SA FBI - A Jude Quinn Story

S.A. FBI
A Jude Quinn Novel


PROLOGUE

I didn’t know what to expect walking into
San Fernando Cathedral. I was told it was the
oldest, most sacred shrine in San Antonio.
Cynthia deserved at least that. She did, after
all, choose not to kill me. It was her last
goodbye to me before she died…at my hands.

I walked out of the red brick courthouse and down
the stairs to the sidewalk. The streets were
busy with mostly older people and business men.

The old cathedral across the street is the center
of the city, a holy place where the old, and the
really old come to talk to God. They come from
all over the Southwest and the United States.
But mostly the Southwest, where the history and
politics of this city started; where I have had
my final assignment as an FBI Agent.


Jude, who must have walked out ahead of me, was
sitting in the park directly across the street
from the cathedral. I dodged the two lane
traffic and walked up to him.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“I’m ok. How are you holding up?”

He was dressed in dark charcoal suit, perfect
attire for a funeral.

“I had to buy this suit. My stuff still hasn’t
come in from Quantico,” I said.

“We both know how slow the government can move
when it comes to these things,” he said referring
to our time in the Army together.

“What time does it start?” I asked.

“She should be arriving any minute now. Did you
say she is from Mexico?”

“Yeah. She has no family,” I said.

“And you’re paying for this funeral yourself?”

“I loved her.”

“She tried to kill you, Tomas,” Jude said in his calm demeanor.

“She could have if she wanted to. She chose not to,” I replied just as calm. “Is there a bathroom around here?”

“I don’t know. Ask them,” he said pointing across the street to a Mexican couple selling fruit in a cup.

“I’ll see you inside,” I said walking away.

“Hey, they want to debrief you afterwards, you know that,” Jude said.

“I know.”

I walked across Main street and stood in front of the huge church for a second, touching it’s two centuries old walls. I thought about Cynthia and the shots I fired blindly in the dark.

“It wasn’t my fault,” I said out loud.

I walked over to the fruit vendor and in my best Spanish, which I rarely spoke anymore asked,

“Where is the bathroom?”

The old woman smiled at my attempt.

“The bathroom is there in the new part of the building behind me,” she said.

“Thank you.”

I walked inside the new building, relieved by the coolness. It was warm for November. But that was normal for this part of the country.

The bathroom was close by and as soon as I got inside, I hit the cold water button on the sink. I ran my hands under the cool water and then over my face.

Looking up into the mirror, with water dripping off my face, I finally broke down and cried. I was still looking at an intense investigation on top of everything else. Maybe even jail time.

Too much damn pressure.

I wiped my face with a paper towel, fixed my hair and went out to say goodbye to Cynthia Mendoza.

I made my way inside the cathedral through a side door. Cynthia’s coffin was already in place and as I walked further inside, became amazed at the amount of people present. I stopped and looked on. The battle to force my tears back became palpable to my conscience and they forced their way out. I pulled my handkerchief just as a priest walked up behind me.

“Are you family?” he asked.

“The closest thing to it, father. We dated. She is not from here, she’s from Mexico City. She has no family left.”

“This is a very nice thing you are doing young man. I’m sure she is looking down now with a heart full of love for you… I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Tomas Riva, Father.”

“Tomas. A good name. I am sure she was very happy having you in her life, Tomas.”

“That I’m not so sure of Father, but I’ll make sure she’s buried properly.”

With that awkward ending, I walked away and found Jude in the second row. I joined him.
We sat silently listening to the priest who, although speaking generally, seemed to have known Cynthia.

Before I knew it, he was concluding the service and walking down the aisle. We followed behind. Neither of us spoke.

Once outside I saw Agent Richter waiting for me.

We walked up to him.

“They want to see you now, Tomas,” Richter said.

“We’re just about to go to the cemetery.”

“I’m sorry, the Undersecretary for Latin American Affairs just came in from Washington. They want to start now. I’m supposed to bring you up,” Agent Richter said.

“I’ll make sure she’s taken care of, Tom,” Jude said. “I’ll get back here as soon as it’s finished.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Agent Richter led me back across the street to the brick courthouse. We passed through the security at the door and from there we were escorted to a room on the third floor.

