Incitement Page 5

  The meeting was important for more than just the obvious reason of making a good impression on her boss. It had been more than ten months since she had taken the position as head of TAIT and the team had hardly progressed at all. By this stage, TAIT should have had a complement of fifteen agents and been on its way to establishing a profile throughout the DEA and beyond. Instead, the team consisted of just herself and two junior agents. She had raised the issue with Marshall often but never seemed to get anywhere. She would walk into his office, determined to get some straight answers regarding the reasons for the delay and a commitment for the future, but, somehow, he always managed to palm her off without providing either. Despite the plausible explanations about how long finalising the budget was taking, it had reached the stage where it was becoming a little demotivating. True, she had learnt a lot in the time since she had taken the job but unless she had the opportunity to apply it what was the point? As it was, the only function they served was as Marshall’s private three-man research team. If today’s meeting went well, she hoped all of this would change.

  Marshall had indicated that one of her earlier reports was the impetus behind the meeting; that was the first positive. Follow it up with a strong presentation and some momentum could begin to develop. Maybe enough to shake the bean counters from their indifference. It was imperative, though, not to incur the enmity of any of the attendees. Unfortunately, the content of her presentation had some potentially unpleasant implications for more than one of them. There was no avoiding that. The trick would be to ensure that her delivery was done in such a way to ensure that neither she nor TAIT were associated with the unpleasantness.

  She finished drying her hair and got dressed. Normally, she would have considered the clothes she was wearing far too dressy for the office, but, given the audience she would have today, they were perfect. She checked the mirror one last time then took a deep breath and headed out the door.

  The conference room was dominated by the large table at its centre. Its sheer size accentuated the fact that, as yet, only a handful of the expected attendees were present. Robert Allenby sat in his chair, drumming his fingers impatiently as the others drifted into the room in ones and twos. Given the full schedule he had planned for that Friday, the meeting had hardly come at an ideal time. The sooner they started, the sooner he could get away.

  Allenby’s role as advisor to the Plan Coca congressional subcommittee had been a godsend when he had accepted it two years earlier. Certainly, basking in the reflected glory of the Plan’s recent successes had been gratifying and had done no harm at all to his prospects. He had decided, though, that he had gotten all he could reasonably expect from the association and that it was time to begin moving away from the Plan and on to other projects. Only fools pushed their luck; the Plan had served him well and even in the unlikely event it could sustain its current run, there was no point in being greedy. A fringe benefit of removing himself would be an end to incidents like today. The subcommittee chairwoman had been unable to attend and asked him to sit in for her. Given the lack of bearing whatever Marshall wanted to discuss would have on his career, he resented the imposition.

  At last it looked as if everyone had assembled and the short, bullish DEA Director Marshall walked to the head of the room. Despite Allenby’s annoyance at having to attend the meeting, part of him was intrigued as to why someone as senior as Marshall thought it necessary.

  “Thank you everyone for coming at such short notice. I know some of you had to make significant changes to your calendars to make it to Arlington today,” the director began. “We’re here because of a report which crossed my desk yesterday morning. It related to a suspected act of piracy off the coast of Florida involving the theft of a large amount of heroin bound for our shores. In itself, it wouldn’t have warranted dragging you here, so to explain why I felt that was necessary I’m going to hand you over to Diane Mesi. Diane’s one of our senior specialists on cartel alliances and disputes.”

  Allenby watched Mesi stand and walk to the head of the table. One quick look was enough for him to sum her up. Tall and thin, she was attractive, he supposed, although the rectangular glasses and stern features didn’t do anything for him. She had obviously traded on her looks to get this far and was sure to be hoping she could make the most of this chance in the spotlight. He looked at his watch and wondered how long he would be here.

  Okay, she said to herself, take your time, it’s a good presentation, just let it speak for itself.

  She signalled for the lights to be dimmed then walked over to the projector screen and brought up the first slide. The photo was of an open-plan office in disarray. Desks were over-turned, tables and walls strewn with bullet holes. Amidst the chaos were the bodies of at least four men and one woman. The corpses were covered in blood and lay at unnatural angles; the woman’s throat had clearly been slit. The picture’s impact could be felt throughout the room.

  “April twenty-fifth last year, the Guttierez family and associates. Originally they hailed from the Dominican Republic. This office is over a nightclub they owned in Chicago. The Guttierezes were renowned distributors and retailers for the Madrigal-Zaragosa Alliance. They dealt in everything. Heroin, cocaine, synthetics. Our sources tell us there should have been a large store of each when this attack took place. Next.”

  The image of the carnage-filled room disappeared and was replaced by another. The picture, taken from the quayside, showed a dark cloud of smoke billowing from a half-submerged cargo ship about 50 metres from shore.

  “September twelfth, the Mariner’s Friend sunk dockside in an explosion in Port of Spain. Maurice Jackson, one of the main drug traffickers in Trinidad and Tobago, and some of his senior lieutenants were on board at the time. We suspect the ship contained a substantial amount of cocaine and meta-amphetamines bound for the US. Next.”

