Bloodline (14 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Irwin Crandle, Republican representative to the U.S. Senate for the State of Kentucky, was a king-maker of the highest echelon. Although his state represented only eight electoral votes, the president, when asked to name his most cherished supporter, always included Irwin Crandle on the short list. His influence in D.C. was legendary, and those who crossed him were political roadkill in a very short time. Mess with Crandle and you better start contemplating retirement.

His tenure in the international arm of the National Security Agency during the tumultuous years when the Colombian cartels were pumping cocaine into the U.S. at an unprecedented rate gave him firm footing in the espionage community. His NSA posting in Bogotá stuck him squarely in the middle of the action. And since Centra Spike was run jointly between the NSA and Delta, Crandle had his fingers in both the military and political pies. That coveted position gave him free rein as to methods in the clandestine fight against the
narcos,
and he yielded that power with malice. Some observers commented that they were glad Crandle was American, not Colombian, or he would have been their fiercest foe. Crandle didn't fight the war to eradicate drugs, he fought it to look good and get promoted.

He took the same approach to politics as he did the Colombian assignment. He used his connections in Delta and NSA to dig up dirt on his opponents. And once he had it, he didn't just sit on it. He used the dirt to pummel opponents into submission. His tenacious behavior allowed him to achieve a position of immense power in D.C.
Show me a good loser and I'll show you a loser,
was his unofficial motto.

Irwin Crandle was well known to both Cathy Maxwell and Alexander Landry, and they recognized him the moment they stepped through the French doors and onto the paving-stone patio behind the senator's stately mansion on the outskirts of Frankfort, Kentucky. He was now in his early sixties, well tanned with silver hair and a fashionable matching goatee. At five-ten and one-seventy he was not a physically intimidating man, but his intensity more than made up for his average physique. His teeth were too perfect, and screamed caps. He stretched his hand out, and a large diamond set in eighteen-carat gold glittered in the afternoon sunlight.

“Hello, Cathy,” he said, wincing slightly from the strength of her grip. “How's the family?”

“Fine, Senator,” she replied. “And yours?”

“Very well, thank you.” He withdrew his hand and turned to Alexander Landry. “Alexander, it's been a few years.” Again, the hand and the smile.

“Six years, Senator. The last time was at The Willard Inter-Continental in Washington. You were the keynote speaker at an anti-drugs convention.”

“You've done well at the DEA, Alexander,” he said warmly. “And you with the agency,” he added, glancing back at Cathy Maxwell. “Look at us, a handful of jungle- rats who tracked
narcos
fifteen years ago. Who would have thought we'd all do so well?”

Landry motioned to the remaining two men. “Senator Crandle, this is Agent Eduardo Garcia from the El Paso office, and Eugene Escobar, Pablo's cousin.”

Crandle shook Garcia's hand first, then grasped Eugene's. “My thoughts are with you at this difficult time, Eugene,” he said, steering his guest to a set of patio furniture beside a large pond covered with water lilies. A plate of cheese and crackers and a large pitcher of lemonade sat on the wrought-iron table. It was a practiced habit of Crandle's to always use given names when first meeting someone. “I understand your wife and daughter have been kidnapped.”

“Yes, sir.”

The politician's face took on a look of grave concern. He spoke directly to Eugene when the group of five was seated. “This is a serious situation, Eugene. Cathy called me from the jet while you were en route from El Paso and brought me up to speed. I understand you're reluctant to reveal exactly who has your family.”

“They were specific, sir. Mention their names and my wife and daughter die.”

Crandle pursed his lips and remained thoughtful. “It would help to know, but we can work around it. But if you ever feel it's time to let us know, we'll use the information however we can to help our investigation.” He leaned forward, his gaze intense. “Eugene, we've been here before, Alexander and Cathy and I. These are not uncharted waters. We worked under the most arduous conditions during our time in Colombia, and we got results. And we'll get results again. I promise you.”

