Cocaine, the Gulf Connection

By K. S. McDonald

Cocaine, the Gulf Connection is not
about cocaine gangs and shoot
outs in Mexican border towns,
but rather it details the complex workings
of a sophisticated smuggling operation that
has gone unknown to the Mexican and U.S.
governments for thirteen years. The success of
the smuggling operation comes from a high
degree of compartmentalization, which allows
no chance for any one piece of the Company
to betray another. Yes, the smugglers think of
themselves as a Company.
Retired FBI agent Nicholas Able is hired to
consult in locating the source of Cocaine for
what the FBI thanks is a large Houston Texas
drug distribution network. The trail starts at
a local bar off Galveston Bay and grows to a
network that covers all of the Texas Gulf Coast
and into Tampico Mexico.
Mr. McDonald has produced a plot that is
intricate and nonstop. The logic and detailed
detective work descriptions are fascinating
and an interagency battle for control of the
case between the DEA and FBI adds to the
drama. The book is not a Who done it, thats
known from the outset. Cocaine, The Gulf
Connection is about finding the bad guys and
then bringing them down.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Nov 17, 2011
• ISBN: 9781467036771

K. S. McDonald

K.S. McDonald and wife Nancy have cruised extensively in the Gulf of Mexico. He’s extraordinarily acquainted with the Bars, Ports, Harbors and Navigational Data discussed in COCAINE, THE GULF CONNECTION, a continuation of his first Nicholas Able novel, NEXT TO DIE. He writes from their home on Galveston Bay.

Book preview

Prolog

After thirty years with the FBI, I’m retiring back to Texas to live on Clear Lake aboard my new, for me, 1970 47 foot, Chris Craft Commander or Connie as they’re called. I was kicked up, they called it a promotion, to Washington fourteen months ago because of the work I did on a case that became known as the Congressional Killings. A real rich, $300,000,000 guy from Houston was hiring terminally ill cancer victims to kill congressmen. He was paying $1,000,000 each to kill the ones he felt were crooked. At any rate, after a year or so we ran him down only to find that he had cancer himself. He died before he ever went to trial. The case bummed me out because in the course of the investigation I came to see just how corrupt our government and elected officials really are. The guy was right about there being a need for change. He was just going about it the wrong way.

I’m Nicholas Able by the way, Nick to most folks. After thirty years with the FBI and being fifty-five years old I’m not quite ready to retire and just drink beer on my boat. I wrote some letters to the police departments surrounding Clear Lake saying I’d like to talk to them about doing freelance undercover work. This seemed like a good fit for me; it’s the work I know and it’s only when I want it. On my vacation in November I visited each of the departments. They all said to keep in touch; from time to time they were sure to have some work for me. This was just what I needed, something to keep the mind sharp but not having to go to work every day. My retirement is a goodly amount and if I play it down just a little I don’t have to work at all. I have also made a few good investments in land over the years and cashed out at a little over a million dollars net of tax. I’m in good shape money wise.

On that vacation I also called a lady, Lorinda’s her name, and she used to work for me when I was agent in charge of the Houston office. She’s a beautiful woman and a damn good agent. She’s number two in the Houston office now. I wanted to reestablish my relationship with the office I said, but somewhere deep down I wanted to take Lo out to dinner. She’s twenty years younger than me but all the time we worked together I felt there was chemistry there. You know, something was going unsaid. We had a great time the two weeks I was on vacation. She helped me look at boats, drove me around to the police chiefs where I was giving my pitch to do undercover work for a fee and she cooked a couple of nice meals at her place. I took her out to dinner four times. We never became close in a lovers way, although I feel sure we could have. It was not just because we still worked for the same company, the FBI. I just wasn’t ready for a real relationship and I damn sure didn’t want to screw up the friendship I had with her. It’s not OK to socialize with the help. That was a good enough reason then.

