F-Stop (20 page)

“And?” Mike prodded.

“Here’s the thing.” He carefully chewed and swallowed a bite of his food. “To begin with, every one of the men—Pelley, Prescott and Post—is in trouble, in differing degrees.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Post blew through his trust fund his parents left him and he’s overextended on his chain of spas. He’s been trying to borrow more money and he’s pissed off that his sister and brother-in-law wouldn’t bail him out. Apparently they’ve done it twice before and this time they flat out told him no.”

“So he’s a good candidate.”

“Yes. But so are the others. Pelley makes a damn good living as vice president of Wright International, especially with all his bonuses but he also has been trying to borrow money. Andy couldn’t find out what for but he’s still digging.”

“What about Rand Prescott?” Kat asked. “The man who was lending them his house.”

“Again, something funny there. Andy found signs he’s being investigated by the Securities and Exchange Commission but he’s still hunting for more details, especially if it ties to any of the deals he did with Wright.”

“Faith? What did you get?”

Faith patted her lips with her napkin and pulled a tiny notebook from the pocket of her jeans. “I wrote some of this down so I wouldn’t forget it. Mark picked up a new portable printer on our way back here but we haven’t hooked it up yet.”

“So there was something in the notes Tia sent you?” Mike prodded.

Faith flipped the notebook open. “She’d found tons of stuff on the cartels and their kidnappings. More than I expected. And we were right on target.”

“Just so we’re all prepared for what’s going on here,” Mark interrupted, “since the demise of the Cali and Medellin cartels in Columbia in the nineties, the Mexican cartels have become super powerful. They’re responsible for nearly all the marijuana and methamphetamine coming into this country, as well as heroin. Although there are others who distribute heroin more widely on a global basis. But they dominate the entire illicit drug trade in the United States.”

Faith took up the narrative again. “It’s apparently become a regular fundraising activity for the cartels to supplement their income. I had asked her to make a list of the names of those who appeared most frequently in the media. There are six.” She flipped to another page. “Mano Escobar, Hector Villareal, Jesus Morales, Ricardo Banderas, Victor Herrera and Esai Borreo.”

“And,” Mark went on, “a couple of them, instead of using what they call
sicarios
—

gangs of enforcers—actually have pulled together their own private army.”

“The man I saw in my remote view was wearing khakis,” Faith said, “like some kind of uniform.”

“That’s good,” Mike told her. “It can help us narrow things down.”

“I shot all the names to Andy,” Mark added. “I told him he can go home for a week when this is over but until then he should consider himself chained to the Dragon.”

“I think he actually lives there anyway,” Mike said with wry humor.

“Can he find out everything about these men?” Kat tried to tamp down her anxiety.

Even the most casual news junkie knew that victims of cartel kidnappings had a low rescue factor.

“I told him I want everything including how many times a day they go to the bathroom. What we need to find out is where in hell one of them could have crossed paths with any of the three men receiving the emails.”

“What did he find out about them, anyway?” Mike took a swallow of his wine.

“Anything more than basic financial information and stuff you can find in news clips?”

“Not yet,” Mark told him. “He said he’s still working on it but I told him he needs to get his ass in gear.”

“The thing is,” Faith commented, “pinning down a connection could be the most difficult thing. Wright International has businesses everywhere. So does Rand Prescott.

And maybe Ryan Post has been looking to expand his spas operation into Mexico. Or already has. Mark, will you ask Andy to check on that? Maybe he’s operating under a different name.”

Mark put down his fork, took out his cell and speed dialed a number. In a few quick sentences he added to the instructions he’d given earlier.

“He’s working as fast as he can. Let’s finish dinner, Katherine, afterward, do you think you could try another remote viewing session?”

Kat wanted to tell him that after making love with Mike she felt capable of doing anything but she just said, “Absolutely.”

Mark snapped his fingers. “Almost forgot. Detective Wagner called about our friend Brent Fontaine. The guy manages a hedge fund and is loaded to the gills. But he has a reputation as a narcissistic asshole. Wagner called a friend of his on the Tampa PD

who said they’ve had other women complain about Fontaine before.”

