Caught in the Act (26 page)

Luckily, his friend was willing to do just about anything to bust Chuy Pena. Together they’d come up with a basic plan.

Adam had approached Pettigrew this morning with
the story. He’d said that his best friend, an undercover DEA agent, had been given a tip by a credible informant. This agent suspected there was a leak in his department, so he’d come to Adam.

The tip from the informant was simple. And true. Kari Strauss had been threatened and coerced into smuggling a large shipment of heroin for Pena. She would trade the cargo for her sister at her place of business.

Adam was risking his job by lying to his supervisor about the informant, but he hoped that success would smooth any ruffled feathers. Takedowns like this didn’t usually happen on the fly, so Adam was concerned about the outcome. It was almost impossible to orchestrate a high-profile arrest at the last minute.

And if they failed, his ass was on the line.

Ian was also going to catch hell for claiming there was a rat in his department, though it wasn’t far-fetched. Moreno had dirty cops everywhere. Adam could only pray that none of them were involved in this ragtag op.

So far, nothing had run smoothly. Adam had been scrambling since dawn. The mobile X-ray equipment had been delayed in Tecate. Kari was already waiting in line at the border when the M-VACIS arrived, and it took time to set up. They barely managed to get into position before she arrived at primary inspection.

When Adam saw the scan of Kari’s van, his chest seized with panic. The contents changed everything.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath, studying the screen. A figure was crouched inside one of the boxes in the cargo space.

The M-VACIS rays didn’t harm humans, but it wasn’t designed to detect them. Adam could only see the vague outline of a person. An assailant, most likely. He didn’t
appear to have a weapon, but he could jump out and attack Kari at any moment. No one on the team would be able to prevent that. Not even Adam’s sharpshooter brother, who had reluctantly agreed to set up on top of a building adjacent to Zócalo.

Before Adam could decide what to do, his cell phone rang. It was Ian.

“I just got a call from Maria,” he said. “She thinks Kari’s a decoy. The real shipment is coming in at the same time.”

Adam’s stress level skyrocketed. Could this get any worse?

“Pena interrupted our conversation,” Ian continued. “He’s got a gun on her. I just saw the whole thing from my apartment window.”

Adam stared at the scanning screen, his blood pumping with adrenaline. “What are you going to do?”

“This op is fucked, man! My cover is blown. I’m going in.”

“You need backup,” Adam said.

“No shit!” Ian said, ending the call.

Adam paused for a moment, trying to collect himself. He had to push aside his concern for Ian and focus on the task at hand.

Putting his phone away, he turned to his crew. Pettigrew had brought in two ICE agents and four CBPs, including the lane supervisor, to consult with. “Apparently the shipment is coming in a different vehicle,” he said. “We need to mobile-scan all suspicious cargo. Someone tipped off the target, so they already know we’re on to them. Every officer in the lanes needs to be on high alert.”

“What about Strauss?” the line supervisor asked.

He deliberated for a moment, drumming his fingertips on the table. Pena was expecting Kari to cause a distraction. “Send the van to secondary and detain her as an arrestee. I’m going to open up the back.”

Two of his coworkers joined Adam as he left the central observation area. The rest stayed behind to continue the mobile scanning process.

The next few moments were an agony of tension. Adam thought of Penelope, and the Tijuanero police officer who’d called to notify him of her death. He thought of her funeral, her grave site, the picture in his nightstand.

A secondary inspection officer drew his weapon, shouting for Kari to exit the van. As soon as she came out, her arms raised high above her head, she was ordered to get down on the ground. Two officers handled her roughly, cuffing her wrists behind her back and dragging her upright.

As Kari was guided to the detainment area, she caught sight of Adam. She had blood on her lips, probably from being slammed into the concrete by his overzealous coworkers. The real damage appeared to have happened on the inside, however. He’d never forget the look in her eyes: shock, horror, despair.

