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FISH SLUNG HIS GO BAG into Blackthorne One, a Beechcraft Premier 1. He climbed in, buckled up, and strapped on a headset. He let Cheese run through his pre-flight checks.
“Rambler’s been compromised,” Cheese said once they were airborne.
Compromised. Blackthorne-speak for anything from an injury, to being captured, to being killed.
A couple of tigers clawed their way through Fish’s insides. “Where? How? Is it bad?”
Blackthorne would never leave anyone behind, but implementing a rescue and retrieving a body were two entirely different missions.
Cheese’s responses came like rifle shots. “Texas Mexico border. Backtracking the Falcon’s operation. We don’t know. More when we get to the compound.”
So it did relate to the Falcon.
Fish kept his mouth shut for the rest of the ride, wondering how Lexi was doing. How Sofia was doing. He pulled out his phone, started a text, then deleted it and put the phone away.
Where he was now proved her point. His job whisked him away at a moment’s notice. Not the environment for a child who’d just lost her mother.
He might have known Lexi for years, worked closely with her, but the reality was, their new relationship was only a few days old. It was much too soon to think of what they had as a viable relationship. He’d settle for remaining friends, which he’d pursue when he got back.
They landed at the compound. Fish took off toward the building at a jog. Cheese headed in the opposite direction, toward Blackthorne Five, a Sikorsky, configured as a mobile command post. His next ride, Fish assumed.
He made his way to the briefing room where Manny, Adam, and Scrooge waited. Fish dropped his go bag by the door and took a seat at the table. A map of southwest Texas, extending into Mexico, was on the screen.
Manny stood and stabbed the map with a finger, at a point near the border. “Two days ago, Rambler, T-Bone, and Fozzie, following a lead about opioids entering the country, went to this area. This is in conjunction with chatter that the Falcon is expanding his operation from simple filling counterfeit prescriptions to the direct import business.”
Two days ago. Before Lexi had fired Blackthorne. Cheese had said they were following a Falcon connection.
“Import. As in smuggling,” Fish said.
“Roger,” Manny said. “Fozzie was setting up surveillance while T-Bone and Rambler posed as tourists wanting a Rio Grande rafting excursion.”
Fish’s stomach gave a quick lurch as visions flashed through his brain. He forced them away, concentrated on what Manny was saying.
“Intel reports that opioids have been entering the country via a wilderness tour company.”
“Let me guess,” Fish said. “Merlin and the tour group are connected.”
Dapper Dan’s scowl from across the table sent heat to Fish’s neck. “Sorry to interrupt.”
Manny ignored him and went on. “The tour routes allow opportunities for smugglers to make contact. The drugs change hands several times along the route, and nobody has been able to catch any of the guides, who are the most likely suspects, with the goods.”
“Why not mail the drugs?” Fish said. “Isn’t that an easier option? According to what I’ve heard, the Postal Service is hard-pressed to monitor every piece of international mail.”
Manny’s glare said Fish’s comments were another unwanted interruption. He ducked his head in a silent apology.
“Our job isn’t to worry about why people choose their methods,” Manny said. “We follow leads, take the requisite action, which right now, is to bring back Rambler.”
Fish listened as Manny briefed everyone on their roles. Fozzie, as expected, had trackers on everyone on the team. When things went south, everything seemed to go south. They’d lost the signal from Rambler, so all they had was his last known position.
Manny clicked the remote, and the image switched to an enlarged area of the map, with a red circle indicating Rambler’s possible whereabouts.
Fish wanted details. What was Rambler doing before he’d disappeared? Was his cover blown? Or was he taken because the bad guys thought he’d be useful to them?
He waited for Manny to fill in the blanks.
“T-Bone and Rambler’s covers were separate. T-Bone wanted the extreme, off-the-beaten path wilderness adventure, taking risks, while Rambler simply wanted to get away from a relationship gone bad. He’d been drowning his sorrows in drugs and booze. Neither operative was to give any indication that they suspected the smuggling operation. The one thing they did have in common was a need for ready cash.”
“The premise being either of them might be recruited?” Dapper Dan asked.
“Correct,” Manny said. “Once underway, T-Bone could volunteer to leave the group and rendezvous with a smuggler. Or, Rambler could let it be known he was in need of the drugs.”
“Lots of maybes in there,” Scrooge said.
Manny flipped the remote in his hand. “Agreed, but they’d still have reason to have eyes on the operation. Our intel suggests that this group uses new and different people each time. Less risk of being conspicuous. Every job is a one-off.”
“If someone offered Rambler drugs, he’d go along with them,” Dapper Dan said. “Wasn’t there audio?”
“Location only at that time,” Manny said. “Once they hit the river, it was GPS coordinates.”
Had the tracker given out, been damaged, or discovered? Fish eyed the screen. The spot where they’d lost the signal was a starting point. How far away Rambler was depended on more variables than he dared think about.
Manny pulled his cell from his pocket, glanced at the display. “Incoming from Fozzie.”
