The Covert Element (13 page)

Marsden looked nervously across the table at Dosdall.

Dosdall spread his arms, palms up.

"It is what it is, Walter. I’m afraid we’ll have to accept the
numbers for what they represent . . . unless you have not been
receiving the chemicals at the facility. That would be an entirely
different matter."

Marsden felt helpless.

"The general manager
did
receipt for these quantities," he said.
"So short of following every anhydrous shipment and every iodine
delivery, I don’t know how I might learn anything further."

"Very good, then." It was Dosdall. "You have further
questions?"

"If I might see the details of the cornmeal sales, please. These
have skyrocketed in the past operating quarter."

Ashcroft produced another stack of accounting documents.

"Cornmeal sales begin on page ten," he said, handing the
reports to Marsden.

Marsden reviewed the figures.

"How can we possibly be selling this much cornmeal? This
report shows more than 150 truckloads delivered per month. That
means five trucks a day would have to leave this plant . . . every day,
seven days a week. I can’t ever remember seeing more than two."

Ashcroft turned toward Marsden.

"I can see why this would cause you concern. But I believe I
have your answer.

"Because Bellechester Organic has developed a reputation for
high quality cornmeal, we have chosen to leverage our goodwill by
amplifying the supply."

"What the hell does that mean?" Marsden was a plain-spoken
man who detested double-talk. "Amplifying the supply?"

"Please calm down, Mr. Marsden. It simply means that,
because Bellechester Organic has more demand for its cornmeal
than it can meet at this facility, we have contracted to purchase
cornmeal from other organic suppliers, reselling the commodity to
our customers at a profit.

"There is nothing unusual or improper about this practice. We
test the cornmeal we buy to insure that it meets our quality
standards. We sell more cornmeal. Our customers receive what they
require. And the third party sellers also make a margin on their
sales to us. Everyone wins."

Marsden’s irritation made him uncharacteristically bold.

"Dammit, Mr. Dosdall. Shouldn’t that sort of major decision
come across my desk at some point? After all, I
am
the CEO."
Marsden was standing now.

"Walter, Walter. Please sit down."

Marsden took a deep breath and retook his seat.

"I must apologize to you, Walter. The decision to leverage our
goodwill was mine. I was approached directly by entities related to
Bellechester Investors. I should have consulted you. Of course, you
are right.

"But I can assure you that all transactions have been at market
prices and all dealings at arm’s length. I am a man who is most
sensitive to fiduciary responsibilities. There were no improprieties
in this matter. I give you my word."

Marsden was still not happy. But Dosdall
had
apologized. That
was more than he had ever expected to hear from the man. And the
explanations given for the vastly increased sales were plausible. In
fact, they made sense. He would probably have approved them
himself, had they crossed his desk. It was beginning to appear that
this entire issue was nothing more than a misunderstanding after
all.

"Now that I have made my apology about circumventing your
authority, do you have further questions about accounting
matters?"

Marsden was flustered. But he had nothing more to ask. He
was relieved that operations appeared to be aboveboard and that
creative accounting didn’t seem to have created Organic’s
substantial profits.

"I don’t have anything more, Mr. Dosdall. You and Mr.
Ashcroft have satisfied my questions."

"Very well, Walter. Then we will take our leave. But if you ever
have any further questions or concerns of any type, please bring
them to me first. I am confident that we will always resolve them as
easily as today’s concerns."

"Mr. Dosdall?"

"Yes, Walter."

"Would it be okay if I hung onto these journal entries? I’d like
to pore over them when I have more time . . . maybe take a bit of
pride in the success of my baby."

Dosdall glanced at Ashcroft, who responded with a slight nod.

"Of course, Walter. What information could there be that
should be withheld from the company’s own CEO? I only ask one
thing. If you have further questions, please call me directly. That
will keep lines of communication open and minimize
misunderstandings. Agreed?"

Marsden didn’t see that he had any choice at the moment.

"Agreed."

* * *

When the Chicagoans had returned to their car, there were
unresolved matters to be discussed between them.

"If he looks at those reports hard enough, Albert, he will have
more questions."

"If that is the case, my friend, we will be able to resolve his
concerns. I have confidence."

"I don’t share your faith in Marsden’s pliability, Albert. He’s no
fool. Sooner or later he will realize that he’s operating the largest
meth factory in the United States. No amount of accounting
explanations will satisfy him.

"It is my opinion that we should explain matters to Marsden
now . . . and in a way that will silence further doubts. That is the
recommendation I will give to my superiors."

"I really wish you would just let me handle Walter. This isn’t
Mexico. Some of your methods of explanation will not work so well
here." Dosdall shifted his body behind the wheel.

