Chapter 28
Mark Linehan, Santini’s recently appointed direct supervisor, gazed at the three hundred law officers and special operators who filled the hangar at Moffett Federal Airfield, a former Navy base situated near the south end of San Francisco Bay. Blond and blue-eyed with an average build, Linehan possessed a strong ability for organization and administration.
He had recently returned to HSI following a couple years working at Microsoft in Seattle. Quickly realizing the private sector didn’t offer the same excitement as law enforcement, he left Bill Gates’s employ to get back into the mix. No sooner had he rejoined the agency than he found himself responsible for managing all the complex logistics for the big takedown of 20th Street, while Santini was mostly preoccupied working with Gwinn, nailing down all the necessary indictments.
Located between southern Mountain View and northern Sunnyvale, Moffett was far enough out of the way to avoid attracting attention with such a large buildup of personnel and equipment, but close enough to the city to provide a good launch point. Standing atop a small makeshift stage, looking past the milling crowd of cops and Special Response Team (SRT) members through the hangar’s open doors, Linehan watched a Eurocopter AS-350 A-Star helicopter—one of several choppers assigned to the operation—touch down lightly outside.
The special operators assembled for the mission had taken over an entire hotel near the airport in South San Francisco. During the previous few days, pairs of SRT leaders from across the country arrived ahead of their squads to conduct undercover surveillance and site surveys on their assigned targets.
The nearby parking lot was jammed with dozens of large vehicles for transporting sixteen separate raid teams comprised of around twenty operators each. Their vehicle fleet included three MRAPs—huge armored trucks commonly used in combat environments. Inside the vans and trucks were a formidable arsenal of firearms, ammunition, flashbangs, radios, and protective body armor. While the MS-13 homies might possess a few powerful guns themselves, they were about to experience an overwhelming paramilitary force, which presumably enjoyed the element of surprise as well.
“Alright, everyone. Let’s bring it in close now for a few minutes, please,” Linehan announced through his bullhorn. The men stopped talking and turned to face him, moving in tighter.
“First of all, on behalf of the Special Agent in Charge for Northern California, I want to thank each and every one of you for assisting with this very important mission. We couldn’t do it without you all. Special Agent Michael Santini, who has led this investigation for over three years, asked me to personally thank all of you as well. He wanted to be here very badly, but he is tied up with other critical aspects of the case right now.”
The operation was set to launch in less than twelve hours and HSI’s Special Agent in Charge insisted on this pre-op briefing, specifically so Linehan could reemphasize the agency’s Use of Force policy to all the team members involved.
The SAC was especially concerned that such a large-scale sweep, targeting more than twenty residential locations across the bay area, could result in someone getting hurt. Especially if a noncriminal was inadvertently injured or killed, which wasn’t difficult to imagine given the amount of amassed firepower and the gang’s penchant for violence, an otherwise successful takedown would almost certainly be overshadowed by tragedy. The blame would be aimed squarely at federal authorities, who already faced regular accusations of cruelty and harassment against the immigrant community from activists in San Francisco.
“I realize you are all aware of our use of force policy, but we need to keep it at the forefront of our minds going into tomorrow’s operation,” Linehan said. “I want to remind everyone how we are to conduct ourselves tomorrow morning by reading a few key elements of the policy.”
He looked down and read from his notes. “‘If feasible, and if to do so would not increase the danger to the officer/agent or others, a verbal warning to submit to the authority of the officer/agent shall be given prior to the use of force. If a particular situation allows for the issuance of a verbal warning, the officer/agent should: (a) have a reasonable basis to believe that the subject can comprehend and comply with the warning; and (b) allow sufficient time between the warning and the use of force to give the subject a reasonable opportunity to voluntarily comply with the warning.’”
Linehan paused to let the message sink in. He was right, they had all heard it before and presumably internalized the Use of Force rules through untold hours of training. Nonetheless, an overt reminder about the importance of avoiding unnecessary violence couldn’t hurt. Training was one thing, but making real-life, split-second decisions was another. Even the most experienced special operator on any given day could pull the trigger in a situation where it might be avoided.
