As soon as Jason and his acquaintance left the restaurant and took off down Montgomery Boulevard, Jack hurried to his SUV.
He steadied his breathing and thought about his options. Captain Spitzer would be unhappy to know Jack was back in Albuquerque doing his own police work when he was supposed to be on leave.
But what he’d just heard could be a game-changer. He started driving and headed for the I-25 south. At Rio Bravo Boulevard he got off the freeway and turned onto Broadway. He found Hemi Road and cruised past a building that matched the description provided by Jason Gonzalez’ friend. Parking spots in front were empty, but two SUVs were visible in a gated back lot bordered by a chain-link fence topped with razor wire.
Jack decided not to pass by again. The place might have security cameras or a lookout who might notice the same vehicle doubling back. Instead he drove to his parents’ neighborhood, a mile from the Para warehouse. He kept checking the rearview mirror to make sure he hadn’t been followed. After entering the gate code and parking on the side of the house, he dialed his supervisor’s number.
Spitzer answered right away. Jack explained how he’d returned to Albuquerque to beef up security at his parents’ home. Then he dropped a bomb shell.
As expected, Spitzer was angry about Jack meeting on his own with sources. But after accusing him of being irresponsible and disobeying orders, the captain demanded to know what he’d found out. Jack held nothing back, including the older man’s observation that he’d seen what he thought was a Caucasian cop talking with Joe Tafoya at the warehouse.
Spitzer sounded unconvinced. “White dude, huh? I’m sure the drug trade is an equal opportunity venture. Will this Jason and his buddy to talk to me?”
“Fat chance. It was hard enough getting them to trust me.”
“Damn.” Spitzer thought for a minute. “We need to get into that warehouse before Para gets the willies and clears out. Good job. But we’ll take it from here. You stay away from the place, understand? I don’t want you anywhere near there.”
“Got it.” Jack had expected more blowback from dealing with Jason on his own. His boss must have decided to overlook this transgression because Spitzer was looking at a big career boost if he took down Sonny Para and his top associates.
Jack hung up. Spitzer would be extra careful in setting up a snare to catch Sonny Para. He would consult with APD brass, who would contact state and federal authorities. Albuquerque PD and its SWAT team, Bernalillo County Sheriff deputies, state police, DEA, FBI, and Homeland Security would rub elbows if and when a warehouse raid went down.
But first, the place would be put under surveillance. Authorities wouldn’t make a move until they were confident the drugs were there.
Jack shook his head. The larger the cast of characters, the more the chance of word getting out, things going wrong. It sounded like a disaster in the making.
***
Cait gave up on sleep. Midnight came and went as she sat on her brother’s living room couch, amped up about spotting a jaguar and a gunman on the Tanque Verde Trail.
She snugged a Pendleton wool blanket around her against the chill. Temperatures outside would dip to the twenties before sunrise. Tucson roasted in the summer, but the thermometer could plunge on winter nights.
Chris had notified his Park Service supervisors and the Pima County Sheriff about Curt Wester, the armed hiker Estrella had recognized as her neighbor, the same guy who had pointed a gun at Cait and Jack in the Javelina Overlook parking lot.
The previous evening Cait had filled Jack in about the hike. In turn, he told her about meeting with Jason Gonzalez and an unnamed man who claimed to package drug shipments for Sonny Para. Cait thought the insider’s damning story, if true, was a major breakthrough. Jack seemed pessimistic that something would go wrong.
“Why do you think that? Maybe this is your breakthrough.”
“Guess I’m getting cynical in my old age. Just when I think we’ve got him, Para manages to squirm away.” Jack sighed. “You’re not going back looking for that jaguar, are you?”
She said no. Chris and his Park Service biologist ally would figure out what to do about the big cat.
Now she pulled the blanket tighter and curled up on the couch. She tried to rest, but the jaguar kept appearing in her mind’s eye. Magnificent, with a large head, powerful body, big paws and thick golden fur tattooed with many dark spots. The cat’s long whiskers twitched as its jaws parted to reveal long, fearsome canines. Teeth capable of puncturing a human skull. She couldn’t shake its fierce stare boring into her like a laser. The beast could have leaped and pinned her to the ground. Instead it had melted away into the juniper depths like a ghost.
She turned on her laptop and searched the internet for jaguar facts. South and Central America supported decreasing populations of the threatened spotted cats, but they also survived in reserves in northern Mexico. Occasionally a wandering male seeking its own territory took up residence in one of Arizona’s sky island mountain habitats. So it wasn’t surprising that this animal had made its way to the Rincon Mountains overlooking Tucson.
One hundred years ago, she read, jaguars ranged through much of Arizona, including the Grand Canyon, but had been gradually hunted out of the Southwest. In 1996, one was spotted in the Peloncillo Mountains along the Arizona-New Mexico border. Another was seen in Arizona’s Baboquivari Mountains. Every few years, a cat might be photographed on a trail cam or seen by hunters.
But to reach the Rincons, this jaguar would have had to get past busy Interstate 10 southeast of Tucson. She imagined it padding along at night down a deep arroyo that cut under the freeway, spooked by the noise of semis and vehicles rushing above. If the cat passed by a backcountry home, dogs would have barked frantically. Residents would have assumed the ruckus was about a bobcat or skunk.
Denizens of exclusive environs on the eastern outskirts of Tucson would quake in their Chaco sandals if they found out that a member of the largest wild cat species in the Americas was lurking in the mountains outside of the city.
Cait continued her internet search. She watched a video of a jungle jaguar snatch a fat crocodile in its jaws and muscle the heavy reptile up a steep river bank. The northern Mexico jaguars might be a tad smaller than their hefty Amazon cousins, but they were still daunting creatures.
If the public learned of the cat, some homeowners might demand that the animal be relocated. What if it snuck into their neighborhood and ate their animals? Shadowed their kids? Hummingbirds and quail were welcome, big hungry carnivores not so much.
She knew Estrella was right. If word got out, trophy hunters would set their sights on the spotted feline.
Chris had no luck tracking down whoever had installed wildlife cams near Juniper Basin. He worried that the Westers had set out motion or heat-activated cameras to locate wildlife for poaching. The brothers could have stumbled onto the jaguar’s routes and general location. Some of the more expensive devices had SIM cards that could send photos or video to cell phones. Maybe Curt Wester had been on his way to bag himself a jaguar.
Cait rubbed her eyes and yawned. The cat was too close to human habitation to survive undetected for long. Park rangers and wildlife activists could only do so much. If only the land’s ancient deities— including the Mountain Spirits of the Apaches and Elder Brother, the benevolent Tohono O’odham creator—could step in and offer protection.