Enemy Among Us-A Jordan Wright Thriller (39 page)

CHERRY HILL, NEW JERSEY

Jerome pressed “End” on his cell phone and laid it in the console between the seats in the front of the car. A glance at his visage in the rearview mirror and the look of satisfaction was obvious. Mustafa had both surprised and impressed him. When they first created this plan and Mustafa discussed his role, Jerome, without telling Mustafa, had given it less than a fifty percent chance of success. But, Mustafa had informed him that he not only had the dies, but was also successful in getting the engravers out of the Mint. The seven people who were the only ones who knew how to create and engrave the markings for all U.S. coinage were now under his control. This was better than he ever imagined.

It was wise, occasionally, to reflect on one’s past in order to move with surety to one’s future, one’s destiny. Jerome Fernandez-Medina was born in London of an American mother and Mexican father. His father was a senior diplomat, serving as an Ambassador in the capitals of Europe. Jerome spent the first sixteen years of his life living in Embassies, with only infrequent visits to Mexico. When his family did return permanently, Jerome was appalled by the poverty — and the concentration of wealth. While his family enjoyed privilege and affluence, Jerome felt they didn’t do enough to heal the relentlessly growing rift between those who had and those who did not, a schism which would someday engulf his country.

He found kindred spirits in his cousins; they decided the political process was too corrupt and slow moving to ever affect change. Their approach was to join the other side, the criminal side. They targeted the central states of Mexico, Veracruz and its large expanse of land along the Gulf of Mexico, Guerrero and Oaxaca, which bordered on the Pacific, and Puebla, which provided an additional connection between Veracruz and Guerrero. Strategically, this gave them the ability to move various goods, both legal and illegal, from one port to the other. These States also were home to many of Mexico’s most famous resorts and soon, Jerome and his cousins controlled many of them. With the cash flow, they were able to invest in other not so legal businesses and as these businesses turned large profits, they were able to launder the money back through the resorts. Different in approach from the other crime families was their sponsorship of job training and social welfare programs, to help the poor in the States they controlled. While it developed skills in the population they could use for both their legal and illegal enterprises, it also built loyalty and allegiances among the people.

As their dominance grew, they observed a larger problem that was impacting Mexico’s ability to grow as a country. It was Mexico’s neighbor to the north. They came to believe the policies and politics of the United States were directly responsible for a whole host of their country’s problems.

Jerome took the lead, to bring the battle to the interior of their enemy. Since he spoke flawless English and his features were more Anglo than Mexican, it was easy for him to move in the political and social circles of the United States. With dual citizenship, he had no problems traveling back and forth and, through his family, he had numerous high level contacts from which he could readily glean information.

While many of their contemporaries were enjoying the profits from flooding the U.S. with drugs, Jerome felt there were other efforts which would bring about greater results. The answer for Jerome and his cousins was to bring about economic catastrophe.

Jerome’s plan was to utilize the great number of people who moved between the U.S. and Mexico, both legally and illegally, to flood the country with U.S. coinage. With the dies from the mint and the imprinting machines he’d been able to obtain, they could put an enormous amount of money into the system in a short period of time. The beauty of the plan was that, from a technical standpoint, it wouldn’t be counterfeit and, until the Mint could change all of their dies, it would be months — more than likely years — before America could change out all of the coinage. It seemed far-fetched when they first started, but now Jerome realized that, in less than seventy-two hours, he would be sending money back to the U.S.A. — in his efforts to bring the country to its knees.

He cut the wheel and avoided a maroon Mustang which had ignored a stop sign. Jerome resisted giving the driver the finger.

Picking up his phone, he speed dialed. It wasn’t as easy with the driving gloves as if he had been bare-handed; but, gloves were a necessity. The call was picked up on the second ring. “Please be ready to go in a half-hour. We will be heading south as I discussed.” He disconnected. He had the address to which he was headed in the anonymously rented car’s navigation system and it showed he should arrive in ten minutes. He hoped Mustafa would have everything ready. He wanted to be quickly on his way, since any time waiting around was time for the authorities to catch up with them.

After a series of turns the navigation system had advised he make, he found himself pulling up to a small ranch house with three white vans in front. Jerome was happy to see that white magnetic pieces had been placed over the signage painted on two of the vans, so they couldn’t be identified. He would be leaving in a van that was in the garage, one that he’d left there the previous evening, abandoning the rental car. He had never touched it with his bare hands, nor combed his hair nor worn anything while driving it but commonly available Levi jeans and knit shirts from J.C. Penney.

Slowly, Jerome stepped out of his car, looked around to see if anything seemed out of place. The neighborhood was quiet, with a considerable number of cars parked on the street as well as in the driveways. But, nothing showed signs of not fitting. He walked to the side door of the house and quietly knocked.

Mustafa appeared and let Jerome in. They had only met in person twice before.

Jerome held out his hand. “You have done a great job. As I promised, you will be rewarded.”

“Thank you. It worked better than I planned.” Mustafa didn’t want to jeopardize his payoff and future by telling Jerome about the incident as they left the Mint. He’d watched the neighborhood since they arrived and hadn’t seen anything which led him to believe they had been followed or were being watched.

“Where are they?” Jerome inquired.

“The engravers?” Mustafa wasn’t sure if he was talking about them or his accomplices.

Jerome nodded.

“They are in the basement. In the soundproof room we built.”

“Very good. When I leave, you are to eliminate them.”

“I’m sorry?” Mustafa couldn’t believe what he just heard. Jerome wanted him to kill the engravers. He could have done that at the Mint. Why build the room? Mustafa was confused.

