Simon was waiting in the conference room in his secure, high-rise office with a file spread out on the table. He had maps. Photos. A whiteboard. Carly was in the lobby arranging some trade periodicals on the waiting area. Rex walked through the door. “Simon said to meet him in the conference room,” She told him, not bothering to look around.
“So, I’ve been having this problem, right...” Rex replied.
“There are some cups in the exam room. Help yourself.” Rex chuckled.
Simon was studying the spread of papers, maps, and photos intently. “We’re about to have a visitor. That person will be here any time,” Simon advised as he grabbed a marker.
“Who is this visitor?”
“A CIA agent. Someone the deputy director trusts. He decided to go ahead and assign this case to one of his internals, finally.”
“Is that a good thing?” Rex asked.
“There are no egos in this business. You either solve cases or you don’t. The more help, resources, and cooperation we get, the better. While you may be good at this, you are young, new to this business, and unseasoned. Don’t get overconfident. Credit doesn’t count here. Money does. The more that the client sees that we are getting somewhere, the freer we are to spend, and earn their money.”
“I see.”
“Good. Because you are about to meet her.”
“Her?”
A tall, slender blonde woman with deep blue eyes walked in the door. She looked to be in her late thirties, possibly early forties, dressed in a tan, wool business suit. She carried a hard briefcase. “Simon Bowe?” She asked as she placed her briefcase on the table. She towered above Simon.
“Yes.” He reached out to shake her hand.
“My name is Kirsten Maples. I understand the deputy director knows you personally. Your reputation precedes you.”
“Yes, well, thank you, to say I know him is a bit of a stretch, but I’ve met him before, at a couple of functions when I was with MI5.”
“Who is this man?” Kirsten asked.
“Meet Rex Muse, he’s my counterpart. He’s the man in the field working the case.” Simon replied.
“Pleased to meet you, Ma’am.” Rex extended his hand.
She shook it half-heartedly “Is this man cleared?”
Simon took a deep breath. “Rex, would you mind excusing us for just a moment, I need to have a word with Ms. Maples.” Simon winked.
Rex left the room and shut the door behind him.
“They’re all like that,” Carly said, smiling.
“Like that? How?” Rex asked.
“Controlling. Dominating. Wanting to be on top. Just a warning, should you happen to end up in the sack with her.”
“What?”
“CIA, FBI, hell, CHP. They’re all control freaks, trying to scale the ladder two rungs at a time. The women are even worse than the men.”
“How do you suggest I deal with it?”
“Have you ever been married?” Carly asked.
“No.”
“That was a rhetorical question. I knew the answer. If you had, and you’d ever been through marriage counseling, they tell the potential husband, ‘to end the argument, it’s anything you say, dear.’ That’s how you deal with it. Just try not to be so overt and condescending.”
Rex could see a hand waving through the glass wall. He shook his head and walked back in.
“Okay,” Kirsten said. “Let’s get moving. Brief me on what you know.” She pulled a notebook out of her briefcase.
“Well,” Simon replied, “the situation is this. We know that someone, an American we believe, possibly tied to the military or even one of the intelligence services, and possibly more than one, that is running guns in exchange for drugs to Central America through a Mexican national named Ceasar Castillo, aka ‘El Rey.’ Now, El Rey is not under watch by the Mexican government nor our own DEA, at least, that we are aware of. We do know he is deeply connected however, and party to high level corruption. International intelligence, who by the way is the source of that information, also reports that materials consistent with the production of a thermonuclear device have been shipped to some unknown location in Central America, also tied to El Rey.”
“Go on,” Kirsten said.
“Rex will brief you on the latest field reports. Rex?”
Rex took the head of the table. “As Simon has confirmed, I undertook a mission to find and track El Rey and to determine the identity of the person or persons working with him. I have managed to secure an implant, a girl, who is acting as his personal assistant, to relay information on his travel whereabouts.” Rex explained.
“How were you able to manage that?” Kirsten asked.
“Long story ma’am, let’s just say I brokered a deal with a local. Anyway, two days ago, El Rey traveled from Ensenada, Mexico landing at Chicago Midway airport for the purpose of meeting with some individual. This is the individual.” Rex pulled a photograph out of the array. “This man was said to be named Hasan. I don’t know his full name or if that is his first name or last. He had dinner with El Rey.”