Eugene swallowed and nodded. Sitting in the research room in El Paso, he had been overwhelmed by the response to his predicament, but this was on another scale altogether. During the flight from Texas on Crandle's personal Learjet, Alexander Landry had taken the time to enlighten him on just how powerful the Kentucky senator was. He had direct access to the President of the United States, could empower the considerable resources of the NSA with a single phone call, and was a wealthy man, with access to millions of dollars. His personal fortune was a direct result of his time in Colombia, chasing Pablo Escobar. While jointly running Centra Spike he had employed every form of electronic tracking device in existence, most of them not yet on the open market. When Escobar died, Crandle's job was done and he had returned home to the United States. But he brought with him an arsenal of knowledge of surveillance hardware and software. Crandle created a public company, floated an IPO on the New York Stock Exchange, raised one hundred and forty million dollars, and never looked back. He provided state-of-the-art surveillance equipment to America's largest and most paranoid corporations. He charged a fortune for his expertise and the companies paid gladly. When he moved into the political ring, he was barely challenged in his run for the senate. For whatever reasons, his competition melted away at just the right times, and Crandle slid into his seat in Congress unopposed. And now, this well-connected and powerful man sat across the table, assuring Eugene that they would get results.

Eugene managed a slight smile. “I'm feeling much more confident, sir, with you on board.”

Crandle returned the smile, then broke into a low chuckle. “Pablo Escobar. Who would have dreamed the man would still be alive? It's almost incomprehensible.”

The French doors leading to the great room opened and a man walked onto the deck. He was in his early fifties with a thin horseshoe of hair encircling an otherwise bald head. He wore aviator glasses, which hid his eyes and didn't suit his narrow face. He kept a neatly trimmed mustache, just touching the top of his upper lip, and sideburns, which he allowed to creep down past the bottom of his earlobes. His clothes were golf casual with slip-on loafers, no socks. He broke into a grin when he saw Cathy and Alexander.

“Bud,” Cathy said with a wide smile, rising and giving him a handshake and a hug. “My God, it's really you.”

“Hi, Bud,” Alexander said, shaking the man's hand and pulling up an extra chair. “You look great.”

“Irwin told me I'd recognize a couple of old faces, but I never dreamed it would be you two,” he said, sitting in the proffered seat. “Who are the new guys?”

Irwin Crandle did the introductions. “Agent Eduardo Garcia, El Paso DEA, and Eugene Escobar, this is Arthur Reid. But no one ever calls him Arthur. I bet he doesn't even remember that it's his real name. Call him Bud.” The three men shook hands. Bud Reid poured a glass of lemonade from the pitcher and took a sip.

“What's this all about, Irwin, that I have to jet in from Seattle on a moment's notice?” He looked at Cathy and Alexander. “And what's with the spooks? We back in the
narco
business?”

In 1993, Bud Reid was a key player in the search for Pablo. He coordinated the field operations for both Centra Spike and Delta Force. Only Irwin Crandle, and General William F. Garrison of Joint Special Operations Command, had greater authority over the clandestine movements of American troops on Colombian soil. But it was Bud Reid who made the decisions that continued to bring the men safely home. He was revered for his ability to predict the cartel's moves, and numerous major busts, including airfields and jungle laboratories, were attributed directly to his cunning. In the world of counter-
narco
-terrorism, Bud Reid was a legend.

“We're back,” Alexander said quietly. “And guess who the target is?”

Bud Reid shrugged. “No idea.”

“Pablo Escobar.”

Reid cocked his head slightly, as though one ear was full of water. A smile began to creep over his face, then disappeared. He reached up and slowly removed his sunglasses. His eyes were those of a man who has seen too much for one lifetime. “You're not kidding,” he said.

“No, we're not kidding,” Cathy said. “It's starting to look like we missed him.” She and Alexander took turns filling in the ex-special ops coordinator, including the kidnapping, the numbered Swiss account and their progress to date.

At the end of the quick briefing, Bud turned to Senator Crandle and asked, “How did you learn about this, Irwin?”

“I still have my fingers in more pies than Little Jack Horner,” the senator said with a grin. “Actually, this one was easy. It isn't often that high-ranking agents from DEA and CIA book flights to El Paso within a few minutes of each other. It was simple to look back over the reports EPIC filed that morning and see what they'd latched on to.”

