Aztec Treasure

Senior Agent Frank Donovan’s POV

Sons of Tezcatlipoca Task Force, Los Angeles

The Task Force was busy, but I wasn’t. The drug angle of the Task Force was winding down. We shut down the drug pipelines into the USA, and the players were dead or arrested. The action now was with the US Attorneys to prove the RICO cases. I was still the liaison between Chase Nygaard and the Task Force, but he didn’t have any new information for me. Arrowhead had far more problems now than helping take down a biker gang.

I attached myself to the search for Maria Meztli, figuring it might help figure out what happened to the money in the Denver chapter. I started working with the FBI’s forensic accountants, Border Patrol, and the DEA’s Denver branch to find the young lady and the orphaned baby. CIA man Al Perkins joined our group, which was a bit of a shock. I figured he would be more interested in the Cartel connections. When I asked, he said the Cartel would want Pedro’s family dead, and she was Pedro’s family.

That helped out the Commander, who had the whole Justice Department breathing down her neck to figure out what happened to Julio Salazar. If he’d escaped, it would look bad, but the Bureau of Prisons got fooled by the three fake Marshals, and they weren’t taking the hit alone. So far, we didn’t have any leads on the case. The men were ghosts; the identifications high-quality forgeries, the van painted to match with fake plates, and facial recognition showed nothing. Our FBI crime scene team had taken fingerprints in the waiting room and on the door, but no prints tied to anyone without legitimate business there. Watching the surveillance video, I could see why; the men were careful not to touch anything as they waited, and the lead agent wiped the counter as he left.

Traffic cameras in Oklahoma City tracked them heading south out of town, but they never got on the Kansas Tollway or Interstate 35. We’d even sent aircraft up to see if the van was abandoned somewhere, with no luck. Julio was smoke and a vapor trail.

The FBI suspected the CIA’s involvement, but Commander Lindstrom shot down that line of inquiry quickly. “The CIA Director denied involvement, and they don’t operate inside the United States.” A few agents rolled their eyes at that. “We’re not going after another Federal agency without evidence,” she said. “The Sinaloa Cartel has the money and people to do this, and the Sons may have people in play we don’t know about. Find the van, find the prisoner, and we’ll find out who did this.”

I didn’t buy the Cartel angle at all. They wanted the leadership dead, especially if Julio was cooperating with the Feds. They’d have him killed in prison before they’d try a high-risk prison escape. As for the Sons, I didn’t see anyone left to order the rescue, much less the money to hire a mercenary team for the job.

All of the alphabet agencies were salivating over the potential of getting the werewolves to work for them. Even the DEA was looking at the possibility of drug-sniffing wolves with human intelligence and communication abilities. I’d heard the Secret Service was getting a couple for the Presidential Security Detail when they finished training. Colletta’s agreement with the President brought former DEA Director Frank Grimes back into Homeland Security, where he would coordinate requests for assistance with the Pack Alphas. The wolves were hesitant to commit to taking direction from outside the Pack structure with good reason.

Julio was a jaguar shifter, not covered by the treaty with the Werewolf Packs. When I looked at who would have the means and the desire to risk the grab, only a few agencies came to mind. The Defense Department, namely the Defense Intelligence Agency, was a possibility. I discounted them since there were already dozens of werewolves in military service. That left the Central Intelligence Agency.

I leaned back in my chair as I worked through the possibilities. If the CIA took him because he was a jaguar shifter, what next? Julio was a hardened criminal, unlikely to cooperate or submit to authority. His family was dead, so blackmail wasn’t an option. They could offer him his freedom, but then what? He’d never be able to show his face in the States or Mexico again.

I was still thinking about it when Claire Bennington called me. “I think I have something,” she said. “Can you look at it?”

“Sure.” I walked over to her cubicle in the middle of the room and pulled a chair up where I could see her computer screen. Sofia Sanchez, our Customs/Border Patrol rep, was sitting in the other chair. “Vehicle registrations?”

“Since Maria isn’t a suspect, we can’t get warrants to look at her bank accounts. We started poking around in government databases, and one of them was the Colorado Department of Motor Vehicles.”