Adam returned his attention to the back of the van, hating himself. It killed him to see her like this, but he was glad she wasn’t seriously injured. Drawing his own weapon, he gestured for the secondary officer to open the rear door.

The boxes in the cargo space were motionless, undisturbed.

“Come out with your hands up,” he shouted in English, then repeated the command in Spanish.

Nothing happened.

Rather than waiting for the assailant to act, Adam climbed into the back of the van. Advancing quickly, he kicked the side of the box, ordering the person to get out. When he got no response, he directed his fellow officers to remove the rest of the cargo, giving him space to maneuver. As the men stood at the rear of the vehicle, guns ready, Adam holstered his weapon and shoved the box onto the asphalt.

Sasha Strauss fell out, her thin arms akimbo, face pale with death.

18

Chuy was standing a few feet away, his gun trained on Maria’s forehead. “Give me the phone.”

She did, her hand shaking.

Agent Foster had hung up, but his number was visible in recent calls. Chuy appeared to recognize it. “Motherfucker,” he said, pressing redial. Predictably, Foster didn’t answer. “Motherfucker!” Chuy chucked the phone against the asphalt, his mouth twisted with fury. It shattered, electronic parts flying.

Maria cringed, flattening her back against the wall. She couldn’t think of a worse outcome than this one. In trying to help Kari, she’d just betrayed Foster. Chuy had overheard the conversation and put two and two together.

He was ugly, but he wasn’t stupid.

“You’re dead,” he said, pressing the gun to her temple.

Maria closed her eyes and begged God to grant her an instant death, her lips moving in silent prayer.

The blast didn’t come.

She winced as Chuy ground the barrel of the gun into her scalp and fisted his hand in her hair, guiding her forward. “I should have known you were a fucking snitch,” he said, directing her toward his office. “Where’s Fuller?”

Maria almost stumbled over a bump in the sidewalk. Her entire body was trembling, her mind blank with terror. “Who is Fuller?”

“The guy you were just on the phone with! What the fuck is his real name?”

“I don’t know English very well—”

Chuy opened the door to the office and shoved her inside. She fell to her hands and knees on the carpet, crying out in pain.

She should never have come to the United States. Her mother hadn’t wanted her to leave home. Virginia Santos had accepted her genteel poverty without complaint, claiming that the meek inherited the earth.

Why hadn’t Maria listened?

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” Chuy said, ready to execute her. “Your English was fine a second ago.”

“I don’t know,” she repeated, sobbing the words.

Chuy grabbed her by the hair again, pressing the gun to the nape of her neck. “Tell me his name or I’ll kill you.”

She swallowed hard, wondering if she should go for her pepper spray. Armando had told her to practice with the canister, and she’d taken that advice to heart. She’d worn down the pocket of her jeans, whipping it out.

But she couldn’t think—couldn’t move—with a gun at her head.

“I’ll make the call to have your friend killed, too,” he warned, yanking her hair. “I’ll kill your whole fucking family, you wetback bitch! Now tell me his name!”

“Foster,” she said, whimpering. “Agent Foster.”

Chuy released his grip on her hair and eased up on the weapon. He was breathing heavily, his eyes wild. “Is he FBI?”

“I don’t know.”

With a strangled growl, he kicked her in the stomach.

Maria slumped forward, writhing in pain. Black spots danced at the edge of her vision. “Last time we met he was with
la migra
,” she gasped, holding a palm to her burning midsection. “That’s all I know.”

Armando came into the office unexpectedly. Although his expression was flat, as always, there was a hard set to his mouth. He glanced from Maria’s crumpled form to Chuy’s clenched fists. “Why did you hurt her?”

“She overheard me talking to Sonia about the decoy.”

“So?”

Chuy bared his teeth in menace. “So she called that fucking junkie, Ethan Fuller, otherwise known as Agent Foster, and told him everything!”

Armando inclined his head. “Ah.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say about it? Motherfucking
ah
?”

