An Inconsequential Murder Page 9

  Chapter 14: When a Case Is Not Your Case

  Lombardo strode up the steps of the Investigations Department’s entrance in his slow, weary way. The policeman on guard, with a heavy, bulletproof vest on, and an AR-15 at the ready, looked at him warily. They changed the guards frequently so this guy didn’t know him. Nowadays, anyone was susceptible to being bribed by the cartels and there had been rumors that since police departments were so rife with corruption and awash in cartel money bribes, the Army would soon take up policing the most dangerous cities, such as Juarez, Tijuana, and Monterrey.

  The policewoman at the front desk motioned to him as soon as she saw him. “The Director said you were to go to his office as soon as you came in,” she said.

  “Ah, am I going to get a raise, a promotion, or a medal for good-conduct?” asked Lombardo while lighting a cigarette.

  The police woman said, “Probably all three. You shouldn’t smoke in here. It’s a public building.”

  “Be sure to warn the cartel gunmen about that when they storm the place,” said Lombardo as he blew a plume of smoke into the air.

  The Director’s secretary opened her mouth to say something when Lombardo was about to open her boss’ door but he said, “He’s expecting me.”

  The Director was his usual charming self. When he saw Lombardo come in he said, “Don’t you ever knock, Captain?”

  “I thought you had an ‘open door’ policy.”

  “Yeah, but you’re excluded--and put that damned cigarette out! This is a public building!”

  “I’m glad to see you’re so concerned about people’s health. Instead of worrying about my cigarette maybe you should hand out more of those bulletproof vests like the one that monkey at the door is wearing. They way things are going, cigarette smoke is not the main health hazard here.”

  “Damned funny,” said the Director as he scowled. “Look, I just want to let you know that you can forget about the Delgado case. We’ve been ordered to let the federal people handle it. The Public Ministry thinks it is drug related and so it falls under federal law.”

  “You know, there are, what, three or four dozen murders in this country every day. Why is everybody paying so much attention to this one all of a sudden? Or rather, telling me to pay attention to the fact that I should not pay attention to it?”

  “Who cares?” rejoined the Director casually. “All you need to know is that it’s not our case anymore and that you should send the file to the Federal Prosecutor’s office as soon as possible.”

  “What case file,” Lombardo retorted, “I haven’t even had a chance to write up my report and nothing will be coming in from the forensic people until they are done in a couple of days.”

  “OK, so write up your report and put it on file. Send that if that’s all we have and tell forensics to send their stuff over to the Federal Prosecutor’s office.”

  Lombardo said nothing about the information that Dr. Figueroa had given him but as he turned to leave he said, “This is not a drug-related case, you know—at least not in the sense that the victim was involved in drug dealing or anything like it.”

  “I repeat,” said the Director, “it is not our case anymore. If they think it is drug related, then it is drug related. And, if they want to handle it, they will handle it. OK?”

  Lombardo shrugged and said, “OK. It’s your circus so I guess you say who swings from the trapeze and who’s a clown.” He left the Director’s office.

  Lombardo went to his desk and sat down to fill in a standard report form. When he was finished, he took the form to the Archives room and asked the policewoman in charge to make a copy for their files and to send the original to the Federal Prosecutor’s office.

  “So, you’re off the case, Captain?” asked the policewoman as she took the report from him.

  “So they say,” said Lombardo.

  Chapter 15: An Invitation to a Cruise

  Governor Sanchez Reyes was alone in his office when the secure cell phone rang. He ran to pick it up from its cradle.

  “Hullo, what a pleasant surprise, I…”

  “Yes, Governor,” the gruff voice interrupted. “Listen I am calling because I need to see you tonight.”

  “Tonight? Why, yes, of course, are you coming here or…”

  “Of course not; why would I go there. No, listen. I am inviting some of our friends to join me on my yacht. We are docked in the Acapulco marina, the one on the northern side of the bay. Fly down here tonight and I’ll send someone to pick you up. Don’t fly commercial, get an air taxi and tell the guy to bring you to the airport for private planes. Got that?”

  “Yes, but can you tell me a bit more about this reunion?”

  “You’ll find out all about it when you get here.”

  “Yes, but I mean, is there anything I should prepare or bring along?”

  “Just your appetite and your legendary drinking ability,” said the gruff voice and it laughed.

  “All right. What time are you expecting us?”

  “Be here by, say, 6:30 in the afternoon. We’re going to take a little cruise and discuss some business so bring your Hawaiian shirt, eh?” He laughed again.

  “How long are we going to be…”

  “We will sail for Mazatlán as soon as everyone is here so you’ll be able to fly home from there early the next morning.”

  Before the Governor could say anything else, the other man hung up.