I’m sitting here on this Southwest Airlines flight into Hobby Airport having my third drink and I’m in dreamland. My thoughts are running in every possible direction. From what kind of car to buy, to do I really need or want a 50 caliber rifle. A friend has a gun shop up in Canyon Lake. He says he can get me one for $1,800. That’s a lot to think about when you don’t have a real use for the thing. You don’t just carry it around as the damn thing weighs 30 pounds. I sort of put that out in the back of my mind for now. I had already gotten one thing I’d wanted for the last twenty years: a Colt model 1911/ 45. The people at the office got it as a going away present. The agency likes for agents to use 9mm, which will kill you just as dead as a 45, but people think of a 1911 / 45 as a killing thing. The agency thinks there’s too much adverse publicity associated with the 45, so they don’t use them. They also only hold seven shots; not good in a gun fight.

I had looked at all sorts of cars, Corvettes, Boxsters, SUVs by Honda, Acura, and Jeep. I wanted to be cool, in the walking around kind of way. The truth was I wanted to be like Travis McGee, the famous hero of the John D. MacDonald books. The romantic marina lifestyle, the solving of cases with my wits, the having to fight women off. I wanted a life unlike anything I’d had in the last fifty-five years.

I was shaken from my daydream when the flight attendant came by my seat with a bag picking up the drink glasses and telling everyone to put their trays up and bring those seats forward. I looked down just in time to see that large conglomeration of restaurants where Clear Lake meets Galveston Bay. My boat was right there at the marina owned by the same corporation that owned the restaurants. It was a Friday afternoon and Lorinda was meeting me at the airport. The plan was for her to help me get settled in and then we were going to buy me a car. I’ve decided on a Ford Expedition; one of those army green ones that were popular a few years back and on up to now. My God I had a lot to look forward to.

Chapter 1

For God’s sake Isaac, I didn’t take anything. I know better than that. It must have been that slug, Lobo, in Kingsville. I never did trust the guy. At a quick nod of Isaac’s head, DeJohn Duval fired the twenty-two short into J. J. Hernandez’s ample gut, taking the man in total surprise. Goddamn it Isaac! Why did you do that for? Tell that crazy son of a bitch to stop. I told you I didn’t take nothing. Not one toot. Damn this hurts. I need a doctor Isaac.

Isaac was not his real name off course. He was Don Carlos Cavazos, from Zocalo Spain. Don Carlos or Isaac as he now called himself, had no formal education beyond the third grade; but he was very smart. By the time he was fifteen years old he had been living by his wits on the streets of Madrid for three years, having left the convent where the sisters had taught him to read and do basic math. He also learned to speak English so well that he could easily converse and gain the confidence of tourist. In that fifteenth year he killed two Americans who had been flashing their money around. The very next day he crossed over into Portugal and within a few days had signed on to a junk freighter out of Lisbon bound for the USA where he took on the name Isaac Garcia. He decided to just lay low and see how things worked in this new country. He had the $3700 he had taken in Madrid. Because of his understanding that conventional work would require papers, something he did not have nor did he think he wanted; he came to Texas where one could work without papers or a name for that matter. Because of his English skills and over all smarts he was working on a South Texas ranch as a hunting guide and bird boy handler when he came to the attention of Fredric Duval, who was starting to form a new type of Drug Empire. Isaac now found himself the number two man, in charge of US operations.

We know better J.J. We have our ways and there are no second chances.

* * *

The Corpus Christi newspaper said the police were pretty sure who the bloated, badly decomposed body was even before the positive ID was made. The police had been called eight days ago when the Hernandez’s maid found J.Js’ wife and two teenage boys in their home. They were bound with large wire ties and all three had been shot in both knees with a 22 short. The police withheld from the paper how J.J. had died but an unidentified caller to the paper reported that J.J. had died from nine 22-caliber pistol shots to his mid section. The caller went on to say that it had taken thirty hours for JJ to die. The papers story read, The body of J.J. Hernandez has been recovered from a small plastic boat found drifting in the Intercostal Waterway near the Aransas National Wildlife Preserve. Mr. Hernandez’s family was discovered bound and shot in the legs at their home last week. They are all expected to recover but with lasting disabilities. An unidentified source has reported to this paper that Mr. Hernandez had been shot multiple times with a small caliber pistol and that death would not have been quick. A gangland style killing meant to make a point. That’s what it really was, and it had to be in the paper for the message to get out. That’s why the phone call was made. The police will not confirm this report but do say they suspect drugs are involved.