“Okay,” Kirsten replied.
“There’s more. The aircraft they flew in on was a charter aircraft owned by El Rey. I have confirmed the aircraft to be an ATR 42 two-engine turboprop transport. The occupants were El Rey, his assistant and my insider, and a Mexican high school athletic team invited for a match. Here is a picture.”
“Thank you Rex,” Simon said. “It occurs to me that a large transport aircraft could be used for the purpose of transporting a thermonuclear device from Central America to anywhere in the United States, if that is indeed his game plan.”
“Why would El Rey want to set off a nuclear weapon in the United States? Is there anything in his profile that suggests he has a terrorist bent?” Kirsten asked.
“No, that is a bit aggravating, and maybe it isn’t even El Rey himself. All we know is that he has an airplane, and potential nuclear device.” Simon replied.
“That is certainly an interesting theory, but the problem with it is transporting a nuclear warhead isn’t quite as trivial as it sounds. These things give off a signature that our satellites can detect. When the Soviets fly around with nuclear warheads in their long range bombers, we know from the time they take off, to the time they land.” Kirsten replied, a hint of smugness in her tone.
“Would a potential terrorist know that?” Simon asked.
“It’s not exactly a secret. At least not a well-kept one.”
“Well, he is a drug dealer. Maybe he plans on using it to run drugs?” Rex suggested.
“Although, this aircraft has been thoroughly gone over with a fine tooth comb by customs and DEA the last three times it’s been in the United States,” Simon replied. “Came up clean as a whistle.”
“One thing strikes me as odd though,” Rex said. “I am genuinely surprised that El Rey is wealthy enough to own and operate an aircraft like that. He’s not associated with a major cartel. The drug and gun running operations, and that nuke thing, are foreign intelligence reports, not DEA and ATF knowledge. And he’s a cheap bastard. He puts his girlfriends up in shoddy tenements. He drives a cheesy ass car that Leroy the Pimp wouldn’t be caught dead in these days. Something just doesn’t smell right here.”
“Kirsten,” Simon asked. “What does the Agency know about this guy?”
“You realize I’m stepping into this cold. But oddly, they seem to know nothing other than what foreign intel reported. I’ve never seen anything like this. And I’ve been doing it for a while.” Kirsten replied with a frown.
Simon wrote a few things on the whiteboard. “We have too many disconnects here. We have an eccentric man with more ego than he apparently has capital, we’ve heard rumors that he’s involved in some sort of nuclear warhead development but for no plausible reason, nor likely a successful way of delivering it. Foreign intelligence reported that the inside man working with him is military or CIA. He talked to a man a week ago about buying guns. Turns out he bought two collectible Colt pistols legally and had them imported through legal channels. You know what I’m beginning to think?”
“What’s that?” Both Rex and Kirsten replied simultaneously.
“This just smacks of a smoke screen.”
“Smoke screen. Bloody hell, same thing that the Germans used to try with British Intelligence during the war. Deliver deliberate misinformation to divert efforts from investigating a legitimate threat.” Simon replied.
“Oh come on, our foreign intelligence services are quite reliable, and we expend an extraordinary amount of resources to ensure they are.” Kirsten replied.
“Are they? For the last, however long this has been brewing, it created such distrust in the Agency that the director himself decided to outsource the investigation. At least until you came along. That means nobody, and trust me, neither the director nor the deputy director has the time or the means to deal with it on his own, has been watching the back door.”
Kirsten turned red. “I really don’t have a comeback for that. I’m not here to justify the actions or inactions of the Agency, I’m simply here to get some damn answers and make sure we address a credible threat, or at least confirm that it is not credible.”
“Understood, completely, but if I’m right, and this is a misinformation campaign, it means someone is up to something.” Simon stressed.
“Why would someone feed misinformation on a non-existing gun for drug trade?” Kirsten asked.
“Specifically, one that involves guns supplied to forces opposing our own advisors and troops in Central America. The answer is so that we would take it seriously.”
“Then why throw in the nuclear weapon allegation?”