  The Governor looked at the phone for a few seconds and then put it down. He opened a drawer with a key he took from his pocket and took out a leather bound notebook. He wrote an entry: “BZ called. Wants to meet in Aca tonight.” He dated it and wrote down the time.

  BZ was the code name that the Governor used when writing in his log any dealings with the President’s cousin. He had started the log the day he had been asked to join the faction of the Party that supported the presidential candidacy of Leobardo Contreras. When he was named as a member of the group that would help to draw up the candidate’s platform and positions on issues, he was very flattered and thought that it might even lead to a Cabinet position. But when the President’s cousin started using the platform committee to push the drug legalization issue, he thought it wise to keep an accurate record, if for no other reason than for protection against “eventualities.”

  He buzzed his personal assistant, “I will need to fly to Acapulco this afternoon. Please get me an air taxi, not a reservation on a commercial flight, and put it on the special account, OK?”

  “OK. Will the pilot wait for you or...?”

  “No, I will come back by other means; get me on the first plane out of Mazatlán tomorrow morning,” he said.

  “To come back here?”

  “Of course to come back here,” he said a bit irritated.

  The Governor then picked up the secure phone and called Dean Herrera and after the usual greetings he said, “Dean Herrera, I have been called to a meeting tonight with our mutual friends and I’m sure they are going to ask me about the, uh, situation with the information we have.”

  “Yes, Governor, well, I have a man working on that.”

  “What do you mean? What do you have him doing?”

  “I asked him to look into what Victor was doing the night, he, uh, the night of his unfortunate, uh, the night of his death. I did not say specifically what it is I was looking for but rather I asked him to tell me generally what Victor was doing.”

  “And how is that going to help us?”

  “I think he will find the files, report that they are encrypted, and, most importantly, he will be able to tell us if anyone has had access to the files, or worse, has copied them.”

  “If somebody got hold of them, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  “That depends; you see, if they got them after Victor encrypted them, they will be no good to them—unreadable.”

  “But, will we know one way or the other, that is, if they got them before or after they were made unreadable?”

  “Oh,
yes. He will be able to tell us.”

  “OK. Look, I am leaving around four or four thirty in the afternoon, so if you know anything before that, or even after, while I am on the flight, call me.”

  “Right, Governor.”

  “Who is this person who is helping us now?”

  “He has worked here for quite a while. He worked under Victor. His name is David López.”

  “Is he trustworthy?”

  “Oh, yes. He’s a loyal employee.”

  “In this business,” said the Governor, “that means nothing. Don’t tell him more than you have to and keep him away from the press and the police.”

  “I will, sir.”

  The Governor hung up and made another entry into his log then he put the notebook back into the drawer, which he locked.

  He buzzed his personal assistant again, “Call my house and tell my wife to send me a small overnight bag with my shaving kit, some chino trousers, Bermudas, and a couple of print summer shirts. Oh, and two sets of underwear. Tell them I need them within the hour. After you do that, come in here because we are going to have to reschedule a couple of things.”

  The Governor sat back and stared out the windows. The President’s cousin’s call had made him quite uneasy. Things were getting very complicated. Those damned email files were becoming a threat to everyone.

  He sighed and said, “I wish I had never volunteered to keep them at the University. What a damned fool I was.”

  Chapter 16: The Team Flies Home

  Two of the men were waiting by the Aeroméxico counter while the third one was in a telephone booth. He was not using the booth’s phone; he was using a cell phone.

  “Yes. Yes. There was a problem. I’d rather talk about it in person, not now. Yes, all three of us. We’re on the next plane and should be in Guadalajara in a couple of hours. OK. Where? I’ll be there.”

  The man slid his phone shut and walked over to the two that were by the Aeroméxico counter.

  “He wants us back today,” he said to them.

  The black man shrugged, “So we are going back. No problem.”

  “Was he pissed?” asked the other man.

  “He’s always pissed.” The sound system announced their flight. “You two wait here. I will go talk to the security guys.”

  The black man’s eyes, invisible behind the dark glasses, saw the team leader walk over to the security man standing by the x-ray machine. The team leader said something to the security man and then discreetly showed him identification. The team leader turned and nodded toward the black man and his partner. The security man said something and went off. He returned with another man who shook hands with the team leader. They talked and the second security man shook his head several times. The team leader finally assented and walked back to the black man and his partner.

  “Damned pinheads won’t let us board with the hardware. We have to put it in a bag and hand it over to them and they will have someone hand it over to us in Guadalajara.”

  “Aw, man!” said the black man.

  “Come on, let’s go buy a stupid bag,” said the team leader.

