Andy bit his lip and thought about it. Kerney had tracked De Leon down before using a paid Juarez informant, and he knew the lay of the land better than anyone else.
"Okay," he finally said.
"We got some confiscated drug funds you can use. I'll have you flown to El Paso on our plane. But get some sleep before you cross the border, and for chrissake be careful. De Leon will take you out if he has the chance. You hit him hard in the pocketbook on the White Sands case, and I don't think he's inclined to be forgiving."
"I'm leaving now," Kerney said.
"Call the pilot."
After spending a night at an El Paso motel, Kerney got up early and took a taxi across the border to Juarez. He had the driver pull to a stop at Plaza Cervantine, a bohemian enclave for writers, artists, and community activists. Well away from the Juarez tourist strip, the plaza consisted of a mixture of apartment houses, cafes, artist studios, neighborhood businesses, and offices.
Kerney paid the driver and stepped out of the taxi. A street vendor was opening his food cart for business.
The rich smell of tortillas, beans, and dark Mexican coffee filled the air. The business signs, posters, and murals that peppered the walls of the buildings were a riot of hot colors: bright yellow, brash pink, and screaming orange.
The only other person on the plaza aside from the vendor was a man walking a dog. Wearing a wool scarf thrown casually around his neck, a beret set at a cocky angle, and a V-neck sweater, the man hurried his pet into one of the doors of a walk-up apartment building.
Kerney followed a passageway through an office building to a courtyard cafe where several people sat smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee in the chilly early morning air. From the serving counter under the landing to the second story he could hear the clatter of dishes and the chatter of kitchen workers as they prepared for the breakfast rush.
Upstairs, he found the office to the small weekly newspaper locked. He returned to the courtyard cafe, ordered coffee, and asked the server when Rose Moya usually arrived for work. He was told that she kept to no fixed schedule.
Rose had been a source of information for Kerney during the White Sands case, and put him on the trail to Enrique De Leon An investigative reporter, she had written a series of articles for her left-wing newspaper that exposed government collusion with the Juarez underworld.
While Kerney waited, the patio cafe filled with neighborhood locals, who flashed him inquisitive looks as they sipped cofiee and talked. The man with the beret came into the courtyard without his dog, and joined a group of friends at a nearby table. A lively discussion sprang up on the political importance of street theater.
Rose Moya arrived and Kerney intercepted her at the foot of the stairs.
She wore pleated brown cord slacks and a ribbed off-white wool sweater, and carried a canvas laptop computer case. An attractive woman with high cheekbones and full lips. Rose looked at Kerney with serious dark eyes.
"Senor Kerney," she said.
"Surely you must know that Enrique De Leon will try to kill you if he learns you are injuarez."
"I will not be in Juarez long," Kerney said.
"Please join me for a coffee."
Rose brushed her dark hair back from her forehead, searched Kerney's face, gave a quick glance at his table, and waited for more of an explanation. Behind Kerney the customers' chatter faded away.
"Is there a problem if you're seen talking to me?"
Kerney asked.
Rose laughed sharply.
"I do not have a death wish, Senor Kerney."
"Does my presence place you in danger?"
"Apparently Francisco Posada made it known that you reached him through me. I was questioned extensively after your visit by a high-ranking police official with ties to the Mafiosios. The meeting was cordial, but the threat was dear. It would be unwise for me to continue to cooperate with any mjrtea.menca.no police officers or drug agents."
"Have the Mafiosios silenced your reporting?"
Rose forced a small smile.
"Not completely, but I walk a fine line. They like to read about themselves. They expect to have their political assassinations reported-it reinforces the terror and fear they spread. And they enjoy articles about their wealth and influence as long as any account of government corruption is not too specific."
"Have you been instructed to report any contact by nortea.merica.no agents or police?"
"Of course," Rose replied, looking over Kerney's shoulder at the cafe patrons.
"And if I don't, someone else will."
"Give me a few minutes to tell you why I'm here. If you cannot help me, I'll understand. Disclose everything to the Mafiosios' police official when you make your report. Hold nothing back."
"What do you want, Senor Kerney?"
"Enrique De Leon And this time I plan to get him."
Rose's eyes widened with curiosity.
"You make an appealing offer. Buy me a coffee, and I will listen to your story."
At the table, Rose drank coffee while Kerney filled her in on the art theft and the facts pointing to De Leon complicity.
De Leon enjoys stealing from norteamericanos," Rose said, touching the small mole under her right eye.
"He delights in it, and has been very successful over the years. Not once has he been charged with any crime on either side of the border."
"I understand that."
"If you truly wish to put De Leon out of business, you face much more difficult obstacles than before. He is virtually untouchable."
"Has he hired more bodyguards and goons?" Kerney asked.
Rose laughed.
"Nothing quite so commonplace. In our last national election, several Juarez politicians won prominent government positions. They benefited from major Mafiosios' campaign financing. De Leon donated several million dollars and was rewarded with a minor cultural affairs appointment and a diplomatic passport."
"That's unbelievable."
"I thought you were better acquainted with our country, Senor Kerney.
You can buy anything in Mexico.
We have a fugitive ex-president living in Dublin who has millions of stolen dollars in a Swiss account. He cannot be touched; we have no extradition treaty with Ireland. At one time, he was compared to your Jack Kennedy. He turned out to be nothing but a common thief."
"So what is De Leon doing with his new diplomatic status?"
"Business as usual, only more so. I understand he is now investing in foreign real estate and buying into many maquiladora enterprises, businesses jointly owned by American and Mexican corporations."
"Is he going legitimate?"
"That, and diversifying."
"Do you have any specifics on his holdings?"
Rose shook her head.
"I'm afraid not."
"Does he still usejuarez as his base of operations?"
"When he's here," Rose replied.
"Do you know where he is?"
"Traveling, I've heard, but I have no idea where.
Allegedly he has houses in the United States, the Caribbean, Central America, and Spain. But he could be at his hacienda outside of Juarez, or at one of his ranches. He won't be easy to find. You aren't planning to go to the Little Turtle, are you?"
"No," Kerney answered.
"Is Francisco Posada still alive?" Posada was the information broker who had set up Kerney's first and only face-to-face meeting with De Leon Kerney had finessed Posada into connecting him with De Leon by posing as a rogue ex-cop trying to smuggle valuable merchandise across the border. He had hooked Posada with some up-front money and the promise of a percentage from the proceeds.
"Barely. His niece now lives with him. She will inherit his estate. A private nurse cares for him. I don't think it would be wise for you to try to see him."
"I learned that firsthand a while back," Kerney said.