In Desperation

45

Phoenix, Arizona

H ackett stood at his desk, twisting a rubber band, staring at the map of Arizona covering the wall.

This was taking too long.

His phone should be ringing, confirming an arrest.

The last word came thirty minutes ago from Arizona DPS. They had the bus stopped at the Willcox terminal.

Why was it taking so long?

The border people and EPIC had confirmed the passport for a Carlos Manolo Sanchez, likely an alias. But they had a photo. At El Paso’s bus terminal, the ticket agent, aided by the photo and security cameras, assured two El Paso detectives that Sanchez had boarded the express bus for Phoenix with thirty-six other passengers.

Arizona DPS had made cell phone contact with the bus driver a few miles east of Willcox. The driver had confirmed that there were thirty-seven passengers aboard, including a passenger fitting the suspect’s general description. The driver had agreed to use the ruse of a mechanical problem to make an unscheduled stop in Willcox.

DPS was supposed to grab him.

EPIC’s intel indicated this was the hit man for the Norte Cartel, who was suspected of killing Salazar and Johnson in the desert.

We need this arrest. Come on. Come on.

Hackett’s land line rang.

“Hackett.”

“Agent Hackett, this is Sergeant Tim Walker, DPS Highway Patrol in Willcox. Our subject was not on the bus.”

“What?”

“He was not there.”

“What do you mean, he was not there?”

“Only thirty-six people were on the bus when we stopped it. Our people conducted a thorough search, confirmed IDs, tickets of every passenger. No Carlos Manolo Sanchez. Nobody came close to the photo. We found an open ceiling ventilation door above the bathroom.”

“That’s just great!” Hackett slammed the handset into the cradle.

“What happened?” Larson approached his desk.

“He slipped through our fingers. How in hell did he know to run?”

Larson cursed under her breath.

Hackett surveyed other agents working in the Bureau, considered the task force members at Cora’s house and shook his head.

You never know who is on your side, he thought bitterly.

Hackett looked down at his files, including the one holding that Bureau-wide memo on cartel infiltration of U.S. police ranks. Was his task force compromised? Or was his paranoia entwined with his guilt over Colombia? He glanced at Tilly’s enlarged photo on the board across the room. He could not bear to have another case end with an innocent victim’s funeral.

“Did you hear me, Earl?” Larson had her hand cupped over the phone. “Bruller’s calling from his car. He just heard what happened and needs to talk to you. Says it’s important.”

“He just wants to get in my face. Tell him I’m on another line, I’ll call him back.”

After Larson dealt with the ASAC, she got Hackett to focus.

“We’ve got work to do, Earl.” She opened a folder. “Look. We’ve got photos for Limon-Rocha, Tecaza and now Carlos Manolo Sanchez. We can run them with Tilly and Galviera’s picture, get it out in a release to the news media. Get everybody looking for these guys.”

“All right.”

“Good. I’ll get moving on that.”

Hackett then consulted the EPIC file and revisited his concerns about Gannon and Cora. If there was one thing Hackett had learned as an investigator, it was that no one ever told you the truth.

Not the whole truth.

Cora had hesitated to give up a fingerprint. Why?

Hackett was tired of being fed BS.

In his gut, he knew that something beneath the surface was at work with Cora and he vowed to find out what it was. His mood brightened when he spotted a slim, bespectacled man in a tan suit making his way to his desk; the man who would help him find the truth.

“Oren. Good to see you.” Hackett extended his hand to greet Oren Krendler. “I’ll make some calls and we’ll get things rolling as quickly as possible.”

Krendler nodded and adjusted his glasses.

He was the Phoenix Division’s polygraph examiner, a legend for having obtained more admissions than any other examiner in the Bureau.