Reprisal (13 page)

The flash came from a silver bus. Dust curled around the back end of it, so the bus must have just arrived. From where?

Ismir continued toward the goats and the bus. Scrub brush hid his presence from anyone in the compound, and he moved closer. He knelt down. Who would be way out here? He wondered.

On his stomach, he wiggled almost to within hearing range. The door of the bus opened, and two men got out. They wore white masks.

As they stood aside, several young men, boys really, followed them out of the bus. The boys staggered as if very tired. About ten of them. Ismir didn’t recognize any of the people which was odd. He knew everyone in the clan that occupied this area of Somalia. These were strangers.

He inched closer in the long shadows of evening, trying to hear something.

He saw that some were speaking, but the cool wind blew away the words. It appeared they were ordering the boys into the huts.

Suddenly, Ismir felt sad. The boys were black skinned like himself and Somalis, but he could tell they weren’t local. They looked foreign. Maybe from Europe. They looked frightened. And for some reason, they had a drooped look to them, like the flowers around him.

He peered closer and was startled. In spite of the rising chill in the wind, he saw many of the young men were sweating heavily. They looked sick.

Fourteen

Mears Park in the lowertown area of St. Paul is one of the most beautiful urban parks in the country. It occupies an entire city block and is surrounded by restaurants, jazz clubs, and theatres. The buildings above the sidewalks date back to before the turn of the century, updated with modern touches and facilities.

Through the middle of the park, a stream of fresh water bounces over small waterfalls, twisting its way down under the streets to empty into the Mississippi River at the foot of the bluffs below St. Paul, where tugboats groan to push heavy barges south to New Orleans.

A gray bank of rain clouds hovered above the park, and the air smelled metallic with ozone. A storm was coming for sure.

Paul remembered to grab his umbrella, because a May rain in Minnesota could be a gusher. He cut across the park to find the coffee shop Joan had recommended. At the door, two hanging baskets bent low, full of flowers that gushed over the edges.

Knowing about the intense competition that existed between government agencies, he was sure that any work or investigation he did with Joan would never get back to Conway. Whichever agency solved this case, would reap the rewards: bigger budgets, promotions and higher salaries. He needed her help badly.

Still, he knew he’d have to be extremely careful. Just that morning, Paul had walked by his secretary’s vacant desk. He’d glanced at her computer screen to find his emails on the screen. Conway must have ordered her to shadow his mail. That scared him.

Ten minutes later, Joan interrupted his thoughts as she walked in the door, blinked at the bright lights, and spotted him. Although she had a Latin name, she was pure Scandinavian all the way. A tight red dress clung to her shapely body as she wobbled toward him on high heels.

“I’m like, never getting used to these damn things,” she complained. “Gotta wear ’em for the office.”

“You look great, Joan.” Paul stood and hugged her a little too long. She didn’t seem to mind.

“I need something stronger than coffee,” she wheezed as she plopped into the chair next to him. “Talk about pressure! These disappearing kids have got all of us on high alert.”

“I know.”

“Immigration and Customs Enforcement is the first line of defense. The boss is whipping us day and night, and since I’m second in command, you can imagine the shit I’m getting.” She squinted up at the menu, written in chalk on the wall. “They write too small to see from here. Maybe they should have fewer choices so they don’t have to squish everything on the board so tight.”

Paul smiled, knowing the real problem was that she was just a tad vain. “Wear your glasses. You look good in them.”

She huffed but dug in her purse for the glasses case. “Well … listen,” She glanced from right to left, “You gotta keep quiet about this case. If this ever gets back to the boss, I’m toast.”

In the background, Paul could hear someone grinding coffee beans. It smelled rich and heavy. “Same here. I think Conway hates everyone at ICE.”

“Screw him! Most of your agents think they’re on TV.” Joan bounced up and headed to the counter. She came back with a skim-milk latte. “Here’s the skinny. I told you El-Amin is connected.”

Paul nodded.

“Well, he’s part of a larger criminal network,” she said, her arms swinging wide. “We think he’s a ‘snakehead.’”

“A what?”

“Snakehead. It’s a term that means … like we used to call ’em coyotes … the ones who do the dirty work—recruiting, transporting—stuff like that. But, now, they’re a lot more sophisticated. A guy like El-Amin is trained and well-financed.”

“Who do you think he works for?”

Joan shrugged, and her tightly bound breasts rose and fell with her shoulders. She sipped her latte and licked a strip of foam off her upper lip, slowly from left to right. “Who the hell knows? These are international networks, kind of like on the Web. They plug-in people as they need ’em from all over. Like, let’s say you need financing to transport kidneys into the U.S. If you know where to look, you offer the deal to a select group of money guys. They bid on the job to see who gets it. Then, when you’ve got the money you’re looking for, you offer jobs to others for procurement, warehousing, labor, and bribes to get by customs in the countries you’ll take the stuff through.”

“How can they trust each other?”

“Shit! They don’t trust anyone. If you take a job and rip your boss off, everyone finds out, and you’ll never, ever get another job. Besides that, you might get killed by yet another web of hired muscle. It’s like the purest form of capitalism.”

“They didn’t teach
that
in my Econ classes in college.”

“You’re too old.” When Joan laughed, it crinkled the corners of her eyes. “I guess a better example is Facebook. Criminals anywhere in the world can invite ‘friends’ to join their network. Each of them has different skill sets.”

“Yeah, unlike the old criminal organizations, these guys can hook-up, do the crime, split, and disappear in a few days.” He leaned forward, smelled her musky perfume. “And from what I’ve seen, these guys are really smart.”

Joan raised her shoulders. “You do what you can.”

“How does El-Amin fit in?”