“I’m not surprised.” Kat pushed her plate away. “I didn’t think I was the only one he behaved that way with. You have no idea what a relief it is to know he won’t be calling me anymore.”

Mark nodded. “You can count on that. Wagner made it very plain that both San Diego and Tampa would be keeping track of his activities. And if he tried calling you again, you would report it to both police departments and they’d take appropriate action.”

“Faith, I should let your aunt know that the major stress factor has been removed from my life and that I already feel my powers strengthening.”

“I plan to call her later. I’ll bring her up to speed.”

Kat fidgeted while they dawdled over coffee, finally pushing her chair back and saying, “I want to do this right now. We can’t afford to waste another minute and maybe this time I’ll get something more specific.”

They piled everything onto the trolley the waiter had used to bring their food. Kat seated herself again, placed the pictures of Mari and the Wrights on the table, along with a sheet of paper and a pen. And this time she asked for one other thing.

“Mike, could you find a map of Mexico on the laptop and bring it up on the screen so it’s facing me?”

“Sure. No problem.”

In seconds he had the map up and the laptop situated the way she wanted it. Mark closed the drapes again and Faith turned off all the lights in the room but the small table lamp.

I have to do this for Mari. We have to be able to save her from these evil, bloodthirsty people.

Kat closed her eyes took a long calming breath and let her mind reach out.

Projecting it. Seeking out the location of the people in the pictures.

This time the scene that came to her was dark. Nighttime. A flicker of a black sky with a sliver of moon. The edge of the adobe hut. A brief but fuzzy glimpse of the dog and the man with the heavy rifle. Then it all disappeared.

She blinked and tried again.

This time the picture wasn’t quite as fuzzy and she saw a little more of the building.

A door, with a long block of wood notched into a hook holding the door closed. The man with the gun and the foot of another man next to him. The moon. The vague shape of hills in the background. And a black van. She strained to see the license plate but again it was too blurred.

And then, as always, it popped into place with incredible clarity. Including a part of the license plate on the vehicle. Before it disappeared she wrote down what she’d seen.

In a moment, as quickly as it had come, the scene disappeared but she was overjoyed that she’d gotten a little something more out of it.

“I saw something,” she told Mike in an excited voice. “Turn the rest of the lights on.

Please.”

“What is it?” Mike sat down in the chair next to her and pulled it close.

“There’s a van parked near the hut. Black. Pretty dirty. But I got the beginning of the license plate.” She handed Mike the paper. “Here. Can Andy do something with this?”

Mike immediately got Andy on the phone, read to him what they had and asked if he could call something up while he waited.

Kat fidgeted, anxious to possibly have something more than a vague location. Mike took her hand and laced his fingers through hers, squeezing them gently. Sending her a silent message. After what seemed an interminable length of time, Mike said, “Yeah.

Still here. Shoot.”

His eyes held hers as he listened to what Andy was saying.

“Okay. Got it. Very good. Thanks. Keep on that other stuff.” He snapped the phone shut. “The license plate indicates the vehicle is registered in the Mexican state of Sinaloa.”

“I can’t imagine they’d use a car that could pinpoint them so easily,” Faith said.

“The reason they don’t care,” Mike told her, “is because the Sinaloa cartel is in bed with the Mexican government. One of the most corrupt governments in the world.

Rumor has it that some of Mexico’s investigative agency as well as the federal police force actually work for Victor Herrera, the head of the Sinaloa cartel. He has a soulless evil enforcer named Bernando Esquivez who actually runs things for him and is probably the head honcho on this particular adventure. No one goes against them because of that.”

Kat felt ill. “So, just like you said before, even if they wanted to, our government wouldn’t get involved. The Mexican government would protect the cartel.”

“That’s right,” Mark nodded. “The DEA has already lost too many agents from different organizations trying to crack the cartels or retrieve hostages. And the government is so corrupt they’re no help at all.”

