The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(62)

I remember once looking at a crudely forged gold ingot my father found that still had Incan symbols on it. This was royal treasure that had been seized by the Spaniards and hastily melted down to be sent back to Europe, only to sink to the bottom of the sea, where it would be found hundreds of years later by other fortune hunters who didn’t care where it came from as much as where it could take them.

Of course, I didn’t complain too much when those questionable artifacts were used to buy me new school clothes or iPods.

“What’s that?” asks George as I stop on the image of the bullet.

“Check it out.” I show him the photo I took of the base of the bullet next to my measuring stick.

“That looks like an unusual size. Twenty-five?”

“Yep.”

“That’s the kind of thing a hooker would keep in her purse.”

“Or a spy,” I reply.

George thinks it over for a moment. “Interesting. Not your typical gangbanger gun. That’s for sure. Also not the kind of gun you have your security team use. More than a few dozen yards away, it wouldn’t be effective.”

I show him the photographic evidence of Raul’s torture and let him draw his own conclusions. For some reason, the images look more powerful now than when I was face-to-face with his corpse. That might be because my attention was focused on other things.

“Clearly they wanted to know something from him,” George says after reaching the last photo.

“But did he tell them?”

“Yes,” he replies, as if it’s the stupidest question in the world.

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because they killed him. If he hadn’t talked, they would have gone even further. I’ve seen much worse.” There’s a distant look in his eyes.

“So, who did this?”

He gives me the stupid look again. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“Uh . . .” I try to think this one through. “Bonaventure?”

“Or one of his partners. Maybe a cartel enforcer they sent to find out what happened to their money. It’s probable that Bonaventure had Raul brought in to be questioned.”

“And they killed him right there in that house?” I ask. “That seems stupid on Bonaventure’s part. Especially leaving him in there.”

“It may not have been his choice. Imagine he loses his sub with the Mendezes’ money. What’s the smartest thing he can do?”

“Run,” I reply.

“Okay, second smartest thing. Call them as soon as it happened and tell them he needs help. The longer he waits, the more suspicious he looks. So they send him someone good at asking questions. Probably an ex–intelligence agent from Colombia or Bolivia.”

“What about Winston? Did they kill him too?”

“I didn’t get a good look, but he didn’t appear to have been tortured. I think at that point they knew what they wanted. He didn’t have it.”

“Or Stacey,” I add. “So, what is it they want?”

George holds up the unfolded rubber wad. It’s a latex glove. He swabs it with a Q-tip, then dabs the end with an eyedropper.

The swab changes to a dull orange. He places it next to a small chart.

Police departments use residue kits like this to see if someone recently fired a gun. They’re also similar to the swabs the TSA uses on luggage at the airport.

“Gunpowder?”

“Tri-acetone tri-peroxide. TATP.”

“Like plastic explosive?” I ask.

“A do-it-yourself kind. Terrorists love it—if it doesn’t blow up in their faces. You found this glove in his pocket?”

“Yeah. Deep down. Like he balled it up and shoved it in there in a hurry.”

“Curious.” George taps his fingers on the counter as he stares into space. “Why did Raul have to handle explosives?”

“Maybe they were shipping them somewhere?”

“I don’t see Bonaventure screwing around with that. Besides, that’s not the kind of thing you make to export out of the country. We try to keep that kind of thing from getting in.

“Let’s figure out the org chart here. At the top we have K-Group making introductions, providing cover and guidance. Below we have the Mendez cartel and Bonaventure. The Mendezes supply the cocaine, and Bonaventure launders the money. He may also help them get it into the country. He’s working both ends.

“To facilitate his little pipeline, he hires Winston to build him a stealth narco sub. Winston works with Raul.

“Bonaventure, being the paranoiac he is, wants to keep the circle tight. This means that he might also use Raul to help him load the sub.”

“He’d also need someone to do maintenance, check the batteries, that kind of thing,” I add.

“Good point. He needs either Raul or Winston there when the sub comes and goes. Probably Raul, because he doesn’t want to be seen with Winston. Or at least not have a rumored drug-runner handyman seen in his neighborhood. Does this track for you?”

“Absolutely.” I don’t think I would have put it together like George, but it makes sense. He’s also had decades of experience dealing with operations like this.

“So,” says George, “what was Raul up to with explosives?”