  In one of the airport stores they found a bag; they heard the boarding call so they hurried to the airport toilettes. There, they locked the door, quickly unstrapped guns and other “hardware” from under their coats and inside pockets of their pants, and put them in the bag they had just bought. They then hurried to the security man by the x-ray machine and handed him the bag.

  Once past the security check, they sat in the lounge waiting for the other passengers to board. The black man wanted to smoke but saw the sign that said it was forbidden so he took out a pack of chewing gum instead.

  “Want some gum?” he asked the others.

  Chapter 17: The Start of the Project

  Although he had an office there, John Wayne rarely went to the consulate. In his line of work it was bad business to follow a routine. He knew the cartels had people watching the consulate building and he didn’t want to give them a route they could count on if they ever wanted to “levantar” (lift) him, to use the euphemism for sequestering that was in vogue with the bad guys.

  John Wayne had adopted his cover name many years ago and he had been so secretive about his own name and people had grown so used it that now no one called him by any other. His tall, lanky frame and habit of carrying two .45 caliber guns enhanced the aura of a Wild West persona, which John Wayne did nothing to diminish.

  He often justified his secrecy and his mania for hiding everything about his personal life by recounting what had happened to the man who had been head of the DEA for this region before him. According to John Wayne, his predecessor’s family had been sequestered in order to pressure him into revealing the name of the undercover informant the DEA had infiltrated into the gang’s upper echelon. After he gave them the name, the family was let go, but he and the informant had been shot through the head and dumped into shallow graves.

  John Wayne let every official in the consulate know that he preferred cell phone calls rather than face-to-face meetings when discussing business. But, if it was an urgent matter and his presence was really needed, he would reluctantly come out of the cold.

  So, when he got the call from Robert Miller, the head of the Benjamin Franklin Library, who said he needed to see him, John agreed to come in and talk.

  Robert Miller was not a man to call a meeting to discuss the weather. His large, ruddy complexion belied the though, rigorous man who had been a CIA station chief in some of the world’s most dangerous places: Beirut in Lebanon, Medellín in Colombia, Rio de Janeiro in Brazil, among others. The plaque on Robert Miller’s door said he was in charge of USAID for the region, but everyone in the consulate guessed he was more than that, although what exactly he was no one knew for sure.

  John Wayne knocked on the door and walked in.

  “Mr. John Wayne,” said Robert Miller as he stood up and extended a huge hand. Before Robert Miller’s physical presence, even John Wayne with his 6'4" felt smaller.

  “Hi, Bob. How’ya been?” said John Wayne.

  “Oh, all right. I could be better if I lost a few pounds,” he said and laughed.

  John Wayne smiled and looked at Robert Miller’s shirt collar, which seemed about ready to burst. Indeed he should loose a few pounds.

  Both men sat down and Robert Miller picked up the phone to speak to the sweet little old lady outside the office who pretended to be his secretary: “Hold all my calls, please, Mrs. Jeffrey.”

  “Hmmm,” said John Wayne, “must be something important you want to talk about—you’ll be bringin’ out the old bottle of whiskey next n’ offerin’ me a drink.”

  Robert Miller laughed, “You wish! No, it’s too early in the day for that. I can offer you some coffee or a soda?” This last word betrayed that Miller, like John Wayne, was a southerner.

  John Wayne waved his hand. “Naw, I’m ok. Let’s get down to ‘bidnez’,” he said.

  “All right,” said Miller, let’s.” His large, round face, which was covered with beads of perspiration in spite of the air conditioning, lost all of its mirth and hardened into a serious scowl.

  “I got word from Washington that the other team has started to move.”

  “What are they going to do? Does anyone know?”

  “No, that’s the problem. Our inside man says that something is coming down but he has been kept out of the loop, so it must be big.”

  “Well, what the hell do they want us to do? If we don’t know what they’re up to we can’t counter them.”

  “I know; that’s what I told them,” said Miller wiping his brow. “What they want is for us to move faster with our stuff. What about the info you were going to get? We could leverage that to neutralize the big man.”

  Ignoring the “no smoking” sign, John Wayne lit one of his dark cigarillos. He shot a plume of smoke into the air conditioning extractor opening and shook his head. “The hackers got in, all right, but the info had been encrypted by
the time they got it, so we have a copy but it’s useless without the means to decrypt it.”

  “Damn,” said Miller, “how did that happen?”

  “Who cares; it happened.”

  “So, what are you going to do now?”

  “They sent a team down to roust the guy who we think did the encrypting—to see if we can get him to help us decrypt the thing.”

  “You’d better be careful; if something goes wrong, we could…”

  “They’re not Agency people; they’re freelancers. They have their own support so nothin’ can link them back to us.”