“Driver’s licenses?”

“Vehicle registrations. I searched for any vehicle registrations for their home address in the last five years. Here’s what I came up with.” She showed me a screen with five vehicles; one motorcycle, one Prius, two Ford Explorers, and an F-350 pickup truck. “Notice anything interesting?”

Two of the vehicles, the Explorer and the Prius, had been sold in the last six months. “Not really.”

“The Ford Explorer crossed into Mexico and ended up at the drone strike site,” Sofia said. “The VIN matched the vehicle now registered to Mr. Peter Gonzales.”

“Huh. What’s at the address?”

“That’s a dead drop, an apartment building near downtown owned by the Denver Sons.”

“What about the Prius?”

“That’s even more interesting. The date of sale is the day before Pedro crossed the border into Mexico, but the new owner didn’t submit the title until ten days later. Take a look at the new owner.”

“Christian Portman. Jesus, that’s Pedro’s estate lawyer.” Mr. Portman was known to the Task Force as he resisted the seizure of assets belonging to the late Mr. Meztli.

“It gets better,” Claire said. “That Prius title transferred again a week later. Christian traded it in at a dealership in Golden, Colorado, but I don’t show any title applications in his name at all. He traded the car in on something he didn’t buy himself.”

It was great investigating. “Sounds like I need to talk to Mr. Portman myself.” I went to stand up.

“There’s more,” Claire said. “Since his name was a dead end, I looked for any title applications from that dealership on the date the Prius got traded in, and guess what I found?” She pulled up a title application on the screen.

“Maria Gonzales.” It was too much of a coincidence; Christian had taken Pedro’s car and cash and turned it into a ‘clean’ title for a green 2017 Ford Escape, license number 269-SNM. “Is this her new address?”

“It’s Christian Portman’s law office. He didn’t go through this to liquidate the estate, Frank. The Prius wasn’t burned in the fire, and it didn’t cross into Mexico. We think Pedro drove it to Nogales, leaving it with the other cars we found in the parking lot on the US side.”

Sofia picked it up from there. “The Border Patrol checkpoint on Interstate 19 recorded it driving north out of Nogales the day after we saw the jaguar crossing back into the United States. The driver was Maria Gonzales.”

It was a lot to take in. “Take this to the Commander, now. You did a hell of a job, and you deserve the recognition for it.” I followed them into Irene’s office, where they laid out the evidence.

“I need to go to Denver and talk to this lawyer,” I told Commander Lindstrom when we finished.

“Take Claire with you and go,” she said. Claire’s eyes got big; she hadn’t been a field agent in a decade. “Don’t look at me like that. You’ve got a gun and a badge, and it’s your bust. Frank would be calling for you anyway; you know that lawyer must have hidden accounts everywhere.”

Claire nodded nervously. “Yes, Ma’am.”

We walked out of her office and back to Claire’s desk. “I’ll need you to call Travel and get us round-trip tickets to Denver, leaving three hours from now, returning in two days. Do you have a go-bag packed?”

“No,” she said. “I keep a change of clothes in my car, but that’s it.”

“I’ll drive you home to pack, and then we can get to the airport.” We made it through TSA just in time to catch the flight, landing in Denver at seven PM.

CIA Agent Al Perkin’s POV

I listened in as Frank Donovan spoke to Sofia and Claire in her cubicle, using the microphones I’d hidden in all of my team member’s workstations. Once I had the relevant names, I grabbed my briefcase and left the office before the three agents closed the door in Lindstrom’s office.

I called the switchboard and asked for the Deputy Director- Operations or the Director. Director Sinclair called me back minutes later. “What’s going on, Al?”

“Maria Meztli, sir. She’s in the Denver area, under the name Maria Gonzales. I don’t have an address, but Pedro’s lawyer is assisting her and will know where she is.” I gave him Christian’s name and address.

“Good work. Keep me posted.”

I hung up and walked back to the office. I didn’t enjoy spying on my coworkers in the Task Force, but I had my orders.

A CIA team would reach the lawyer before Frank did, and soon Maria and Maritza would join Julio in a secret location.