for safety reasons. He and Patton often took a chance on going it alone. Now it was coming back to bite them in the ass. His next move was to yell for his wife, Yolanda, who was outside watering plants on their deck.
Yolanda was born in Mexico, but her father was a chemical engineer and they immigrated to the United States when she was a teenager. There was a happy innocence about her face that Adams adored. She had a certain look and smile like she was waiting for him to crack his next joke. That look vanished when Adams said, “I need you to call your lover. Make it urgent.”
Adams was going to tell her they had grabbed Patton on the other side, but decided not to. The four of them were good friends and he was concerned the stress would show in her voice. He would tell her after.
It wasn’t the first time Yolanda had called this man. John had explained to her that the phone calls were likely being monitored. Any suspicion on the part of those listening would have a deadly impact on the man she was calling … and perhaps on her husband, as well.
Police Commander Jose Refugio Rubalcava sat behind the large wooden desk in his office. The desk was scarred up and had more than one bullet hole in it. At one time it had been varnished, but most of that had long since disappeared, leaving it to absorb a variety of stains.
Leaning against the wall behind him and within easy reach were an assortment of loaded shotguns, rifles, and automatic weapons. On the top of his desk were four pistols. Theoretically, the weapons were for him to sign out to his men. In reality, Rubalcava often wondered if he would be able to grab them in time to save himself from his men.
Rubalcava had ample cause to be worried. He was trying to be an honest cop. A very dangerous thing to be in Juarez, considering his six predecessors had all been murdered at the same desk he was sitting at. Rubalcava knew that many, if not all the murders, had been committed by policemen who still worked at his station.[1]
The choice given his predecessors was simple: plata o plomo — silver or lead. Six had bravely chosen not to accept the bribes. Their bravery had done nothing to thwart the ever-increasing control the drug cartels were spreading across Mexico and North America.
Rubalcava was trying a different approach. On occasion he knew he had to accept the silver to stay alive … or at least appear to keep the money. Local charities had done well from his kindness.
Rubalcava’s position did not demand that he wear a uniform, so he tended to dress casually with grey slacks and a short-sleeved shirt open at the neck. Today his shirt was a light charcoal colour that matched his hair. His wife said it made him look handsome.
Rubalcava knew better. At one time he was considered handsome, but the constant worry had caused him to look much older than he really was. His hair was prematurely greying and deep crevices cut through the dark sacks of skin below his eyes. His eyes once held sparkle and were quick to smile, but in the last few years they had found little to smile about.
From the outer office, Rubalcava heard a ripple of excited, gleeful whispers spread amongst his men. Something was going on, but he decided to ignore it. He knew he was not completely trusted. Rumours persisted that he talked to the Americans too much.
Police commanders were in a position where it was expected that they might talk to the Americans on occasion. The drug lords actually welcomed it as a way of finding out what the Americans were up to. The information Rubalcava obtained for the cartels, however, was usually insignificant or too long after the fact to be of benefit. When confronted about this, Rubalcava said perhaps the Americans did not trust him, either.
There was another small commotion in the outer office and he decided to take a look. This time the voices were not whispers. One of his men, Detective Sanchez, had given the secretary a gift. She had always ignored his advances before, but appeared delighted with the small silver frog pendant dangling from a chain. The frog’s red eyes matched her lipstick.
Rubalcava forced a smile and tried to look pleased with the happy atmosphere. I wonder who was robbed or killed in order for him to give that gift? He saw Sanchez eyeing him and their eyes met briefly. Sanchez smirked and turned his attention back to the secretary. He knows what I am thinking …
Sanchez was protected by a drug cartel headed by Rafael Aguilar Guajardo. It was the top drug cartel in the region, although their supremacy was being hotly contested by the rival Sinaloa cartel.
The Sinaloa cartel was originally based out of the Mexican states of Baja, Sinaloa, Durango, Sonora, and Chihuahua, but had expanded operations and as of late had been encroaching on territory long held by the Guajardo cartel. At the present time, the Guajardo cartel still remained firmly in control of most of Juarez and Sanchez knew he had nothing to fear from his commander.
Rubalcava casually scanned the office again. The excitement and whispers I heard earlier are not over a stolen pendant. Something else has happened … His thoughts were interrupted when his telephone rang and he went back to his office to answer it.
He immediately recognized the sexy voice asking to meet him again. Her husband had stepped out. They only had a few minutes of precious time before he would return. Rubalcava agreed and hung up the phone. I wonder what John Adams’s wife really looks like …
[1] As shocking and unbelievable as it may seem, nothing in this paragraph is fiction.
chapter four
It was late Friday afternoon when Jack arrived home and called the RCMP Telecommunications Centre to check Earl Porter’s name on the Canadian Police Information Centre’s computer. The CPIC query did not show any criminal record, but a notation did come back to say he was of interest to the Vancouver RCMP Drug Section.
Jack’s next call was to Sammy in Drug Section.
“Porter, yeah, he used to be of interest to us,” replied Sammy. “Not now, somebody must have forgotten to remove him from CPIC.”
“What’s the scoop?” asked Jack.
“Two years ago, Porter came up as a close associate of a guy who was our main target in an undercover operation. A fellow named Clive Slater.”
“What’s the story on Slater?”
“He’s a real pompous ass who likes to throw his money around in the night-club circuit. He drives a red Ferrari 430 F1 Spider and tries to act like he is a mafia don or something. We had a snitch who told us Porter and Slater were involved in coke in a big way.”
“Do you still have the snitch?”
“No. Last I heard the snitch is in jail in Ontario,” said Sammy. “He wasn’t deemed to be all that reliable, anyway. He was one of those types of guys who just suspects something, but then relays it as fact.”
“How did your investigation end up?” asked Jack.
“Well, at the time we did some checking and it turned out Porter and Slater had business connections in Ciudad Juarez, Mexico. Porter owned a company that made tourist trinkets and Slater was involved in a fruit company. We had our liaison officer out of Mexico City make some inquiries for us. According to the Mexican police, the companies are legit, but the LO said the police are so corrupt down there that you have to take everything they tell you with a grain of salt.”
“Sounds like the companies might be used for
