work and scrounging around for mortgage money. Be grateful you haven’t had the financial stress most Americans have had to face.”
Nick sighed, thinking of what lie ahead of them.
“Stevie coming?” Matt asked.
“Uh, huh.”
“It’s going to get ugly,” Matt said.
Nick glanced back at his house where both of his prized possessions resided. “It always does,” he said.
* * *
After picking up Stevie Gilpin at the airport, Nick and Matt debriefed him on the way to Tucson. Gilpin was a slim young man with thin, frameless glasses and an insatiable penchant for all things technical.
Nick looked over his shoulder at Stevie who was playing with one of his mechanical toys. “Are you listening to me?”
“Of course,” Stevie said with an easy smile. “Unlike some older agents, I can multitask.”
Matt grinned from behind the wheel. “I’m not even forty, so don’t go shoveling dirt on me just yet.”
Nick pointed to an abandoned building in the center of an empty parking lot. “There,” he said. “Park in the back.”
The building was the size of an enormous superstore with no other marking but the faded letters where the original sign covered the paint. In the rear of the building was a row of cars parked under a strip of metal covering to protect against the Arizona summer heat. Matt pulled into one of the empty spots and turned off the car.
Nick twisted in his seat. “Stevie?”
While still pushing buttons on a small electronic device, Stevie said, “I know. Stay close to you and don’t talk to anyone.”
Nick got out of the car satisfied his instructions were heard. When they approached the white metal door, Nick spied the miniature camera above a wall light. To the unobservant eye it would seem as if this were a vacant building instead of the Southwest’s largest Homeland Security office.
Before pushing the button on the wall next to the door, Nick turned to Matt and said, “You ready?”
Matt stuck a piece of chewing gum in his mouth and nodded. “Uh huh.”
Nick hit the button next to an employee card scanning device and waited only a few seconds before the door opened. A chiseled man in fatigues with an assault rifle strapped around his neck stood waiting for them.
Nick held up his FBI shield and received a nod from the man who stepped aside and allowed the three agents to pass. Without a word spoken, they entered the building. The place was an enormous hollowed out warehouse with a high ceiling and no walls to separate anyone. To their left was a large cage where several German Shepherds paced around each other, prancing on their toes, anxious for action. On the opposite side of the massive facility was the only closed-in room, the size of a volleyball court. That’s where all the impounded drugs would be stored.
Throughout the gutted warehouse were dozens of desks with computers and small lamps. Border Patrol agents banged on keyboards and moved around the facility with an organized choreography which denoted years of practice. The floor had been stripped down to the cement so an echo rang out with every phone call and every conversation. A concrete stairway led up to a second floor loft with just enough room for a secretary’s desk, a couple of waiting couches, and the one large office which would be the command center. Nick knew the Deputy Director would be working up there.
Nick led the way, walking with authority in order to diminish any chance for confrontation. Although he was seething, he kept a placid expression and nodded as he passed people at their desks. They headed up the staircase and upon reaching the top, Nick approached the solitary desk where a woman eyed the three men warily. He held out his credentials and smiled.
“Margie, you don’t know us,” Nick said, affably, “but we’re old Navy buddies of Roger’s and I want to surprise him.”
The secretary looked over the three agents who acted like they were visiting Santa. “Well, he’s on the phone right now, but once he’s off, I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Nick pointed to the phone on her desk with a solitary green light designating a current call in progress. He held his index finger to his mouth in a mischievous gesture. “Shh,” he said, heading toward the closed door. “Once he sees us, he’ll hang up. Promise. He might get a little animated, though. We were a pretty close group.”
Nick headed to the door with Matt and Stevie behind him. As he grabbed the doorknob, he turned to the secretary, who was halfway out of her seat. “If he doesn’t get off the phone within five seconds, you can come and chase us out.”
This put the secretary back in her chair with a dubious glare.
Nick smiled. “Start counting.”
The three agents entered the windowless office. Matt closed the door behind them.
Roger Decker was a stocky guy with a beefy, motorcycle cop mustache. His desk fronted a gigantic wall map of Arizona with mountains and buttes protruding from its surface to accent the topography. Decker sat behind his desk with the phone to his ear. As soon as he saw the trio approach, he pulled the phone down and said, “Who the fuck are you?”
Nick calmly grabbed the phone from Decker’s hand and slammed it down on the cradle. A complete look of astonishment covered Decker’s face. Matt came around the desk and pulled up on Decker’s white, button-down shirt, until the man was upright, then shoved the Deputy Director against the wall.
“This is a hostile takeover, asshole,” Matt spat at him.
Nick slid into the Director’s chair and began tapping on the keyboard.
Stevie seemed to want to explain things, so he held up his FBI shield. “We’re with the Bureau,” he said.
Decker looked confused.
Matt gave Stevie an angry glare. “Did you forget your instructions already?”
The technologist looked apologetic.
Nick pointed to a chair in front of Decker’s desk. “Sit down.”
Matt reached for Decker again, but this time he shoved Matt’s arms away and moved to sit in the chair on his own. A tiny show of defiance in an otherwise submissive situation.
Decker’s face twisted into a nasty snarl. “What gives you the right to barge into my office like this?”
Nick found the page he wanted, then twisted the thin monitor so Decker could get a good view. “This gives me the right,” Nick said. “I received this picture from Antonio Garza a few hours ago.”
The Deputy Director’s face became pale and his eyes wide. Subconsciously, he rubbed his neck. “El Carnicero?”
“The very same.”
Stevie stretched to see the photo over Decker’s shoulder. He looked like he might get sick. The picture showed two headless males sitting with their backs against a gray wall, nothing but bloody stumps on top of their shoulders. Their heads sat in their laps with forced smiles on the faces.
“These two men were working undercover,” Nick said. “There were only three men who knew their identity and one of them had to give them up to Garza, there’s no other explanation for this.”
Decker looked as if he had just bit into a lemon. He twisted the monitor away from him.
“Okay,” Decker said, “you made your point. But what has this got to do with me?”
“These three men work out of this office.”
“What?” Decker held up his hands. “You were running an undercover operation out of my office and you didn’t consult me?”
Nick folded his arms. “I don’t have time to explain our motives. The less people who knew meant the less people who could tip off Garza.” Nick gestured toward the monitor. “Obviously, we had one too many people involved already.”
Decker seemed disgusted. “Who are you? You never told me your name.”
“Nick Bracco.”
“Bracco?” Decker said, his eyes darting side-to-side until a flicker of recognition came across his face. “You’re the terrorist expert. What are you doing messing with drug cartels? This is way out of your league.”
“No, Mr. Decker, I’m not messing with cartels. I’m messing with Antonio Garza. He’s not a drug smuggler. He’s the gatekeeper for any cartel who wants a guaranteed entry into the United States. These drug lords know that thirty percent of their product will get confiscated, that’s already built into the price. But if someone needs
