Mears Park in Lowertown St. Paul is one of the most beautiful urban parks in the country. It occupies an entire city block and is surrounded by restaurants, jazz clubs, and theatres. The buildings above the sidewalks date back to the turn of the century, updated with modern touches and facilities.
Through the middle of the park, a stream of fresh water bounces over small waterfalls, twisting its way down under the streets to empty into the Mississippi River at the foot of the bluffs below St. Paul. On that same water, black and white tugboats groan to push heavy barges south on their journey to New Orleans.
When Paul got there, a gray bank of rain clouds hovered above the park, and the air smelled metallic with ozone. A storm was coming for sure. He’d remembered to bring an umbrella, because a May rain in Minnesota could be a gusher, as the locals called them. He cut across the park to find the coffee shop Joan had recommended.
He needed her help badly, as well as any information she could give him. Considering the intense competition that existed between government agencies, he was sure any work or investigation he did with Joan would never get back to Conway. Whichever agency figured out what was behind the Ahmed murder would reap the rewards: bigger budgets, promotions, and higher salaries for everyone.
Paul realized he’d have to be careful. Just that morning, he had walked by his secretary’s vacant desk. He’d glanced at her computer to find his emails reproduced on the screen. Conway must have ordered her to shadow his mail. That scared Paul.
Ten minutes later Joan interrupted his thoughts as she walked in the door, blinked at the bright lights, and spotted him. Although she had a Latin name, she was pure Scandinavian all the way. A tight red dress clung to her shapely body as she wobbled toward him on high heels.
“I’m, like, never getting used to these damn things,” Joan complained. “Gotta wear ’em for the office. ‘Look professional,’ they always say.”
“You look great, Joan.” Paul stood and hugged her a little too long. She didn’t seem to mind and even pecked him on the cheek before breaking away.
“I need something stronger than coffee.” She plopped into the chair next to him. “Talk about pressure! These disappearing kids have got all of us on high alert.”
“I know.”
“Immigration and Customs Enforcement is the first line of defense. The boss is whipping us day and night, and since I’m second in command, you can imagine the shit I’m getting.” She squinted up at the menu, written in chalk on the wall. “They write too small to see from here. Maybe they should have fewer choices so they don’t have to squish every word on the board.”
Paul smiled, knowing the real problem was that she was just too vain. “Wear your glasses. You look good in them.”
She huffed but dug in her purse for the glasses case. “Well, listen.” She glanced from right to left. “You gotta keep quiet about this case. If our meeting ever gets back to the boss, I’m toast.”
In the background, Paul heard the grinding of coffee beans. Their scent was rich and heavy. “Same here. I think Conway hates everyone at ICE.”
“Screw him! Most of your agents think they’re on TV all the time.” Joan bounced up and headed for the counter. She came back with a skim-milk latte. “Here’s the skinny. I told you El-Amin is connected.”
Paul nodded.
“Well, he’s part of a large criminal network.” Her arms swung wide. “We think he’s a ‘snakehead.’”
“A what?”
“Snakehead. It’s a term that means—like we used to use the term ‘coyotes’—the guys who do the dirty work. Recruiting, transporting, stuff like that. But now, they’re a lot more sophisticated. A dude like El-Amin is trained and well-financed.”
“Who do you think he works for?”
Joan shrugged, and tightly bound breasts rose and fell with her shoulders. She sipped her latte and licked a strip of foam off her upper lip. “Who the hell knows? These are international networks, kind of like on the Web. They plug in people as they need them from overseas. Let’s say you need financing to transport kidneys into the US. If you know where to look, you offer the deal to a select group of money guys. They bid on the job. When you’ve got the money lined up, you offer jobs to others for procurement, warehousing, labor, and bribes to get by customs in the countries where you’re going to deliver the kidneys to buyers.”
“How can they trust each other?”
“Shit! They don’t trust anyone. If you take a job and rip off the dude who gave you the job, everyone finds out quickly, and you’ll never get another offer—if you can even keep your life. The guy who offered will also offer a contract to get you killed. It’s a pure form of capitalism.”
“They didn’t teach that in my Econ class in college,” Paul said.
“You’re too old already.” When Joan laughed, it crinkled the corners of her eyes. “I guess a better example is Facebook. Criminals anywhere in the world can ‘invite friends’ to join their network. Each of them brings a different skill set to the group.”
“So, unlike the old criminal organizations that were in physical proximity to each other, these guys can hook up, do the job, split, and disappear forever.” He leaned forward and smelled her musky perfume. “And from what I’ve seen, these new guys are really smart.”
Joan raised her shoulders. “We’ve got some pretty bright bulbs, too.”
“How does El-Amin fit into this?”
She paused and moved her eyes over him. “Like I said, he’s a snakehead—grunt labor. Today they may smuggle stolen human organs, tomorrow drugs, artwork, or even Somali boys.” She sighed and looked at him closely.
“I get it.”
“We have to trade intel or this won’t work, Paul.”
He nodded. “But why did he kill the Ahmed boy?”
She took another sip of latte. Another slow lick of her lips. “Don’t know for sure, but here’s what concerns ICE. The network behind him must be bigger than we thought originally, highly organized, and full of loyal people. To ‘disappear’ these young men and never bring them back is complicated and risky. How and why did they do it?”