“To provide an explanation of other related events, the plane possibly being one of them, and to throw us off track of the real objective. In other words, what I am hypothesizing is that someone is expecting the DEA, ATF, or even the CIA itself, to get interested in El Rey’s transactions, and they needed some ready-made explanations, which, because they are not fact, can’t be proven, but more importantly, divert a ton of resources away from the real purpose.”
“Okay Simon. You’ve sold me. What’s the next step?”
“What’s the Agency’s relationship with the Mexican authorities like these days?”
“Like for what, specifically?”
“Can we find out details of El Rey’s banking transactions?”
“It could probably be made to happen, but if he has half a brain, he keeps his banking transactions one or two levels outside of our reach.”
“Rex, what’s the possibility of you returning to Ensenada? I think the secrets are there, possibly in El Rey’s estate.”
“I’m sort of a marked commodity these days, but I think I can make it work. I still have Isadora on my side.”
“Your insider?”
“Yeah.”
“Go back there. Cover every lead with a microscope. Find out what he’s up to.”
“I’m on it.” Rex replied.
“I’m coming too.” Kirsten replied.
Rex looked at Simon incredulously, and turned to Kirsten.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes?”
“Would you mind if I had a word with Simon in private?”
“Certainly. I’ll just wait here.”
Simon stepped back in to his office with Rex. “I don’t like that idea one bit. I need to work alone. Plus, she is goddamn CIA. She could finger me in a heartbeat.”
“As to the former, you should embrace the opportunity to work with an experienced intelligence agent. Never mind that she is a woman. Is that a problem for your ego?”
Rex stood silent. He shook his head. “No.”
“That didn’t sound convincing. As to the latter, just don’t worry about it. We have an understanding that sources, and resources, may not have squeaky clean credentials. If every contract asset had to pass criminal check before they could do an assassination for the CIA, then the Special Forces would become overloaded with work.”
“Now that you put it that way....”
The train of Diamond Reo tractor trailers pulling extra-long shipping containers crawled up the dusty switchback road to the winery building located deep within the El Humo Mountains. Evidence of flatbed trucks spilling some of their cargo of grapes at the turns could be seen. Why put a winery so far in this godforsaken area of the Sonora desert?
‘Just drive’ were the instructions. Drive, stop, receive the load, and go. Hugo Medallion vowed his cooperation and silence as the driver of the lead rig, but he couldn’t help but wonder, why shipping containers to deliver wine? Why not container trucks?
This was very special wine. So special, that the company hosted a special meal inside the coolness of the building as the trucks were loaded for them. They couldn’t drink, at least not yet, for they had to transport their loads to another location. Then it would be okay to drink. But for now, carnitas, al pastor, carne asada, tamales, all washed down with Horchata and various soft drinks.
They could be trusted, of course. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been selected for the job. That said, the less that they see, the better. If they were to observe the loading, they would see men wearing full isolation suits loading large, sealed, and insulated stainless steel cylinders fitted with square wooden cradles into the containers. They looked like space men hauling around little space ships on forklifts.
Hugo, however, did catch a glimpse of the activities when he used the restroom, and asked his boss. “Don’t tell anyone, but it is a special, high grade methamphetamine. Very potent. Very dangerous to handle. A new product.”
The drivers staged the trucks early in the morning, and left the rigs parked near the border town of Nogales. A bus came, and took them back into town to the same location where they were picked up. A short while later, another set of drivers in another bus arrived, and took their places in the parked rigs for the next part of the journey.
Pedro Camacho took the seat of the lead Diamond Rio tractor hauling an extra-long 53 foot container like the others. They were said to be goods delivered from the United States. Their destination was a warehouse near the airport in the town of San Luis Rio Colorado.
“A Mercedes SL 380? Are you serious?” Rex asked the tall, blonde agent as she processed with the rental transaction with her credit card.
“You don’t like it?” Kirsten asked.
“Well, it kind of stands out.”
“Does it? What would you suggest?”
“Something like an old beater pickup maybe?”
“Look at me. And you. The two of us traveling in an old beater pickup would look ridiculous and out of place. No, we’re tourists, and we’re going to stay at decent resorts.”
“So who am I do you, then? Your son?”
“Watch it pal, I’m not that old. I have a mean backhand, and I have no problem using it.”
“So I’m your... younger boy toy?”
“Got a problem with that image?”
