GOTU - A Robin Marlette Novel (5 page)

“I don't fucking care how you do it! That's your job”

“Hold it! Hold it!” yelled Hammel. “Damn! Working in between you two guys is a gigantic pain in the ass!”

Suddenly Robin began to laugh, a deep, spontaneous belly laugh. Pearle started to laugh the same way. Both men laughed so hard they held each other up. Hammel joined in the laughter. Robin reached over and put his hand on the lieutenant's shoulder.

“Lieutenant, Tom and I worked for a sergeant back in the seventies who used to tell us the same thing. I guess some things never change.” The three men started to settle down.

“Look, the captain has a point. It's going to be a real tough idea to sell. On the other hand, Captain, you're the one who told me Marlette does it right and we should let him run with the ball.”

Pearle looked at Hammel, then at Robin. “Tell me why I should put my neck on the chopping block again.”

“Walton is getting five million dollars to make payoffs to some very important assholes. If everything goes right, we have an inside man. Once the delivery of the money is made, we can monitor Walton by surveillance, wiretap, and grand jury subpoena. In the end, we may be able to nail some of those important assholes along with Walton.”

Pearle rubbed his forehead as if he was trying to ward off pain he knew loomed ahead.

“I think it's worth it, Captain,” volunteered Hammel.

“Since when have you gotten so wild-assed?”

“Well, sir, if Robin and his men are going to keep on working like they have, it might as well be for cases that mean something.”

Pearle looked off into the stars blanketing the desert sky, as if looking for a sign to tell him what to do. Then he faced Robin. “I guess I brought you into the division to go after the most dangerous assholes in the business and that's just what you are doing. I don't know whatever possessed me to think it would be easy for me.”

“Bullshit. You knew you would have to cover me. You're the politician, not me.”

“You don't have to remind me. That's why a lot of commanders don't want you around.”

“They just can't handle the pressure,” said Robin, grinning. “You know the ol' saying, ‘Little deals, little headaches…big deals, big headaches no deals, no headaches,’” Pearle chimed in.

“Okay, okay, Rob. Go get 'em. Just make it right.”

“Always.”

“Come on, Les,” Pearle said to Hammel. “Let's go get one last good breakfast before we get our new ulcers.”

Hammel looked at Robin. “Keep me posted on your progress.”

“Yes, sir, Lieutenant.”

Pearle and Hammel walked back to the Jet Ranger and after a brief conversation with the crew, they all got into the helicopter. Just before the pilot started the engine, Robin heard the Blackhawk coming back. He keyed his radio.

“Two Nora Six, Lima Two-One.”

“Lima Two-One.”

“Lima Two-One, you might hover out south for a minute. We have a Jet Ranger about to lift off.”

“Roger, Nora Six.”

Robin figured if the Blackhawk got close enough to the Ranger when it started to lift off, the power of the Blackhawk's rotor wash could be disastrous for the light Jet Ranger. No use in taking any chances.

The Ranger now powered up and was starting to lift off. The pilot banked the agile chopper to the east and headed back to Phoenix.

“Lima Two-One, Two Nora Six, we're coming in.”

“Roger, Two-One.”

Robin hustled back to the Cessna and got inside to protect himself from the inevitable dust storm. Matt Howe already hunkered down there. They watched the flashing navigation lights of the big helicopter coming towards them. It flared out and touched down. The dust storm created by the rotors rocked the Cessna. Robin heard the engines start to wind down.

“Come on, Matt. Let's go see who we've got to deal with.” Robin and Matt climbed out of the airplane and started walking to the Blackhawk. Chris Fleming of the FBI stepped out of the chopper first. A new FBI agent, whose name Robin couldn't remember, followed Chris.

After the FBI agents, came Sergeant Mike Hayes and Officer Tim Becker of the DPS shooting team. Jack opened the pilot's door and gave Robin a casual salute with a big grin. Robin returned the greeting.

“The brass is in here cussin' your ass, Rob,” Jack called.

“My brass has already been here, so all they get is leftovers.”

“I heard that, Rob.” Robin recognized the voice of Bill Grassley, the U.S. Customs Resident Agent in Charge of the Phoenix Office of Investigation. He jumped out of the Blackhawk with Russ Martin, the supervisor of the U.S. Customs Phoenix Air Support Office, behind him. Robin took a deep breath.
More brass to convince.