"People are people, Albert. Our methods will be effective. But
we shall allow
El Jefe
the final decision."

The community of Bellechester breathed a collective sigh of
relief as the Mercedes sedan turned onto County Road 2 and
headed out of town.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

By December 31, 2009, Raphael Santos had been with the
cartel an amazing fifteen years and had long since passed
Calderon’s tests. He had become not only a captain and a leader of
men in the cartel, but also a trusted aid and confidante to
El Jefe
.

Beyond his wildest imaginings at the beginning of his assault
on
Los Cinco
those many years ago, this past year he had actually
married Enrique Calderon’s only niece, Elena. It was no mystery
why it had taken Elena thirty-five years to find a husband. She was
greedy, easily angered, and selfish in every respect. But he had
married her, nevertheless.

Enrique Calderon had no children of his own. So the marriage
made Santos the closest thing Calderon had to a son. And as
Calderon’s
hijo
(ee´ho), he assumed prime position to succeed the
old man as head of the cartel.
He had already consolidated support
for his succession to the mantle of leadership. He had firmed up his
allies in the cartel. And ideally, he would receive Calderon’s
blessings as his successor very soon. The time to act was
approaching.

But it was not yet time.

The New Year’s Eve celebration at
Villa Calderon
featured all
the
Los Cinco
leadership. Mariachis played. The younger folk
danced. Calderon sat in his usual high-back chair near the stairs.
Santos, now in his mid-forties, sat in a similar chair to Calderon’s
left.

"It has been a good year for
Los Cinco
,
Jefe
." Santos offered his
bottle of
Dos Equis
in a casual toast.

Calderon lifted his Agave in acknowledgment.

"Indeed,
hijo
. A time of growth and prosperity. And a time of
peace in our home."

Calderon took a draw on his
Cubano
, rolling it between his
fingers as he exhaled.

"How long must I wait for you and Elena to bless me with a
grandchild,
hijo
? It has been six months already since the wedding
and I hear no news of a baby. I am not so young as I was yesterday,
you know. You should get busy."

Santos had no desire to bring a child into this world of drugs,
murder, and corruption. He was sterile by virtue of an operation
performed years ago . . . a fact he had no intention of disclosing to
anyone, especially his wife.

"
Jefe
, you insult my efforts." Santos smiled at Calderon, then
turned away to face the room. "I assure you, I am not to blame for
your waiting. Look to God for your delay. Have you not been faithful
in attending Mass of late?"

Calderon coughed out a laugh.

"Ah,
hijo
. You make me laugh. If I must wait on God for a
grandchild, I should just die now and have it over with." He laughed
once more and sipped the tequila. The conversation paused while
Calderon raised the
Cubano
, inhaling the cigar smoke deeply.

Santos wanted to change the subject back to cartel business.

"Would you agree,
Jefe
, that our new arrangement with the
Zetas
(say´-tahss) has saved us millions of dollars in lost shipments
. . . not to mention freeing our personnel to police the core of our
lands. We no longer must defend the northwest with such zeal."

"I must confess that I did not think it possible for
Los Cinco
to
reach accommodation with the
Zetas
." Calderon turned to the
younger man. "But you have made it so. And it has, indeed, proven
to our great benefit. The tolls we pay in exchange for free trade to
America are much less than it would cost to fight the
Zetas
at every
corner. They are bastards . . . but they have many trained fighters,
and have forever been dogs at our heels.

"And how is your other plan proceeding,
hijo
? Is it yet showing
signs of profit?"

"
Si, Jefe
. The legitimate elements of our business are profitable
in themselves. We are about to expand the scope of this enterprise,
as we have earlier discussed with such anticipation."

Santos leaned toward the old man.

"I am honored,
Jefe
, that you have accepted your nephew’s
guidance in this matter in the north. Continue to have patience with
me and an ample reward will soon be yours. I am anxious to reveal
additional details of our progress. Shall we discuss this further this
evening?"

Calderon laughed once more.

"Do not let your ambitions outpace your foot-soldiers,
hijo
.
Tonight is for celebration. I will hear of your plan’s success soon
enough. For this night, enjoy your beautiful bride."

Calderon nodded at Elena, chatting with a group of wives
across the room. In truth, she was quite beautiful on the outside. It
was her soul that was ugly.

"
Si, Jefe
. I have neglected my Elena for too long already."

Santos rose from his chair and once again raised his
cerveza
in
a toast.

"
Un próspero año nuevo, Jefe
. And may many grandchildren
know the wisdom of your counsel."

"
Gracias, hijo
. Now, go to your spouse." Calderon dismissed
Santos with a wave of his
Cubano
.