“You all have your assignments and know what you need to do,” Linehan said. “I’m confident all of you will perform as the true professionals you are. This will be one of the largest single takedown operations in the country’s history. The news media will be all over it—depend on it. So, please remember the agencies you represent and be aware of your surroundings before, during, and after the operation. We all want to make our colleagues proud. And one last thing—and I don’t need to tell you this—take care of one another. Watch each other’s back. We’re one team. Okay?” He scanned the faces across the hangar. “Thank you all, and good luck tomorrow!”
They gave him a polite round of applause before separating back out into their respective teams and heading for the vehicles. The sun was just beginning its descent over the Pacific horizon. There was enough time left in the evening for a good meal and fitful rest at the hotel. Three hours before sunrise, a majority of the task force’s three hundred members would regather at the Cow Palace in Daly City for final instructions and to gear up and roll.
Just under the official seal of the Department of Homeland Security were six large flat-screen TVs affixed to the wall. The new command center at HSI in San Francisco had never been used to oversee such a large operation as the one in progress now. At a significant cost to retrofit, the SAC was excited to see it put to the test.
The TV monitors would display real-time video of the operation, show target lists, search warrant locations, and status of warrant executions. There were eighteen target posters, with photos and biographical data on all the thugs that were to be arrested affixed to a large wall. The communications station would monitor all radio comms between almost two-dozen teams preparing to affect arrests and seize evidence.
It was 3:30 in the morning when Santini arrived at the command center. He hadn’t slept much, and, while nervous, he was excited to get the ball rolling. Soon after he arrived, the guests began to pack in. Present were the director of HSI, Marcy Foreman, and her staff from D.C.; the local SAC and HSI management; the DOJ attorneys, including Laura Gwinn and Nelson Wong; the gang unit captains from CHP and SFPD; and tactical supervisors from the SRT and SWAT teams.
The command center slowly filled with agents and officers from participating agencies, all with specific assignments. There were agents in charge of operational command, communications, enforcement status and updates, records checks, and roll-over warrants. Everything was well organized and although early in the morning, everyone was wide awake and excited with anticipation for a big bust.
As 6 a.m. approached, the operations command began to receive final “ready” reports from teams in the field. The units were all on standby, waiting for the “go” signal. Although Santini couldn’t be in the field with the troops, management knew he at least needed to ceremonially ring the starting bell. At 5:55 a.m., he was handed the command radio and given the thumbs-up from his SAC. Santini smiled and leaned into the mic, pushing the comms button.
“All teams, all teams . . . get ready,” Santini said with a monotone delivery. He paused and checked his watch. “And . . . Execute!!!” The order was given and the large-scale multiagency enforcement operation was under way.
The South San Francisco police department’s SWAT team was ready to go, anxiously awaiting the deployment signal from the team leader at the head of the stack. The armored vehicle’s air conditioner churned heavily, flushing body heat from the crowded truck. They had been crammed inside for what seemed like an eternity.
Fifteen special operators rigged with sixty pounds of gear each, including AR15 assault rifles, molle packs loaded with magazines and .556 ammo, ballistic helmets, level-four plates, flash grenades, specialty impact munitions, chemical agents, breaching tools and shields. They had completed final radio checks and zeroed in their red-dot EOTech rifle sighting systems.
Now they were in the “zone,” ready to execute a dynamic entry on Tigre’s house, a small, single-story structure located at 815 Hemlock Avenue, where he lived with his wife and two young children. It was a quiet neighborhood just a few miles south of Candlestick Stadium.
At 6 a.m. on the nose, the radio chirped with the “go” signal and the truck began creeping down Sister Cities Boulevard at ten miles an hour. The team members shifted and stretched as best they could in the tight space, ensuring their bulky gear wasn’t caught on a seat or a fellow operator as they poured out of the truck.
A quick left on Irving Street, then a right on Hemlock. Ten houses up on the left, the team leader shouted an order to the truck’s driver, who sped up briefly then came to an abrupt stop two doors down from Tigre’s, a small yellow rancher.
“Execute!” the team leader shouted. “Execute!”
