Bombshell
Page 51
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Music soared, and he recognized Itzhak Perlman. “Turn off the music, please. We need to get a lot of things straight.”
There was suddenly a loud yowl. Griffin whirled around to see a fat black tail disappear under the sofa. He turned to her, an eyebrow arched.
“That’s Monk. He adopted me right after I moved in. He’s still scared of people.” She switched off the music, turned to face him, her Glock still in her hand. “I don’t know if he’ll come out while you’re here.”
“What’s your real name again?”
“Lilyanna Remie Parrish.”
“Lilyanna. Such a sweet, romantic name. I’ll bet you’re called Anna, right? I see you’re still holding your gun.”
She looked blank, then whooshed out a breath and stuffed the Glock back under her jeans waistband. “My mom’s maiden name is Castle, so it’s worked well. It’s a precept in undercover work—you stick as close to the truth as possible. And yeah, you’re right, everyone calls me Anna.”
Griffin said, “So you’ve done undercover before?”
She nodded. “A couple of times. No, no one guessed what or who I was.”
“Let’s get to it. What are you doing here in Maestro?”
She turned slowly. “First of all, Agent Hammersmith—”
“Griffin. Don’t go all stiff and formal on me now.”
“You called me Agent Castle and looked like you wanted to punch me.”
“I did until I looked at you and realized you were not only scared, you were hurting because of your partner’s murder.”
That was true enough. “Yes, all right, Griffin. Listen to me, I do care for Delsey—a lot. I wouldn’t do anything to put her at risk, and I haven’t. I was horrified—and very angry—when she was hurt.” She punched her fist against her palm. “My partner—his name was Arnold Racker—he was a fifteen-year DEA veteran who taught a lot of us what we know. Arnie had three grown daughters. His wife’s name—widow’s name—is Janice. He’d just become a grandfather.” The dam broke. She lowered her face and let tears roll down her checks.
He made no move toward her, although he wanted to, but he knew it wouldn’t be smart. He simply waited.
She got herself together, scrubbed her hands over her face and walked to the fireplace to warm her hands. Good luck with that.
He said, “I’m very sorry, Anna.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, too,” she said. “About all of it. About Delsey gettin’ involved, about her seein’ Arnie dead, about Arnie bein’ dead.”
“We’re going to work together now to get these bastards. Tell me how all this started.”
“All right. You’ve heard of the Transnational Threat Alliance? It involves collaboration at all levels of law enforcement, even international, to bring down criminal organizations moving drugs across borders.
“Our own National Drug Intelligence Center picked up on a flood of marijuana and very pure cocaine comin’ into the D.C. metro area startin’ last summer. And not only D.C., but other cities in the area—Baltimore, Richmond, even Philadelphia.
“We traced its source to this general area with a new technology I’m sure you know about, the National License Plate Reader program. Customs and Border Patrol have installed handheld license plate readers at all our land ports of entry. They can’t catch everythin’ because there’s a lot of commerce and travel they can’t disrupt. You’re heard how the cartels started concealin’ drugs in car transmissions, truck manifolds, gas tanks, even produce, and it’s tough for them. But they record all the license plates.
“We’ve expanded that program with established fixed locations inside the U.S. police cruisers, municipalities—even private companies—now have automated readers. We mine that data and cross-reference it with known and suspected gang members and drug traffickers. You want to hear the kicker? Turns out there was simply too much of that kind of traffic in and out of this area for it to be a coincidence.”
Griffin nodded. “And since Maestro is only an hour away from I-95, it makes a good drop-off and distribution center? Is that what you think is happening? In the perfect cover of a peaceful small town?”
“That’s right. But there’s more. The drug trade within a few hundred miles of here has some new players. The Mara Salvatrucha, a gang of mostly Central Americans, was always a threat, but they were mostly a loose aggregate of local gangs, more of an association than an organized cartel. You probably know them better as MS-13. Now they’ve established a major smugglin’ center in Mexico, and they’ve become major local players in drugs, money launderin’, even arms dealin’ into and out of Mexico. Someone is makin’ them into a force in this area, someone with the money, muscle, and guile to do it.”