“No, I guess not.”
“Good, then let’s get going.”
“You’re driving?”
“My rental car. My keys.”
“You have real control issues.” Rex got in the passenger seat, fastened the belt, and settled into the seat with an expressionless face.
“You’re one to talk. In case you haven’t figured it out, trust issues come with the territory. The job.”
“How can I argue with that?” The Mercedes lurched forward with a screech, and the engine nearly died a couple times in the parking lot until Kirsten got the feel of the clutch. “Don’t drive a stick much, do you?” Rex said with a smirk.
“I’ve been pushing sports cars around since you were in diapers, I’ll have you know.”
“Well, there you go, you just gave up your age.”
“Do I look it?”
“Not quite, but almost.”
“So, what’s the game plan?” Kirsten asked, as she merged on to the freeway onramp.
“I’m glad you asked. The first thing is to talk to my insider. Find out if there are any new updates. Ask her to look around for things. Then, maybe we pay El Rey a visit near his ranch. Spy on him. See if we can see anything useful.” Rex said.
“The first part I get. The second part I think is useless and we risk blowing our cover.”
“Well then, let’s do the first part. You can figure out the second part.”
It was a tense two hours and twenty minutes. Kirsten Maples is a wanna-be racecar driver. They should have made Ensenada in an hour, save for traffic. She wasn’t a bad looking woman, for her early forties. The white slacks she was wearing did little to hide the outline of the French cut panties with a scalloped pattern. He wondered if she always dressed that way, it was part of her cover persona, or she simply wanted to fuck with him. She had been fairly subdued when she showed up at the Arrow headquarters. She could tell he was noticing, and she let out a barely detectable smile.
Back in the Ranger battalion, they used to go through these exercises during SERE training. The exercise was ‘how to fit in with the locals and blend in to your surroundings.’ Kirsten’s implementation of such was pretty much diametrically opposite his training and inclination. But, she’s the expert, right?
Granted, it is not the CIA’s policy to have its agents carry guns, contrary to Hollywood’s perception, but if the issue is going to be broached, it needs to be broached now. “You aren’t carrying are you?” Rex asked.
“No, why?”
“Just making sure. Trust me, we don’t want to go sideways with the Federales.” Of course, field operatives, actual spies, generally don’t carry guns either. If things go south to the point where a firearm is required, the cover is blown and It’s over anyway. They had a saying in battalion – don’t be Hollywood. Hollywood will get you killed.
“All right, tell me where I’m going,” Kirsten said as they entered Ensenada.
“Take the next exit, then a left, go up five blocks, a right, and a left” Rex directed.
Kirsten stared in disbelief at the green block apartment complex. “Surely you are joking.”
“No. I’m actually serious. El Rey is a cheap bastard. Really.”
“I can’t hang out here in this neighborhood.”
“No shit. Drop me off at the gas station and come back here in an hour.”
Rex climbed the stairs leading to unit number seven, and stood in front of her door, with the ear to it. He could hear the sound of a television or perhaps a radio. But there were no voices. Maybe that was good, maybe it wasn’t. If a knock came, El Rey wouldn’t be the one to answer the door. The girl was probably resourceful enough to say something to the effect of ‘no thank you’ in Spanish and call it a day, should he be present. He knocked on the door.
The door cracked open slightly, closed, and then opened again. “What are you doing here? This is risky. You almost got caught last time.”
“I need to talk to you for a little bit. Are you expecting El Rey?”
“I never expect when he comes. But I don’t think he will come today. He said he has family business to take care of.”
“Anything important happen since we talked in Chicago?”
“No. But, I overheard him talking on the telephone to someone about a winery. It sounded like he had purchased a winery. I don’t know if that is important.”
“Hm. That’s odd. First he buys a very expensive airplane, then a winery. Do you know where this winery is?’
“No.’
“Can you find out?’
“I can try. I cannot promise though. Rex?”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember that we had a conversation in your room in Chicago?”
“Of course I do. I was sober.”
“I don’t remember how it ended.”
“Of course you don’t. You passed out. I had to carry you back to your room before El Rey showed up.”
“That’s it? Nothing happened?”
“I assure you, I am fully functional. You would have known should anything have happened.”
