Troubleshooter (24 page)

"The bad news," Rich picked up without missing a beat, "is that this shit is straight from labs in southern Afghanistan. Affiliated with guess what loosely structured global Islamic terror organization? This particular Hydra head is a Sunni extremist group splintered out of Asbat al-Ansar, call themselves 'al-Fath.' Their guy on the ground in L.A. is Dhul Faqar Al-Malik, a Pakistani, alias is 'the Prophet's Sword.'"

Tannino's grimace said he knew the name. Al-Malik had probably achieved topic-of-discussion status at Head Feds briefings.

"He's the point man, tasked with establishing financial and operational footing so they can help generate sleeper cells and bankroll future operations in the city." Smiles paused, his dark eyes showing the depth of his concern. "We strongly believe that the Prophet has forged an alliance with the Laughing Sinners."

"Don't fundamentalist terrorists have greater concerns at this moment than dicking around with bikers and junkies?" Tannino said.

"A lot of their assets--particularly those in the U.S.--have been frozen since the post-9/11 crackdown. And since we put the screws to the banks, moving money across borders is harder. We've seized more money coming in than I'm at liberty to disclose. AT is the newest wrinkle. It eliminates the need for al-Fath to smuggle large quantities of heroin into the country, or money, and it also cuts the need to set up a false-flag operation." A hint of admiration found its way onto Smiles's face. "The money's made in L.A., and it stays in L.A."

"Until it funds God knows what," Rich said. "L.A.'s been the brass ring for the ragheads since the Towers fell. You saw the contingency plans they squeezed out of Khalid Shaikh Mohammed."

Malane offered a now-you-see-what-I've-been-dealing-with dip of the head. "The Sinners' drug-distribution network's already up and running--al-Fath's just tapping in to it. No start-up costs. No added exposure. In turn the Sinners get a cut of the action and an opportunity to corner the market on AT--everyone wins."

"As you well know," Smiles said, "no one on the West Coast can touch the Sinners when it comes to distribution."

Tannino lifted a crime-scene photo from his leather blotter--Cholo corpses baking in the Palmdale heat. "Especially now."

A little nod. "Especially now."

Rich said, "Since the U.S. invasion, opium production in Afghanistan is up two thousand percent."

Guerrera alone looked shocked. "What? Why?"

"Because the big producers are the warlords we backed to oust the Taliban," Tim said. "If we cracked down on poppy production, we'd suffer a backlash from our supposed friends."

Rich looked at him, as if puzzled by how a mere federal deputy could grasp international intricacies. Then another expression rippled across his face--something approximating respect--and he said, "You were there."

"Early days. Through the fall of Kabul."

"Army?"

"Rangers."

Smiles said, "The warlords control the areas where the poppies are grown, but they can't make it into heroin. They used to ship it to Pakistan and other neighboring countries for the refining process. But now it gets trucked to al-Fath-run labs in the nearby countryside, and the warlords get to keep more of the profits."

Guerrera again: "So the warlords helped us out until the terrorists made them a better offer."

Noting the frustration on Guerrera's face, Tim thought back to when he, too, had believed that there were clear sides in wartime, that allies aligned based on ideologies, that loyalty and consistency could be factored as part of a strategic equation. It was before he ever saw combat. Where he'd been deployed, the old rules hadn't held. And so now he found the Sinners no more surprising an addition than the Afghan warlords; the bikers were a terrorist-affiliated group as dangerous as any other. Just because they didn't cleave to a particular ideology hardly made them less menacing. Or easier to fight.

"For obvious reasons," Smiles added, "the shift to domestic heroin refining in Afghanistan has increased pressure for more efficient means of exportation. Thus Allah's Tears."

Night was at the windows and the fluorescents were headache-inducing. Tim's thoughts wandered to his wife, and he fought them back to the case. "Do you have a bead on the Prophet?" He read the disappointment on all three agents' faces; it was a case they'd been taking personally for a long time.

"No," Smiles said. "With the Sinners running the drug operation, Al-Malik gets to remain in the background. If we roll someone up, odds are he's wearing originals and long hair. As you've seen."

"How about bank records? I doubt he's trusting the finances to Uncle Pete."

"The terrorists have wised up. They used to funnel money through Middle Eastern Studies professors or Islamic charities, but they've gone another step removed. They put no records under Arab names anymore. No bank accounts, cell-phone bills, nothing. They deal in unattached launderers, pay and play, no zealotry required. All that's required is a rudimentary understanding of banking, a clean record, and an Anglo-Saxon name."

"What's the size of shipment?"

"Our intel suggests the package is two liters."

"What's our timeline?"

"Right fuckin' now," Rich said.

"How do you know the shipment's not already in the U.S.?"

"We don't," Rich said.

Smiles intervened calmingly. "We're taking the prison break as an indication that the Sinners are ready to go live with the next phase. Den and Kaner will likely oversee enforcement for AT's introduction to the market. And they wasted no time cleaning up the competition, as the marshal indicated earlier."

"How's the product coming in?" Tannino asked. "Obviously it's not riding the Kabul Concorde to LAX."

"From the south," Smiles said. "Mexico's easy. Penetrating the U.S. is the challenge."

Guerrera piped up for the first time. "How do you know it's Mexico?"

Smiles took a deep breath, and he and Malane shared a solemn glance. "A red flag sailed across the desk of our attache in Manzanillo last Monday."

"Day before Den and Kaner's break," Bear said.

Smiles again: "An Afghan shipping company slipped something through a few days prior on a license with a pre-2005 code. Only problem is, the license was ostensibly issued six months ago. Great fake, just two numerals reversed. Our attache started pulling documents, put together that the company--under ten layers of bullshit--is an al-Fath front. The shipment presumably held lapis lazuli jewelry, but he discovered that an airport security worker was bribed to keep the narcotics dogs clear. Trace elements on the shipping label tested positive for AT."