They streamed out of the rear door and stacked seamlessly into a line formation, rifles pointed in the direction of Tigre’s house as they made their approach. When they reached a small gate at the walkway, the team systematically split into smaller groups, the way they had rehearsed countless times. The entry unit approached the front door while the perimeter units broke both left and right to cover the sides and rear of the house.
The breaching element of the stack broke to the left and took a position to smash open the front door.
“Police with a warrant!” one of them shouted.
“Open the door!”
Just as the breacher lifted his ram to bust the lock mechanism, the door swung open from the inside. A sleep-dazed woman, Tigre’s wife, was overtaken by the entry team racing past her and into the house.
“Police! Police!” the team members shouted as they cleared the rooms.
“Police with a warrant!”
The heavily armed squad cleared every room in the house while Tigre’s wife and two young daughters cowered in fear, hugging one another on the living room couch. They watched in terror as Tigre was dragged from his bed and handcuffed.
His double life as gang leader had finally caught up to him. This time he would not get off so easily, the way he had dodged repercussions from previous violent crimes he committed in San Francisco over the years. The force and might of the heavily armored arrest team was a portent of the weight of federal RICO laws about to come crashing down on his head.
Outside the house, the team’s perimeter elements closed in, as the entry team operators returned to the personnel carrier to remove their heavy armor.
“Code four,” the team leader said into his radio. “We are clear at Hemlock. Primary target Cerna in custody. Beginning search.”
“Copy, team seven,” Santini responded into the radio. “Code four at Hemlock.”
The special agent sat down at the command center’s conference table with a big smile on his face. Although disappointed he couldn’t be there in person, Santini was overwhelmed with a sense of relief now that Tigre was in custody. If anyone was going to run, Santini thought, it would have been Tigre. But the thug was sound asleep in his bed when the long arm of the law came knocking on his door.
The search of Tigre’s residence yielded significant evidence of MS-13’s criminal organization including letters from the Big Homies. Agents also discovered a bulletproof vest in the backseat of Tigre’s car. Apparently, he had taken the gang’s rumors that he’d been green-lighted for death seriously. If Tigre needed to worry about keeping himself alive now, it was going to be fellow prisoners behind bars he had to fear.
From across the table, Gwinn noticed Santini’s joyful relief. She knew exactly why he felt the way he did. She heard the dispatch from Team Seven and knew how important it was for Santini to have the top dog in custody.
“We did it!” Santini said, catching Gwinn’s smile.
He wanted to pick her up and squeeze her in a big bear hug. She had been so pivotal in the success of the investigation. She was smart and tough and uncompromising in her determination—equal to his own—to put the 20th Street thugs behind bars.
“No, Santini,” Gwinn said. “You did it. We all just came along for the ride.”
He knew Gwinn was being overly modest. It took a team of dozens of dedicated lawyers, special agents, police officers, detectives, intelligence analysts, and linguists to achieve the degree of success they had. And Gwinn—she was the chief architect of the complex legal strategy. Absent her experience and hard work, Santini knew, there was no telling how the Devil Horns investigations might have evolved—or not—in the byzantine halls of DOJ.
Simultaneously, the same dynamic-entry scenario that occurred at Tigre’s house was played out in twenty-three other locations throughout the Bay Area and in Reno. In addition, nineteen search and arrest warrants were served at eight correctional facilities for fifteen gang members currently in custody on other charges, including Cyco, Peloncito, Droopy, Kapone, and Joker.
Agents also took eleven gang members into custody on federal immigration charges. They were all “hooked and booked.” Forty-two MS-13 gangsters and associates were arrested that morning, effectively dismantling 20th Street. Two suspects wanted on outstanding murder warrants related to the Ivan Miranda homicide were also arrested on state charges by SFPD.
In total, the enforcement operation cost nearly $1 million and entailed almost four hundred HSI personnel, including nine HSI Special Response Teams to conduct high-risk arrests and six local police SWAT teams to execute warrants at other locations.
At a news conference in San Francisco later that day, the US attorney for the Northern District of California, Joseph Russoniello, and ICE’s director of investigations, Marcy M. Forman, took the stage to trumpet the success of Operation Devil Horns and gloat about the biggest takedown of MS-13 in agency history.
