He paused for a moment, thinking. “No. I think Ronaldo preferred to send lackeys over the border the old fashioned way. That’s how he got busted a few years back.”
“What about his son, Felix? Do you think he might have taken over his dad’s business?”
“No,” Mr. Mann said, “There’s no evidence at all of that. Felix is an upstanding citizen and businessman. He graduated magna cum laude from UCSD back in the day and hasn’t looked back to his family for years.”
UCSD? Excitement pumped through my veins. It was probably a coincidence, but wasn’t that where David said Senator Gorman and Rocky Rodriguez had known each other from? Maybe they had been pals with Felix, too! Of course, lots of people had gone to UCSD. But still, they all seemed around the same age….
“Is this Felix Lopez?” I asked, switching topics by pulling out Miguel’s brother’s photos from my manila folder. I knew it was, but I had to get videotaped confirmation from the expert for my story.
“Yes. That is Felix Lopez,” Mr. Mann agreed, after studying the photo. “Where was this taken? And when?” He looked agitated and suspicious all of a sudden, and I wondered why.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, grabbing the photo and sticking it back into the envelope. “I just wanted to make sure it was him.”
“Ms. Madison, what is this all about? Do you have something you’d like to share with me?” the official demanded.
“Not yet. Maybe soon, though,” I replied, doing my best to keep my cool. Couldn’t let The Mann get me down, after all. “And when I do, I swear you’ll be the first to know.” Which reminded me, I had to tell Richard about this story soon so we could schedule an airdate. He was going to be so psyched when he learned about it. Surely it’d be the best story all year.
“I hope so,” Mr. Mann said. “Because keeping this kind of information from your government in hopes of getting a lead story on the evening news isn’t very patriotic. Or”—he added, narrowing his eyes at me—“very legal.”
The intercom on his desk buzzed. Saved by the bell. “Senator Gorman is here to see you,” a female voice announced. “He says he’s ready for your golf game.”
I felt a chill spin up my spine. Not so saved after all. They were buddies? Thank goodness I hadn’t spilled my suspicions to this guy. How deep did this corruption go?
Mr. Mann broke out into the first smile I’d seen since I entered the place. “Excellent,” he said. “I’ll be right out.” He shot me a pointed look. “We’re all done here.”
*
“You sure this is the place?” I asked as Jamie pulled the News 9 SUV down a dusty, unpaved driveway in the desert town of Ramona. At the end of the road squatted a dilapidated trailer, its vinyl siding a dingy white. The yard around it had the stereotypical junkyard motif going on, and there was even a faded pink flamingo standing watch over a weedy garden of cacti.
“Fourteen Meditation Road,” he said, glancing down at the directions. “It’s got to be.”
“When Switchboard dot com said Meditation, I was kind of thinking Koi ponds and Japanese pagodas. What is this guy meditating on—the ancient American art of white trash?”
Jamie laughed appreciatively and put the SUV in park. “You are too much, Maddy.”
Seriously though, even he had to admit, this was the weirdest twist to the drug tunnel story yet.
Yesterday, on a hunch after the DEA interview, I’d gone to the UCSD student library and hit the yearbook section. I already knew what year Gorman went to business school there—his bio was on a billion Web sites. So I’d grabbed what would be his senior yearbook and dragged the dusty thing over to a table.
I flipped through it, trying not to pause and check out the funny outdated hairstyles and bell-bottoms, looking for some connection. Some tiny clue that would link Gorman, Rodriguez, and Lopez together.
Well, I found a clue all right. And it wasn’t little, either. In fact, it was downright Mr. Snuffleupagus sized.
Not only did I find a picture of all three men together, but they were wearing crowns. Celebrating the launch of their student company. And not just any student company. A student company named Coastal Kings. The same umbrella company now owned by Rodriguez and encompassing his car dealerships and Reardon Oil.
Even more intriguing was the fact that there was a fourth “king” in the photo. A king named Bob Reardon.