We entered the room and there were three people sitting around a long table. I sat at the head of the table and took a hard look at the microphone in front of me.

“Agent Riva, so glad you could join us. I am Juan Antonio Sepulveda, the Undersecretary of Latin American Affairs, and you’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

“I’ve got nothing to hide,” I said.

“Good, then start at the beginning.”

He pushed the record button on the MP3 player.

“Please tell us your name, position and how this whole thing started.”

“My name is Tomas Riva, Special Agent in the Drug Enforcement Division…”

Chapter 1

I flew into San Antonio International Airport July 17, 2003. This was my first assignment. I was straight out of Quantico. I drove to the FBI office downtown and reported to my supervisor, Agent Jaime Santiago.

My initial meeting with him was ok. I found him to be a little arrogant but I thought I’d be able to work with him.

“Agent Riva, welcome. Come in, have a seat. I was just going over your file,” Agent Santiago said.

I sat.

“I’m happy to be here. What I’ve seen of the city is beautiful.”

“So, this is your first assignment?”

“Yes sir.”

“I see you spent a few years in the Rangers. Why did you get out?”

“I’ve lost too many friends. After I saw my best friend get blown away on a rescue mission in Iraq, I knew I had enough.”

“Was the mission successful?”

“Sir?”

“Did you succeed in your rescue attempt?”

“Yes sir. It was my commander, Captain Jude
Quinn. He was captured during a reconnaissance mission in Baghdad. We got him back after two weeks.”

“I see you speak Spanish. That’ll come in handy around here. See Agent Casey about your desk. She’s the good looking blonde you passed on your way in here.”

I stood up.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Welcome to the FBI Agent Riva. I hope this is the beginning of a long working relationship.”

“Me too, sir.”

I walked out of his office and found Agent Casey as ordered. She got me settled in and I spent the next two weeks reviewing cases and familiarizing myself with the region and it’s major problems.

On August 17th, I was summoned to Agent Santiago’s office. He had been working on the minor drug cartels who were smuggling cocaine and marijuana into the U.S.

When I got to his office, he was in his chair facing away from me and towards the window wall of his office. It was late and the lights of the city moved, gleamed and blinked in the darkness of the night. He was listening to soothing classical music.

“You wanted to see me sir?”

He motioned with his hands to sit and I did so and waited. When the music stopped, he turned his chair to face me.

“What do you do to relax, Riva?”

“I don’t know, take in a game, play my X-Box, clean my weapon. Why?”

“I started listening to the music of this unknown composer. I got it from an uncle of mine last year,” he said.

Santiago pulled open a drawer and pulled out a Memorex CD.

“Here, I made you a copy of the first one. Take it home and listen to it. You’ll find yourself relaxed and refreshed in the morning.”
I reached across his desk and took the CD.

“Thanks. Is that what you wanted to see me about?”

“No. I want you to report to me on Monday. Take the rest of the weekend off, Monday you’re coming onto my team.”

I got up.

“Wow, thank you, sir. I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

“I know you won’t. That’s all. Go home.”
So I did. I stopped along the way to pick up a six pack and when I got home and settled in, I popped in the CD that was given to me. Little did I know, fifteen-hundred miles to the south, my first case under Santiago was about to come up.
2
Puebla, Mexico

A black limousine pulls into an abandoned gold mine and it’s engine cuts off. After a few minutes, headlights turn onto the dirt road ahead of them.

The front doors of the limo open and the driver and an armed man in an expensive suit get out. The armed man moves to the back of the limo and the window rolls down.

“Are you sure they agree to our terms?” a voice from inside the car asks.

“Yes, Mr. Secretary,” the guard answers.

“Good. Take care of it.”

“Yes, Mr. Secretary.”

The car lights ahead come to a stop a hundred feet away and cut off. Three men get out. They are all dressed in jeans, rodeo cowboy shirts and expensive boots. Two more armed men get out of the limo and stand guard in the rear.

The envoy for the Joaquin Cartel approached and the man in the expensive suit gives his AK 47 to the driver and meets him.

“Do you have the money?” the expensive suit asks.

“All business. My boss likes that about you government people,” the envoy replies. “And for this five-hundred thousand American dollars, we get safe passage to and from the new crossing in Laredo?”

“That is the arrangement. You let me know when and I’ll let you know what number and the guards name.”

