Path To Justice
Chapter Six
Pepe was getting bored. They had been surveilling the front of Sakias’ World Food Imports warehouse on Revolucion for two hours. Pepe’s old friend from the Baja Norte State Police, Nacho Gutierrez, had picked him up at the border in his government car. The car screamed undercover police car. Pepe sprung for lunch at El Potrero Carnes. Over chilaquiles (fried corn tortilla strips simmered in salsa) with eggs and beans on top, Nacho caught Pepe up on his three kids. Nacho wanted to retire from the state police, draw his small pension, and work in private security where it was safer.
It looked like a slow business day for World Food Imports. Only a few people had come in or out of the front door. “How about circling around to see what is going on in the back of the warehouse?”
“Sure Pepe. I can only give you 30 more minutes. I’m expected back.” Nacho drove to the back and parked on a small street that was lined with empty, boarded-up businesses. They had a direct view through stacked pallets of the warehouse’s loading dock. Pepe focused his camera on the back door, leaning over Nacho to take a photo. Suddenly, revved up motors and screeching tires filled the air. Pepe turned and saw two black S.U.V.s skidding to a stop on either side of their car, blocking them in. Pepe thought, Fuck, I don’t have a gun, I had to leave it at the border. That was his last thought before his eyes were blinded and his ears assaulted by horrific bangs and flashes of light. Pepe automatically doubled over below the front dashboard. He felt confused, had no equilibrium, and felt piercing pain in his ears. Both doors opened. Pepe turned and saw a hooded figure swinging his arm at his head. Pepe moved his head slightly, just enough to avoid the full brunt of the blow from a gun’s handle to the right side of his head. He went limp.
Pepe slowly came back to consciousness. He didn’t know how long he had been out. His arms and legs were bound, a gag was in his mouth, and a hood was over his head. He had a crushing headache and his ears still ached. Pepe knew he was in a vehicle, lying under something. He was being jostled about. Pepe rolled around, trying to feel for Nacho. Nacho wasn’t there.
The road was getting bumpier. Pepe could smell the dust in the air. For a few minutes there was a terrible stench in the air. He heard seagulls squawking. Maybe a dump?
Minutes passed and the vehicle stopped. Pepe was dragged out onto the ground. Strong hands grabbed him and he was dragged along a path. He heard a door open. He was pulled up steps onto some type of a floor. Another door opened and he was flung to the ground. The door closed.
For what seemed like hours and hours, Pepe laid in complete darkness under a hood. His head throbbed with pain. He thought, I have to stay awake. I have to stay alive. I want to see my family again. I can get out of this somehow. Pepe fought the doubt creeping in. Deep down he knew it was unlikely that he would survive this. He prayed for the first time in years. He thought about his years as an altar boy and the hours he spent praying on his knees on the cold stone floor of the village church.
A hooded man came into the room, removed Pepe’s hood and gave him some water. Pepe was so parched he could barely speak. “Where, where is my friend Nacho?”
The man answered Pepe with a slap to his face. “Don’t talk. It isn’t your concern what happens to that pig.”
“Chacal” (Jackal) felt good about himself as he watched television in the living room of the safe house above the Tijuana dump. He had led the team of six who had penned the cops in their car, blasted them with stun grenades, hogtied them, and brought them in separate
Jim Dutton
cars to the safe house. His team had gotten rid of the two S.U.V.s they used in the kidnapping. There were two old pickups out front that could be used to haul produce, materials, or bodies around.
Chacal’s source in the state police had told him that there was an all out manhunt for the two officers. The Norte-Americanos were exerting extreme pressure on Mexican law enforcement to find the California agent. Chacal waited for his boss’ call.
Nick tried to reach Pepe on his cellphone in the afternoon. Nick had expected Pepe to be back in the office by 4:30. After working 20 years together, both knew that Pepe would check in if he was delayed. Pepe didn’t answer Nick’s multiple calls. Nick checked with the rest of the team—no one had heard from Pepe. Everyone thought it was strange.
Nick called his old friend, Bea Kowalski, the United States Attorney for the Southern District of California. “Bea, this is Nick. I have a missing agent, Pepe Cantana, who was surveilling a business this afternoon on Avenida Revolucion with Baja Norte state police officer Nacho Gutierrez. The business is World Food Imports, housed in a warehouse. We suspect it’s a money laundering front for the Baja Norte Familia. He should have been back an hour ago, or at least checked in. I have worked with him for 20 years. Pepe is very dependable.”
“Nick, it has only been a short time. I’m sure he is okay. He’s probably having a cerveza with his Mexican colleague.”
“Bea, I know my agent. He would have checked in. Something has happened. I can feel it.”