The story went on to say the family members had never seen their assailants before and could not describe them.

Isaac bought three of the papers. He would use them to keep his distributors and mules in line. He wanted the carriers to know the organization had ways of knowing if they were being shorted in cash or goods. Honesty and zero tolerance is what made things run so smoothly.

Chapter 2

Lisa Omar slipped off the barstool leaving enough money to cover a burger and two beers plus a generous tip. The Lookout Bar and Grill was located in Bay Cliff, Texas, just south of Clear Lake and sat right across the road from Galveston Bay. It was a popular hangout for pleasure boaters of which there are many. The Clear Lake area is said to be the third largest population of pleasure boats in the United States. I suppose somewhere in Florida or maybe California are the top two spots. Lisa came into this bar about once a month; always arriving by dingy from a fifty-five foot Sunseeker anchored about one and a half mile out in the bay. She was a physical knock-out with red hair crowning her fabulous body. She had bright green eyes and just the right number of freckles to give her the healthy outdoors look most men find so appealing. Max, the bartender, sure did. However, he had never been able to get a conversation going with her. This was unusual. Max was a really good-looking guy with a great personality, as well as a tan surfer’s body. Most women talked to him easily and in fact wanted to. He had noted that no one had ever been able to engage her in any meaningful talk. She just showed up about once a month; had a burger and a couple of beers and left. Always the same way, by dingy from the beautiful Sunseeker motor yacht anchored about two miles out in the bay. Max watched longingly as she walked across the road where she would vanish down the embankment to where he knew the eleven foot, white Avon hard bottom tender was waiting. Max knew that in less than two minutes she would reappear as the little boat headed east towards the sleek white cruiser. He thought there was a lucky somebody out there.

Lisa cut the engine as she came up to the swim platform where Joseph Omar, her brother, was waiting to take the line she was holding and help her from the boat. Did everything go alright? Did you make contact?

Yes! He left when I ordered my second beer, just the way it’s supposed to work. This is getting to be too easy Joseph. You know when things work this smoothly and you make the kind of money we do, you begin to worry.

The pair had drifted, almost literally, to Port Aransas on a small sailboat coming from the Keys where they were sought for questioning regarding the sale of marijuana. They thought it best to get out before being questioned so they pulled anchor one night and were gone. Pulling into Port Aransas three weeks later, they quickly found jobs as bartenders. A Latin man, who was a regular at the Sand Bar, asked Lisa if she and her brother would meet with him regarding a business deal they would find interesting and profitable. One thing led to another and the three found themselves on the back landing of a very nice home overlooking the 55' Sunseeker Motor Yacht docked in the canal running behind the house. Isaac Garcia was saying, It works like this. You live in this house for free and you have the use of the boat. Once or twice a month you will take the boat to a location about 125 miles out and meet a much larger boat. This is done at night. A large amount of coke in a water proof container will be attached to this boat. He pointed to the Cruiser. You will then tow the container back into Galveston Bay where the box will be picked up.

Sounds risky to me. It sounds that way to me too." Lisa chimed in.

Isaac went on, I’ll make the run with you the first few time’s. There’s no danger because if we are approached by the law we punch the MOB, man over board, button on the GPS and cut the container lose. No box, no danger. The first trip was made and from that point on Lisa and Joseph had been living the good life. Isaac would call giving the date and navigational Lat / Lon location for the next pickup. That was all. They were paid $7,000 a month, in cash, delivered to the house while they were away on the delivery. They never knew who brought the money, but they knew the person must be in the area of Port A. They also suspected their movements were likely monitored. Isaac Garcia’s last words to them, they had never seen him again, were If you steal from us, or talk to the law we will kill you in a very unpleasant way.

Not to worry sis. I’ve never heard of an operation like this. I mean there’s no way we can be caught with the goods. Its bullet proof. As Lisa stepped onto the aft deck Joseph handed her a tumbler of gin and tonic and sat down in one of the two deck chairs. Lisa scanned the water holding her hand above her eyes to shade them from the two thirty sun reflecting off the water. The wind was out of the east so she was looking back towards the Lookout Bar & Grill. She exhaled a long breath and sat beside her brother. They sipped their drinks in silence keeping a lookout over the water in a 180 degrees North to South arc from the stern of the boat. "Lisa, look to your right at about two o’clock. I believe our man is here. She picked up a pair of Steiner binoculars and focused where Joseph had indicated.

