before strapping on the black Velcro harness. It felt reassuring to have the gun ready. He then went to his travel bag for a loose fitting chambray shirt that he wore open over the gun. He arrived at the apartment after midnight and drove slowly around the parking lot. When it was confirmed safe, he parked near Sue Ann’s door and unloaded his gear. Once the car was parked, and he was secure inside, he closed all the curtains and turned on the lights. After bracing the front door with a chair and some noise making kitchen utensils, he used her computer to track progress of Ocean Wanderer. Sue Ann didn’t have password protection on her computer or network. The ship was several hundred miles northeast of the port of Puntarenas, in international waters. The Queen was still tied at the dock in San Francisco.
He slept uneasily, possibly because it was a dead girl’s apartment, he was sure of it, and also because it was only a matter of time before Peña came for him. He slept with his gun, and nothing happened that night. In the morning, he called Kasey McDougal, asking to meet with her. Two hours later, he was sitting in a corner conference room looking out the all-glass wall on the 13th Floor at 450 Golden Gate Avenue. The view was magnificent.
Kasey was joined by a junior agent carrying two thick case files. One was on Jose’s murder, and the other was a racketeering file against Peña. After introductions and other pleasantries, Hunter began. “I wanted to share some information with you and hopefully have you give me some information in exchange.”
Kasey was businesslike, “Mr. Kohl, this is a Federal agency, and we can’t disclose any information.”
He answered. “I know the protocol, but I hope you will look at me as kind of a teammate. I can give you information that you can’t get on your own.”
She wrinkled her mouth. “In that case, it’s probably information that we can’t use.”
He asked. “What do you know about the modifications to Peña’s ships?”
She looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“I gave information to John Richards about the hull modifications to Peña’s ship, the Ocean Wanderer. If he gave it to you, then it’s from a legitimate police agency to you.”
She looked at her associate, then back at Hunter. “Why don’t you repeat what you’ve given to Inspector Richards.”
“Where should I begin?”
“The last time we spoke was at the forensic site when he escorted your sister.”
Hunter was bemused. “He hasn’t spoken to you since then?”
She looked intent. “Once again, Mr. Kohl. Let’s just assume some pieces might be missing, and we’d like to be sure we’ve captured it all.”
He slowly nodded his understanding. “Alright, but I’d like a couple things. First, call me Hunter. Second, I’d like to have you think of me as a quasi-law officer. Until a year ago, I was in the US Border Patrol, and now I work for the California Governor’s office as a liaison officer with Congress.”
“Fair enough, Hunter. That’s grey enough that we may be able to use your direct input – as long as it’s legally obtained. You can call me Kasey.”
“Well, you’ll be the judge of legal matters, Kasey. I’m just relating the facts.”
Over the next half hour, Hunter reviewed each incident since the shooting at Jose’s park service. He laid out Sue Ann’s admission, and the fact that she was Peña’s lover. He said she was missing, and he presumed she was murdered. He also stated that John Richards was the only person besides Claire and him that knew of her relation with Peña”
Kasey took copious notes and nodded at references to Richards. She said. “Our main interest right now is the alleged racketeering by Peña.”
Hunter said, “If you check his boats, you’ll find the trap doors.”
Kasey responded, “Yeah, but it’s not enough. We need to catch him transporting drugs.”
He looked at her and her assistant for several moments before speaking. “How about if I could track every movement they make?”
She stared at him. “That would be some pretty fancy surveillance. I couldn’t get it authorized or admissible. If it led us to discovering his crime, it would get thrown out.”
He was mildly frustrated. “You mean that the modifications to his ships, and the trail from port to port isn’t enough to get a warrant to search them, maybe at the same time as the drugs are being unloaded?”
“The way we learned of modifications and the trailing of the ships is not admissible information. Therefore, anything we could get from a warrant based on that information is not admissible.”
“Kasey, you’re tying me all up.”
“Welcome to the US legal system, Hunter. If this was terrorism, we could use the Patriot act, but it’s not.”
“Look Kasey, I respect the constitution and all, but there has to be some way to catch this guy.”