It’s funny how the Gods mess with you. It’s like he was upstairs pulling strings, enjoying himself. Right now, at that moment, he could to whatever he wanted to do, wherever he wanted to do it, and as long as he wanted to, up to about forty more minutes, except that the image of those scalloped pattern undies showing translucently through those filmy, skin tight slacks were on his mind. The last time in Chicago, same thing, except it was those Korean eyes, reddish brown hair, and soft warm skin that was dancing around in his head. It’s like his priorities are seriously messed up.
Then again, the idea of mashing it up with El Rey’s sweaty residuals just didn’t make the mood complete. He was back to square one. She was a pro. He was a pro. Let’s leave it as that and respect each other as pros.
“I gotta go.” He embraced Isadora in a close hug. Despite her past, and even her present, she did deserve better than this. Could he be part of that future? This isn’t the place or the time.
It was still twenty minutes until Kirsten was to show. Hanging around in Isadora’s apartment any longer than absolutely necessary was a bad idea. Hanging around on the street was a bad idea too. There a bar down the street. As places to go as a gringo, this was an even worse place to be in than that disco near the waterfront. He wondered what might have happened to the man with the switchblade knife. He suspected that the only people that would miss him would probably handle the matter outside of the police. Untimely death is just an occupational hazard among knife bearing street thugs. It just is.
The bathroom behind the Petrolimex station was just nasty, but it was probably the safest place to hang out for the time being. God, the beater pickup would have come in handy right now. It would have come in handy for spying on El Rey’s house.
The unmistakable growling sound of the Mercedes pulled in to the gas station. Rex left the restroom and climbed in the passenger’s seat, to the curiosity of the station attendants. “Go,” Rex said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“You hungry?” Kirsten asked.
Neither one of them had eaten anything all day; it was nearly dinner time. “Now that you mention it, yeah.” Rex replied.
“What do you like?”
“Hamburgers.”
“Good. The hotel has a great seafood restaurant. I can’t wait to try it out.”
“The hotel?”
“Yeah I booked us a room.”
“You booked us... a room?”
“Well, we can’t have two separate ones, or we won’t be able to maintain our cover. Besides, the couch is very large. I’m sure you’ll find it to be very comfortable.”
Just to let you know, should you end up in the sack with her. Rex thought about the remark that Carly made when Kirsten was in the conference room talking with Simon. She read him like a book. Or perhaps was it her, that she read like a book.
A ragged, disheveled couple driving up in a beater pickup would be out of place here. No, they wouldn’t be allowed here. Good ole tax dollars at work. They get to drive around in an expensive car, stay at an expensive hotel, and eat expensive food. Although, Kirsten was used to DC, Ensenada was like staying in the slums, price wise comparatively.
“Vodka?” Rex asked, as the server placed a neat shot on the table in front of her.
She said with a twinkle in her eye. “I have a little bit of Russian in me. You should try one.”
“Are we off duty for tonight?”
“Off duty. You military guys are all the same.”
“Ex-military.”
“Same thing. Hey, excuse me, server, can we get four more shots and we’re also ready to order?”
“Yes ma’am,” a brown skinned man with slicked back hair said as he clicked his fingers towards the bartender and grabbed his order pad.
“I’d like the seafood platter.”
“May I perhaps suggest the baked flounder? It is the fresh catch of the day. It is very good.”
“I’ll stick with the seafood platter please.”
“Okay.” The waiter scribbled a note down. “And for you sir?”
“How is the hamburger?” Rex asked.
“It’s okay. Not the very best, but it’s decent. This is, after all, a seafood restaurant.”
“Then I’ll take the flounder.”
“Excellent choice.”
“Also could we get an order of the oysters on the half shell? A dozen?”
“Absolutely. Another excellent choice. You want barbecue, or raw?”
“Raw, of course.”
“You are a man of excellent taste.”
“Are you crazy?” Kirsten asked.
“Huh? What?” Rex replied.
“Raw oysters? Seriously?”
“I thought you liked seafood.”
“I do, but oysters, especially raw, do you think that’s a good idea?”
“I’m sure they are fresh and clean.”
“No, I mean, we are staying in the same room. That’s like of like, giving us two loaded guns.”
“I can eat them all if you don’t want any.”