I couldn’t be more excited than if someone handed me a platinum card and pointed me to a Prada sample sale. Not only did I now have proof all these guys knew each other, I had a completely new “who” to add to my list. A man whose last name just happened to match the faux oil company I wanted to find out about.
I had to talk to this Reardon guy. Pronto. I had this feeling he’d know the answers to every one of my questions.
So, now we were here. Not exactly the kind of place I’d expected an MBA to hang his hat. To make matters worse, I couldn’t find a phone number, so he had no idea we were coming. What if he was some crazed psycho?
I raised my hand to knock, but before I could, the door swung inward. A man with a shock of white hair that made him seem older than he probably was stared at us from behind the screen.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“Um, yeah, hi. I’m Maddy Madison of News Nine and this is my photographer Jamie.”
The door slammed closed.
Oh-kay then. Not exactly the greeting I’d been hoping for. I banged on the door, not willing to give up.
“Mr. Reardon? I’m sorry to intrude and all, but really we just had a few questions.”
Silence.
“A, uh, few questions about Reardon Oil and Rocky Rodriguez, that is.” As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I regretted them. What the heck was I doing? What if he opened that door with a rifle and shot me to kingdom come?
The door opened and Reardon (sans gun, thank the Lord) peeked through again.
“What the hell do you want to know about Reardon Oil?” he asked.
“Please, sir.” I took a deep breath. “I just want to ask you a few questions.”
“You best ask Rocky. He owns Reardon Oil now. I don’t have anything to do with that shit. I got kids, you know.” He paused, peering at me with watery blue eyes. Then he raked a hand through his already ruffled hair and sighed. “You know about it, don’t you? That’s why you’ve come asking.”
I nodded, wondering if that was the right move. I could barely breathe.
“Right. I knew one day someone would find out. That’s why I wasn’t about to get involved with it all. I always said someday the shit would hit the fan and when it did, my nose would be clean.”
“Can you tell us the story?” I asked.
He thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure ’nough I guess. Long as you make sure it’s clear I had nothing to do with anything illegal. I don’t want the cops knocking on my door. But if this is all going to be made public in any case, might as well have the truth on record.”
My heart pounded with excitement as he ushered us inside. This was it! He was going to tell us everything. I stole a glance at Jamie, who still looked a little wary.
At least the interior had undergone a decent house-cleaning. It was small and the furniture worn, but it was clean and smelled like lemon-scented pledge. It could have been much worse. Like the time I did the story on Backyard Breeders and we went undercover to a woman’s house who kept fifty dogs (literally!) in a trailer. Bleh!
“I know it ain’t much, but it’s all paid for with honest, hardworking money. Not drug money,” said Reardon.
We sat down across from each other, him on a ratty armchair and me on the flowered couch and chatted about the weather while Jamie set up a few lights. A few minutes later Jamie touched me on the shoulder to let me know he was rolling tape.
“So, Mr. Reardon …” I began.
“Bob. Call me Bob.”
“Okay, Bob.” I smiled. I was calm. I was poised. I wasn’t going to get up and run screaming from the
room at the first sign of trouble. “I wanted to talk to you a little about Coastal Kings. I understand you and three others started the company back in college?”
“Yes. Me, Rocky, Felix, and Senator Gorman,” he said. “Of course, Gorman wasn’t a senator then, though I think the slime bag had political ambitions even then.” He gave a toothy grin. “The man was always a smooth talker.”
Interesting. Evidently Bob wasn’t too keen on his former classmate. Then again, neither was I and I’d never even met the guy.
“So when you graduated from business school, what happened then?”
“Well, we all went our separate ways, I guess. Gorman got a staff assistant position with the EPA, Rocky took over his dad’s car business, Felix went back to Mexico to squander his family’s wealth, and I started my own company, Reardon Oil.”
I felt the excitement tingling all the way to my toes. I could barely stand to sit there and act cool, calm, and collected.
“The same Reardon Oil located by Calla Verda? Now owned by Rocky?” I asked, wanting to be extremely clear. “Under the Coastal Kings umbrella?”