“No, I have more. Mr. Foster is in the parking lot right now. He’s carrying a very accurate-looking semiautomatic pistol.”

“Fuck!” Chuy said, his face dark with fury. Holstering his weapon, he took out his cell phone, stabbing a few buttons. “
Jefe
, we have a problem,” he muttered, turning his back on them to explain the situation to Moreno.

Armando stepped away from the door, inching closer to Maria.

Chuy caught the motion, looking over his shoulder. His gaze darted from Maria to Armando, sharpening with suspicion. After a few terse, one-word responses, he said, “I’ll take care of it,” and ended the call.

“Is there a new rendezvous point?” Armando asked.

“Yeah,” Chuy said, picking up a black duffel bag. He crossed the room, tearing a picture off the wall and opening the safe behind it.

“You can’t go there.”

He shoved cash into the bag, his jaw clenched. “This is my deal, my setup, my decoy. I’m not going to give up my cut.”

“If the police follow you, no one will get a cut.”

Chuy slung the bag over his shoulder, drawing his weapon again. “You fucking bitch,” he said, pointing his gun at Maria. She covered her head with her arms, cowering on the floor. “I should fucking smoke you right now!”

“Don’t be a fool,” Armando said, putting his body in front of hers. “You can’t shoot an innocent woman with the feds outside.”

“Who’s going to stop me?”

Armando drew his own weapon, a move that spoke volumes.

“I don’t need your permission,
puto
. You think anyone gives a fuck about a common Oaxacan guerrilla
como tú
?”

“I’m from Chiapas,” Armando corrected.

“Whatever. You’re just another dime-a-dozen
mojado
.”

“And you’re just another trigger-happy drug dealer who can’t keep his mouth shut.”

Maria trembled uncontrollably, her stomach roiling. These two were going to shoot each other, and kill her in the crossfire!

“I was big-time before you came,” Chuy said.

“Yeah, I know all about the TJ fuckup. The boss sent me here for a reason. He doesn’t trust you with the ladies.”

Chuy continued to hold the 9 mm steady, his nostrils flaring. “Fuck him,” he said. “And fuck you.”

Armando stood his ground. “We can settle this after we get away from the hotel.”

“You’re a dead motherfucker, Villarreal,” he said, wavering.

“Kill me later,
cabrón
.”

Chuy dropped his arm, acknowledging the wisdom of Armando’s words. Cursing, he walked to the window, parting the vertical blinds with his fingertips. “Head to the laundry room. As soon as you’re clear, I’ll take her to the lobby and ditch her. There’s a guy waiting for us on Flores Street.”

Armando glanced at Maria, deliberating. “She’ll slow you down.”

“She’ll keep me alive. They won’t fire on me if I have a hostage.”

With a terse nod, Armando agreed to the plan. “
Bueno
. But remember what I said. You hurt her, I hurt you.
Comprendes?
”

Chuy smiled coldly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in love with her.”

Armando made a dismissive sound on his way to the door. “Women are your weakness, not mine.”

Chuy shrugged, guilty as charged.
“Cuando te veo.”

Until I see you again
.

Armando didn’t respond to the threat. Creeping forward, he turned the doorknob and stepped out, holding the gun at his side.

As soon as he was halfway down the walkway, Chuy grabbed Maria by the arm, jerking her upright. “Let’s go,
puta
.” Instead of waiting for Armando to get clear, as promised, he dragged Maria through the open doorway, pressing the gun to her temple.

His next move was even more horrifying.

Taking the gun from Maria’s head, he pointed it toward Armando and pulled the trigger, shooting his partner in the back.

Adam knelt beside the body.

Rigor mortis had set in, indicating that Sasha Strauss had been dead for more than four hours. Her arms were contorted in a zombie-like pose, her hazy blue eyes open. He searched her slender form for signs of a struggle or cause of death. There were no wounds at all, unless he counted the track marks.

His radio sounded. “Officer Cortez.”