ALEX DUARTE NODDED AS HIS FRIEND FÉLIX WALKED UP THE hallway to the main administrative office of the Port of New Orleans. He shook his hand and glanced over his shoulder at the tall, well-built man behind Félix.
Félix said, "Rocket, this is Colonel Lázaro Staub." He turned to the colonel and said, "This is Alex Duarte from the U.S. Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms."
"Mucho gusto, señor Duarte." He bowed slightly. "Me honra satisfacerlo."
Duarte looked at the fifty-year-old man and shrugged. He shrugged so frequently he could put emotion into each shrug. This one was an apology shrug.
Staub shook his head and said in English, "I sorry. I thought you were Hispanic."
"I am."
"Where were you born?"
"Florida, but my family is from Paraguay."
"And you speak no Spanish?"
"I'm working on it."
"No matter. I practice the English anyway."
They settled in a conference room, where Félix started by asking about Lina.
Duarte said, "She took off with another FBI agent on some mission here in New Orleans."
"You learn anything about their source? Pale Girl?"
"Nothing." He kept his eyes from darting to Staub. He knew Félix wasn't authorized to hear about Pale Girl. He also knew that a visiting cop from Panama shouldn't even know there was a source of information related to the case.
Félix said, "The Colonel here was a lifesaver. He had men load the container onto the ship and got the ship out right on time. It'll be here by midnight."
"That fast?"
"Yeah, less than two days on the seas. The port in Colón is about eight hundred miles from New Orleans."
Duarte nodded. "What about Gastlin?"
Félix looked down, maybe the first time Duarte had seen him less than energetic. "No sign of him. We got the DEA guys and the Colonel's cops all looking for him."
"How do we find out who the pot in the container goes to without him?"
"We already thought of that. Won't work. We figured we'll hold the load for a day or two to see if he surfaces. If not, the effort isn't a total zero. We still have a direct buy from Ortíz."
"But still no ID?"
Félix shook his head.
Staub spoke up. "We have been trying to identify this Ortíz for two years. He is very difficult. It is not so easy to find wealthy men who wish to remain unknown."
Duarte nodded and for the first time noticed a slight twitch in the colonel's left eye.
Lina returned in the evening. She acted as if she had been gone an hour instead of nearly ten. The introductions were made, and Duarte noticed two things that he might have been too dense to pick up on a few months earlier.
First, Lina's hand lingered in Colonel Staub's handshake, and she gazed directly into his eyes. Second, Duarte realized that Félix wasn't happy about her reaction.
Duarte kept his mouth shut and minded his own business, just like he tried to always do.
Once they were seated at a conference table waiting for the Flame of Panama to arrive, Félix looked across at Lina and said, "So where you been all day?"
"Errands."
"Like what?" His tone was sharper than normal.
She didn't answer.
Félix wouldn't let it go. "So your errands are classified, too?"
Lina flashed a glare at him.
Duarte cut in and said, "Let's figure out what to do with the load if Gastlin doesn't turn up."
Staub said, "It is safe at the port, no?"
They all nodded.
"Will your customs officers search it or ask questions?"
Félix said, "No. We'll bring it into the secure area. It'll be in with so many other containers no one will ever even notice it."
Duarte thought about logistics and said, "If we look at it in the port, someone will see us. It may tip them off."
Félix said, "We'll check it on the boat. Once it's off-loaded, they won't know which container we checked." His cell phone rang. Félix spoke quietly for a few moments and then looked up at the others. "We can do it right now if you'd like. The ship just docked."
Flame of Panama itself was an older freighter that appeared to be painted brown until Duarte looked closely and realized it was rust, a deep, well-earned rust that seemed to change the ship's personality. If the upper deck were white and lower hull black, the entire look would lift the crew's spirits. The way it looked now, even sailors had to think they had drawn the short straw.
No one even challenged them as they followed a customs inspector up the gangplank. The round woman in a Department of Homeland Security uniform waddled up the plank and then pointed to a lower container. There were two containers stacked on it and several on each side.
A giant padlock with a tiny keyhole sealed the container.
"We can cut it," said the customs inspector.
Félix shook his head. "No, we don't want to draw attention."
They waited while the customs inspector retrieved a set of keys from the ship's first mate. The first mate stayed back out of the way and didn't seem to want to interact with the group by the container. Duarte saw that he was a young man with a thick, short beard. His bushy eyebrows and protruding teeth gave him a slightly Neanderthal look. The man's eyes met his for a moment. Then the first mate slipped off.
The doors opened out like the double doors to a ballroom. The overwhelming smell of damp marijuana hit Duarte like a linebacker. Félix and the customs inspector shined in large flashlights, and they all stepped into the dank freight container.
Duarte had never seen so much illegal substance in one place. It was one thing to hear someone say "twenty thousand pounds"; it was another to see bale after bale stacked on each side of the container. There was a passageway between each stack to the rear wall. Each bale weighed about four hundred pounds.
Something crawled across the top of the highest bale.
Duarte jumped to the other side.
Félix said, "Always get rats or big spiders in these loads."
That didn't make Duarte feel any better.
Félix turned to the customs inspector. "No one'll bother this?"
"Not over in the restricted area."
"And you won't let on what we're doing?"
"Not until I'm cleared to. You guys bring in loads all the time. Used to be, before 9/11, our customs agents arranged for loads, too. Now they got shifted to immigration and cargo crimes."
Félix turned to the whole group. "Let's let them get this thing unloaded and secured."
Duarte was the last to hop out onto the deck. For some reason, he felt like looking around for the first mate. There was something about the hairy young man that didn't seem right. He helped shove one of the heavy doors back into place, then watched as Félix set the big padlock again. The heavy frame hung down.
"Damn," said Félix.
"What's wrong?"
"I set the keyhole facing the door." He tried to lift the lock, but was unable to unlock it. "Screw it. It'll be easier in the daylight if we ever have to open the thing again." As he turned, he added, "If we ever see Gastlin again."