“There’s only one Reardon Oil,” Bob replied. “Though back then it had nothing to do with Coastal Kings. You see, my grandfather willed me the land and he died right before my graduation. He always told me he had high hopes that oil would be found there.” He glanced over at a tarnished frame containing a black-and-white photo of an elderly gentleman. “But he never had the money to do the digging.”
“But you did.”
“Not really, but I took out a loan. A big business loan. And I purchased all the equipment to dig oil, to fulfill the dream of my grandfather. The dumbass.” He shook his head. “There’s not a drop of oil on that damn property. Never has been, never will be.”
I made a note in my notebook. “So then what happened?”
“Well, it took me a few years, of course, to realize my life investment wasn’t worth diddly-squat. ‘Bout ten, I reckon. And by that time I had a million creditors after my ass.” He picked at a worn spot on his easy chair. “Not a pleasant situation to be in, let me tell you.”
“I can imagine,” I said sympathetically.
“So then I hear on the TV that Felix’s dad was busted for drug smuggling. We’d all heard rumors Felix was related to the Lopez cartel when we were in school, but of course no one ever had any proof. But still, the guy was my friend. So I contacted him to offer my condolences. And while talking to him, I happened to mention about my failed oil property. He seemed very interested, though at first I had no idea why.
“A few weeks later, Felix showed up on my front stoop, dressed to the nines and asked me if I wanted to go out to dinner, his treat. I was broke as a joke and he was my friend, so I said yes. That’s when he introduced his plan.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Which was?”
Reardon shook his head for a moment. “Can’t believe I’m telling you this,” he muttered. “But I’ve lived so long with the guilt, it feels kind of good to come clean. Besides, you know most of it anyway or you wouldn’t have come calling in the first place.”
He scratched at his bug-bitten forearm. “Felix had taken control of the cartel now that his dad was behind bars. But he didn’t want to smuggle drugs the old-fashioned way. Too small-potatoes for him, sending one mule over at a time. He told me he wanted to build a gigantic underground tunnel to cross the border—one that could fit truckloads of drugs. Told me we could get rich and there was very little risk. All I had to do was keep Reardon Oil in business—in name only. He’d do the rest.”
“And under the pretense of digging for oil, they could really dig an underground passage,” I mused.
“Exactly. But let me tell you, I wanted no part of that,” Reardon said, his eyes flashing. “I may have been broke and my life savings down the tubes, but I still had ethics. Morals. I wasn’t going to aid and abet a guy who wanted to smuggle in foreign substances that were killing Americans. I’m a church-going guy.”
“So you told Felix no.”
“Right. And I guess after that he went to Rocky.
‘Cause the next week Rocky showed up, just like Felix, dressed to the nines and wanting to take me out to dinner. I knew what he was going to ask me before he even opened his mouth.”
“Which was?”
“He offered to buy off Reardon Oil for twice what it was worth. Told me he wanted to try his hand at digging for oil. Like I was stupid or something.”
“So what did you do?”
“I sold.” He shrugged. “What was I supposed to do? I’d married by then and my baby girl needed diapers. And baby food ain’t cheap. So I pretended to believe Rocky when he said he wanted to dig for oil. And I turned over the property to him.”
“And then they built the tunnel.”
“Guess so. I stayed out of the whole thing so I couldn’t tell you for sure. They got our buddy Gorman to do an EPA sign-off of the property. My oil business hadn’t produced any oil in ten years and some nature lovers were trying to put me out of business. Once I sold, Gorman made sure that all got buried and Reardon Oil continued to exist for ten more years—far as I know they never sold a drop of oil.”
“And now?”
“Now they’re living large. And I’m stuck in a damn trailer. My wife left me. Took the kids.” He sighed. “Sometimes I tell you, Maddy, there are days I wished I hadn’t had any morals and pride. But you know what? I’m honest.” He cleared his throat. “And now that you’re investigating all this, something tells me I’m going to be real happy I’m not involved.”
