M.I.A. Hunter: Miami War Zone (22 page)

Flores smiled, a regular sunbeam. "It is just possible that I can."

"N
othing?"

"Nothing," Carol said dejectedly. "Either it's not a real company, or it's not registered in any of the files I can access.

"Then that's it.
Wofford's
a dead man. We can't get to him."

Carol looked up. "Maybe
Feliz
did take him to his own house. After all, that's how Crazy Charlie had him. Right at home."

"And you see what it got Crazy Charlie. No,
Feliz
isn't that stupid, no matter what else he is."

"I can check every holding
Feliz
has, or that the police think he has. Then we can try to narrow it down."

"That could take a lifetime. We've got only a few hours. I can feel it."

T
he Everglades.

No one knows for sure what the name means, though some believe it to be a corruption of the phrase "river glades," an expression perhaps dating from the time of the first English explorers of the area.

Or maybe it was because the glades seemed to go on forever.

Four thousand square miles of mangroves, willows, bays, palms, and saw grass. A swamp one hundred miles long and forty miles wide, stretching from Lake Okeechobee almost to the southern tip of Florida, filled with alligators and fish, birds and turtles, but very few human beings.

And the few human beings who live in the Everglades are not noted for their friendly and outgoing ways.

Some of them are Seminole Indians, descendants of the tribe whose remnants fled to the 'Glades in the nineteenth century and fought the U.S. Army to a standstill, hiding and fighting in the grass and trees until the military's manpower and monetary resources were almost exhausted.

Others are in the 'Glades for less lofty reasons, fugitives for one reason or another from "straight" society.

And some are there because the grass and trees, along with a bit of artful camouflage, can serve as an impenetrable cover for illegal activities. That is why
Jesús
Blanco, nationality: Colombian, had located his drug-processing lab there, safe from all prying eyes and vulnerable only to a carefully conducted air search, and then only if the pilot actually had a pretty good idea of what he was looking for and where to look.

Blanco had searched for the location for quite a while before settling on what he considered the perfect spot, accessible by airboat but so well away from any lanes of open water that the chances of anyone's stumbling upon it by accident were infinitesimally small.

Blanco was up early, discussing with Jaime del Rio and Diego Gomez the possibilities of setting up their own network for the selling of the lab's finished product, especially in view of the latest news, given big play on the local Miami stations that morning. Drug wars always received wide coverage, even if no one is quite sure about who is killing who, or why.

"I still say it's the
fuckin
' D.E.A.," del Rio stated. "I mean, look at who's
gettin
' knocked off. Don Vito, our bunch, the
Cubanos
, and now somebody's knocked over Crazy Charlie's place. Who else could it be?"

"It is almost like World War III," Gomez said. "And we don't even know who started it."

"But we know who did not," Blanco reminded them. "We are merely on the fringes. Admittedly, it is dangerous to be even there, but this can work to our advantage."

"I don't see how," del Rio complained. "There's dead guys all over the streets. The cops will be crawling around thicker than flies."

"True," Blanco admitted. "For a short time. But then things will return to normal. They always do."

Gomez agreed. "No war can last forever. But how can this one help us? We have already suffered."

"We can hire more men and make more cocaine," Blanco said. "Can't you see what is happening?"

Neither del Rio nor Gomez had an answer.

Blanco sighed and explained patiently. "There will clearly be a disruption of the flow of drugs. Who is going to deal if the Cubans and the Mob are fighting and killing one another? All we have to do is wait until the shooting dies down. By then most of the possible competition will be dead. They are doing us the favor of killing one another, and we should let them do it. When it is all over, we move in, set up our own network, and have the drug trade all to ourselves. From the paste in Colombia, to the cocaine we make here, to the deals on the street."

"Sort of like a monopoly," del Rio said. "I like it."

"It should work out," Gomez added. "As you say, most of the competition is already dead."

"I'm glad you agree," Blanco said. "Let us consider the details."

I
n the last few hours, Ram
ó
n Flores had managed not only to learn the location of the Colombian's drug lab, he had also found out the radio frequency by which Blanco and his crew monitored messages from their contacts in the city.

"I don't say you've done something that's impossible,"
Feliz
told him, "but I don't see how you did it. You are absolutely certain this is solid information? You are sure your source knows what he's talking about?"

"Absolutely," Flores assured him.

"I believe you, then. But tell me how."

"You know that I have a few contacts on the police force?"

"Who doesn't? I got contacts all the way up to Washington, and so does everybody in town."
Feliz
didn't see the point.

"Of course. But it just so happens that this time it is my contact who was in the right place at the right time."

"So tell me the time and the place."

"One of the Colombians survived Crazy Charlie's attack on us tonight. He survived long enough for the authorities to question him in the hospital."

