Incitement (16 page)

“Yes, this is what I’ve always wanted, to be a security blanket for a minister who’s afraid of embarrassing himself,” he replied. “I tried to insist I could brief
him adequately before he left but no, I had to drop everything and accompany him on his visit here. An entire three days between the State Department and the DEA.”

“Don’t knock it; at least you’re valued!”

Mesi knew she must appear very subdued to Campas, different from the enthusiastic person he had worked with in Mexico. They made small talk briefly, exchanging pleasantries, before the
discussion turned to work and issues related to the cartel war.

“I received a report this morning regarding Francisco Zaragosa. You remember we talked a couple of weeks ago?” he asked.

“Yes, any word on when he plans to return to California?”

“Try never. At first, we thought he might have fucked up and was being called back for some kind of reprimand. We couldn’t have been more wrong. From what we’ve learnt, playboy
Francisco is now a vegetable. Result of some kind of poisoning and the prognosis is that it’s permanent.”

“Christ, there’s going to be major repercussions, isn’t there?”

He nodded.

“Up to now, Esteban Zaragosa could usually be counted on as a voice of reason. His attitude was: as long as Madrigal made money, he was content to be number two. He provided a stabilising
influence on Caesar Rodriguez.”

“And that’s all changed now?”

“I think so. Word is he blames Madrigal for what happened to his nephew. I think he’ll make a move.”

“And Rodriguez will back him?”

“I can’t see why not, he’s been yearning for this. He’s never been strong enough to challenge Madrigal himself but with Zaragosa on side, there’s no reason to
hesitate. I think Madrigal, for the first time in a long time, is in real danger. It seems like the Kosovars have succeeded in creating the dissension you talked about.”

“It’s a continuation of the pattern, more in-fighting, more instability. It makes you wonder who gains,” Mesi remarked.

“What do you mean? Rodriguez and Zaragosa obviously, if they succeed.”

“Do they? Can they sustain what Madrigal has built? Maybe briefly but in the long run, I think they’ll suffer financially. Who really wins?”

“The Kosovars? A fractured alliance with new leadership will be easier to supplant?”

“I know that’s been the assumption, but if I look at the individual attacks ... I don’t know, they just seem
wrong
somehow.”

“Well there have certainly been some puzzling inconsistencies,” he agreed.

“Exactly. Take Conchillo, a perfectly executed operation followed by sloppy covering of their tracks, almost as if they went out of their way to ensure they were found.”

“Maybe they didn’t care. We know now it wasn’t the first attack, maybe they figured Madrigal and Zaragosa already knew who was responsible?” he suggested. Mesi knew
Campas did not really believe his answer but wanted to see where she was going with this by playing devil’s advocate.

“Go back two years,” she said. “Everyone’s doing well. Why would the Kosovars or anyone else instigate a war? Even if they could seize a greater share of the global
heroin market, the risks were astronomical. I know one of the suggestions was they’d saturated their current markets and needed to expand because of their commitments to various militias but
...”

“I thought we agreed that Plan Coca could have convinced them to act. Seeing the Alliance engaged on one front already?” he offered. Again, she could see him resisting the urge to
leap ahead, wanting her to step through her thought process.

“Did you have great hopes for Plan Coca when it was launched?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“Neither did I and we were in the majority. I’m convinced, despite what’s coming from certain quarters, that we were right. I think the Kosovars would have held exactly the
same opinion as we did.”

“Okay, let’s say they did; where does that leave us?”

“Well, if neither party stood to gain, maybe,” she hesitated, then, after a deep breath, continued, “maybe someone else instigated the war. Maybe someone else benefits if the
two tear each other apart.”

“Someone else?”

“If it’s true, there are two candidates – another crime syndicate or a government-backed agency.” Mesi shook her head. “This sounds crazy, doesn’t
it?”

“Maybe not. No harm in talking it through! It’s just the two of us throwing ideas around.”

“Maybe you should tell Samuels that!” The weariness in her tone was evident.

“You’re saying he wouldn’t be willing to look into it?”

“Not if it came from me. I doubt he’d even give me enough time to present an argument.”

“Why? Now that we’re on the subject, I was surprised to see you weren’t asked to attend any of the meetings over the last few days.”

“I’m barely on the periphery of the investigation. I only get to attend internal strategy meetings.”

“You’re still on the investigation, though; he hasn’t re-assigned you?”

“More because of historical involvement rather than any contribution he thinks I can make. It would be a bit obvious to remove me but I’m convinced Samuels is assigning me to tasks
he believes are irrelevant to the main threads of the investigation.” She held up an air ticket. “Case in point, he gets me out of his hair for three days while I head to France. I have
to interview someone trying to bargain their way out of an assault charge by claiming he has information regarding the Kosovars’ past operations.”

“But that’s crazy. Why is he doing this?”

If it had been anyone else she would not have been so frank but with Campas she felt secure enough to answer honestly. “Well, I’ve had some disagreements with the way he’s
tackling this operation, which hasn’t helped our relationship.”

“What kind of disagreements?”

“I’ve pointed out that all he’s effectively done is use our manpower to supplement regional and border law enforcement. They’re trying to predict where trouble is likely
and take whatever action they can to avert it. We’re not really doing anything to address the underlying cause.”

“That’s it? A difference of opinion and he’s sidelining you?”

“There’s more. Do you remember when I first visited you in Mexico? The plans I had as head of the new department, TAIT?”

He nodded.

“From what I’d been led to believe, we were going to have a significant role to play in DEA operations. I couldn’t believe my luck in securing the post, especially considering
the other candidates but ...”

“When we last talked you said there had been some delay in finalising the funding?” Campas pressed.

“I don’t believe TAIT was ever meant to be anything more than an expedient way of convincing external critics that the DEA was taking them seriously.”

