“The size of Connecticut?” Vail asked over the speaker. “This is reservation land within the state of Arizona?”
“Right. And they’ve got only about eighty cops to cover nearly 3 million acres. You can see the problem. Mules can literally drive up to the border in trucks and hand over kilos of drugs across the barbed wire fence. Cartel-backed criminal bands of Native Americans take the handoff and drive it to their buildings for storage before it’s transported into Tucson or Phoenix in a stolen van. The locals like it because they get a thousand bucks or more per load. It’s good money and a lot of ’em are unemployed.”
Dixon blew air out her lips. “What are you guys doing about it?”
“We’ve beefed up our presence. The smugglers use radios with rolling codes and watch Border Patrol with night vision equipment so they can see when it’s clear for them to move their loads. Border Patrol’s countered with trucks outfitted with infrared cameras that can detect heat signatures. Bottom line, the land’s in danger of turning into a militarized zone. But even with that, last year alone was a record year. Over 160 tons of marijuana were seized—and that’s only what we caught.”
“Don’t be fooled by marijuana,” DeSantos said. “The people trying to legalize it? Be careful what you wish for. Pot may seem harmless to some, but it’s really the driving force behind the whole illicit drug trade. The cartels use the profit from pot to buy coke in Colombia as well as the ingredients for making meth and heroin.”
DeSantos’s image enlarged as he leaned closer to the webcam. “Take it a step closer to home. Almost half the foreign terrorist organizations—which are involved in investigations with a validated terrorist link—have ties to the drug trade and are responsible for our country’s illicit drug supply. Groups like the FARC, the AUC, and the ELN in Colombia. And the proceeds from drug trafficking end up with groups like Hezbollah and Hamas. So in a perverse way, like Detective Brix said, the American drug user is the single largest funder of terrorism in the Western Hemisphere.”
“Drugs aren’t the only problem with these cartels,” Turino said. “People. Lots of human smuggling, too.”
There was a collective sigh from the task force. They leaned back in their seats, sensing the enormity of the situation. Everyone in the room had been briefed at one point or other about some aspect of the war on drugs. But Turino’s presentation, and the fact that it was hitting close to home, made it suddenly more real—and overwhelming in scope.
“Biggest problem is that once they get these drugs into the United States, no matter how or where, they’re transported on our freeways—Interstates 5, 8, 10, 15, 19, 805—they link the southwest smuggling routes to drug markets throughout the United States.”
“I’m beginning to reassess my view of whether or not we can win the war on drugs,” Mann said.
“Can’t think of it that way,” Turino said. “Every operation is a battle. You grab up a bad guy and take a kilo of coke off him, that’s one less kilo of coke going into your child’s nose. Or vein. That’s how we do it. One battle at a time. I’ve devoted my life to it.”
“You mentioned Operation Velocity,” Dixon said. “What is it, who’s running it?”
“It’s a DEA op. We’ve got plans in place for a nationwide sweep that’ll involve the Mexican military, FBI, ATF, and ICE. If our recent estimates are anywhere near reality, we think we should be able to take a shitload of drugs out of circulation. A couple thousand pounds of meth, two to three thousand kilos of coke, dozens of pounds of heroin, tens of thousands of pounds of high-potency marijuana. And that doesn’t even include the weapons we’ll get off the street. If all goes as planned, we figure we’ll be able to grab up between two and three thousand traffickers, cartel members, and money launderers.”
“Two or three thousand?” DeSantos asked.
“A lot of ’em in Mexico, but several hundred here in the States, too. It’s one of the most important ops in DEA history, so we gotta make sure all goes as planned. We can’t afford any fuckups. Sebastian—Agent Sebastiani de Medina—was playing a key role in opening up avenues to drugs, traffickers, and money launderers we didn’t even know existed. It looked like TFO Hernandez was going to get us in close to the part of the operation we hadn’t yet penetrated. We’ve done a quick and dirty assessment, and as far as we can tell, the op hasn’t been compromised.”
“Speaking of Robby,” Vail said, “where do you suggest we start looking for him?”
DeSantos’s phone sang a whale song. “Excuse me.” He reached down and turned away from the webcam.
Turino sucked on his front teeth a moment, then turned back to the map. He folded tattooed arms across a hairy chest peppered with gray. “I’m not sure there’s a good answer to that. We’ve really got nothing to suggest it’d be any one of a hundred different potential hot spots.” He studied the map some more.
“I think we should go to San Diego,” DeSantos said, cell phone still in hand. “I just got a call from one of my . . . people. There’s been a tremendous amount of cartel activity out of San Ysidro the past year and a half. Assassinations, kidnappings, beheadings. And Carlos Cortez’s main residence is in a San Diego suburb. My guy says that’s where we should look first. His house.”
“Good enough for me,” Vail said. She nudged DeSantos in the arm. “Can you get us on the next flight out?”
“We don’t have time for that.” DeSantos leaned forward, which distorted the features of his face and nearly shifted him off-screen. He lifted Vail’s telephone handset, then tucked it between his neck and shoulder. “Let me see if I can scare up a military transport. Or—” he lowered the receiver and said, “Turino. You guys get confiscated shit all the time.” He lifted his cell phone and started to press keys. “You’ve gotta have a jet. I’ll give Yardley a call—”
“No need,” Turino said. “We picked up a Lear 60XR during a raid last year. A real beauty. Find yourself a pilot and you’re good to go. If you fly it right, you’ll probably make it without a refueling stop.”
“Probably?” Vail asked.
“We’ve used it a few times for stuff like this,” Turino said, passing over her comment. “Very easy on the department’s budget.”
“Don’t need to search too hard for a pilot,” DeSantos said. “You’re looking at one. If you can give Yardley a shout to alert the ground crew, we’ll see you in a few hours.”
Vail reached forward and their screen went dark.
Mann logged off the teleconference session.
Turino folded his arms across his chest and rocked back on his heels. “I saw in your file that you’ve been working with the Napa Special Investigations Bureau on the Crush Killer case.”
“Right,” Brix said. “NSIB provides support and overflow investigative functions, but their main purpose is narcotics investigation and enforcement. As soon as we were informed about Superior Mobile’s operation, I alerted them.”
“Before I left the office to come here,” Turino said, “we got a call from them. I’d like to have two of you consider staying behind, working with NSIB to monitor the status of César Guevara and Superior Bottling. You’d be our liaisons.”
“You sure?” Dixon said. “That leaves us a bit thin.”
“With Vail and DeSantos on board, we’ll be fine. For a mobile unit, it’s easier logistically to get around.”
Brix turned to Dixon. “Your call.”
Dixon’s eyes canted toward the ceiling as she leaned back in her chair. “Redd, you and Burt. Stay here, coordinate with NSIB and DEA.”