“I need you to take care of them. They are no use to us alive. If it’s a problem, I’m sure one of your associates would be more than happy to take care of it and I’ll split your payment with them.” Jerome didn’t have time for this.

“No, no. I’ll take care of it. I just wanted to make sure I heard you correctly.”

“Good! Then it will be done.”

“Yes. Consider it done.”

“Alright! Is my van loaded?”

“No, I thought you wanted us to wait until you arrived.” Mustafa was starting to worry. He had thought Jerome wanted him to wait until he got to the house.

“No, but it won’t take us long.”

He walked into the living room. “Let’s go,” he announced. “We need to load the van in the garage.” Mustafa led the men out the side door. He instructed one of the men to open up the van in the driveway while the rest entered the garage. They immediately began transferring the bags containing the dies into the other van. When they were finished emptying the first van, it was traded out with the other van on the street.

As they were unloading the second van, Jerome stopped cold. He could only stare toward the front of the cab.

Mustafa saw what he was doing, but didn’t understand. “Is everything okay?”

“No. Come here Mustafa!” Jerome ordered.

Mustafa walked over to the back of the van where Jerome was standing, Jerome still staring toward the front. “Did you instruct your men to come right here and not stop?”

“Yes. Of course. I told them not to stop for anything.” Mustafa still didn’t understand what was bothering Jerome.

“Do you see it?” Jerome asked, the tone of his voice rising. He raised his hand and pointed.

Mustafa followed the pointed finger and finally saw what had drawn Jerome’s attention. In the cup holder on the console sat a paper soda cup. The condensation on the outside of the cup proved it was recently used and still held the remnants of a drink.

Jerome turned and walked to the back of the garage. “Mustafa, who was driving that van?”

“It was this man.” Mustafa pointed to one of them.

Jerome had instructed from the beginning that they would never use these men’s names. Jerome walked right up to him. He was inches from the man’s face. The man held his eyes down.

“Look at me!” Jerome demanded. “Did you stop on your way here?”

“Yes. I was thirsty. It was only for a minute.”

“Were you told not to stop? Not to stop for anything?”

“Yes.”

“You choose to disobey. I cannot tolerate someone not following orders.”

“It won’t happen again. I’m sorry.” The man still averted his eyes, but he was clearly pleading.

“You are right. It will not happen again! Let this be a lesson to all of you.” Jerome looked at the other men. “Let’s finish moving the bags. I need to get out of here.”

The men turned to return to the van outside to unload the rest of the bags. Jerome reached to his waistband, a Walther PPK .380 coming into his hand. From his jacket pocket, he took a suppressor, screwed it to the threaded barrel which protruded past the front of the slide. Jerome raised his silenced automatic and fired two rounds into the back of the thirsty man’s head. The man slumped to the concrete, blood and brain spattered against the side of the garage. The other men stopped and stared in shock, each speckled with red and gray bits of the murdered man’s skull and brain. When they looked at Jerome, he hoped his expression told them all they needed to know was that they were to get back to work.

In ten minutes, the van was loaded. The last van in the driveway was moved out into the street.

“Mustafa, send the men inside. I need to talk with you.” Jerome turned and walked to the van as he spoke.

Mustafa gestured for the men to go into the house. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” When they entered the house, Jerome walked up to Mustafa. “They have served their purpose. It is best to eliminate them. They can only cause us harm if they are captured. You can keep their share of the money.”

“I think they now know better than to talk,” Mustafa said as he looked down at the body in the garage. “But, I understand your point. Consider it done.”

“Use this. I have another.” Jerome handed Mustafa the gun he’d used to kill the man in the garage. He had never touched the gun bare-handed, nor any of the cartridges without wearing gloves. “This way, when they find the bodies, it will look as if one killer did all of them.” He handed Mustafa three loaded magazines. “Use it also to kill the engravers, too.”

Mustafa nodded and took the gun and ammunition.

“You have done well my friend. I look forward to seeing you in a couple of weeks.” As part of Mustafa’s reward, Jerome was providing him passage to Mexico and a villa in which to live.

“Thank you. I’ll see you soon.” Mustafa waved as Jerome jumped in the van. He slowly moved out of the driveway and turned left onto the street.

Mustafa closed the garage and walked into the house. The remaining two men were in the living room, watching TV. Mustafa raised the gun and shot the man who was across the room in the recliner. Two shots through the forehead with the second shot startling Mustafa for the silencer no longer seemed to be muffling the shots. It startled the other man, who tried to get up off the sofa.

He wasn’t fast enough.

Mustafa regained his composure, turned and fired off two more shots, both creating loud reports from the gun, but finding their target and dropping him on the floor. Mustafa moved back to the kitchen. He changed the magazine. Then he would go down in the basement and kill the engravers.

Chapter Seventy-Nine

“There’s a van leaving the house.” William radioed from his vantage point in the back yard. He’d arrived a few minutes earlier and had joined Jordan.

“He’s coming our way. It looks like it’s the new arrival.” Max was slumping down in her seat so she wouldn’t be seen as the van passed, but was still trying to get a good look at the driver. “Stan and I will follow.” Stan had arrived on scene right after the loading of the vans had begun.

Jordan and William watched Mustafa walk back into the house, carrying a gun with a suppressor and what looked like extra magazines. “Let’s get ready. Looks like maybe something’s about to go down.” Jordan whispered to William.

As Mustafa entered the house, Jordan and William moved closer, but still stayed in the shadows of the back yard. They heard a noise, not sure of the sound. They exchanged glances just as more of the same sounds were heard. Definitely shots being fired. They raced toward the side door. “Shots fired inside!” William called over the radio.