Behind them were three posters that Santini had produced, serving as backdrop. There was a “gun” poster with photos of several of the high-capacity firearms seized during the case. There was a “drug” poster, which displayed photos of the bricks of white crystal and coke purchased, and there was a “warehouse” poster that showed photos of the interior and exterior of the undercover stolen car operation in Richmond.
“There can be no doubt that the greatest threat to the peace and well-being of so many of our communities in this district and throughout the country, for that matter, is the lethal cocktail of drugs, gangs and guns,” Russoniello said. “And among the gangs we in law enforcement are determined to bring to heel, none is more vicious, dangerous and indifferent to the rule of law than MS-13. They may see themselves as heroes, may try to recruit members by emphasizing their ‘machismo’ and terrorize the community by engaging in acts of wanton violence, but they are neither invisible nor invincible. This coordinated effort by federal, state and local law enforcement agencies is but one more steady step in the process of taking back our communities and giving young people the chance to make meaningful good long-life choices . . . alternatives to the often short-term gratification that membership in a gang at best, offers.”
“This investigation and the ensuing arrests,” added Forman, “have dealt a serious blow to what is arguably one of the most ruthless gang cliques currently operating in the Bay Area. As this case shows, transnational gangs like MS-13 thrive on violence, violence that is often fueled by profits from their illegal activities. Left unchecked, these activities threaten the welfare and safety of our communities. Our goal in targeting these dangerous street gangs is to disrupt their criminal activities and ultimately to dismantle the entire organization.”
Two days after the big takedown, Santini attended the arraignments for twenty-four defendants arrested and indicted on federal charges stemming from Operation Devil Horns. Due to the large number of accused, the judge overseeing their cases decided to handle all the initial court appearances in one big proceeding. This was the first time Santini came face-to-face with most of the characters he targeted from behind the scenes over four years.
Seated in the back of the courtroom with all the agents from the gang unit, he watched as marshals brought in the accused, one-by-one, handcuffed, to meet with their individually assigned defense attorneys. Santini could stare each one down including Tigre, Cyco, Peloncito, Slow Pain, and all the rest.
The gang members looked befuddled, their facial expressions glazed. Santini sensed they were trying to act tough in front of their fellow clique members, but the agent detected general fear and confusion. They were clearly stunned by the severity of the charges levied against them. The defendants’ faces grew paler as their potential sentences were read aloud—“twenty-five to life,” or “punishable by the maximum sentence of death.”
On the way back to his office from the courthouse, Santini received an “all agency” text, which headquarters used to communicate with agents in urgent situations such as an active shooter or fire at the building. “All Agents, use the rear entrance for ingress/egress to the HSI office due to anticipated protests.”
Santini grinned as he read the message. Although not surprised that there was a protest, he was shocked at just how quick the liberal masses in San Francisco could coordinate a civil protest. Arriving at the building, he walked from the parking garage and decided not to avoid the protest. He wanted to check out the crowd of over three hundred that were expressing such anger over the Devil Horns case.
He trod cautiously through the milling activists, mostly Latino men and women, holding signs reading “No Human Is Illegal!” and “We Are All Immigrants!” There was also an old man wearing a “Homies Unidos” T-shirt, screaming “Sí se puede!” or “Yes we can!” over and over in a call-and-response with the agitated demonstrators. The media was on hand too, interviewing protesters and filming the chaotic scene.
Santini was both perplexed and amused. He wondered why these people weren’t relieved that HSI had just taken dozens of drug dealers, car thieves, and murderers off the city streets. After reinvestigating fifteen unsolved murders in SFPD’s cold case files, the federal team had identified and put away seven killers. But the protesters were enraged over an alleged anti-immigrant sweep targeting “innocent” Latino males.
Despite all the negativity, the agent felt confident the thugs were where they belonged. Behind steel bars where they could quietly sit, worshipping the Beast. He threaded his way politely through and past the mob, and entered the front door of the federal building. Time to work on trial prep—and perhaps a new gang investigation.