Chizek will be ready for them.”
A ray of sunshine peeked through the kitchen window onto Garza’s face and the warmth brightened his mood. That and the image of the briefcase full of cash hidden in his basement.
Chapter 19
White House Chief of Staff Paul Dexter’s office was a tidy room, filled with carefully crafted cabinetry, and a bookshelf which filled one entire wall. Sam Fisk was finishing his arrangements for his trip to Mexico City when Dexter gestured to the flat screen TV above them.
An angry mob of people were gathering around a building while a line of police attempted to hold them back. Demonstrators held placards saying, “No More Blood!” and “We’re Fed Up!” The words at the bottom of the screen read: “Protests in Mexico City.”
“You sure you want to do this, Sam?” Dexter asked. “It’s pretty nasty down there.”
“Not really,” Fisk said.
“Sounds like the people just want peace,” Dexter said. “Isn’t that what Rodriguez is offering them?”
Fisk grinned. “Yeah, like offering a piece of candy laced with arsenic.”
“You still here?” President Merrick stood in the doorway with a thick manila file in his right hand.
“Just leaving,” Fisk said.
“Sam, you don’t need to do this,” Merrick said.
