GOTU - A Robin Marlette Novel (3 page)

Robin used his flashlight to look for the suspect's primary weapon. Just underneath the Blazer, he saw an AK-47. He reached under the truck and drew an outline in the sand around the gun with his finger. Robin picked up the rifle, removed the magazine, and cleared the action. He retrieved the live round he ejected, placed it back into the magazine, and put the magazine into his other leg pocket. Robin laid the weapon back into the outline.

“Two Nora Six, Lima Two-One.”

“Go ahead, Nora Six.”

“Lima Two-One, we've secured the two vehicles here. I need you to go on state frequency and notify DPS that Two Nora Six squad has been involved in a shooting with one suspect down and no officers injured. We need Two Nora and a shooting team at this location.”

“Roger, Two Nora Six.”

Suddenly Robin remembered the target aircraft. He turned to look at it and saw the pickup now parked next to the plane.

“Emmett, is the plane secure?”

“Ten-Four, Sarge.”

“Thanks for taking care of that.”

“Well, Mike took charge. We knew you were busy.”

“How much dope we get?”

“I figure about two hundred or so kilos in the truck and about fifty more still in the plane.”

“Coke?”

“Looks like it.”

The Blackhawk now flew higher and in ever increasing circles around Robin's team, searching the area with its light. Rick Santos and Burke Jameson covered Robin and Mark Warren as they began to search the body for identification and documentary evidence.

“Lima Two-One, Two Nora Six.”

“Go ahead, Two-One.”

“Be advised your immediate perimeter appears clear. DPS has been notified and is responding per your request.”

“Roger.”

“Also, Nora Six, be advised the FBI is responding for our side of the shooting.”

“Roger, Two-One.”

Robin turned to Burke and his team. “You three guys start cutting for sign.”

“You got it, Boss,” Burke said.

Robin then called Emmett on the radio. “Nora Six, Nora Six-Two.”

“Six-Two.”

“Emmett, you and Doug start cutting for sign from there. Mark and I will stay with the body and the load.”

“Ten-Four.”

The eight men assigned to cut sign searched for the tracks of the suspects who ran from the scene. Robin looked at his watch. The team had been on the ground for approximately twelve minutes. It felt like an eternity.

“Rob, you better look at this,” said Mark Warren in an ominous tone. He handed Robin a Mexican driver's license. It bore a picture of the dead man. When Robin read the name, he whispered an involuntary, “Son of a bitch!”

“Nora Six, Nora Six-Two,” Emmett's voice crackled over Robin's headset.

“Nora Six.”

“We've got one in custody.”

As Robin made his way to Emmett Franks and John Lucheck, the name Ramon Jesus Rodriquez-Lara caused his brain to run in high gear. His team had killed the brother of the number one drug lord in Mexico! Robin knew some people were going be happy and some would be pissed off. But the question:
Why did Ramon Rodriquez show up on the ground crew of a smuggling deal?
seared into his mind.

Robin walked up to Emmett and John, eyeing the slender, blond, white male between them.

“Who do we have here?” Robin asked.

“Well,” Emmett began, “we have one Eric Newman, who just walked up to us and announced he flew the target airplane. He wants to talk to the man in charge. I've placed him under arrest and advised him of his rights.”

Robin looked at Newman, who appeared tired but not visibly upset about being arrested. He stood tall, about six feet, with a mustache and a two-day growth of beard. He wore expensive Western clothes.

“Why'd you give yourself up?”

“Running around in the middle of the desert at night ain't my thing.”

“Fair enough. I'm Sergeant Robin Marlette, Arizona Department of Public Safety. What can I do for you?”

Newman laughed. “Sergeant! I want to talk to someone higher than you!”

“Boy,” Emmett drawled, “you don't want to piss this man off, because there ain't nobody higher or lower who can help you more than the Sarge here”

“It's okay, Emmett,” Robin interrupted. He moved closer to Newman. “Look, I don't have time to screw around. I run this show.
I
decide who gets breaks and who doesn't. In this particular deal, since we just waxed Ramon Rodriquez-Lara, I decide who lives and who dies. Now, either you start talking to me or you can wait for a higher ranking officer.”

As soon as Newman heard Robin say they killed Ramon Rodriquez, his eyes grew very large. In the glow of the flashlights, Robin thought Newman became deathly pale. Emmett and John looked surprised by the news, but were much happier about it. John slapped Emmett's upheld hand.

