Free Rosarito Beach by M. A. Lawson Page A

thick and dark, his nose prominent, his chin blunt. His eyes were so dark they looked black. And where Tito was tall and slender, Caesar was five-ten, with a deep chest and the muscles of someone who might have spent a lifetime doing manual labor. Mora knew that Caesar Olivera had never done manual labor; the muscles were a genetic gift, further assisted by a personal trainer.
    Caesar also no longer personally executed those who had disappointed him in some way. These days, he and his wife frequently dined with Mexican politicians and celebrities; he had a philanthropic organization in his wife’s name; wings in hospitals and buildings at universities bore his name. People in the Mexican army, the federal police, local cops, politicians, and judges worked for him and protected his interests and his investments. And nobody—at least nobody in the Mexican media—called him a drug lord. He was simply a well-connected businessman with vast real estate holdings and controlling interests in many legitimate companies.
    â€œDoes Prescott have anything new?” Mora asked.
    â€œNo,” Caesar said. “He just called to tell me that three San Diego detectives have been taken into custody but they never had any direct contact with Tito.”
    Caesar looked away for a moment, and again Mora had the impression he was struggling to control himself. “Do you think Juan knew what he was going to do?”
    Juan Guzmán was nominally Tito’s second-in-command, and when Tito went north to run Caesar’s U.S. operations, Caesar had forced Tito to take Juan with him. Juan was older than Tito—about Caesar’s age—and he was an experienced man and not a hothead. His job had been to mentor Tito, keep him out of trouble, and keep Caesar informed of what Tito was doing. Juan had obviously failed—and failed badly.
    â€œNo, sir,” Mora said. “I spoke to him right after Tito was arrested. He knew Tito was upset about your order to buy out Washington. His pride was hurt, and he thought he’d failed you. But Juan had no idea he was going to do something so foolish.”
    â€œAnd the woman? Was she a DEA informant?”
    â€œIt would appear so,” Mora said. “Tito told Prescott that she knew the DEA agent who arrested him. She called her Kay. He said only three people in his organization knew of his meeting with Washington: the woman, and the two men he brought with him to the meeting. He’s certain the two men didn’t talk to the DEA about the meeting. Juan vetted the woman, of course, when Tito started sleeping with her, and he saw nothing that gave him any cause for concern. She was who she appeared to be: a beautiful, not-too-bright party girl. Juan reviewed her cell phone records periodically and never saw any indication she was talking to anyone at the DEA.”
    â€œHow did they get to her?”
    â€œJuan doesn’t know for sure, but he suspects it might have been through her brother. He was arrested five months ago, and when he was released on bail, he ran and it looked as though he’d fled to Canada. Phone records show that he called his mother periodically from Vancouver, and Juan thought he was hiding there, probably living off some woman, until he decided it was safe to come back to the U.S. But now . . . well, Juan doesn’t know, but he suspects the DEA is hiding the brother and they used him to force the woman to cooperate.”
    â€œWhere is she now?”
    â€œI don’t know. The DEA disappeared her right after Tito was arrested. I’ll find her.”
    Caesar nodded. Of course Mora would find her.
    An organizational chart of the Olivera cartel would show that Caesar had no second-in-command. His organization was relatively horizontal, with a number of men and women who would be considered senior vice presidents in a traditional company and all reported directly to him. Some were responsible for specific