Authors: Dale Brown
The phone on her desk rang. She kissed him again, then held his face between her hands. “What in hell am I going to do with you, Felix Díaz?” she asked, then released him and went to her desk and picked up the phone. “I told you not to disturb me,” she said into the receiver. “I will kick you in the…what?
He what?
Bring it in here immediately!” She hung up the phone.
“Fifteen minutes, on the dot,” Díaz said.
“This is the real thing, Felix—another videotape by that Veracruz character, released to the press, with a detailed account of the incident in Arizona and calling for a worldwide insurgency against America to avenge the killings.”
“The man might be a genius,” Díaz said. “Imagine the power one could have if she could sway
every Hispanic man and woman
in the United States, Carmen! Imagine the influence one could have if you could take one tenth of America’s entire workforce and not only order them
not
to show up for work, but to
rise up
against their employers! The American government would be forced to make a just deal for worker amnesty!”
“This Fuerza guy is a complete unknown—worse than a loose cannon, he is a criminal with a popular following,” Maravilloso said. “How can you trust someone like that?”
“I think it is worth a try,” Díaz said. “I might be able to use my special investigators, the
Sombras
, to find this man.”
Maravilloso was silent for a long moment, then: “This is something I cannot support, Felix,” she said finally. “This Fuerza is too dangerous. He could turn on his handlers in an instant, like a wild animal trainer surrounded by lions.”
“You and he, together—it would certainly be a very powerful combination.”
She looked at him with a knowing smile. “Or it could be a disaster, and you would certainly benefit from that, would you not, Felix?” He did not reply. “You are not ready to give up your chance at the presidency of Mexico…for me,” she said. His smile dimmed, only for a moment, but she knew she had hit her target. She made a little show of acting disappointed, happy that she had uncovered a tiny bit of the man, the
real
man, before her; then, as her assistant came into the office after a very quiet knock, shrugged her shoulders. “Good day to you, Minister Díaz,” she said icily. “Please come again.” Her tense body language and hooded eyes told him the meeting was definitely over—perhaps for good—and he departed with a courteous bow and no words.
Díaz paid courtesy visits on several government officials in the Palacio Nacional, shook hands with visitors, and made a brief statement in the press office about the worsening situation on the U.S.-Mexican border but said that he was confident that all could be resolved peacefully. Then he headed to his waiting car. The Ministry of Internal Affairs was located on the other side of the Federal District from the Palacio Nacional, south of the president’s residence on Constitution Avenue in the center of the Bosque de Chapultepec, so even with a police escort it would take a long time to make it back to his office.
Although Díaz had ready access to a helicopter—he could even fly it himself, and had done so many times—he preferred the relative peace and quiet of his specially outfitted armored Mercedes S600 sedan and its wide array of secure voice, data, and video communications equipment, specially installed himself and tied into the government communications net only one way—he could access all government systems and networks, but they could not access
his
. With a police escort, he could get back to his office relatively quickly. He donned his lightweight headset and called back to his office and was immediately connected to José Elvarez, deputy minister of Internal Affairs, director of operations of the Political Police and of the
Sombras,
or Special Investigations Unit. “Report, José,” Díaz ordered.
“Follow-up report regarding the visit by TALON One and Two and FBI Director DeLaine in San Diego, sir,” Elvarez said. The computer screen in the back of the sedan came to life. It showed a photograph, obviously taken from the ground at a street intersection, through the clear windshield of a dark government-looking armored Suburban. Four persons could clearly be seen in the photo, two men and two women, seated in the rear two forward-facing rows of the vehicle, plus a driver and woman sitting in the front passenger seat. “Subjects were photographed leaving the FBI field office yesterday. The second man has just been identified as Paul Purdy, one of the U.S. Border Patrol agents believed to have been killed near Blythe, California.”
“Mi Díos,”
Díaz breathed, studying the digital photo. Damn, a survivor, a
witness
—that could be a very significant development. “Where did they take him?”