She was frustrated. “Welcome to my world, Hunter. We know this guy is the biggest drug pusher on the west coast. We know he’s a murderer. I don’t doubt that he killed your cousin. He’s killed other lovers. We know all kinds of stuff about Peña. We just can’t prove any of it.”
“I’ve told you how to prove it.”
“Yeah, I know, but I can’t search based on any of it – it would blow the whole case.”
“Kasey, what can I do?”
“Hunter, I don’t know. I can’t let you get involved. These guys are killers.”
“That’s nothing new to me.”
“Yeah, well, maybe, but the FBI is not going to sanction anything you do as a freelancer.”
“What can you tell me, Kasey? I’m going to follow the boats for now to find out how the drugs get transferred. Any idea where I should look?”
Kasey excused her assistant saying the meeting was over. When he left, and the door was closed again, she said, “Hunter, I don’t know if this is useful to you or not, but Peña just started a pact with another big smuggler. This time, the guy’s in Los Angeles. He’s Mohamed Al-Zeid, goes by Mojo. He and Peña were enemies, but they now seem to be cooperating. Mojo has distribution all the way east, but he gets his stuff smuggled through Mexico. Peña on the other hand is a smuggler across the sea. He distributes too, but clashes with Mojo frequently. We think Mojo now does all the distribution, or most of it, and Peña supplies all his goods. This is all new intel, so this marriage is probably fragile since these guys have been mortal enemies for years and don’t trust each other. You can read all about Mojo on the internet, he’s not private like Peña. We’ll probably get Mojo sooner than Peña, and he might bring Peña down with him.”
He thought for a moment. “So, Kasey. If one of Peña’s ships just left Puntarenas with a load for Mojo, where would he deliver it?”
She grinned slightly. “Most likely around LA Harbor. Lots of ships come and go, and there are isolated docks in some locations. Peña could unload the drugs along with fish at some of them.”
Hunter said, “Alright, then I think I’ll drive south and visit some of the marinas.”
An hour later, Hunter went through the same security routine at Sue Ann’s and gathered all his gear for the drive south. It would take over six hours to reach the LA Basin. En route he called Laura, killing an hour of monotony driving through the farmlands around Fresno and Stockton. She was taking the right precautions, and he felt certain that any concern by Peña would be focused solely on him in California. When he called Claire, she asked where he was, and he wouldn’t tell her for their mutual safety. He said it was for “her own good.” She confirmed that John had been inquiring about Hunter’s plans. Hunter reminded her that he couldn’t be told.
It was nearly nightfall when he entered the outskirts of LA County, which was still an hour from the massive harbor. He stopped at a Mexican restaurant in West LA. Hunter had grown up eating Mexican food and never tired of it. Inside, he ordered a taco salad and used his laptop with wifi internet connection to check the location of Wanderer. As Kasey speculated, the ship wa
s on course east-northeast toward the mouth of the harbor. Several cities are connected to the expansive harbor, but at least he could get within an hour of any location once by the water.
After finishing dinner, he followed I-405 south to I-110, the Harbor Freeway, leading directly to San Pedro on the north end, near the entrance to the harbor. Most of the commercial fishing boats around Los Angeles used the docks in San Pedro. He stopped at Fisherman’s Village to track Ocean Wanderer.
The ship had docked a quarter mile farther out toward the mouth of the harbor in the commercial berthing area. The GPS data from the tracker gave one meter resolution, guiding him directly to the ship. He stopped several hundred meters away on Signal Street on a dirt shoulder littered with old beer cans and even an old mattress. His newer rental car was out of place in this rundown part of the port area characterized by pickup trucks with rotten beds from hauling equipment and gear soaked in salt water. All of the steel buildings were rusted through their galvanized finish. He could be blindfolded and still recognize the smell of old bilge waste and decaying sea life.
His computer and anything loose was locked in the trunk as he walked along the shoulder-less parts of the road toward Signal Place where Wanderer was berthed. He was dressed in dungarees and could pass for a dock worker. Halfway down the dock, Wanderer’s crew was attaching a cable from the large dock crane to a fish crate in the