  An aerial shot of the remains of a bombsite.

  “February twenty-ninth this year, a major heroin refinery just outside the small border town of Conchillo in Mexico. We believe the attack was perpetrated by a small team of well-trained, well-equipped hostiles. They killed the building’s security personnel and virtually obliterated its structure. Next.”

  A split image. The left half of the screen showed a luxury speedboat, black and sleek in the water and at least thirty feet long; it was just possible to make out the bodies which were strewn around the cockpit. The other half was a closer view of the same cream leather cockpit, which contained a scene reminiscent of the Chicago nightclub. There were two bodies visible. The first had been raked with multiple gunshots to the torso, leaving it a blood-soaked mess, and the second, which lay half over the side of the boat, had its throat ripped open.

  “July nineteenth. Rene Salazaar and one of his brothers. The boat was found by the Coast Guard. The coroner’s report estimated it had been drifting for more than twenty-four hours before it was discovered. Salazaar’s other brother and two more associates are missing. We think they were on the boat and either conducted the attack themselves or were killed and dumped overboard. Given the length of time since their last sighting, we favour the latter theory. Next.”

  A picture of a large container ship in port. Nothing was obviously wrong and there were puzzled looks around the room.

  “November twelfth, the day before yesterday. The Spirit of Marseilles safely docked in Miami; no damage. Slight problem, though, for Rodolfo Dominguez, the largest wholesaler and distributor in the state since Salazaar’s demise. A wiretap yesterday recorded him ranting on his main telephone line. Very out-of-character for the normally reserved Dominguez but the cause for his outburst soon became clear.” She turned off the overhead projector and signalled for the lights. “As well as the coffee which was on the ship’s manifest, there should have been 3,000-plus kilos of heroin on board. Someone boarded the ship and, in the middle of the night during a heavy storm, eliminated the cartel personnel on board and made off with the drugs.”

  “That’s it, five in
cidents in just over eighteen months. Each a setback for the Madrigal-Zaragosa Alliance and we have no idea who’s behind them. We don’t know if these are it or if they’re only part of a larger picture. What we’ve seen is enough to be of major concern but if there were more ...”

  The attendees considered what they had seen and Mesi’s closing remark. There was a lot to take in and the sense of people trying to get their bearings was evident.

  Allenby was the first to assemble his thoughts. “You’re obviously making a connection between them but ...” he hesitated, “couldn’t they be a string of unrelated incidents?”

  Mesi waited to see if Marshall wanted to take the question but he gestured for her to address it. “My team monitors cartel activity, trying to identify new trends or strategies as early as possible.” She kept in mind the need to form her answer carefully. Allenby was a rising star in political circles and his profile had increased significantly in the wake of Plan Coca’s positive press. Exactly the kind of person she did not want to antagonise but also, unfortunately, one of the people most likely to take issue with what was going to be discussed. “We try to discern what way the power structures are changing and use that to predict future developments. By definition, we’re particularly interested in anything out of the ordinary. What

  Mesi waited to see if Marshall wanted to take the question but he gestured for her to address it. “My team monitors cartel activity, trying to identify new trends or strategies as early as possible.” She kept in mind the need to form her answer carefully. Allenby was a rising star in political circles and his profile had increased significantly in the wake of Plan Coca’s positive press. Exactly the kind of person she did not want to antagonise but also, unfortunately, one of the people most likely to take issue with what was going to be discussed. “We try to discern what way the power structures are changing and use that to predict future developments. By definition, we’re particularly interested in anything out of the ordinary. What you’ve just seen qualifies.”

  “I would have thought that in this environment, where violent criminals and enormous sums of money are not unusual, these type of episodes were quite common?” he remarked.

  “There’s more order than you might think. Most of it down to Luis Madrigal, whom I’m sure you’re all familiar with. He’s worked tirelessly to foster an atmosphere of stability among the various South and Central American cartels. Up to a few years ago, the Colombians and Mexicans particularly had gone their separate ways.”

  All of the attendees were riveted. The powerful presentation had set the stage and they wanted to know what the attacks signified. “Most of the division was as a result of the Mexicans bypassing the main Colombian cartels as a source of cocaine and their success in fostering their own indigenous heroin industry. Madrigal completely reversed the pattern by proving how everyone could benefit from cooperation. He’s been very careful not to make the mistake of treating the Mexicans as subordinates.”

  “Just in case anyone here doesn’t quite appreciate the breadth of Madrigal’s organisation,” Marshall added, “the Alliance he formed with Ernesto Zaragosa now comprises groups from more than ten different countries. A consequence of his work had been the reduction in the occurrence of events like you’ve just seen.”

  “But there’s quite a long time frame involved here,” Allenby commented. “Doesn’t that reduce the likelihood of them being connected?”