“Of course, the FBI thinks it’s all recruiting for El-Shabaab in Somalia. I thought so too, until the Ahmed boy came back.”
Neither spoke for a few minutes. Paul said, “Have you ever heard of something called the Army Medical Research Agency? Give me something worthwhile.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, give me more, buddy.”
“Look, Joan. I’m risking my career—”
“Bullshit. I’ve kissed you; kiss me back.”
“Well, El-Amin’s defense team has found an alibi witness.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve got a contact with the defense team.”
“Who’s this witness? ICE should check him out.”
“Sorry, Joan. If I have to, I’ll invoke the Patriot Act and get the guy off the radar.” He opened his palms toward her. “Best thing to happen to the Bureau.”
“The Patriot Act?”
“Gave us new tools for investigation and interrogation.”
She looked closely at him. “Can’t see you waterboarding anyone. Let’s go back to this witness. If El-Amin’s got an alibi, have you thought about the possibility he’s innocent? If so, what a fuckin’ Pandora’s box that would open.”
Exactly the same fear Paul had.
“Anything else?”
“We’ve got an asset in the Somali community. Guy works at a local deli. He’s given us solid stuff.”
“Who is he?”
Paul smiled and remained silent.
Joan sighed and sat back in her chair. “So, you’re putting your neck on the line for this one.” She leaned forward, close to his face. “It’s because of the crap in Milwaukee, isn’t it? You’re trying to make up for that.”
“Could be.”
“I remember when we met at the training at Quantico. How about the automatic rifle training? And oh, don’t forget
the self-defense course.” A smile squirreled across her mouth.
Paul laughed at the memory. “Your fingernails were so long they just about recycled you because you wouldn’t trim them.”
“They thought I couldn’t get my finger into the trigger guard of the nine-millimeter fast enough. And then—” Her arms flew out to the side like an umbrella popping open. “The vest, the damn Kevlar vest. It was so bulky, I couldn’t fasten it over my boobs. I’m like, tryin’ to tell those old instructors with the crew-cuts what it’s like.”
“I suppose they wanted you to demonstrate the problem.”
“No shit. I could almost hear them grunting while they drooled.”
They both laughed hard. Joan wiped her eyes. “That was before your case in Milwaukee.”
“I was on the fast track. Two years later, I got a career break and was ordered out on a case for investigation of a serial killer. Really stinky case, a load of a human being. I worked my ass off on that one. Felt sorry for the families.”
“Did you bust the dirtbag?”
“Damn right. With help from the local PD, we got the son of a bitch. I was told to hold him until the big shots from Washington got there to interrogate the prisoner.”
“But—” She drew out the word. “You didn’t.”
Paul shook his head and felt the shudder in his chest even after all these years. “No, I was going to do a General George Custer—wrap it all up before the rest of the army got there. So I talked to him and got a few facts. When the big shots arrived, they finished the job and got a confession to everything. Two months later, the asshole comes up for trial and the judge tossed the confession—and the entire case—because of the way I’d ‘coerced’ the statement from him.”
Joan rested her hand on Paul’s arm. She squeezed softly.
Paul took a deep breath. “I ended up here, answering tip-lines on Sunday afternoons.”
She felt for his hand and probed with her fingers. They felt warm and slightly moist. “Be careful, Paul. ICE is all over this. I’m going to blow the lid off this and expose whatever is rotting underneath. Let us take the shots. We’ve been using some private contractors—don’t breathe a word—that have been productive. How about this murder case? Will El-Amin be convicted?”
“There’s a DNA match. We want him taken out.”
“If Conway’s already after your ass, don’t serve it to him.”
He looked at her face, her hair and the brown color of the roots peeking out from underneath the blonde. “It’s personal, Joan.”
“You want to prove yourself. We all do; that’s why we went into this crazy business.”
“It’s more than that. It’s the families in Milwaukee that I let down. The kid killed here, and his family. I want to, somehow, make it up to all of them.” He changed the subject. “How are your kids?”
“Kid. Mark is ten. He’s great. Can’t say that for his ‘bio-dad,’ who’s never around. He never works on the hard stuff, like when Mark’s sick and failing at school. Dad just shows up for the fun things like birthdays.” Joan stopped, blinked, and said, “Sorry, they don’t let me out much anymore. I hardly even date now. No time, and there’s a lot of losers out there.”
“I know what you’re saying.”
She cleared her throat. “If we weren’t friends, this wouldn’t be happening. Be careful. El-Amin may be in custody, but we don’t know how many others are out there with an interest in the case. I’m talking about the people higher up. Who are they, and what will they do next?”
“Right. I’ll keep in touch. If I get anything on this alibi witness, I’ll pass it on. He’s an imam. Most are legit, of course, but this one smells to me.”
“Oh?”
“We’re getting a lot more traffic all of a sudden. Phone intercepts, Internet data, informants jumping around like popcorn. Something big is going to happen.” His eyes dropped to the table, to their empty cups and Joan’s crumpled napkin stained with her ruby lipstick. “I’m being extra careful; you should, too,” he told her.
It wasn’t himself he worried about the most. He thought of Zehra Henning.
Chapter Fifteen