Bill Grassley usually agreed with Robin's plans. In fact, the more innovative Robin got, the more Grassley liked it. Robin didn't know what Bill would think about letting five million dollars walk, and he tried to gauge Bill's mood this early morning.

Grassley's green eyes seemed to scan the environment inquisitively. Keenly intelligent, he was much like Robin—get to the point and leave out the bullshit.

The group of men gathered around Robin and Mark. Robin went through the events of the night for a second time, knowing he would have to do it a hundred times more. He did not go into the future plan. Operational security mandated the DPS officers, and the young FBI agent didn't need to know. Robin needed Chris Fleming's help, but first he wanted to privately brief Grassley and Martin about the plan.

“Are all the shooters here so we can interview them?” asked Fleming.

“Yes they are, Chris. Feel free to talk to any of them.” Robin reached into his left leg pocket and retrieved the Czech pistol and magazine. He handed them to Chris. “These were on the stiff's body.” He then reached into his right leg pocket and retrieved the AK magazine.

“This is his AK magazine. The top rounds in both mags were in the breech of the respective guns.”

“Good. Okay, folks, whaddya say we get started. We'll talk to you last, Rob.” The four men in the shooting team walked over to the Blazer, where Mike Collins kept the body company.

Robin looked at Bill Grassley. “Bill, we have a chance to turn this jump into one hell of a conspiracy investigation.”

“Lay it on me, Rob.”

Robin told the details about Newman, Walton, and the money and his own plan to nail the intended payees. Bill Grassley listened intently. When Robin finished, Russ Martin let out a low whistle. Jack and Oscar, who were standing behind the two supervisors, grinned and gave Robin thumbs up, but Bill Grassley had to make the decision and he stood with his arms folded, looking at the ground for a full minute. Finally, he looked up at Robin.

“You know it will take at least three weeks just to get a wiretap authorization, even on an emergency application.”

“I know, but I can get state authorization in six days and be up in ten and since the state statute is the same as the federal one, it will fly in federal court. So, we apply to both at the same time, start with the state wire, and convert to the federal when it's authorized.”

“I can buy that.” Grassley looked over at the Cuban. “How are you going to keep him quiet?”

“I'll need a minute with Chris Fleming to see if I can handle that.”

“Whatever backing you need from me with the Bureau, you got it,” Grassley replied.

“You think you'll have any trouble getting approval to walk the money?”

“Hell yes, I'm going to have trouble, Rob; at least as much trouble as your brass. But, I have some stock built up. I think I can swing it. Your probable targets will be worth it in my mind.”

Robin smiled and put his arm around Grassley's shoulders. “Someday, Bill, you'll be running U.S. Customs.”

“Only if you don't screw this case up,” Bill replied with a chuckle.

“I'll go talk to Chris and get the Cuban taken care of.”

As Robin started walking towards the shooting team, Jack Moore called out to him. “You better make sure Air Support is involved in this shindig.”

“I'm going to fly your ass off, Moore,” Robin called back. Jack and Oscar high-handed each other and grinned into the night.

As Robin walked over to where the shooting team worked, his mind mulled over troubling thoughts. Walking five million dollars would not be popular with the brass in his department or the Feds in Treasury and the Department of Justice. All law enforcement agencies worked to get large seizures to supplement their beleaguered budgets. Eighty percent of the money seized by the DPS Narcotics Division went to the Highway Patrol Bureau under one pretext or another. The law directed the seized money must go back to the department for narcotics enforcement. The brass decided the Highway Patrol made narcotics arrests, so they got the money. In reality, the patrol got the money because they ran short due to overtime, vehicle maintenance, and the price of gasoline. As the high profile guys, the department had to keep them running up and down the highway.

Robin felt partial to the Highway Patrol himself. He started his career there and he planned to finish it there. In Robin's mind, however, the battle against the drug smugglers and dealers was critical now. Third world countries were behind a large part of the narcotics distribution in the United States, for the express purpose of destroying America and financing terrorist activities. The apparent lack of interest in this knowledge by higher authorities greatly disturbed Robin.