“They first went to Montgomery Airport, where DeLaine, her female bodyguard, and TALON Two were dropped off at her jet, and then the others went to a charity store in downtown San Diego,” Elvarez said. The
Sombras
had managed to plant tracking devices on most of the American official government vehicles, and although the bugs were usually discovered and deactivated within a few days, quite often they could still get a great amount of useful intelligence from them. “They purchased several bags of clothes.”
“Clothes, eh? From a charity used-clothing store? Sounds like they are going undercover.”
“After that, they went to a market and came out with several more bags of supplies, then got on Interstate 15 northbound. We lost GPS tracking a few minutes later and notified all of our southern California lookouts to watch for the vehicle.”
“And did someone spot it?”
“Yes, sir. It was observed arriving at the U.S. Border Patrol sector field office in Indio, California.”
Interesting, Díaz thought—the heart of the Coachella Valley, with a very large concentration of illegal immigrants and smugglers nearby. “And then?”
“After two hours, TALON One and Purdy were observed wearing civilian clothes and getting into an unmarked civilian-asset-seizure vehicle. We had this vehicle under both electronic and agent surveillance. The vehicle was heading south on Route 196. The agents we had following the vehicle terminated visual contact when they suspected Purdy was making some countersurveillance turns, so we lost visual contact, but we are still tracking it electronically.”
“Interesting,” Díaz commented. “This Border Patrol agent, Purdy, seems quite resourceful. He may require some…
diligencia especial
.”
“Understood, sir,” Elvarez said. “The vehicle made several stops along Route 196 and Highway 111 before stopping last night at a motel south of Niland. We have not made direct visual contact with the subjects in the past few hours but we now have their vehicle under both visual and electronic surveillance.”
“I need round-the-clock direct visual contact on the subjects, José,” Díaz said. “Put your best men on this one. This Agent Purdy seems very well trained and experienced—unusual for a Border Patrol agent. He may be getting countersurveillance help from Richter and Vega, so tell your men to be extra careful, or they could be face-to-face with one of those robots.”
“My best men in southern California are already on it, sir.”
“Good. Now we need to find out what those three are up to.”
“Unfortunately we do not have any listening devices in the FBI field office in San Diego,” Elvarez said. “We can monitor comings and goings but cannot reliably tap their phone or data transmissions without risking discovery. The same is true for all of the high-level American government offices in southern California.”
“But we
do
have some good human intelligence…the consular office in San Diego,” Díaz said. “The consulate has excellent connections in the U.S. Attorney’s office. I think it’s time to send the consul back out there to see what he can find out. That will be all, José. Find those three Americans and try to determine why they are playing spymaster.” He terminated the secure phone call.
A
survivor
of that attack near Blythe, Díaz thought ruefully—that could be real trouble. But even more trouble could develop with President Maravilloso’s request to meet with Ernesto Fuerza. Hopefully it was just an idle demand, soon to be forgotten once the political dangers became clear…
…but with Carmen Maravilloso, anything could happen. He had to be ready to make Fuerza available to meet the president soon. It was a meeting he was certainly not looking forward to making happen.
U.S. F
EDERAL
C
OURTHOUSE
,
L
OS
A
NGELES
, C
ALIFORNIA
L
ATER THAT DAY
“I’m very glad to see you, Señor Ochoa,” Annette Cass, the U.S. Attorney for the southern district of California, said. She had met the deputy consul general of the United Mexican States’ consulate in San Diego, Armando Ochoa, just outside the security screening station at the federal courthouse in Los Angeles. She waved at the security guards at the X-ray machine and metal detector and breezed past them before they could remind her to follow their security precautions. “I hope we can come to an agreement on settling the questions before us.”
“As do I, Miss Cass,” Ochoa said. “My government and my office wish to see all of the unpleasantness we have experienced settled and forgotten as soon as possible.”
