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“Bauer in?” I ask, holding up the grease-stained white paper bag for her to see that I bring food. “He’s expecting me.”
“Officer Fisher?”
“Yes.”
“Go on in.”
The back of the woman’s monitor faces me, and she returns to her keyboard, typing away. The demure black cardigan over a white Oxford shirt underscores her youth. I suppose she’s a new recruit assigned to the role of assisting the deputy. That sucks for her.
“Where’d Maggie go?”
Her fingers slow, and she peers over her monitor. “She’s still with us. She moved into a different group.”
“Well, welcome aboard.”
“I’ve been with the company for eight years.”
“Oh. Well, I meant—”
“Fisher, get in here.” Bauer holds the door open for me. “What’d you get for lunch?”
“Cheesesteaks.”
I pull the subs out of the bag and he cranes his neck to read the napkin that’s pressed up against the plastic sleeve. “Tony’s. This is why I love you.”
“Funny. I thought you loved me because we brought down Esteban.” His arrest hasn’t yet made the news, but it will. It’s an impressive coup and the result of a multi-year cross-agency endeavor. The highest-ranking Mexican diplomat caught taking bribes.
At the square cherry wood table that Bauer uses for meetings, we unpack the subs. Bauer takes an enormous bite, closes his eyes, and moans.
I spread out napkins and use the plastic wrapper they gave me to help protect the table.
“What’chu doing? You haven’t had real food in months. Eat.”
The cheese and salty, buttery, thinly sliced steak, combined with the crusty fresh-baked French bread roll, is mouthwatering. But this isn’t a feel-good social call. He’s about to dump another assignment on me.
Bauer flips open a file folder and shifts it on the table so it’s in front of us, but far enough away it won’t get splattered. There’s a typical cover sheet for an op, but it’s the photo in the bottom corner that has me setting down the cheesesteak and wiping my hands.
He’s familiar, but only through briefings. Rafael Toro. His uncle runs the Toro cartel.
“Colombia?”
The Mexican and Colombian cartels have a symbiotic relationship. My guess is if I’m getting called in, there’s a connection with the bribery case and the Colombian cartels.
“Rafael Toro,” Bauer says, then chomps down, chews, swallows, and wipes the bottom half of his face with a napkin. “He’s a middle-aged playboy. Extreme sports. But his father is a high-ranking diplomat.”
“And his uncle is the Toro, right? Is his father taking bribes?”
“I’m sure. But that’s not what this case is. Working theory is that Rafael is going to be forced to grow up and take the reins.”
“Which reins? Government or cartel?”
“We’re not so convinced they aren’t one and the same. But he’s newly married. She’s young. Sources say they don’t think she’s too happy. We’re thinking she might be accessible.”
“You want me to convince his wife to be an informant?” Typical CIA move, but I’m not sure I’m the best pick to bond with Rafael Toro’s wife.
“Not you, your wife.”
That comment earns a full-on belly laugh.
