Fatal Secrets

CHAPTER FOUR

Sonia could have taken half a day personal time after working through the night, but she had too much on her plate to even think about sleeping. And if she did stop home for a couple hours of downtime, she feared that seeing Charlie again would trigger the nightmares she’d buried long ago.

She had to get this part over with.

She dialed the assistant special agent in charge of the San Francisco Regional ICE office-based in Oakland.

Toni Warner supervised all field offices in the large, multistate territory. Sonia had met her nearly ten years ago when she was transferred from Texas to the San Francisco office, and though they butted heads as often as not, there was no one in the business Sonia had more respect and admiration for. Toni was smart, savvy, chic, and ruthless.

“Warner.”

“It’s Sonia. I have news.”

“You have Jones in custody and a solid case to turn over to the DOJ.”

“Not yet.”

“Please don’t tell me to turn on the television.”

Sonia cringed. Last year, she’d been caught on film in an unfortunate situation taken completely out of context. She’d led the raid of a sweatshop that “employed” illegal aliens. Only these illegals were indentured servants-not only smuggled into the country but held against their will making a dollar an hour, half of which went toward their room and board. When she’d burst in, one of the supervisors had cracked a whip across the back of a minor, a twelve-year-old boy Sonia later learned had been working there since he was seven. Sonia had seized the whip and snapped it toward the asshole who abused children. It cut across his face-she had never intended to actually hit him, only scare him. When she escorted him out in cuffs, she still had the whip and the press filmed them-highlighting the bastard’s split face.

Sonia wouldn’t have changed anything-she’d wanted to do so much more when she saw the squalid conditions in which these people lived and worked-except in hindsight, she should have put a bag over his head and handed the whip to Trace.

“I saw Charlie Cammarata this morning.”

Toni was silent. Sonia squirmed uneasily, speaking quickly. “He’s driving for Xavier Jones. I saw him get out of the Escalade with Jones early this morning while surveilling the house. He’s up to something.” She dreaded asking, but had to. “Has he been reinstated? Without telling me? I understand, but I should have-”

Toni interrupted. “Charlie hasn’t been reinstated, at least to my knowledge, but I’ll find out. I can’t imagine ICE bringing him back, but stranger things have happened.”

“Is he working undercover for another agency? The FBI maybe?”

“The FBI?”

“They served a warrant on Jones this morning. Tax evasion or money laundering, I didn’t see the papers, but I’m meeting with the head agent this afternoon.”

“Did Cammarata see you?”

“No. The last time I heard from him was four years ago, when he called me from Mexico about the container ship going through Panama with captives from eastern South America. You know that.” And Sonia had had nightmares for months after just hearing his voice. She’d felt weak and stupid for letting the past hurt her. Why couldn’t she just forget? But seeing Charlie today was already stirring up the awful memories. Ten years was a long time; it should be enough time to get over nearly dying.

It’s not as simple as death.

“I didn’t know the FBI had an open investigation on Jones.” Toni sounded as ticked off about it as Sonia had been when she first saw the Fibbies roll on scene.

“Neither did I, but I think this goes way high up the ladder. The agent in charge is Dean Hooper.”

“Assistant Director Dean Hooper?”

“The one and only, and Sam Callahan-he’s the SSA in charge of white-collar crimes-he’s answering to Hooper. Not only is it highly unusual, I don’t remember ever hearing about an A.D. in the field serving warrants.”

“Hooper’s an anomaly,” Toni said. “We have jurisdiction here. Do you want me to knock heads together and find out what’s going on?”

“I’d love it, but that’s not going to help nail Jones. I’m going to find out what Hooper has. If Jones has been playing with his books and we can prove it, maybe that’ll give me the leverage to make a deal. Names, routes, places. We can do heavy damage to the human trafficking business in the western U.S. if I can entice Jones to cooperate.” Sonia didn’t want to cut any deals with that bastard, but she had to look at the bigger picture. Either way, Jones would go to prison.

“I like it. You have my support.”

“What I’m really worried about,” Sonia continued, “are the Fibbies coming in wanting to make a big splash. The economy sucks, and politicians are always looking for scapegoats. Taking down a rich tax evader like Jones gives them headlines and crowing rights. And you know damn well the FBI wants those headlines to justify their existence and their budget.” Homeland Security, and ICE as a major investigative agency, took care of potentially deadly situations quietly and out of the prying eyes of the media. The public knew little of what ICE and other agencies had thwarted not only now, after 9/11, but before.

“I’ll make some calls-about Hooper’s investigation and about Cammarata. Quietly. No need to get feathers ruffled unless we are prepared to pluck them.”

“I’ll let you know what Hooper has and we’ll go from there.”

“I’ll back you up, Sonia, but let me be the bad guy. You know I love you and you’re my favorite agent, but you’re impulsive, and your temper is going to get you in trouble.” Again.

“Understood. Thanks, Toni. And let me know what you learn about Charlie as soon as possible. If he’s in this on his own, I have to get him out. He could screw up our investigation big-time.”

“You certainly don’t have to tell me Cammarata is dangerous. Are you prepared to arrest him?”

The pastry she’d scarfed down on her way to the office swam uncomfortably in the pool of coffee sloshing in her stomach. “Absolutely. I’ll do anything to protect the integrity of this case. I’m not about to let Jones walk free on a technicality.”