“Okay, I know your feelings and how they have worked out in the past.
What do you want me to do?”
“I know the DEA has a few agents working with the state and federal police in Tijuana. Can you contact them and send them out to World Food Imports right away?
“Will do. I will let you know as soon as we hear anything.”
“Thank you. I owe you one.”
Nick was counting the minutes from the end of his conversation with Bea. Forty minutes later his cell rang. “Nick, bad news. The government car Pepe and Nacho were in was found on a back street behind the World Food Imports warehouse. Pepe’s cellphone was on the center console. Four expended stun grenades were just outside the car. Federal, state, and city police have been instructed to do a complete sweep of the area.”
“I want to go down there. I’ll bring my agents.”
“You can’t Nick. We have to comply with our international treaties and agreements with Mexico. We can’t have unauthorized law enforcement flooding into Tijuana. I was able to send a few more DEA agents to help with the search. Everything that can be done, is being done. They will find Pepe.” “Please have the DEA agents keep me informed. I will be at my office.”
Nick’s head drooped. He began to nod off. A half dozen cups of coffee and updates every couple of hours weren’t enough to keep his eyes open. Jerry gently shook Nick awake. “The sun is coming up
Nick. It’s 6:30. What do you want us to do?”
“Any word yet?”
“No. They have expanded the search. Every business and house within a mile radius of the kidnapping has been searched. They are canvassing known cartel body dumping spots from Tijuana to Tecate to Ensenada. It doesn’t look good.”
“I’m not giving up hope. We’re going down there to help. I don’t give a shit about international treaties.”
El Toro’s call came at two in the morning. “Chacal, I haven’t seen law enforcement out like this. It must be because of the American cop you snatched.”
Jim Dutton
“Yes sir. I heard from my state police contact that they have never been rousted in full force like this before. The gringos want their cop back real bad.”
“They can make it tough on us if the American cop shows up dead. It’s bad for business. The message still gets sent for the state policeman. We can’t have them messing with our friends. Do away with him. Don’t hurt the American. Send a more subtle message. Lay him next to his dead Mexican colleague with a message to stay on his side of the border. Drop the bodies at La Bufadora by 5:00 A.M. That should get their attention.”
John and Gretchen Sparrow wanted to see the famous La Bufadora in Ensenada before the crowds. The ocean bursting through the hole in the rocks with each wave was supposed to be spectacular. It was the first time that John and Gretchen had traveled abroad from their farm in Iowa. They were used to getting up early in the morning to feed their livestock.
At 6:30, John pulled into the parking lot by the blowhole. They could see the spray erupting above the rocks from the parking lot. As they walked closer, they saw two dark shapes lying by the edge the blowhole. John crept closer and saw two bodies. Both were tied and gagged. One was lying in a pool of blood. His throat had been slit. The other man’s eyes were dancing about, reflecting fear and determination. The man had I.D. credentials open on his stomach and handwritten words in dark red across the chest of his white shirt,
STAY ON YOUR SIDE OF THE BORDER.
Gretchen came up. Her loud, high-pitched screams competed with the noise from La Bufadora. John removed the gag. Pepe gasped, “I’m an American police officer. Get the police!”
Nick and the team were loaded to leave when Nick’s cell rang. “Nick, tourists found Pepe alive next to La Bufadora in Ensenada.
His friend Nacho was beside him, dead. His throat had been slashed.” Tears came to Nick’s eyes. He couldn’t talk. Bea said, “Nick, are you still on the phone?”
A few seconds past. Nick got ahold of himself. “Yes, I want to go there.”
“He won’t be there by the time you arrive. A life flight helicopter is on its way to pick him up and bring him back to Scripps
Hospital in La Jolla. Pepe should be there in 30 minutes.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much. I will be there when he lands.”
Nick and the task force members were at the rooftop helo pad when the helicopter landed. Pepe was on a stretcher. Nick went to him as the medics were lifting him out of the copter. Pepe was hooked up to an I.V. and had a blood pressure cuff around his arm. Pepe reached out and grabbed Nick’s hand. “I’m alright Nick. I took a blow to the head, but the bleeding has stopped.”
“Thank God. I always knew you were one tough son-of-a-bitch. There’s no way you’d die on me.”
“Die on you and miss your cheapskate team party at the end on the year? No way.”
The medics intervened. “We have to take Mr. Cantana to the emergency room. Although his vitals are fine, he did suffer a blow to the head. He may have a concussion.”
Nick said, “Thank you. Pepe, I’m sorry about Nacho. He was a good man.”
“I know. He won’t be forgotten.”
“You and I have long memories, Pepe. One way or another the men who did this to Nacho and you will get their due.”