“So that leaves just us.”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Mike cupped her chin and turned her face toward his. “We’re a lot better than they are, remember? And we don’t have to worry about politics.”

“Is there a way to find out where Herrera’s headquarters is located?” she asked, trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

“Yes,” Mark answered. “Now that we’ve narrowed the area to a specific part of Mexico and identified who the cartel leader there is.”

“Another job for Andy?”

“Yeah but we can do some work from here too.”

Faith rose from the chair where she’d been sitting. “Why don’t I go get our laptop and we can use both of them to do some research. We can’t hook into the resources Andy can but it’s better than sitting here and just waiting.”

“Let’s do it,” Mark said. “We’ll bring back the portable printer too.” When they were gone, Kat turned to Mike, “I’m trying very hard to be brave about this but I’m really scared for them, Mike.”

He pulled her from the chair into his arms, circling his arms around her. “That’s not an unnatural reaction. These are some nasty people. But we haven’t failed yet and we won’t now. You can trust me on that.”

* * * * *

“Man, this waiting is killing me,” Ryan Post said to the FBI agent seated in a chair in his office.

The day had stretched interminably. It was nearly impossible trying to handle business matters with a watchdog breathing down his neck. At seven he’d sent someone out to pick up sandwiches for both of them but the food had tasted like so much sawdust. He wondered if the kidnappers would make them wait all night for the next message.

“They want you to feel this way,” the agent, a man named Ned Carver, told him.

“Anxious. Stressed out. Susceptible to whatever they ask you to do.”

“What if Pelley can’t get all the money together?” Ryan wanted to know, a tic jumping beneath one eye.

That had been a worry from the beginning. Ron had emerged as the point person because it was assumed he had the greatest resources and could easily tap into them. Of course, Rand Prescott was no pauper. Ryan, as the low man on the totem pole, had told the other two it was up to them to carry the financial burden on this.

“If the kidnappers didn’t think they could collect a ransom, the whole thing never would have taken place. Believe me, these people check into everything very carefully before they set up one of these actions. Nothing is done randomly.” He shifted in the chair. “And if someone on the inside is working with them, they have even more reason to be confident.”

Ryan felt suddenly lightheaded. “What do you mean, someone on the inside?”

“My boss thinks the kidnappers had help setting this up. Someone who could feed them the information they needed for the grab.” He narrowed his gaze at Ryan. “It could even be you.”

Ryan sat down quickly in his chair, his heart kicking into an uneven rhythm.

“You’re kidding, right? You don’t really think that.”

Carver shrugged. “Makes sense. Any of the three of you could be doing this for a cut of the ransom.”

“That’s outrageous,” Ryan stormed. “You think I would do that to my own sister?

My family?”

Carver just studied him. “You’d be amazed at the things I’ve seen people do when money is involved, Mr. Post. In fact, right now the FBI is digging into your affairs to see if there’s something that looks a little off-kilter.”

Ryan wanted to throw something. As if things weren’t bad enough already. No one could withstand an investigative assault by the FBI, even if they were squeaky clean. He picked up a paper clip and viciously bent it out of shape.

Shit.

Sliding his cell phone into his pocket, he rose from his desk. “Does your unrelieved supervision of me include following me into the men’s room?” He didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm from his voice.

“I think I’ll pass on that,” Carver said. “Knock yourself out.”
If only I could.

* * * * *

Rand Prescott liked the hotel where he always stayed because the suites were large and the staff gave their guests maximum privacy. For a hefty price, of course. The tall, slightly overweight man whose dark brown hair was shot with gray silently cursed the situation he now found himself in.

John Hopewell, the FBI agent who had shown up on his doorstep, now sat in one of the big armchairs, leafing through a report as they both waited for the next email to appear. Rand had cancelled all his meetings and now sat at a second laptop he’d borrowed from the hotel, trying to get some work done. His secretary was still panicked at the intrusion of the FBI into her orderly day and their demand to know where he was. It had taken him quite a while to settle her down but now she was sending him reports that he asked for as well as the latest updates from his various divisions.