“You've got to protect me,” Newman blurted out. “Miguel will kill everybody here tonight!”

“You mean Miguel Rodriquez-Lara?” Robin asked.

“Hell yes, that's who I mean! It's bad enough you got the money, but killing his brother. Oh, God!”

“Slow down, slow down,” Robin said. “What money?”

“What money?!” Newman almost screamed. “You idiots think there's dope on that plane?!”

Robin grabbed Newman by the arm and walked him to the Cessna. When they got to the plane, Robin reached in and picked up one of the packages. Using his Swiss Army knife, he cut the package open, revealing a stack of U.S. currency. Robin pulled Newman over to the pickup and sat him down on the front bumper.

“Okay, Newman, all you've told me is that Rodriquez is going to be pissed—which I already figured out for myself—and we have load of money and not dope, which I would have found out soon enough. Tell me something I
need
to know.”

Newman, who had been looking at the ground, slowly raised his head and stared at Robin.

“Why should I trust you? For all I know you're just another dirty cop.”

“You don't know jack shit about me or my men and we don't know jack shit about you. So on that account we start out even, but right now I hold the rest of the cards. It's up to you to tell me why I should give you a break and frankly, since I've got one dead drug big shot and a whole lot of seized cash, I really don't give a damn what you do.”

Robin leaned toward Newman and began speaking in a measured tone. “I'll tell you this. You better make up your mind about what you're going to do before the cavalry gets here, because once the word's out we nailed you, you're not worth a tinker's damn to us.”

Newman stared at Robin as he turned and started walking to the airplane. “All right, All right, I'll talk,” Newman muttered.

“What?” Emmett asked.

“I'll talk, I'll talk,” Newman said raising his voice.

Robin turned and faced Newman. “Give me the name of the first person on this side of the border you can make a case on.”

Newman looked at Robin for a moment more and said, “Carl Walton.” Robin and Emmett looked at each other, their eyes meeting in gleeful shock. Robin was about to speak when Burke Jameson called him on the radio.

“Two Nora Six-One, Two Nora Six.”

“Go ahead, Six-One.”

“It looks like there were two suspects around the Blazer. Someone came to the Blazer from the area of the pickup and then headed out in the desert. We are going to start tracking.”

“Ten-Four.”

Robin turned toward Emmett. “Emmett, you and John take Newman and the money to DPS. Process and impound the money. I want the wrappers processed for prints. When you're done with the money, take Newman to the Casablanca and start debriefing him until he can't stay awake. I'll get you security relief as soon as possible.”

“Here goes another marathon run,” Emmett sighed. He waved John over.

Robin turned to Newman. “Are the wrappers on the money special or marked or a signal in any way?”

“Nah, they're just butcher paper.”

Robin's mind worked on a plan. “The money is supposed to go to Walton, right?”

“Yeah,” Newman answered.

“For payoffs?”

“Five million dollars' worth.”

“Who is supposed to deliver it to Walton?”

“Me and Ramon.”

“How many people were here tonight?”

“I don't really know. I came alone in the plane.”

Robin knew his plan would be tough to get by the brass, but that never stopped him before. He put his hand on Emmett's shoulder. “Get going, Emmett. Don't talk to anyone. Refer them to me.”

“You got it.”

Emmett and John got into the pickup, putting Newman between them. Doug and Mike had already loaded the rest of the money from the plane. Emmett started the engine and looked at Robin, his large, round, ebony face showing a broad grin.

“You love this shit, don't you?”

“Working for you is never dull, Sarge.”

“Get outta here before I think of something else for you to do.” With Emmett's thumb sticking up out of the window, the pickup went bumping into the dark desert morning.

“Two Nora Six, Lima Two-One.”

“Lima Two-One,” came back Jack's happy voice.

“Go to TAC 4.” Robin was telling the pilots to switch to one of the ten tactical frequencies the team used.

“Roger.”

“Lima Two-One on TAC 4.”

“Jack, the pickup is leaving the scene. Just ignore it.”

“Pickup?” I haven't seen a pickup all night. How 'bout you, Oscar?”

“Me? I've been asleep all night.”

Robin laughed as he looked up at the Blackhawk. “You guys are a real comedy team, you know that?”