Cass escorted the Mexican deputy consul to her office and had her assistant fetch him coffee. “As I said before, Mr. Ochoa, my office still has not resolved the jurisdictional questions related to border security and the treatment of detainees suspected of illegally crossing the U.S.-Mexico border,” Cass said. “With the recent attacks by the Consortium, Congress successfully passing a
war resolution against them, and the perceived similarity between the recent attacks on the border and activities by the Consortium, the military has a pretty strong hand in this debate.”
“I understand, Miss Cass,” Ochoa said. “I am confident this will soon be resolved so there will be no more hostilities between our countries.”
“We’re all hoping for the same thing, sir.” Cass withdrew a folder from a drawer in her desk. “I have been authorized to offer you a settlement on your own claims against my government for your treatment, Mr. Ochoa: formal apologies from the Secretary of Defense, Brigadier General Lopez the man in charge of the military operation, and Major Jason Richter, who was the officer in charge at the scene at the time of the offense; a guarantee of full reimbursement for any medical bills you may incur for a period of five years from the date of the incident; and a lump sum cash award of twenty-five thousand dollars. All my government asks in return is a strict gag order on the terms of our settlement.”
The deputy consul took the offer form and looked it over. “I myself believe that this is an exceedingly generous offer,” Ochoa said, “but of course I must confer with the consul general first before I can accept.”
“I understand. I’m sure all sides will be as fair and flexible as possible.”
“Of course.” Ochoa paused for a moment, then: “So Brigadier General Lopez is still in charge of the border security operations along the U.S.-Mexico border?”
“Yes, sir. As I’m sure you know, the dynamics have changed in response to the recent killings in Arizona, but I assure you that the whole face of the operation has been toned down considerably. According to my briefing, the National Guard units currently being deployed on the border are completely subordinate to the U.S. Border Patrol. The Guard’s job is merely to assist the Border Patrol in conducting surveillance, nothing more. They are prohibited from making arrests and will not impede or interdict any person unless that person is actually observed committing a seri
ous crime. I would be pleased if you would pass this information along to the Mexican embassy in Washington.”
“But of course,” Ochoa said. “But there are other serious concerns.”
“Oh?”
“As troubling as the presence of heavily armed National Guard troops on the border is, Miss Cass, my government is extremely concerned about those robots, the TALON devices…”
Cass appeared greatly relieved. “TALON? They are no longer involved in Operation Rampart,” Cass said, waving a hand. “They are back doing…well, whatever they were doing before, chasing down bad guys,
real
bad guys like the Consortium, not in any way bothering Mexican citizens.”
“Ah.” Ochoa put on his best pained expression. “Then may I please ask you to comment on a recent report I received, Miss Cass, from an immigrant advocacy agency in Indio, California, that claimed that Major Richter was recently spotted at the U.S. Border Patrol sector headquarters?”
Cass’s eyes bulged, and her mouth opened and closed in confusion. “I…I don’t know anything about this, Mr. Deputy Consul, nothing at all,” she said. “I was assured by the FBI and the Department of Defense that Task Force TALON was no longer involved whatsoever in border security operations. Perhaps your informants were mistaken, or Richter and Vega were involved in some other task…?”
“I am sure you are correct, Miss Cass,” Ochoa said, “but it would be very unlikely for the consul general to approve a settlement with the U.S. Justice Department with this question still lingering. Perhaps there is some way to check, perhaps with the commander of the sector headquarters?”
“Of course,” Cass said. She picked up the phone on her desk. “Get me the Border Patrol sector commander in Indio right away.” She turned to Ochoa. “Please remember, Mr. Ochoa, that this conversation and this information are highly confidential.”
“Of course, Miss Cass. You have my solemn assurance that I will divulge nothing of this conversation. The consul general need
not know anything about this phone call, only of the results of my negotiations regarding the settlement offer.”
