Page 5 of All Twisted Up
“Then fucking pay attention. This is important.” He finally dragged his gaze away from me and glanced around the room. I breathed out a sigh of relief now that his attention wasn’t laser focused on me. “As you know, Huerta and Mathis are away on their honeymoon, so we don’t have our new trackers. Fortunately, we won’t need their skills for this joint operation.”
He looked over to the woman who’d followed him into the room before addressing us again. “You all know Judy Mendez, our new IT support person, and if you don’t, take the time to introduce yourselves to her. She can see things on live SAT feeds during operations that you won’t have privy to once bullets start flying.”
The short, Hispanic, thirty-something woman standing beside Candy, holding an iPad waved. “I haven’t met all of you,but I’ve seen you in action,” she said with a smile. “I look forward to working with you.”
There were grunts of approval and greetings throughout the room.
“Joint operation, sir?” Good asked.
I glanced at the shortest man on our team, Padraic—Patsy—Good, nicknamed Good and Plenty, was our resident ARW team member. The Army Ranger Wing was the Irish Army’s special operations force, a branch of the Irish Defense Forces equivalent to the better-known British SAS. Patsy’s lilting Irish brogue always made me smile. I really admired the man. He’d overcome some tough stuff. I liked all the guys on our team, but Patsy was special.
“Yes,” Candy went on. “You should know from the outset that this is a joint FBI and DEA operation.”
A collective groan went up in the room as several members of the team protested. I got it. Working with the DEA on one of their fucked-up operations was never easy. It didn’t matter whether it was here in Los Angeles—our team’s new base of operations—or Houston, where we’d come from so recently. None of us trusted the drug enforcement guys as far as we could throw them, because their intel was generally suspect. I could understand that. Most of the intelligence they got came from their own undercovers who were embedded with this or that cartel, or given to them by informants.
The problem with informants was that they were—by their very nature—unreliable at best, usually coked-up or on meth. Personally, I preferred the coked-up ones, if I had to choose. At least they didn’t bounce off walls like the meth addicts who were…let’s face it…spun units. I was pretty sure most DEA agents were cleared to use drugs when the job called for it, sincethey had to pal around with drug dealers to get close enough to make a case. That never sat well with the FBI brass. We were a straitlaced group, though, blessedly, we weren’t required to wear suits like the agents in our office did. Our FBI’s Spec Ops Tac Team was made up of highly trained, former military special operators, one and all. We came from different branches, but we worked together like a well-oiled machine.
“Knock it off,” Candy bellowed to shut us up. It worked.
I sat up straighter in my seat and shook my head to clear any errant thoughts, almost immediately regretting it. I had a splitting headache and there wasn’t enough Tylenol in the world to tackle it at the moment.
The boss sighed, growling in that snarly way he did when he was irritated. The sigh that followed was telling. “Look…I know it’s been challenging to work with the DEA in the past, but that’s the assignment, so get used to the idea. We’re working with their agents alongside their Tac Team in this operation. Any questions? None? Good,” he growled. “Let’s move on.”
He turned to the whiteboard behind him, tapping the single photo tacked to it. “This is Pedro Gomez. He’s second-in-command of the Los Toros Cartel out of Mexicali, Mexico, just across the California border. His boss, Manuel Tomas, was taken into ICE custody while trying to cross the border, so he’s out of commission, leaving Gomez temporarily in charge, at least for the moment. Once he’s deported, he’ll no doubt be back to business as usual in Mexico.”
Candy turned around to face us. “For a little background—” He glanced at Judy and nodded.
She tapped several keys on her iPad. “Los Toros is a separate and much smaller cartel than the Sanchez Cartel, which still isn’tfully operational after Oscar Castillo and his brother were killed two months ago, thanks in part, to the agents on this team.”
“Make no mistake,” Candy continued. “Although we’re talking about two separate cartels here, they work like two cogs of the same fucked up drug cartel machine operating in Mexico. Not all of them are rivals and they try not to step on each other’s toes. When they do, it costs them money and men so none of them want war. There’re billions to be made for keeping the peace and not drawing attention to themselves. The cartels cover different territories, all selling the same poison.”
I nodded. Taking part in the operation down in the Cayman Islands had been satisfying. It wasn’t every day that the team got the chance to help kill the head of a cartel and put them out of business—if only temporary—as the underlings fought for dominance to take the top spot.
“The DEA tells us we’re in luck. Pedro Gomez is here in L.A. to meet with the new head of the Sanchez Cartel—Juan Rojas—who sells Los Toros’ the drugs they pedal. The goal of the meeting is to strengthen Los Toros’ alliance with Rojas to keep the pipeline flowing. The DEA tells us that might change once Rojas has had time to make changes now that he’s on top, but for now, the two cartels are working together.”
“Until Rojas decides he doesn’t need Gomez and Los Toros anymore,” I said.
Candy nodded. “Seems that way. The DEA is pretty sure they’re not at war and really want this alliance to work…for the time being anyway. Regardless, Gomez is holed up in an apartment in Chinatown, and he’s the DEA’s target.”
“Hang on,” Clifford said, raising his hand. “I must have missed something, boss. You’re saying the bloody Sanchez Cartel already replaced Oscar Castillo and his brother?”
I glanced at Marshall Clifford, the former British SAS sniper who drove our BearCat. We had a couple of snipers on our team—the other being the tall Texas Army Ranger—Rex Monroe. We all enjoyed their dual country rivalry which was pretty epic at times.
“According to the DEA, yes,” Candy replied. “AndifRojas is stupid enough to be caught with Gomez at the same location, taking them both into custody will be icing on the cake. Either way, the capture of even asinglehigh-level cartel boss is important to both the DEA and the FBI.” Candy pinned me with a glare. “Let me repeat that for the slower among you this morning. Rojas is not our target, so it doesn’t matter whether he’s there or not.” He turned back to the whiteboard and tapped Gomez’ picture. “He is.”
Monroe raised his hand. “I know we’re talkin’ about the DEA here, sir, and I may be slow…but don’t it make more sense to wait until the two are in the same place so they can grab ‘em both at once?”
“It would, yes, Monroe, but this isn’t our operation,” Candy reiterated. “It’s the DEA’s.”
“Gotcha,” Monroe said. “The DEA’s objective is to grab Gomez and we’re facilitatin’ that by clearin’ the way for ‘em,” he drawled. Candy nodded. “Oh…kay.”
“You’re all clear on this?”
“As mud,” Monroe said, stroking his square jaw.
Several people snickered. I loved Rex Monroe’s Texas twang. The country sounding boy was Houston born and bred. He was tall, sandy blond, and cowboy all the way down to his ever-present cowboy boots. The way he always had a bag of Reese’s Pieces shoved down into one of his cargo pockets had earnedMonroe his nickname. He was a stunning man…all six foot six of him was sex on a stick.
“And I should clarify…” Candy hesitated for the briefest of moments. “We’re not going into the building. We’re—” He stopped midsentence when the door opened and three people walked in.