“Good. Juan. Bring me the money.”

Juan moves to the trunk and when he sticks the key in, he suddenly gets the feeling he is being watched. Juan stops, turns around and peers into the pitch black night.

“Hurry up, fucking Juan!” the envoy demands.

Juan reluctantly turns his attention back to business and opens the trunk, pulling the briefcase of money out. He walks over to the envoy and hands it to him.

“What’s wrong with you, stupid? Do you hear the chupa cabra?”

The rest of the guards laugh.

“Here is your money. Please give my best to the Secretary.”

The envoy hands the briefcase over and as he does so, explosions blow to the rear of both cars, blowing their gas tanks. Reports of a rifle begin echoing in the desert night. The guards from both sides begin futilely firing into the darkness as they are taken out one by one until none are left standing.

A masked man in camouflage comes out of the desert night to survey his damage and, satisfied with his work, walks away into the night.

3

On Monday morning I reported to Agent Santiago as ordered. When I got to his office, there were three men sitting around his desk. He saw me and motioned me in.

“Gentlemen, this is Agent Riva,” Santiago said. “He will be in charge of this investigation. If there’s not anything else, I will brief him.”

“No sir. I think that’s about everything,” one of the men around the desk said.

The three men got up. I didn’t recognize them except for the fact that they were Latin and the one who spoke did so with a thick tongue.

“Have a seat, Agent Riva.”

I sat.

“Who were they?”

“They are agents of the Mexican Government. Did you see the news this weekend?”

“No sir, not really. My paper route hasn’t started yet and I don’t have cable yet,” I replied.

“Well, the Secretary of Urban Affairs of Mexico was murdered along with members of the Joaquin Cartel. It looks very professional.”

“Where did it happen?”

“In Puebla. I want you to fly down to Mexico City. An agent Mendoza will pick you up there. You will assist her in any way you can.”

“When do I leave?”

“In two hours. And Riva, don’t misunderstand me. You represent the United States. You conduct your investigation and let her conduct hers. Understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“See agent Casey for your travel doc’s,” Santiago ordered with finality.

I got up and headed for the door.

“I’ll report as soon as I learn anything, sir.”

“Good. Do that.”
4
Benito Juarez International Airport
Mexico City

I arrived at the airport at 2:30 in the afternoon. I didn’t have a description of Agent Mendoza, but they knew what I looked like.
As I made my way through customs, a sexy sultry voice called out my name.

“Senior Riva?”

I turned to see a beautiful woman holding a sign with my name. She had sandy blonde hair, blue green eyes and was dressed in a tight blue skirt with no hose.

“Yes. I am Agent Riva.”

“Your picture does not do you justice, Agent,” she said in perfect flowing Spanish.

As I walked towards her, I quickly surmised that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and I actually became a little nervous.

“Did the agency send you to pick me up?” I asked in Tex Mex.

“Yes. I am Cynthia Mendoza, Special Agent for the Federal District,” she replied in perfect English.

“You speak English?”

“I hope so,” she said disarmingly. “I graduated from the University of Florida.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said. “I just didn’t know what to expect and you are quite the unexpected.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Come on, I have a car outside.”

She picked up one of my bags and lead the way out of the airport.

She loaded my stuff into a blue BMW and she slipped perfectly into the drivers seat. I joined her on the passenger’s side and she pulled away into the busy city streets.

After a few minutes of silence, I pulled my pad out of my coat pocket and began flipping through it.

“So, the Secretary of Urban Affairs, he was crooked?” I asked.

“It looks that way. And his name was Juan Antonio Bustos. He was a very well liked political figure to the people.”

“Really. So where are we going now?”

“We are going to Puebla, to the crime scene. That is what you came here for, is it not?”

“Yes, of course. So have long have you been in law enforcement?” I asked.

“It seems like my whole life. My father was a police officer, he was killed when I was 18. His brother, my uncle took me in. He is the Chief of Police in Mexico City. And I graduated from Florida with a degree in Law, came back here to my country to put my education to use.”

“That’s very noble. I’m sure your uncle is proud of you.”

“And you? Have you been an FBI Agent long?”

“No. Actually this is my first case. I was in the Special Forces for eight years though and I used that training to cross over.”