Yes it’s him Joseph. Are we set?

Everything’s ready. I’ll get the engines going and pull the anchor. Joseph took a very sharp folding knife from his pocket, opened it and handed it to Lisa. When he’s in position give me the signal and I’ll start moving out slowly.

The boat they were looking at was a twenty-three foot, water jet powered runabout with a v-birth and port-o-potty inside the small cuddy cabin. The boat crossed their stern about a half mile out and then it started to make a lazy loop away from the cruiser coming back around to where it was still a half mile behind the larger boat but looking directly at its stern. Ok Joseph, he’s lined up and moving this way. You can start moving out. As the Emerald Green jet boat started to gain on them Lisa picked up the knife Joseph had give her and kneeled near the transom door where a 3/8 nylon line ran out over the swim platform and into the water. Now that the boat was starting to move the line became very taught. When the jet boat was about 200 feet away she cut the nylon line. We’re all clear Joseph. She called as she walked towards the helm where Joseph was bringing the two 800 hp Caterpillar 3406E diesels up to RPM. The boat’s cruising speed was 42 knots. Let’s go home." she said as she sat next to him. Lisa threw her head back to catch the three thirty afternoon sun and closed her eyes. The two shared the large house in Port Aransas, Texas about a hundred and sixty miles southwest of their present location. Getting home was going to take about five and one half hours.

Chapter 3

R.J. increased his speed slightly as he saw the big boat pulling away. It was important to stay on line until he saw the two black balls floating in the water; they were about six feet apart. When he saw them he cut his speed to nothing and guided the jet boat right between the two black balls and as he slide on through there was a thump and the boat shuttered slightly. He smiled and thought, Damn I’m good at this. He stopped the boat and pulled on the line until he could just see the box. Then he let out line until the box was approximately three feet below the water’s surface. He then put the little boat in gear and slowly drove the eight miles to his boathouse at his home on the Bay.

* * *

It worked like this. The box full of coke, was just negatively buoyant, had a polyester line fastened to it leading to a two inch, foam filled, five foot long piece of PVC. Joseph knowing the waters depth was nine feet added three feet of line with the black balls attached to the end of the PVC. This created a yoke floating under the water with the balls floating just under the water’s surface. When RJ drove the jet boat between the balls the steel grappling hook hanging off the stern grasp the PVC bar and the box of coke was in tow. RJ then adjusted the depth of the tow to about three feet and goes home. At any time he can release the box, no coke, no culpability. This all happens in broad daylight. If someone were taking pictures nothing would be seen.

RJ, short for Randolph Jackie Boudreaux, was a hard man of forty-one years. He had thick black hair, brown eyes and just one noticeable scar on his face running from the corner of his right eye over his cheek to just short of his ear. At five ten and one hundred eighty pounds you wouldn’t call him big, but he was cruel and violent. The scar was very light, obviously old, and did nothing to detract from his basic good looks. In fact, in the crowd he liked to run with he was considered the best-looking man around. He certainly had more money than all of them. He told everyone the scar came from a knife fight in Lake Charles where he had grown up. He said he had killed a man and had to get out of Louisiana. That’s why he was in Texas. The truth was, not looking where he was going as a fifth grader; he had run into the corner of a concrete wall and busted his face wide open.

RJ had, however had some problems with the law in Lake Charles and later in Intercoastal City where he was a ditch shrimper, meaning he shrimped the intercoastal waterway and the freshwater canal. He had in fact run from the law in that a judge told him if he showed up once more in any court in Louisiana he, the judge, would know, and RJ’s ass was going to Angola. RJ knowing how he was and not trusting himself, and being pretty smart, got out of the state.