“What do you mean?”

“‘The criticism was we’re not proactive enough. So, the DEA’s response was ‘Look, here’s a newly formed strategic analysis team to prove we’re
listening.’ But being realistic, if they were truly committed, would they have appointed someone so unproven?”

“And that’s why you think Samuels doesn’t take you seriously?”

“Exactly. Even if he did rate me, which is debatable, he can’t be seen to let a token appointee take a prominent role in the investigation.”

Mesi knew he could see how demoralised she was but he respected her too much to try to offer meaningless consolations. She was certain there was a basis for her suspicions around her
appointment.

“I don’t know whether there’s anything to your theory about third-party involvement, I’ll do my best to look into it and see if I can convince Samuels that it’s
worth some time.” He looked at his watch. “I’d better get back to Mayorga or he’ll start sending out search parties. I’ll call you when I get back.”

She forced a smile and wished him a good flight home.

The cold sea wind whipped across the low fields adding to an inhospitable environment. There were signs across the landscape of the late spring bloom but these were muted by a
sky full of ominous grey clouds. While the ancient stone walls bordering the patchwork of fields could be picturesque during the summer, at that moment, they only added to the oppressiveness. Two
of the men in the open field had their hands dug deep into the pockets of their overcoats and stomped around in circles trying to combat the cold. The third man leaned against a wall, smoking a
cigarette, lost in his thoughts and apparently inured to the weather. They had just returned from his daily exercise – a brisk ten-kilometre walk – and he was reluctant to go indoors
just yet. He had been there for ten days and was beginning to feel claustrophobic. Not that he would complain too strongly, given the alternatives. Girard had told him there would be another
visitor this afternoon. He wished he didn’t have to go over it all again; each time was a stark reminder of what he had committed himself to.

One of the other men approached, interrupting his reverie.

“Come on Tuur, we’re freezing our balls off here while we could just as easily be inside where it’s warm.”

He pushed himself off the wall and led them down the gentle incline to the stone cottage. Once inside the back door he removed his coat and pulled out a chair to sit at the kitchen table. His
companions rushed through to the living room, where a warm fire was waiting.

A slightly overweight, middle-aged man, who had been standing by the sink washing some dishes, turned around to talk to him. “Well, Richard, our latest guest should be here any minute.
I’d say after this we’ll be almost done.”

Richard Tuur didn’t make much of an effort to disguise his irritation in the gaze he directed at Girard. “Honestly, Julian, it’s that simple?”

“I don’t see why not. You’ve met your side of the bargain so far. Keep it up and we’ll reciprocate.”

Julian Girard reached for an open bottle of wine, poured two glasses and gave one to Tuur. “I don’t know why you insist on being so downbeat. A fortnight in a farmhouse in Brittany,
enjoying the countryside, and then a helping hand to build your new life. It seems like a good deal to me.”

Sometimes he appreciated the fact that Girard had such an easygoing nature; the confinement might have been much harder to deal with otherwise, but in this instance it was grating. The
sub-directorate inspector should have known that when this was over, Tuur would have some real concerns about his safety, and by dismissing these so casually, he was being deliberately
provocative.

Girard looked down at Tuur’s balled fists. More than a few people had been unfortunate enough to experience the strength of those hands. Luckily the Dutchman knew better than to give in to
his impulses at the moment.

“They’ve just pulled into the drive,” one of the others called from the living room.

“Well I suppose that glass will have to wait until later. Do you want to go into the living room while I greet our guest?”

Girard opened the front door and saw one of his men who was stationed at the front of the house opening the door of the car that had just pulled in. A tall red-haired woman climbed out.

“Good afternoon. I’m Inspector Girard – Julian. Agent Mesi, isn’t it? I hope you had a good journey?”

“Great flight. The short notice meant business class,” she replied smiling, going over to shake his hand. “Diane.”

Girard took a moment before entering the house. “You’re aware of the circumstances surrounding Tuur being in our custody?” he asked.

“Arrested after a nightclub altercation and a background check revealed he’d deserted the Legion eight years ago, pending an investigation into some stolen ordinance. He managed to
convince the authorities that he had information that was germane to the violence sweeping the drug community. That’s when the sub-directorate entered the picture.”

“Yes, we agreed to listen to him and, if we were interested, look at the possibilities. Initially, his story seemed not only far-fetched but unrelated to our investigations. When he
expounded on his theory, however, we decided he might have something. My superiors authorised this,” Girard gestured at the house. “He’s required to put himself at our disposal
for as long as necessary, and in return we’ll help him to start over. Anything you hear, though, has to have the proviso added that we’re dealing with a man who was facing serious
charges that he would probably go some way to avoid.”

“You mean he’s making it up?”

“No, but I wonder if he hasn’t embellished it a little. I’ve no doubt there’s a kernel of truth to his story but, at the same time, he knew the situation he found himself
in required something special. We can discuss what you think afterwards.”

Tuur was standing with his back to the fire and his physical presence dominated the room to such a degree that Girard’s men had unconsciously positioned themselves around its edges. Mesi
resisted the urge to remain just inside the doorway and, following Girard’s lead, sat on the couch facing the Dutchman.

“Richard, this lady is from the US Drugs Enforcement Administration. She’s here to discuss what you’ve told us,” said Girard.

Mesi reflexively smiled in greeting at Tuur, whose stare did nothing to disguise his hostility. Everything about him, from the hostile look to the tension in his heavily muscled frame, reminded
her of a guard dog, bred for violence, its training barely keeping it in check. Details of the altercation which had led to Tuur’s arrest came to mind and she pitied the unfortunates who had
encountered him during the nightclub fracas. Breaking their stare, she looked down to consult her notes.