There was suddenly a loud yowl. Griffin whirled around to see a fat black tail disappear under the sofa. He turned to her, an eyebrow arched.
“That’s Monk. He adopted me right after I moved in. He’s still scared of people.” She switched off the music, turned to face him, her Glock still in her hand. “I don’t know if he’ll come out while you’re here.”
“What’s your real name again?”
“Lilyanna Remie Parrish.”
“Lilyanna. Such a sweet, romantic name. I’ll bet you’re called Anna, right? I see you’re still holding your gun.”
She looked blank, then whooshed out a breath and stuffed the Glock back under her jeans waistband. “My mom’s maiden name is Castle, so it’s worked well. It’s a precept in undercover work—you stick as close to the truth as possible. And yeah, you’re right, everyone calls me Anna.”
Griffin said, “So you’ve done undercover before?”
She nodded. “A couple of times. No, no one guessed what or who I was.”
“Let’s get to it. What are you doing here in Maestro?”
She turned slowly. “First of all, Agent Hammersmith—”
“Griffin. Don’t go all stiff and formal on me now.”
“You called me Agent Castle and looked like you wanted to punch me.”
“I did until I looked at you and realized you were not only scared, you were hurting because of your partner’s murder.”
That was true enough. “Yes, all right, Griffin. Listen to me, I do care for Delsey—a lot. I wouldn’t do anything to put her at risk, and I haven’t. I was horrified—and very angry—when she was hurt.” She punched her fist against her palm. “My partner—his name was Arnold Racker—he was a fifteen-year DEA veteran who taught a lot of us what we know. Arnie had three grown daughters. His wife’s name—widow’s name—is Janice. He’d just become a grandfather.” The dam broke. She lowered her face and let tears roll down her checks.
He made no move toward her, although he wanted to, but he knew it wouldn’t be smart. He simply waited.
She got herself together, scrubbed her hands over her face and walked to the fireplace to warm her hands. Good luck with that.
He said, “I’m very sorry, Anna.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry, too,” she said. “About all of it. About Delsey gettin’ involved, about her seein’ Arnie dead, about Arnie bein’ dead.”
“We’re going to work together now to get these bastards. Tell me how all this started.”
“All right. You’ve heard of the Transnational Threat Alliance? It involves collaboration at all levels of law enforcement, even international, to bring down criminal organizations moving drugs across borders.
“Our own National Drug Intelligence Center picked up on a flood of marijuana and very pure cocaine comin’ into the D.C. metro area startin’ last summer. And not only D.C., but other cities in the area—Baltimore, Richmond, even Philadelphia.
“We traced its source to this general area with a new technology I’m sure you know about, the National License Plate Reader program. Customs and Border Patrol have installed handheld license plate readers at all our land ports of entry. They can’t catch everythin’ because there’s a lot of commerce and travel they can’t disrupt. You’re heard how the cartels started concealin’ drugs in car transmissions, truck manifolds, gas tanks, even produce, and it’s tough for them. But they record all the license plates.
“We’ve expanded that program with established fixed locations inside the U.S. police cruisers, municipalities—even private companies—now have automated readers. We mine that data and cross-reference it with known and suspected gang members and drug traffickers. You want to hear the kicker? Turns out there was simply too much of that kind of traffic in and out of this area for it to be a coincidence.”
Griffin nodded. “And since Maestro is only an hour away from I-95, it makes a good drop-off and distribution center? Is that what you think is happening? In the perfect cover of a peaceful small town?”
“That’s right. But there’s more. The drug trade within a few hundred miles of here has some new players. The Mara Salvatrucha, a gang of mostly Central Americans, was always a threat, but they were mostly a loose aggregate of local gangs, more of an association than an organized cartel. You probably know them better as MS-13. Now they’ve established a major smugglin’ center in Mexico, and they’ve become major local players in drugs, money launderin’, even arms dealin’ into and out of Mexico. Someone is makin’ them into a force in this area, someone with the money, muscle, and guile to do it.”