Path To Justice
Chapter Six
Pepe was getting bored. They had been surveilling the front of Sakias’ World Food Imports warehouse on Revolucion for two hours. Pepe’s old friend from the Baja Norte State Police, Nacho Gutierrez, had picked him up at the border in his government car. The car screamed undercover police car. Pepe sprung for lunch at El Potrero Carnes. Over chilaquiles (fried corn tortilla strips simmered in salsa) with eggs and beans on top, Nacho caught Pepe up on his three kids. Nacho wanted to retire from the state police, draw his small pension, and work in private security where it was safer.
It looked like a slow business day for World Food Imports. Only a few people had come in or out of the front door. “How about circling around to see what is going on in the back of the warehouse?”
“Sure Pepe. I can only give you 30 more minutes. I’m expected back.” Nacho drove to the back and parked on a small street that was lined with empty, boarded-up businesses. They had a direct view through stacked pallets of the warehouse’s loading dock. Pepe focused his camera on the back door, leaning over Nacho to take a photo. Suddenly, revved up motors and screeching tires filled the air. Pepe turned and saw two black S.U.V.s skidding to a stop on either side of their car, blocking them in. Pepe thought, Fuck, I don’t have a gun, I had to leave it at the border. That was his last thought before his eyes were blinded and his ears assaulted by horrific bangs and flashes of light. Pepe automatically doubled over below the front dashboard. He felt confused, had no equilibrium, and felt piercing pain in his ears. Both doors opened. Pepe turned and saw a hooded figure swinging his arm at his head. Pepe moved his head slightly, just enough to avoid the full brunt of the blow from a gun’s handle to the right side of his head. He went limp.
Pepe slowly came back to consciousness. He didn’t know how long he had been out. His arms and legs were bound, a gag was in his mouth, and a hood was over his head. He had a crushing headache and his ears still ached. Pepe knew he was in a vehicle, lying under something. He was being jostled about. Pepe rolled around, trying to feel for Nacho. Nacho wasn’t there.
The road was getting bumpier. Pepe could smell the dust in the air. For a few minutes there was a terrible stench in the air. He heard seagulls squawking. Maybe a dump?
Minutes passed and the vehicle stopped. Pepe was dragged out onto the ground. Strong hands grabbed him and he was dragged along a path. He heard a door open. He was pulled up steps onto some type of a floor. Another door opened and he was flung to the ground. The door closed.
For what seemed like hours and hours, Pepe laid in complete darkness under a hood. His head throbbed with pain. He thought, I have to stay awake. I have to stay alive. I want to see my family again. I can get out of this somehow. Pepe fought the doubt creeping in. Deep down he knew it was unlikely that he would survive this. He prayed for the first time in years. He thought about his years as an altar boy and the hours he spent praying on his knees on the cold stone floor of the village church.
A hooded man came into the room, removed Pepe’s hood and gave him some water. Pepe was so parched he could barely speak. “Where, where is my friend Nacho?”
The man answered Pepe with a slap to his face. “Don’t talk. It isn’t your concern what happens to that pig.”
“Chacal” (Jackal) felt good about himself as he watched television in the living room of the safe house above the Tijuana dump. He had led the team of six who had penned the cops in their car, blasted them with stun grenades, hogtied them, and brought them in separate
Jim Dutton
cars to the safe house. His team had gotten rid of the two S.U.V.s they used in the kidnapping. There were two old pickups out front that could be used to haul produce, materials, or bodies around.
Chacal’s source in the state police had told him that there was an all out manhunt for the two officers. The Norte-Americanos were exerting extreme pressure on Mexican law enforcement to find the California agent. Chacal waited for his boss’ call.
Nick tried to reach Pepe on his cellphone in the afternoon. Nick had expected Pepe to be back in the office by 4:30. After working 20 years together, both knew that Pepe would check in if he was delayed. Pepe didn’t answer Nick’s multiple calls. Nick checked with the rest of the team—no one had heard from Pepe. Everyone thought it was strange.
Nick called his old friend, Bea Kowalski, the United States Attorney for the Southern District of California. “Bea, this is Nick. I have a missing agent, Pepe Cantana, who was surveilling a business this afternoon on Avenida Revolucion with Baja Norte state police officer Nacho Gutierrez. The business is World Food Imports, housed in a warehouse. We suspect it’s a money laundering front for the Baja Norte Familia. He should have been back an hour ago, or at least checked in. I have worked with him for 20 years. Pepe is very dependable.”
“Nick, it has only been a short time. I’m sure he is okay. He’s probably having a cerveza with his Mexican colleague.”
“Bea, I know my agent. He would have checked in. Something has happened. I can feel it.”