“That's what they say about our flying, too,” Oscar said cheerfully.

“Roger,” replied Robin as he shook his head.

When he switched back to the ops frequency, Burke advised him they had found a definite suspect trail.

“Two Nora Six, Two Nora Six-One,” Robin called Burke.

“Go ahead, Sarge.”

“Talk the chopper over to you so they can light up the area ahead of you.”

“Ten-Four. We can use it.”

“Two Nora Six, Lima Two-One.”

“We copy, Nora Six.”

As Burke started talking to Jack, Robin walked over to the airplane and climbed in the passenger seat. He looked at his watch. They had been on the ground for almost forty-five minutes. Robin shook his head. It turned out to be one hell of a deal so far. His thoughts turned to Carl Walton.

Walton, a prominent Phoenix attorney and senior partner in a large law firm, held high office in the state Republican Party. He actively lobbied in the state legislature and in Congress. Carl Walton was also a crook.

Robin ran into Walton several times during his career. Each time the meeting resulted in verbal confrontation. When Robin became a detective, he started picking up information about Walton. Sources revealed Walton's illegal activities included money laundering, bribery, and even extortion. Unfortunately, Robin couldn't find anyone to testify about Walton's illegal activities. People were definitely afraid of the man. Having already pulled out his notebook and pen, Robin began writing a prioritized list of things needed to be done to make the plan to nail Carl Walton work.

“Nora Six-One, watch it! There's a suspect at one o'clock laying in a wash sixty yards out!” Oscar warned Burke.

Robin jumped out of the plane and looked anxiously into the distant night. The Blackhawk's searchlight glowed brightly about a mile and a half away.

“Roger, Two-One,” Burke answered. He ordered Rick Santos and Matt Howe, who were the security flankers for the tracking team, to move forward and flank the suspect.

“Nora Six-One, Lima Two-One. The suspect is standing up. He is armed with a rifle.”

“Nora Six-Five is in the wash,” Rick advised.

“Twenty-Two Ten also,” said Matt.

“Suspect is now running west,” Oscar said tersely.

“Six-Five has him in sight. He's coming towards me.”

“I'm headed your direction, Rick,” said Matt.

“Hurry up, Matt,” Rick almost whispered. “I'm going to jump this guy.”

“I'm coming, I'm coming,” Matt breathed heavily.

Rick Santos crouched behind sage brush as he watched the suspect rush toward him in a desperate attempt to get away from the searchlight. The suspect held his weapon at port arms, exposing his lower abdomen as a target for Rick's shoulder. Rick laid his rifle down, his heart pounding and his senses exquisitely alert. When he saw the man four strides away in the searchlight, Rick lunged like a ground-hugging missile and buried his right shoulder into the suspect's gut.

“Six-Five has the suspect down and Twenty-Two Ten is with him,” Jack said.

“Suspect in custody,” Matt breathed into his radio.

Robin felt the tension leave his body. It was harder for him to listen to his men in action than to be in the middle of it with them. He leaned against the plane and took a deep breath. Looking up, he saw the desert sky shimmering with millions of stars. The night cooled so much, it was almost cold. Robin tasted dust in this mouth. He pulled one of his canteens and took a long drink, soothing his dry throat.

Robin looked over at Mark, who was maintaining security over the body and the Blazer.

“That guy giving you any trouble, Mark?”

“Naw, Rob, but it's for damn sure he ain't a conversationalist.”

“It looks like we missed the excitement.”

“That's okay with me. I've been shot at enough for one night.”

“Can't argue with that,” Robin laughed. He looked at his watch—they had been on the ground for a little over an hour and thirty minutes. Robin figured it would take the brass and the shooting teams another forty-five minutes to get to his location.

The Blackhawk picked up the tracking team and the captured suspect and landed at the original drop-off point. It kicked up the usual dust storm. Robin cursed as stinging sand engulfed him. He turned his back to the helicopter and hunched his five-foot-ten inch frame down behind the airplane. Robin expected the Blackhawk to shut down; instead, it lifted off again. He watched the chopper's navigation lights head out to the northeast, over the Estrellas.

The team headed over to him. When they were close, he noticed the suspect bent slightly and limping.

“What's with the 'Hawk?” he asked Burke.

“They gotta go pick up the Feds' shooting team.”