Cathy looked puzzled. “Then you knew about Eugene's report to Agent Garcia at the same time we did. Why wait almost two days before contacting us?”

“I figured twenty-four to forty-eight hours and you'd either be back in D.C. or set up in El Paso. When you didn't buy tickets to return home, I knew you were on to something.”

“Christ, Irwin, you don't miss a thing,” Alexander said.

“It's Senator now, Alexander,” Crandle said, but there was levity in his voice and Landry knew he was kidding. “But back to the point at hand. It seems we have a problem. If Pablo Escobar is indeed alive, we're going to look like complete fools on the world stage. Not to mention the fact that this is one very dangerous man.”

“He must have cooled his jets a bit,” Bud said. “He's not running around killing people like he used to or we'd know about it.”

“If he decided to disappear,” Alexander said, pouring lemonade into his glass, “he would disappear. Pablo Escobar was never the type to do anything half-assed. And even though we were tearing his drug empire apart, piece by piece, he still had incredible financial assets at his disposal. From what Eugene saw when Pablo was staying with his cousin Raphael in Medellín, he was planning his disappearance long in advance. He lost weight, started eating healthy and exercising and stayed out of the sun. And he must have had the look-alike who was killed surgically altered months beforehand. He knew what he was doing, all right.”

“Then let's look at where he was diverting money just before he died,” Crandle said. “Cathy, look back over any known accounts Escobar was using at the time and see where the money was going. Maybe there's something out of the ordinary.”

“Senator, there's one thing we should discuss,” Cathy Maxwell said. “I think I speak for Alexander when I say we don't mind Bud Reid coming on board, but this little task force is beginning to grow. And we all know what can happen when you involve too many people.”

“Ah, yes. The leak we never plugged. Keeping the group small is an excellent idea, Cathy. Agent Garcia and Eugene had no involvement in tracking Pablo in the early '90s, so that just leaves the four of us. Surely to God it wasn't one of us who kept Pablo one step ahead of a firing squad.”

Alexander Landry nodded his approval. “We'll be fine if we keep it in-house and do our own research. No support staff. We've got everything we need at our fingertips at EPIC down in El Paso.”

“I'm sorry I couldn't come down to see you in Texas,” Crandle cut in. “But the president is in Kentucky today and I have to meet him in about two hours. I couldn't possibly have made EPIC and back in the allotted time. I'd like to thank all of you, especially you Eugene, for flying up for this meeting. Now, I still have an hour before I have to dress. Let's formulate our action plan and delegate the work. Cathy, how do you think we should approach this?”

“CIA database is a wealth of information, sir. We have ongoing records of many of Escobar's associates from the time we allegedly killed him until present day. We can go back over those records and…”

Eugene waited until Cathy had finished talking and then excused himself. He strolled down the path past the lily pond and into the neighboring woodlands. The talk was technical, and specific to the programs on the CIA and DEA computers—and Egyptian hieroglyphics to him. If any questions came up that only he could answer, they could wait and ask him on the flight back to El Paso. He wondered briefly if Crandle still had top-secret clearance to the National Security Agency database; rumor had it that the information stored on NSA's computers was second to none, worldwide. That would certainly help.

He had been in the gardens for about half an hour when his phone rang. He answered it on the third ring. “What's new in San Salvador?” Eugene asked.

“Nothing. I'm trying to get in shape for the bout tomorrow, but I'm rusty as hell. I'll be lucky to make it through five rounds.”

“You'll do fine,” Eugene said. “Things are really coming together on this end. We've got another heavy-hitter interested in helping us find Pablo.” He explained the appearance of Senator Irwin Crandle on the scene. “This guy is connected.”

“No grass growing under your feet,” Pedro said. “Maybe you guys will actually find Pablo in time. You've certainly got one hell of a team put together on short notice.”

“I've been lucky,” Eugene agreed with his friend. They spoke for another minute or two, then terminated the call. Neither man wanted to be overheard and the shorter the calls, the less the risk.