Robin and his men were in the front lines of this war, and they needed money to carry it on. Right now they needed the five million dollars to take down some very powerful men in the act of betraying their country in the war against drugs just to make a buck.

“Yo, Rob.”

Robin's thoughts were interrupted by Matt Howe's voice. “Hey man, you're going to have to slow down so I can keep up with you. I know I'm new at this game, but if I just stand around with my thumb up my ass while you do all the work, Grassley is going to ship me to the Ajo Inspection Station to work the graveyard shift.” Even in the light of the half moon, Matt looked young to Robin. His closely cropped blond hair and blue eyes were a perfect match for his freckled face. Matt looked like the picture of youthful freshness. Robin thought of how this work would erode that freshness in a few years.

Robin didn't slow his stride. “Matt, I don't mean to leave you out, but I don't have the time to baby you. I'm not slowing down. You have to keep up. Be assertive and jump in anytime. You won't hurt my feelings.”

“Look, Rob, I don't know one tenth what you do about this business. I watch you work and I'm dazzled. Hell, I've talked to your guys. You dazzle them! I want to be productive and I want to learn. I can't do it when you leave me out.”

Robin smiled and put his arm around Matt's shoulders. “Now that's a load of bullshit, Matt, but flattery will get you everywhere. Come on. Let's go see if we can get something for nothing from the FBI without destroying them as an institution.”

“Think we can pull that off?”

“Hell, no,” laughed Robin.

The men were laughing when they walked up to the shooting investigators. “Chris, we need to talk to you,” Robin said.

Chris Fleming looked at the two men and shook his head with a knowing look. “I detect a conspiracy here.”

Robin and Matt pulled Chris aside. “The suspect we have in custody over there is Cuban. He is also a member of the Path of the Shining Light terrorist group.”

“Well I'll be damned. You guys really did do a good jump, didn't you? What do you need from me?”

We need you to take the Cuban into custody under the National Security Act, so we can keep him quiet.”

“Whoa, brother! You're asking for the whole world. I can't just do that without some damn serious justification.”

“Well, then pipe down and listen, Chris.” Robin described the details of the night. Chris listened, obviously getting more interested by the minute. Robin knew Chris figured this to be one hell of a public corruption case. In the federal system, the FBI had primary responsibility for investigating those kinds of cases. Chris would want in as the FBI case agent.

Chris Fleming was a twenty-six-year veteran of the FBI and an excellent investigator. Five years experience on the FBI Hostage Rescue Team also made him a good man to have around when the shit hit the fan. Not arrogant or condescending as some FBI agents could be, Chris understood how valuable local cops were in providing information and help on investigations. Local cops were also a good source of federal cases to the savvy FBI agent.

Robin liked Chris because like Robin, Chris had little ambition in terms of promotion. Both men just wanted to put criminals in prison. They loved working in the field. A desk would be a prison to them.

Robin finished giving Chris the details of the night. He knew he sold the case enough to Chris to start the ball rolling on taking the Cuban into custody under the National Security Act. Of course, Chris had a mountain of administrative bullshit to plow through to make the custody status stick, but he maintained a lot of contacts. If anybody could do it, he could.

“Okay,” Chris said, “When we get the Cuban to Sky Harbor, I'll get on the phone and get things started. Just remember, I'm in.”

“I know, I know. Any other agent but you and I wouldn't have said anything. I'm glad you're in.”

“Hell, I wouldn't want to miss one of your shit storms.”

As the two men laughed, the fire of another Arizona-scorched desert day began to glow on the horizon.

The shooting team worked on their investigation while Robin's team finished processing the aircraft and vehicles for evidence. In addition to photographs, Rick Santos worked on a diagram of the scene. The team videotaped most of the evidence processing. Mike and Mark changed the tire on the Blazer and found no leaks coming out of the engine from the bullet hits on the vehicle. When the teams were finished, they gathered around the Blackhawk.

Robin scanned his team assembled before him. They were all coated with a mixture of dust and droplets of mud formed by the sweat on their uniforms. “Okay, folks,” Rob began. “Nobody talks about what happened out here to anyone. I'm sure there will be lots of people asking questions. Refer them to me. A loose tongue could jeopardize any follow-up investigation. All reports will be disseminated on a need to know basis only.” Robin turned to Mike Hayes. “That goes for the shooting team also, Mike.”