She paused and moved her eyes over him. “Like I said, he’s a snakehead—lower level labor. Today, its stolen kidneys a customer wants, maybe nuclear materials. Tomorrow, it’s young Somali men.” She sighed and looked at him closely. “I don’t know how much …”

“Okay, I get it.”

“We have to trade intel or this won’t work.”

Paul nodded. “But why’d he kill the boy?”

She took another sip of her latte. Another slow lick of her lips. “Don’t know. But here’s what concerns ICE: the network behind him must be bigger than we thought originally, highly organized, and full of loyal people. To pull-off ‘disappearing’ these young men … and getting away with it … is damn hard.”

“They’re sure drawing a lot of attention from law enforcement. Every agency in the local and federal government’s involved. Say, that reminds me, have you ever heard of something called the Army Medical Research agency?”

Joan shook her head. “No. Now what can you tell me?”

“The network you’re talking about’s recruiting here. To have these guys fight for the Al-Shabaab. That’s what everyone at the Bureau thinks.”

“I can get that from the news junkies. Give me more meat, Buddy.”

“Look Joan, I’m risking my career …”

“Bullshit. I’ve snitched to you. Give me something in return.”

“All right. El-Amin’s defense team has found an alibi witness.”

“How do you know that?”

Paul leaned closer. “I’m in tight with the defense lawyer. She can’t reveal anything confidential from her client, of course, but there’s always more.”

“Hey, ICE should check him out.”

“Sorry, Joan. If I have to, I’ll invoke the Patriot Act and get this guy off the radar.” Paul opened his palms toward her. “Best thing to happen for the Bureau.”

“Oh?”

“Patriot Act. Gave us new tools for investigation and interrogation like we’ve never had before.”

She looked closely at him. “I can’t imagine you water-boarding anyone.”

“No. These are advanced techniques. Now, we can also pick up suspects and hold ’em for questioning a lot easier than before. I can’t say more, but we’ve got places here where we work on these guys. National security is protected.”

“What else?”

“Uh … we got an asset in the Somali community. Guy works at a local deli. He’s given us good stuff in the past.”

“Who is he?”

Paul smiled and remained silent.

Joan sat back in her chair and crossed her arms over her stomach. She watched Paul. “So … you’re putting your neck on the line for this?”

“Well, at least my job.”

She leaned forward. Her eyes softened. “It’s because of the problem you had in Milwaukee? You wanna try to make up for that?”

Paul puffed out a small breath of air. “Could be.”

“I remember when we met at the training at Quantico. Remember the rifle training and, oh, don’t forget the self-defense course.” A smile squirreled its way across her mouth.

Paul laughed at the memory. “Your fingernails, they just about recycled you because you wouldn’t trim your nails.”

“They were worried I couldn’t get my finger into the trigger guard of the 9-mm fast enough. And then …” Her arms flew out to the side like an umbrella popping open. “The vest, the damn Kevlar vest. It was so bulky, I couldn’t fasten it over my boobs. I’m like, tryin’ to tell those old instructors with the crew-cuts.”

“I suppose they wanted you to demonstrate the problem.”

“No shit! I could almost hear ’em grunting while they drooled.”

They both laughed hard.

Joan wiped an eye. “That … that was before your case that …”

“Yeah. I was on a fast track then. Two years later, I got a career break and was ordered out on a case for investigation of a serial killer in Milwaukee. Young girls. Grabbed, raped, and killed. Really stinky case. I worked my ass off on that one. Felt sorry for the families.”

“Did you bust ’em?”

“Damn right. With the help from the Milwaukee PD, we got the son-of-a-bitch. I was told to hold him, don’t do anything until the big shots from Washington got there.”

“But …” she drew-out the word, “you didn’t.”

Paul shook his head, felt a shudder in his chest even after all these years. “No. I was gonna do a General George Custer—wrap it all up before the rest of the army got there. If I could pull that off, I’d be promoted to Washington within a week. So, I talked to him, and he told me a few things. When the Washington guys got there, they finished his full confession. Month later, the dude comes up for trial. The defense lawyer successfully suppressed the whole confession because of the way they said I ‘forced’ him to talk without his lawyer. Entire case was tossed.”

Joan didn’t say anything for a while.

Paul took a deep breath. “I ended up here, answering telephones on Sunday afternoons.”

Joan reached for Paul’s right hand. Her fingers felt warm and slightly moist. “Be careful, Paul. ICE is all over it. I’m gonna blow the lid off this and uncover whatever’s underneath. Let us take the shots. We’ve been using some private contractors—don’t you breathe a word—that are great. How about the murder case? Will this slug El-Amin be convicted?”

“Don’t know. Our read is he’s the guy. DNA matched. We want him taken out. And the alibi witness … that’ll be taken care of.”

She urged Paul, “You should back-off. If Conway’s after your ass, don’t make it easy for him.”

He looked at her face, her hair and the brown color of roots peeking out from underneath the blonde. “It’s personal, Joan.”

“I can imagine. You want to prove yourself.”

“It’s more than that. It’s the families of the victims in Milwaukee. The victims here. I let them down, and I wanna make it right in some way.” He changed the subject. “How are your kids?”

“Kid. Just the one. Mark is ten. He’s great. Can’t say the same for his ‘bio-dad,’ who’s usually never around. He never helps with the tough stuff, like when Mark’s sick or has problems at school or with friends. Dad shows up for the fun things, like … sorry.” Joan stopped, blinked. “Sorry, they don’t let me out much anymore. I hardly date now—no time, and they’re so many losers out there.”

“It’s tough trying to do it all,” Paul paused. “I’d like children some day, but I have to sift through all those same ‘loser’ women out there.”

Joan said, “If we weren’t friends, I’d never be meeting like this. Be careful. Not only because of your boss, but this network has a long, well-financed reach. El-Amin may be in custody, but we don’t know how many others are out in the community with an interest in the case.”