“Thank you.” She turned to the phone: “Yes, hello, this is U.S. Attorney Annette Cass, southern district of California in Los Angeles. Who is this…? Special Agent Roberts, I’m conducting an investigation involving the recent incidents at the Rampart One border security facility…yes, that’s it, that’s the incident…no, I know no one from your sector was involved. The reason I’m calling is to follow up on a report I’ve received that claimed that Army Major Jason Richter had a meeting at your headquarters recently, perhaps as early as yesterday.
“I…say again…? Yes…no, I understand. I’ll be waiting.” Cass hung up the receiver. “A routine security procedure,” she said to Ochoa. “He’ll call the office back in a few minutes to verify that he wasn’t talking to the media or some other person. Shouldn’t take more than a minute.”
“Of course. A wise precaution.”
The phone rang a couple minutes later: “This is Cass…yes, I’m expecting his call…this is Cass…Special Agent Roberts, thank you for calling back so fast. Okay, what do you have for me…he was there yesterday. I see. My reports were accurate then…you didn’t? You didn’t request a meeting with him? Then why were they…what? I see…that’s incredible…well, that’s good news, that’s great news. But I still don’t see how Richter and Purdy are involved. Any involvement on their part could be extremely serious to any legal or diplomatic initiatives with the Mexican government. Who authorized them to…oh. I see. No, I wasn’t informed…I know, we’re all supposed to be on the same team, but apparently it doesn’t apply both ways between investigations and the prosecutors’ office—or the White House, at least when TALON is involved. I shouldn’t have to play phone tag to find out information from my own department…well, I appreciate your assistance, Mr. Roberts. Thank you.” She hung up the phone with a disturbed expression.
“So it is true, Miss Cass?” Ochoa prompted her after a few silent
moments. “My information was correct—TALON is still involved in some way with border security operations?”
“I wouldn’t be too hasty to come to conclusions, Mr. Ochoa,” Cass said with an edge in her voice. “Richter and Purdy definitely were at the Indio sector headquarters, but the purpose of their visit and their involvement with the Border Patrol is still unclear.”
“Unclear? But did you not just speak with the man in charge…”
“The special agent in charge of the sector didn’t know what was going on,” Cass explained. “Apparently there are some witnesses who survived the shootings near Blythe, California a few weeks ago. I don’t know why, but TALON was asked to assist in the search for other witnesses that may be in the area. They’re out looking for them in the Indio sector now.”
“Is that not a job for the FBI, Miss Cass?”
Cass looked pained, even embarrassed. “The FBI
is
involved—apparently the director of the FBI as well as the director of Customs and Border Protection contacted the special agent in charge and notified him of this activity, but there are very few other details. I will probably need to contact someone in Washington, perhaps the Secretary of Homeland Security himself, to get to the bottom of this.”
“This is highly irregular, Miss Cass,” Ochoa said. He could easily tell that Cass was lost in her own thoughts: he was quickly being dismissed from her attention and would be gone in moments if he didn’t do something.
“¡Esto es absurdo!”
Ochoa barked. He shot to his feet and asked indignantly, “What is going on here, Miss Cass?” His sudden movement and shrill tone startled her—the first time he had ever seen this tough lady surprised. “I came here as a gesture of good will, seeking to put the past episodes of violence and mistrust behind us and start afresh, but instead I am being stonewalled and given misleading and evasive information. Exactly what is the meaning of this, señora?”
“Mr. Ochoa, I assure you, I would like to cooperate with you, but I’m in the dark as much as you are,” Cass said, flustered and
confused. “The U.S. Attorney for the appropriate district is usually notified of any ongoing federal investigations, especially if it involves multidepartment operations. I don’t like being given only half the facts like this, and I’m going to get some answers.” She stood, walked around her desk, and extended a hand apologetically. “Unfortunately, I won’t have any answers for you this afternoon, Mr. Ochoa. I will be sure to notify you as soon as I’ve…”
“
¡Esto es indignante!