Feliz
leaned forward. The drugs were taking hold and the pain was leaving his hip and hand. "What did he tell them?"

"Enough. More than enough. He was a religious man, and it was clear to him that he did not have long to live. He wanted to make things right before his death, but the police would not call a priest until he answered a few questions. My man was assigned only as a guard, but he overheard most of what was said."

"And what was that?"
Feliz
tried not to demonstrate his impatience. Sometimes it was best to let Ramón tell the story at his own pace.

"He gave them the frequency and the location, as I have told you. And the policeman gave it to me."

"So we can get in touch with them and tell them that we have
Wofford
and that we're ready to make the trade."

"Of course. I think it might be best to be well on our way there before we tell them that we are coming. Unless you want to meet on neutral ground."

"You see what happened the last time we tried that,"
Feliz
said angrily. "This time, we go to them, but we take a few of our men with us. When we get in, we offer
Wofford
to them. They can take him or leave him, but I want them to know we're ready to keep our side of the deal."

"They won't like it that we know the location of their lab. They have worked hard to keep it hidden."

"That's another thing we'll have on our side. They'll see that we're coming in alone, and we'll let them know that we can keep their secret. They'll have to trust us."

Flores was doubtful. "I hope you're right. Otherwise, we could be in real trouble." He was already thinking of ways to avoid the trip.

"Sure, I'm right. Why wouldn't they trust us?"

"You never know," Flores said. "You never know."

T
he information about the Colombian drug lab went into the police computers. Carol accessed it shortly thereafter. "I've got something," she called out.

Stone went over to the monitor. "What is it?"

She showed him. "Could this be what we're looking for?"

"I don't know. If we can get there in time, it may be.
Feliz
may be taking
Wofford
there, or he may already have taken him. Or we may be completely wrong. I just don't know."

"Sometimes you just gotta go for it," Hog yelled from across the room.

"He's right," Stone remarked. "And we're right back at the beginning. We have to go for it, because it's all we've got."

"Look at it this way," Carol said. "So far, just in the time that we've been in Miami, two of the top Mob men in the city are out of commission. One is dead, and the other is missing. There's open warfare between two or even three factions of the drug world. Jack
Wofford
could never have accomplished that much in the course of his regular job, not in years. Some good has come out of this."

Stone nodded in agreement. "I see what you mean. And now we have a shot at doing something about the biggest drug lab in the area, maybe even shutting down the drug trade for months."

"I can think of one hang-up," Carol said thoughtfully.

"What?"

"The police."

Stone almost laughed. "By the time they manage to get the proper warrants, work out the jurisdiction, and organize a SWAT unit, we'll be in and have Jack out, if he's there."

"Or," Hog growled glumly to no one in particular, "we'll be three body bags full of dead meat."

R
osales had also been made aware of the latest breakthrough. He called
Allbright
to discuss it, though it was none of
Allbright's
business, strictly speaking.

"And what are you going to do about it?"
Allbright
wanted to know after he'd heard. "What about our D.E.A. pal from Washington?"

"Williams? I'm sure he's cognizant of this
intel
."

Allbright
snorted. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

"You're right."

"So what are you going to tell him?"

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"He'll have your balls if he finds out."

"Who's going to tell him?"

"Not me,"
Allbright
assured him. "Are you going to hit the lab?"

"Yes, but it will take awhile to set up. And it will have to be done very secretly."

Allbright
knew what that meant. There were too many
ears
in the department, and if any leak got out at all, the lab would be deserted when a strike force got there. Or it would be so well defended that the cost in lives would almost make the risk not worth taking.

J
esús
Blanco was already thinking about doubling his number of sentries, but not because he feared the police. He was irate about the radio message he had just received.

"But how did the
fuckin
'
Cubanos
find out where we are? That's what I want to know," del Rio growled. "Somebody needs to get his tongue cut out and stuffed in his ass."

Gomez was more philosophical. "It had to happen. There were too many who knew. Sooner or later, someone would tell. I am not surprised."

"You're right," Blanco said, calming a little. "And at least they have let us know that they are coming. We can prepare for them. If there are any little tricks planned, they will not have a chance. I want double the usual number of men watching the fence."

"I'll see to it," del Rio said. "Why don't we just let the
Cubanos
get to the gate and blow them to hell?"

"Because there is just a chance that they can help us. Enrique
Feliz
says that he has something that will show his good faith, that will prove he is not our enemy. He wants to assure us that he is peaceful."

"And you believe him?" Gomez asked.

"I am not sure. But we will at least see what he has. Once he is inside here with us, we can do what we want. If we like what we see, then we can carry on in the old way. If we do not . . ."