“Okay, I know your feelings and how they have worked out in the past.
What do you want me to do?”
“I know the DEA has a few agents working with the state and federal police in Tijuana. Can you contact them and send them out to World Food Imports right away?
“Will do. I will let you know as soon as we hear anything.”
“Thank you. I owe you one.”
Nick was counting the minutes from the end of his conversation with Bea. Forty minutes later his cell rang. “Nick, bad news. The government car Pepe and Nacho were in was found on a back street behind the World Food Imports warehouse. Pepe’s cellphone was on the center console. Four expended stun grenades were just outside the car. Federal, state, and city police have been instructed to do a complete sweep of the area.”
“I want to go down there. I’ll bring my agents.”
“You can’t Nick. We have to comply with our international treaties and agreements with Mexico. We can’t have unauthorized law enforcement flooding into Tijuana. I was able to send a few more DEA agents to help with the search. Everything that can be done, is being done. They will find Pepe.” “Please have the DEA agents keep me informed. I will be at my office.”
Nick’s head drooped. He began to nod off. A half dozen cups of coffee and updates every couple of hours weren’t enough to keep his eyes open. Jerry gently shook Nick awake. “The sun is coming up
Nick. It’s 6:30. What do you want us to do?”
“Any word yet?”
“No. They have expanded the search. Every business and house within a mile radius of the kidnapping has been searched. They are canvassing known cartel body dumping spots from Tijuana to Tecate to Ensenada. It doesn’t look good.”
“I’m not giving up hope. We’re going down there to help. I don’t give a shit about international treaties.”
El Toro’s call came at two in the morning. “Chacal, I haven’t seen law enforcement out like this. It must be because of the American cop you snatched.”
Jim Dutton
“Yes sir. I heard from my state police contact that they have never been rousted in full force like this before. The gringos want their cop back real bad.”
“They can make it tough on us if the American cop shows up dead. It’s bad for business. The message still gets sent for the state policeman. We can’t have them messing with our friends. Do away with him. Don’t hurt the American. Send a more subtle message. Lay him next to his dead Mexican colleague with a message to stay on his side of the border. Drop the bodies at La Bufadora by 5:00 A.M. That should get their attention.”
John and Gretchen Sparrow wanted to see the famous La Bufadora in Ensenada before the crowds. The ocean bursting through the hole in the rocks with each wave was supposed to be spectacular. It was the first time that John and Gretchen had traveled abroad from their farm in Iowa. They were used to getting up early in the morning to feed their livestock.
At 6:30, John pulled into the parking lot by the blowhole. They could see the spray erupting above the rocks from the parking lot. As they walked closer, they saw two dark shapes lying by the edge the blowhole. John crept closer and saw two bodies. Both were tied and gagged. One was lying in a pool of blood. His throat had been slit. The other man’s eyes were dancing about, reflecting fear and determination. The man had I.D. credentials open on his stomach and handwritten words in dark red across the chest of his white shirt,
STAY ON YOUR SIDE OF THE BORDER.
Gretchen came up. Her loud, high-pitched screams competed with the noise from La Bufadora. John removed the gag. Pepe gasped, “I’m an American police officer. Get the police!”
Nick and the team were loaded to leave when Nick’s cell rang. “Nick, tourists found Pepe alive next to La Bufadora in Ensenada.
His friend Nacho was beside him, dead. His throat had been slashed.” Tears came to Nick’s eyes. He couldn’t talk. Bea said, “Nick, are you still on the phone?”
A few seconds past. Nick got ahold of himself. “Yes, I want to go there.”
“He won’t be there by the time you arrive. A life flight helicopter is on its way to pick him up and bring him back to Scripps
Hospital in La Jolla. Pepe should be there in 30 minutes.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much. I will be there when he lands.”
Nick and the task force members were at the rooftop helo pad when the helicopter landed. Pepe was on a stretcher. Nick went to him as the medics were lifting him out of the copter. Pepe was hooked up to an I.V. and had a blood pressure cuff around his arm. Pepe reached out and grabbed Nick’s hand. “I’m alright Nick. I took a blow to the head, but the bleeding has stopped.”
“Thank God. I always knew you were one tough son-of-a-bitch. There’s no way you’d die on me.”
“Die on you and miss your cheapskate team party at the end on the year? No way.”
The medics intervened. “We have to take Mr. Cantana to the emergency room. Although his vitals are fine, he did suffer a blow to the head. He may have a concussion.”
Nick said, “Thank you. Pepe, I’m sorry about Nacho. He was a good man.”
“I know. He won’t be forgotten.”
“You and I have long memories, Pepe. One way or another the men who did this to Nacho and you will get their due.”