I have never been treated so disrespectfully since…since I was assaulted by those soldiers at Rampart One!” Ochoa said hotly. “You will be hearing from the consul general about this, and so will your State Department! Good day to you, madam!” He ignored her proffered hand, spun on his heel, and left the office.
Annette Cass stood in the center of her office with a blank expression on her face—but only for a moment. “Laura! Get me Director DeLaine on the phone! I want answers, and I want them
now!
”
It took several minutes, during which time Cass fired off several angry e-mails to the Attorney General, her assistant prosecutors, and several judges who might become involved in this case, complaining about what she had learned that afternoon. Finally: “This is Director DeLaine.”
“Miss DeLaine, this is Annette Cass, U.S. Attorney for the southern California district.”
“How are you, Annette?” Kelsey DeLaine said, her voice businesslike and neutral, not friendly but not yet confrontational.
“I’m angry, that’s how I am, Miss Director. I just learned from the commander of the Border Patrol sector field office in Indio, California, that Richter was there. The indications were that the FBI is conducting an investigation regarding the shootings near Blythe. Why wasn’t I informed of this?”
“It’s an FBI investigation, Annette. You’ll be brought in as soon as we need support from your office.”
“Miss Director, I’m not sure if you’re fully aware of how we do things out here, but it’s customary to bring the U.S. Attorney’s of
fice in right away, at the
beginning
of any investigation, even if there’s no requirement or…”
“And I’m not sure if you’re aware of how
I
do things, Miss Cass,” Kelsey interjected. “It’s simple: when I need you, or if the field office in San Diego who’s coordinating this investigation needs you, we’ll call you.” Cass was momentarily flustered into silence—she was not accustomed to being blown off like that. “Anything else for me, Annette?”
Cass quickly decided that confronting the director of the FBI was not going to gain her anything at this point. “What is going on out here, Miss Director?” Cass asked. “I’m asking for a little heads-up, that’s all. If there’s anything I can contribute, I’d be happy to do so, but I need a little background info first.”
“You wouldn’t happen to be annoyed because Richter is out walking around free and clear and still in your district?”
Cass silently swore at DeLaine. “Of course, I’m
concerned
about his activities, Miss Director,” she admitted. “I’ve still got U.S. marshals in the hospital with serious injuries, and no one is being punished for that. It’s still my opinion that Richter is part of the problem, not the solution. But I also hate surprises; I’m sure you do too. I have sixty prosecutors and a staff of five hundred standing ready to assist and support other local, state, and federal agencies in their work, especially the FBI. I’m accustomed to being asked for support, that’s all. I’m
trying
to help, Miss Director.”
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line; then: “All I can tell you right now, Annette, is that we received information that there are witnesses to the murders at Blythe.”
“
Witnesses?
That’s great! Who are they? Migrants? Border Patrol?”
“One of the Border Patrol agents on the scene that we reported as killed survived,” Kelsey said, hesitant to talk too much and anxious to end this call. “We debriefed him at our office in San Diego. He reported that there were not one, but two smugglers at the scene of the shooting. The second one, a kid named Flores, is miss
ing. Richter and the surviving agent are going down there to try to find him.”
“Why the Border Patrol and TALON? Why not the FBI?”
DeLaine hesitated again, afraid she was talking too much, but hurried on: “The Border Patrol agent identified one of the men at the shooting scene near Blythe as possibly being Yegor Zakharov.”
“
Zakharov!
The terrorist?
He’s
back in the U.S…. ?”
“That’s what we’re looking into,” Kelsey said. “The shooters at Blythe could have been Consortium. If it was Zakharov and the Consortium, Task Force TALON has the authority to go after them anywhere in the world.”
“Well…yes…yes, I agree,” Cass said, mollified. “This is all new information, Miss Director. Thank you for sharing it with me. My office will do anything we can to help. I hope they find Flores.”