“Yes, sir, you are.” I motioned for Jamie to turn off the camera. “Listen, Bob,” I said. “Are you sure you want to be telling me this stuff? I mean, not that I don’t appreciate you doing it, but isn’t it dangerous?”
Bob shrugged his thin shoulders. “Don’t matter much if it is,” he replied. “Truth is, I’m dying. Got the cancer. Doctors say I only have about a month to live. And I’m itching to get into Heaven, though I ain’t done much to deserve it. Maybe this will end up helping me out some with Saint Peter at them pearly gates.”
My heart went out to him. What a rough life he’d lived. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s all right, I’ve come to terms with it all. And I’m glad the other two are finally going to get their just desserts. You let the DEA know that I’ll be happy to talk to them once they open the investigation.”
I thought of Mr. Mann and wondered, once again, what side he was on. “I will,” I replied.
We thanked him again and walked back to the SUV in silence. I didn’t know for sure about Jamie, but I for one was blown away by the revelation we’d heard inside. It was like every puzzle piece fit into place. Every “i” was dotted, every “t” crossed.
Now all I had left was to write my story and get it on the air.
SAMPLE EMMY-AWARD WINNING SPEECH
(Just in case!)
Oh, wow. I’m so surprised. I didn’t even prepare a speech because I honestly didn’t think I’d win. After all, there were so many great entries in my category. (Name competition here––you will seem like a good sport.)
First of all, I’d like to thank the Academy. And God. And Jamie Hayes, amazing photographer and love of my life. Check out the big rock he just put on my finger, ladies and gentlemen. (Hold out big engagement ring (hopefully!) and pause for applause.)
I’d also like to thank our main anchor Terrance Toller, star of “Terrance Tells All,” who actually did absolutely nothing but read the piece and make sure his hair looked good for the stand-ups. (Pause for laughter.) But Terrance, we love you anyway––even if you are a pompous ass most of the time.
Oh and I would not like to thank my family. After all, my dad’s infidelity and my sister Lulu’s drug abuse nearly caused me to lose my sanity before the piece even had a chance to air! And mom––wherever in the world you’re currently shopping––you’d better bring me back something cool. And not one of those T-shirts that says, “
My mom went to such-and-such a place and all I got was this lousy T-shirt” either.
And lastly, I’d like to thank you. My adoring fans. Especially Diane in the front. Diane Dickson, that is. Who flew all the way out from New York to offer me a position at Newsline. And yes, I’ve accepted the position!
(PAUSE FOR TREMENDOUS STANDING OVATION!)
Chapter Seventeen
I held my breath as Terrance scanned the script. Waited for him to whip out his red pen. To mutilate the words that I’d spent so long crafting. To tell me that I sucked as a writer and his pet Chihuahua could have written better.
So I waited. And waited.
He flipped to the last page without making a single mark, then replaced the other pages on top. He looked up, wearing a strange expression I couldn’t read.
“You can tweak it,” I said, lamely, when he didn’t speak.
“Are you kidding? This doesn’t need tweaking.”
Oh, great. He hated it that much? “Or rewrite it from scratch,” I amended. “If you want.”
Please don’t want to, I begged silently. Please let me have this one story the way I want it.
“Rewrite?” Terrance looked down at the paper and then up at me. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t change a word.”
I almost fell over backward. “You ... you wouldn’t?” Was this some kind of sick joke? I figured he’d at least ask if we could shoot him doing a ride-along with border patrol or something equally lame.
“No. This is the best piece of journalism I’ve seen in the last ten years. You’ve covered all the angles. It’s fair. It gives all the facts. You’re uncovering a major scandal that has been going on for years and no one—not even the DEA—has any clue about it.”
“Well, um, thanks,” I said modestly. Inside, my reaction was a bit livelier.
Oh, yeah! Maddy Madison, getting a compliment from Mr. Toller .Who rules the universe, bay-bee?
It took every bit of willpower not to start doing the Snoopy dance right then and there.