Isaac Garcia had recruited RJ at the Doors Club, so named because the building was surrounded by shrimp net doors, those things that hook onto the shrimp net and holds the net open when the net is being pulled through the water. It was a shrimper hangout that sold only beer and set-ups for those who preferred hard liquor. At the time, RJ was running one old bay boat out of Eagle Point.

RJ’s new job was much more complicated than Lisa and Joseph’s. There was risk as well as a requirement he be an enforcer. As he was being recruited, Isaac had pointed out the network was already in place. The system of payment was in place and there was never a need for a customer to ever know or see RJ. This was the final touch to an operation that started nine and one half years earlier. It was an organization where no one could point to the next level. RJ didn’t know it but there were only five people involved in the stateside part of the business. Lisa, Joseph, RJ, Isaac and DeJohn Duval, whom Isaac used, when needed, for wet work.

RJ was shown how to make the pickup, told where to bring the coke and what to do with it once there. His job required he contact buyers, who through means unknown to him, had placed an order and to collect the cash and make the delivery of the coke. He was paid very well at $5,000 a month and was told that if he stole what he was delivering, received in cash money or contacted the police he would slowly drown while crabs ate on his toes. Isaac had said it’s best to just pass the packages along unopened. If his service were required to straighten out some wayward customer he would receive a bonus payment.

* * *

RJ pulled the throttle back on the little but powerful Yanmar engine and slid quietly into the sixty by forty foot boathouse. There was room for three boats far larger than the jet boat but the jet boat was the only one there. He brought her over to the starboard side of the dock and tied up just so. He cut the line holding the box of Coke letting it sink to the bottom of the slip. Unlike Florida, Galveston Bay is brown water and you can’t see to the bottom; in fact you can’t see a foot under, especially in the shade of the shed. RJ knew right where the inventory was however and he could bring it up with a boat hook.

RJ walked the two hundred feet across the yard to the single story 1960s ranch style house. It was well cared for and a long way from the trailer house he had lived in down by Eagle Point. The whole estate was likely worth one and a half million dollars and was owned by a multinational cooperation. Actually the corporation was the mortgage holder for RJ who lived there for free. The mortgage said RJ was paying $4500 a month with a balloon payment due in fourteen years. It was all very clean. The mortgage holder could claim RJ was making payments.

Damn, RJ thought, I could do this forever.

Chapter 4

The flight had been uneventful in every respect. I’d spent the entire trip daydreaming about my new life. I had done it. I’d retired from the FBI after thirty years and was going to live on my boat in Clear Lake, Texas. I was being met by a beautiful woman who is now second in command of the Houston FBI office. She’s twenty years my junior but thinks she’s in love with me. She’s never said as much but I believe it to be the truth. The bump as the wheels hit the runway brought me out of yet another daydream. We were at Hobby Airport, southeast and near downtown Houston. My hands were wet, I felt like a kid. It was like a long held, deeply suppressed dream was about to come true. When we came to a stop at the jet way, as with every flight I’ve ever been on, everyone stood in an effort to grab their carry on bags. This never fails to amaze me. Most of the people on the plane have flown before and know once up, with bags in hand, there is nowhere to go. I had a window seat so I just sat there until the aisle next to me was clear of people. This process made me the last to deplane, but then again what did I care, I was retired and was in no rush to get anywhere.

Exiting the jet way I heard her voice. Nicholas, Nicholas over here. There she was waving as she moved through the small crowed towards me. She put her arms around me penning my arm to my side and kissed me hard on the lips in a way unlike people who were just friends. I’m so glad you’re here. Since November I’ve been pining away looking forward to this very moment. And then she relaxed a bit and rested her head under my chin.

Well Lo, it’s good to see you too. We’ve got us a busy weekend coming up. Lets go get my bags and get out of this place Lorinda is a beautiful woman with dark hair, big brown eyes, and perfect teeth. Teeth are important to me. I believe it shows what one thinks of themselves. Shows they have pride in their appearance and want to look as good as they can. In Lorinda’s case it wasn’t hard to look good. At five ten plus and one hundred fifty well placed pounds, she’s a knock out 38-29-36. The kiss worried me. I’ve always felt there was something between us but had assumed I would be in charge of making something happen if I chose to do so or if it came to that. There was no question I wanted her,