“No. That would be dangerous. I’ll eat half of them.”
“You know, I’m not a vodka person, but this isn’t half bad,” Rex remarked.
“Glad you like it. Another round?”
Kirsten stared at the breaded conglomeration of something that might be scallops and clams and fish but you couldn’t really tell because it tasted like oil. Her face said it all. I should have ordered the flounder.
“How is the flounder?” She asked, eyeing it enviously.
“It’s great,” Rex said.
Those eyes. Imagine a puppy dog staring through a glass window at a bowl full of food. Not the dry stuff, but the moist, tender, succulent wet stuff. “That’s good.”
“Go ahead. Try some,” Rex invited.
“You don’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
The flickering colors from the television created the illusion of a light show on the white walls of the room. You could hear the crashing waves in the distance. It was cool enough outside that the gentle breeze through the open window was comfortable.
Kirsten traded her filmy white slacks and light sweater for a silk nightgown, which covered, almost nothing as she lay face down on the bed watching a James Bond movie from the collection of VHS titles available in the lobby.
Rex lay down beside her in a pair of athletic shorts and a black tank top. As commanding a presence that he had, Sean Connery could not divert his attention from the long, slender, creamy, trim legs culminating in to a perfect, marble statue rendering of the most perfect buttocks that he had ever seen, particularly in real life. “Is that what you want to be?” Rex asked. “A secret agent running all over the world chasing bad guys?”
“Believe it or not,” Kirsten said. “I actually wish I could have a normal life. Settle down with someone. Have a family. But that’s so not me. I would go crazy.”
“That’s why you don’t let anybody close to you, mentally.”
“I never thought of it in those terms.”
“It seems like every time I get close to a girl, close enough for things to happen, if you know what I mean, something terrible occurs and the opportunity for things to happen disappear.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I mean, I’m lying on the bed, watching a movie with you, you’re more than half naked, and I can smell your pheromones all the way over here.”
“Don’t even let that thought enter your mind. I’ll kick you senseless.”
“Sorry.”
“My back is a little bit sore. Can you be a dear and rub it for me?”
The little silk nightgown lay neatly folded next to the pillow as Rex worked his strong hands from her shoulders, down her back, to the top of her buttocks, the only thing separating consummation being a filmy pair of white, scalloped, French cut panties. She gave a slight moan, as Rex started to strip them downwards.
Then the pounding on the door came. “Policia! Open up!”
“Fuck! What the hell is that?” Rex jumped off her, quickly donned his shorts and tank top, as Kirsten grabbed a bathrobe from the closet. “You answer it!” He whispered franticly.
Kirsten cracked the door open. “Open the door! Now!” There were three uniformed Mexican police officers outside. She undid the security latch, and the three offices burst in. “You!” The lead officer shouted, pointing to Rex, “Put your hands up!”
Rex complied. The surrounded him, and placed him in handcuffs. “Bring the girl in!”
A moment later, a woman bearing a police uniform escorted a dark brown girl in to the room. He recognized her. That was the girl from the disco. “Is that him?” The officer said to the girl.
She studied him carefully, and looked over at Kirsten, who was visibly shaking in her bathrobe. “No” she said as she turned around. “That is not him.”
The lead officer removed the handcuffs. “Very sorry to disturb you. Have a nice night.”
“How are you feeling?” Kirsten asked, hair still wet from the shower, dressed in a fresh change of designer jeans and light white wool sweater.
“My back hurts like hell; that couch is terrible. And by the way, I think we need to get the hell out of here.” Rex replied. Then a noise sounded from Rex’ travel bag. It was his pager.
He read the number, and hastily dialed it.
The call connected. “I found out where the winery is.”
“Where?”
“Someplace in the El Humo Mountains. In Sonora.”
“Sonora, huh.”
“I don’t know why a winery would be there. There is nothing out there. It’s all desert. I have to go now.”
The line went dead. “Thanks.” Rex replied, although it was too late.
“Okay. You think you could get your people to look at some satellite imagery?”
“Of course. What are we looking for?”
“El Humo Mountains, in Sonora, Mexico. El Rey has a winery there. But it’s desert. The girl said there is nothing there.”
