That he can compartmentalize his life like that—perfect family in a picturesque house in the Oakland Hills and ruthless murderer down here in the city—is something else. I’ve never known anybody who can split the two sides of them down the middle like that. But judging by what we heard when we were surveilling him, Emiliano is able to pull it off. He’s a perfect family man and it doesn’t seem like his wife has the first clue that he’s a cruel cartel boss who enjoys cutting people’s heads off just to send a message.
I close the front door softly behind us. With Domino, a trained sniper on a rooftop across the street acting as overwatch for this mission, I feel safer. This is not a place I’d want to get caught out in. As if the thought triggers the memory, the heads of Dex and Halo pop into my mind which in turn, sets off the memory of Prophet being shot. I take a moment and close my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I count to five and then let it out slowly, doing my best to push those thoughts out of my mind.
“You all right?” Adam whispers.
I nod. “Yeah. I’m good. Let’s do this.”
We navigate our way through the front of the operation which is set up to look like what it purports to be. There are four work pods that have computers and design equipment along with samples of various materials. Who knows? Maybe they actually do design kitchens and bathrooms here. It would make the front all the more convincing. And it’s innocuous enough—meaning, it’s such a boring business—that nobody would suspect it’s the base of operations for a brutal drug cartel.
I flip on the penlight in my hand and scan the front of the office. There’s nothing remarkable to see, but my gaze falls on a door marked “private”. That’s as good as having a neon sign flashing that says “Cartel Boss Here” as far as I’m concerned. I catch Adam’s attention and gesture to the door. He nods, and we both walk over to the door. I try the handle but find it locked. Adam has us through it in fifteen seconds flat.
“See? Told you I could do it in fifteen.” He smirks.
“Yeah, you’re really going to have to tell me about this past of yours, altar boy.”
We push through the door and find ourselves in a long hallway. There are three doors on either side of the corridor. The first doors on either side of us are supply closets filled with more samples and other routine office supplies. The second pair of doors open into conference rooms. The one on our left is empty and looks like it hasn’t been used in some time. The one on our right looks like it’s used often. Either that or somebody’s left coffee cups, pads of paper and pens, soda cans, and other assorted debris laying around.
The last door on our left opens into an office. It looks like the place is used frequently, if not daily, but is kept remarkably clean. Whoever inhabits this office is a bit of a neat freak it seems. The door on our right bears a silver nameplate. And inscribed upon it is the name “Mr. Zavala”.
“Just a second,” I say as I feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.
I pull out the alarm jammer again and sweep the door for alarms running at a different freek than the one protecting the rest of the building. And sure enough, a secondary alarm freek is detected. I flip a few switches, and a moment later, the board goes green.
“Disabled,” I say with more than a little relief in my voice.
“Nice catch.”
I nod. “This guy is paranoid. It makes sense that he’d have a secondary alarm.”
“And people say you’re just a pretty face.”
“Well, to be fair, I am,” I say then tap my head with my index finger “But this works very well too.”
Adam laughs and opens the office door. I reach over and flip on the light—this deep in the building, nobody’s going to see that it’s on, so it doesn’t matter. I do a quick sweep with my eyes but don’t see any obvious surveillance equipment. Just to be sure though, I pull out another gadget I designed that picks up on electronic signatures, usually indicating the presence of surveillance equipment. But it shows there’s nothing for us to be worried about—so long as my gizmo is working right. I guess if a dozen sicarios, all armed to the teeth, roll in then I’ll know I need to work on my gadget a bit more.
I dig four listening devices out of my bag of goodies and hand them to Adam. He takes them and drops them into a pouch on his belt.
“Remember to peel the adhesive before you stick it to the surface. Press it on there real good and make sure they stick.”
He nods. “Check.”
“Okay, I’m going to set things up in here,” I say. “Go and plant the bugs in that conference room that looks like it’s being used.”
“Got it.”
“And remember to plant them in discrete places not easily seen. If Zavala finds them, we’re boned.”
“Copy that.”
“And don’t forget to glove up. No prints, man.”
He nods. “Copy that too,” he says. “Don’t worry, bro. This is not my first rodeo.”
Adam heads out to handle bugging the conference room, leaving me to tackle Zavala’s office.
Adam’s obviously not as pious as I’ve always thought. While some of us have skeletons in our closet, I’m getting the feeling Adam’s got an entire fucking graveyard.
Everything in here is immaculate. Zavala’s a clean freak too, apparently. All the furniture is done in what looks like a cherrywood that’s been polished to a bright mirror sheen. A large desk that’s got some intricately carved designs dominates the center of the room. The chair behind it is plush and looks more like a throne than a chair. The top of the desk holds a laptop, a few piles of neatly stacked papers, and a few framed photos.