***
LEXI TOOK A SUBMISSIVE stance. No point in getting this guy, whoever he was, any angrier than he appeared to be. Was he one of the Falcon’s men? One of Cataline’s johns? Did he know Cataline was dead?
“I’m a friend of Cataline’s,” she said. “I’m watching her daughter, and I needed to pick up some of her things. For school.” She smiled as innocently as she could. “Is there a problem?”
He lowered his hands. His eyes said he wasn’t fully on board with her explanation, although he appeared to be processing it. Slowly, as if her words had to travel through thick, oozing mud before they were understood.
“The kid okay?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. Nice little girl.”
“She is.” Lexi waited. The man’s eyes had finally lost their wariness.
“I’m the building super.” The man extended a hand. “Hector Kahale.”
Lexi tried to hide her surprise as she accepted the handshake. His hands were rough, but clean. “Alexis.”
“How did you get in?” Hector asked.
“I have a key.”
He accepted her response without asking for elaboration. Was he really the building’s superintendent? She hated to judge people by appearances, but he didn’t fit her image. No matter. She had what she needed, and if she had to come back later to talk to DeeDee’s mom, so be it.
“I need to get these things to the school,” she said, raising her purse and moving toward him.
He didn’t step aside. “You heard from Ms. Escudo lately?”
If he was the superintendent, she should tell him what happened. The rental agreement might have clauses to cover a deceased tenant. He might have an emergency contact.
“Can we go to your office?” she asked.
He wriggled a shoulder, the semblance of a shrug. “Sure.”
She followed him downstairs to the first floor, to a door labeled H. Kahale, Manager.
He slotted a key, twisted the knob, and motioned her inside. “After you.”
A steel desk dominated the office. Phone and computer on its shiny surface, along with a thick paperback, turned facedown. A large black padded chair sat behind the desk. Two three-drawer filing cabinets flanked a window overlooking the sidewalk. An all-in-one printer, fax, and copier rested atop one of them.
No cigarette odor, no stale beer. Rather, a hint of lemon. No dust, and a sparkling vinyl floor, which might explain the lemon scent.
Lexi chided herself again for making snap judgments and took a seat in the visitor chair. Metal frame and a padded black vinyl seat, a companion to the desk chair. She set her bag on the floor beside her.
“I’m afraid I’m the bearer of unsettling news,” she said. “Cataline Escudo passed away yesterday.”
His surprise was genuine. He dovetailed his fingers on the desk and tilted forward. “How? Where?”
She reached into her purse for her police ID and identified herself as an officer, but left out the part about being on leave and having no official connection to the case. Since the arrests had been on the news, Lexi relayed the information. “Did you have reason to believe Cataline Escudo was involved in drugs in any capacity? Using, selling, procuring?”
Without hesitation, Hector Kahale denied she’d do such a thing. “She had a lot of faults, but not drugs.” His eyes softened. “The kid. If not for the kid, I might have turned her in for prostitution, but she needed the money to pay the rent and feed the kid, so I pretended not to notice. She’s a month behind, but I’ve let it slide. It’s happened before, but she’s always made good.”
“Did Ms. Escudo leave a name to notify in case of an emergency?” Lexi noticed that as she’d moved into police investigation mode, she’d switched from Cataline to Ms. Escudo. Kept things more formal. More distant.
The man swiveled his chair and moved to a file cabinet. He opened a drawer, thumbed through the files, and brought a folder to his desk. “She gave references, but no emergency contact information.”
“May I have a copy, please?”
He crossed the room again and made copies. “I’ll notify the property management company. If you find who’s supposed to get her things, let me know.”
She promised she would. “In the absence of a named beneficiary, I assume everything will go to Sofia.”
“Not going to be much,” he said. “Debts, mostly. Apartments come furnished, so most of what’s in there stays.”
“How much did she owe in rent?” Lexi asked.
Mr. Kahale gave her a figure, and she wrote a check. Handing it to him, she said, “That should cover her back rent, this month, and the next. I’ll need a receipt, and whatever else you need to do to show I’m renting the apartment for the remainder of this month and the next.”
“We can keep it simple.” He wrote out a receipt, made changes on Cataline’s paperwork, and she added her initials and signature.
“Do you know what bank she used?” Lexi asked. “From her rent checks?”
“No idea if she had a bank account. She paid her rent in cash.”
Another dead end, but not surprising. “One more thing. Do you have a cleaning company you can recommend?”
He checked his computer, then wrote a name and phone number on a slip of paper and handed it to her. “This is who I use. They’re reliable.”
She tucked the paper in her bag and stood. “I’d like to talk to Ms. Escudo’s neighbor. She might be able to fill in some blanks. I don’t recall her last name, but she has a daughter named DeeDee. Unless you know of someone else.”
“No. That would be Mrs. Shortt. She’ll be your best bet.”
Lexi thanked the man, then went back up the stairs and paused outside Mrs. Shortt’s door. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand and knocked.