“Okay.” Kirsten took a briefcase sized device out of a large travel suitcase. It was the same type of Navajo 1 secure telephone communications device that Simon had in his office. She hooked it up to the outgoing telephone line, and made a call. “What are we looking for?” She asked.
“Some kind of building maybe or grape vines, something that doesn’t look like it belongs.” Rex replied as he looked out the window at the morning sun.
“They said they would call back in a while.”
Rex stretched out on the bed. “You know, we kind of had some unfinished business last...”
“Don’t even think about it. Take a shower and get dressed. We have work to do.”
Every single damn time. It’s like someone upstairs is fucking with me, Rex thought. A run along the Playa for exercise might have been nice. Some prime time one-on-one for exercise would have been really nice. One thought that could not escape him, was why didn’t girl rat him out? She almost got him killed the first time. Why not the second?
“Circumcised, huh.” Kirsten said as Rex tied his shoes.
“You looked, didn’t you?” Rex teased.
“No, I could feel it last night.”
You had to go there, didn’t you?
“You know how to do this map stuff, right?” Kirsten asked, as she wrote down a series of longitude and latitude coordinates.
“Yeah, I know how to do map stuff.”
“I don’t have any way of getting a fax of a map.”
“No problem. We’ll pick one up someplace. Listen, with the way the roads lay out, we’re just as well off going back to San Diego to rent a Jeep.”
The Mercedes 380 SL pulled on to the highway, and passed a girl standing by the roadside. “Stop!” Rex said.
Kirsten pulled the car over. The girl ran to the car. “Take me to Tijuana.” It was the same girl that was in the room last night. The same girl that was in the disco several days ago.
“Does this thing have a back seat?” Rex asked, looking back.
“It’s not very big, but yes.”
“Get in” Rex said, pulling his seat forward. Kirsten looked for traffic, and sped off towards Tijuana. “Okay, so why did you try to get me killed in the club?”
“They made me do it. I didn’t want to” the girl answered.
“Who?”
“El Rey’s men. They are all over the place.”
“Why did you tell the cops it wasn’t me?”
“Same thing, this time, people saw you and they saw me, and the police made me look at you.”
“But why did you let me go?”
“I hate El Rey, he’s a pig.”
“Why do you want to go to Tijuana?”
“Because El Rey will kill me if I stay. I have friends in Tijuana that can help me get out of here.”
“How much do you know about El Rey’s business?”
“I don’t know much.”
“Does he run drugs?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. The cartels leave him alone.”
“He can’t protect himself from the cartels?”
“He has money, but not enough to protect himself from the cartels.”
“How does he make money?”
“I don’t know. Nobody really does.”
“What do you know about El Rey’s airplane?”
“His airplane?” He flies people, school teams, for charity.”
“It seem so unlike him.’
“He likes to think he’s good for the community. He likes to present that image. I don’t know, maybe he feels guilty about the people he’s hurt. The people he’s killed.”
“What about the winery he owns?”
“I know nothing about any winery.”
“Okay.”
“Even the pilots don’t like El Rey.” The girl said.
“The pilots? You know the pilots?”
“Yes, they come in to the club. They drink. They buy dances and girls.”
“Are they local?”
“No, they are not Mexican. They are from someplace like Egypt or Iran or one of those countries, I don’t know which.”
“They? How many?”
“Three that I have seen. They always come together. They always request that one song. ‘No sleep until Brooklyn.’ Sometimes two or three times a night and they go crazy dancing.”
“When is the last time you saw them?”
“Maybe a week ago. They stopped coming.”
“Interesting,” Rex muttered, as he let the girl out on the last block before the border entrance. “What do you make of that?” He asked Kirsten.
“I know that an ATR 42 is a specialized aircraft, and there are not a lot of people that are rated to fly them.” She replied. The statement wasn’t really true. They are actually fairly common.
“But they fly them all over South America. I know that.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Terrorists, maybe?”
“It doesn’t make a lot of sense. I can’t see terrorists wasting their time performing charity flights.” Kirsten replied.
“What if... What if maybe they are trying to set up a legitimate routine? In preparation for a future attack?”
“You mean like a nuclear attack?”
“Yeah.”
“Again, a device small enough not to trigger our sensors would be incapable of doing much damage, even if it were a dirty bomb.”