  Mesi knew Marshall had given no advance notice regarding the subject of the meeting. With no time to prepare, the attendees would be cautious in accepting any hypothesis put forward due to the possible implications for their individual agendas. That caution could manifest as either a direct challenge to what she was presenting or a subtler discrediting.

  “I’d have to disagree with you there, sir,” Mesi inwardly cursed herself for phrasing it so bluntly. “A year and a half in this context really isn’t that long. Besides, there are too many common hallmarks to ignore the possibility that some of them are connected. If you consider the excellent intelligence regarding where and when to strike, and also the precision in their execution.” She hesitated, aware of where the final observation might lead, before pushing on, “And, perhaps most worryingly of all, as far as we can determine, through all of our informants and wiretaps, none of the increasingly large quantities of drugs involved appear to have surfaced again. Ever.”

  The last statement caused Dan Schutterop from the FBI’s Law Enforcement Coordination Office to look up from his folder quizzically. “If there were more incidents, say even ten more on a similar scale, and the drugs were being taken out of circulation, what would be the cumulative effect within the US?”

  This was the question she had been dreading.

  “Well,” she replied warily. “Fifteen such episodes in total could be enough to affect availability.” She knew the attempted vagueness of her answer would do no good.

  “And that would impact prices, how?”

  “They’d probably be pushed up,” she replied.

  “So, enough incidents could result in a drop in the availability of drugs and a general rise in prices, like what’s been reported recently?” Schutterop persisted.

  “Possibly.”

  The non-committal answer did nothing to dampen the apprehension that was creeping into the room. She recognised that some of the attendees would be delighted with what they were hearing while others would be displeased. Quite a few people had gone on the record as saying that little or no bottom-line impact should be expected from Plan Coca. As the Plan’s successes had appeared to mount, criticism of them had grown and lately it had reached such a level that it looked like some people’s positions might be in jeopardy. But if there were a variable of this magnitude at play, of which they had been unaware, then the apparently erroneous predictions would be mitigated, maybe even eliminated.

  “Why are we only hearing about this now, if it’s something which Agent Mesi contends has been brewing for more than eighteen months?” asked Allenby, no longer even attempting to hide his anger.

  She tried to think of something to say that might defuse the atmosphere.

  “Diane came to me immediately after the Mexican incident, warning me of the possibilities,” Arthur Marshall boomed before she had a chance to reply. “I thought it was too early to jump to conclusions.”

  The message was clear; they were not there to find scapegoats and Allenby’s attitude was not appreciated.

  “Since the raid on the ship,” Marshall continued, “I’ve had a rethink, mainly because we caught Dominguez mentioning that the captain of the ship thought the pirates may have been Eastern European. Diane, please explain the significance.”

  “As I mentioned, none of the investigations have made significant progress in finding out who was behind the attacks. The only lead was found during the Mexican investigation by Salvador Campas and his team of the attack on the heroin refinery.” Given the mood, Mesi could not see any benefit in mentioning her participation in the investigation. “Based on physical evidence at the scene, they pursued the possibility of Balkan, specifically Kosovar, involvement in the attack. Add that to the captain’s account and we might have something. Admittedly it’s not much but –”

  “If there’s something to this then we’d be rightfully concerned, but before we get carried away, what’s the basis for looking at the Kosovars? What was this physical evidence which led Campas to suspect them?” The question came from Will Samuels, whose shaven, bullet-shaped head matched his direct no-nonsense approach perfectly. Samuels was the DEA’s chief of operations and de facto number two to Marshall.

  “Cigarette butts found at the scene. They were a brand sold primarily in the Balkan region. The attack appeared to have military aspects in training and execution. The Mexicans suspected mercenary involvement from the outset.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Subsequent checking of flights found that a number of Albanians had entered the country shortly before the att
ack. Enquiries with Europol revealed three of them had links to the Fifteen Families.”

  There was a pause before Samuels realised Mesi was finished.

  “That’s it, that’s the basis for saying there was ‘Kosovar involvement’?” asked Samuels incredulously.

  “Campas did have serious reservations,” she conceded. “He pointed out that it wasn’t guaranteed that these men were involved and even if they were, they could have been contracted by any number of third parties.”

  “Diane, I understand that it’s your job to look for these tenuous connections but you have to agree this is very flimsy?” Samuels said.

  “Can we afford to ignore it?” Schutterop piped up.

  “But we’re not ignoring it; this meeting is proof of that. We can’t chase everything down. Sometimes we have to use judgement in regard to what we let go. In my opinion this is one of those cases.”

  So far, the meeting had not gone too badly. Other than Allenby no one had criticised her directly and she certainly didn’t want to get on the wrong side of Samuels, but there was something she thought he was glossing over.

  “I hope you’re right and this is a groundless fear but whether we believe the Fifteen Families are targeting the Madrigal-Zaragosa Alliance isn’t the only consideration. If the Alliance themselves believe it, they’ll retaliate, and what happens then?”