"And the shipment itself?"

"Lost track of it once it left the premises."

Rich said, "The Sinners are taking over the product in Mexico, and it's on them to mule it into the U.S. My money says the product's with them already. Or their proxies. Waiting to ship."

Malane offered a dry grin. "Ready for the veins of America."

"Air, sea, or land?" Tannino asked.

"We're not sure, but we're ready," Smiles said. "We're running high alert at the borders. Customs and DEA are ramped up. Plus, AT's got a few drawbacks that work to our advantage. It gives off a strong olfactory signature that makes it susceptible to narc dogs and electronic noses. And al-Fath can't afford to lose the product. Way too much raw opium at stake, and way too much of the Prophet's credibility. Making AT is basically betting the whole crop on a few liters. Not to mention the refining process, which is time-consuming and expensive as hell. A single bust wipes out the season for them."

"And it wipes out al-Fath's burgeoning reputation in the international terrorism industry," Rich added.

"Seems like they're setting up a pipeline that's full of risks," Guerrera said.

"That's the beauty of it," Smiles said. "They don't need a continuous pipeline, just a one-off--a single risk with a huge payday. Two liters smuggled in and diluted out will give them a nine-month supply to market."

"A lifetime in the drug trade," Tim said.

"And about fifty million dollars."

"That's a lotta box cutters." Ignoring the others' grimaces, Rich picked something out of a molar with a fingernail. "It's high stakes all the way around. The Sinners'll want to track it in--this ain't no see-if-it-flies coke shipment in the back of a coyote's pickup."

"So the Sinners'll be hands-on with it," Tim said.

Rich nodded. "We think Diamond Dog set up the operation down there with two other guys from the mother chapter, Toe-Tag and Whelp. They made three Mexico runs before you ventilated Diamond Dog's chest."

The memory of the shooting creased Guerrera's forehead.

"Why would Uncle Pete send mother-chapter members instead of nomads?" Tim asked.

"Fugitives can't risk border crossings. Uncle Pete had to loan out some of the clean-cut mother-chapter boys."

"Regular Cub Scouts," Bear said.

"You alerted Border Patrol to log them coming and going?" Tim asked.

"Of course," Smiles said. "Those three were frisked head to toe coming back across each time. Nothing on them, nothing on the bikes. Every time."

"Which border station?" Tim asked.

"San Ysidro-Tijuana," Rich said.

"How long do they stay in Mexico?"

Malane handed Tim an interagency memorandum. "About five days. Once in the end of October, once in early November, once at the end of November."

Tim studied the dates. "They were down there when Jennifer Villarosa died. October twenty-ninth."

"Who's that?" Smiles asked.

"We found a hair of hers on the embalming table. Best we can tell, she died snorkeling in Cabo."

"Cabo's a ways down the coast from Tijuana," Bear said.

"The mother-chapter boys had five days," Tim said. "It's only, what? Nine hundred miles?"

"Fifteen hours in the saddle?" Guerrera said. "That's nothing for guys used to cross-country biker runs. They love it."

"Villarosa's death was an accidental," Bear said.

"Maybe she saw something she wasn't supposed to," Tim said.

The FBI agents bristled impatiently. The theory sounded thin even to Tim's own ears.

Malane produced a new border report. "Toe-Tag and Whelp crossed over again yesterday morning."

"You hold them?" Tannino asked.

"What charges?"

"You follow them?"

An embarrassed silence. Finally Rich said, "They played musical vehicles in a parking garage. Mexican agents lost 'em outside San Antonio del Mar."

"Didn't you have Border Patrol put transmitters on them?" Tim asked.

"Sure." Smiles's lips got tight. "On the bikes they ditched."

"So they're receiving the package in Tijuana as we speak?"

"Unless they're decoys," Rich said. "All we know, they just swung through for a donkey show and some 'tang."

"So what do you have on the smuggling operation?" Tim asked. "I mean actually have. How much of this is hypothetical?"

"I've been able to pick up some low-res intel without getting a lot of specifics."

"That's really helpful," Bear said. "While you're at it, why don't you raise the threat level to fuchsia and urge citizens to exercise caution?"

"They were bringing me inside. All the way." Rich stood up, angry, and Bear came off the wall a step to match him. "I was right on the verge--days away, maybe hours. I already had the distribution center nailed down--Danny the Wand's shop. She draws Sinners from all over the county. Oh, I'm sorry. She drew Sinners from all over the county. Because that lead is gone."

His anger seemed undercut by something softer, maybe sadness. Tim wondered--as he had when Rich had paused over Danielle's body on their way out of the shop--if Rich had gone beyond role-playing in his undercover relationship with her.

"And guess what happened there?" Rich continued. "You guys came storming in during the preshow, guns ablaze, fucking up the game plan."

Tannino rose and set his fists flat-knuckled on the desktop. "You trip through our sanctioned investigation and have the audacity to blame us for stepping on your dick? You should have alerted us that the shop was a hot spot. And your liaison"--Tannino's head snapped over to Malane--"did nothing in our meetings besides sneer and play hide-the-files. How many resources were we supposed to burn chasing these pricks with half the facts and you letting air out of our tires?"

"We spent months getting our guy inside and couldn't risk his cover being blown," Malane said.

"There wouldn't have been a risk if you'd told us Danny the Wand's shop was a no-fly zone. But you couldn't even chance us talking to Goat Purdue. Our own prisoner?"

"We couldn't have you prying around with Rich sunk undercover in the middle of it. You know how it goes."

"Where'd you stash Goat?"

"He's no longer useful." Malane nodded at Tim. "You put a pretty good charge into his face."

"We busted our asses to nail him," Bear said, "and you snaked him."

"Nail someone else."