Nothing but Trouble_ A Kevin Kerney Novel - Michael Mcgarrity [121]
“Are you saying Officer Mendoza is clean?” Kerney asked.
“He is,” Hazen replied. “But Fidel has put the word out that he’s dirty and is using you and Bratton to convince our target suspects that we’re looking for the wrong people in the wrong place. By now every National Guard trooper on the line has heard scuttlebutt about the Playas operation.”
“Why the charade?” Flavio asked.
“Since we’ve tightened up the corridor crossings in El Paso, the smuggling networks have shifted west to the more dangerous desert and mountain zones. We’re not just after coyotes and soldiers on the pad. We want to shut down this operation on both sides of the border before the Bootheel turns into a sieve like southern Arizona.”
“Why did you keep the undercover agent’s identity secret?” Flavio asked.
“Because we think he was only suspected of being a cop,” Hazen replied. “Confirming it would have blown the operation completely.”
“What about the van I saw on the highway?” Kerney asked.
“Found abandoned in Phoenix. We matched the tires on it to tracks in the desert.”
“Agent Bratton is in over his head,” Kerney said. “I suppose Fidel wants it that way. Put the rookie out there with no training or guidance, give him a lot of misinformation, and let him flounder around for all to see. But why drag me in on it?”
Hazen smiled. “You and Sapian were doing too good of a job. Fidel had to coopt you, so he borrowed Mendoza as a target and fed you a line of bull to get you to back off.”
“He could have just leveled with me.”
Hazen smiled and shrugged. “It was his call.”
Kerney didn’t smile back. Although he’d been played by Fidel for a good cause, he still didn’t like being used as a patsy. “Okay, enough history. What’s the status of the investigation?”
“Sorry, I can’t tell you that.”
“Do you or any other federal agency have any other interdiction operations under way I should know about? ATF? DEA?” Kerney asked.
Hazen shook his head. “Nope. Why do you ask?”
Feeling unnecessarily exploited, Kerney decided not to voice his suspicions about Walter Shaw. “Just curious.”
“Can I tell Agent Fidel that you’ll continue to assist him?”
Kerney pushed back his chair. “I’ll play along. What was the dead agent’s name?”
“Roberto Sisneros.”
Kerney stood and shook Hazen’s hand. “Thanks for your candor. Tell Fidel that he can expect to hear from me about his little game playing the next time we meet.”
Hazen laughed. “I’ll pass it along.”
Johnny Jordan stood at the barricade to the Playas access road. Traffic had been closed so an aerial camera could film an overhead master shot of the town. A few steps away Susan Berman was talking to the second unit director and his cameraman. When the plane passed overhead, cars on the streets had to be moving, pedestrians had to be walking about, and kids had to be playing in the ball field or riding their bikes on the sidewalks.
Up at the village dozens of extras were standing by, waiting for their cue. Johnny was astonished at the effort it took to get a fifteen-second bird’s-eye view of townspeople going about their normal lives.
He glanced over at Susan Berman. Last night she’d turned down his invitation to drive to Deming for dinner at a Mexican restaurant, but he hadn’t given up on her. Three weeks in Playas without a woman just wouldn’t cut it.
After the plane took off from the Playas airstrip, the pilot made a few practice runs before the actual shooting began. Then it was all over in a matter of minutes. Johnny turned to see his sister’s car approaching the barricade. He walked to her, and she stopped on the pavement.
“I hear you’re playing house with Barry Hingle,” he said with a grin and shake of his head.
“Have you seen Kerney?” Julia asked.
Johnny hunkered down at the side of the car. “Not since yesterday. What’s up?”
“I just heard his wife got sent to Iraq.”
“No