“I’ve got a conference call over this in twenty-two minutes. Call me back within ten.”
She called seven minutes later and said that prior to giving an answer the agency would still need to evaluate what the FBI had before responding. She gave me an e-mail to send the sketch to and added, “That’s the way it’s going to have to be. It’s not up for debate. When can I expect to see the sketch?”
“I’m not sure. If it’s comes from me, it won’t be until I get back to the Vegas office.”
“I thought this was urgent. Get someone to send it.”
“You’re missing the point.”
I hung up with Sally, called Thorpe, and said, “It’s up to you. They want to analyze what we have before they’ll say anything.”
“I’ll call them, but if I need you where are you?”
“Borrego Springs, about to get on a plane to fly back to Vegas. I’ll see you at the office. We’re taking off in a few minutes.”
When I walked into our Vegas field office, I was intercepted and directed to a conference room filled with analysts and agents. On-screen was an aerial view of Ocotillo Wells and the surrounding areas of the Anza-Borrego, including Borrego Springs. In LA, the SWAT commander watched remotely. The San Diego County Sheriff’s Department SWAT team was also available and watching, though because procedures were different, the two SWAT teams wouldn’t operate near each other. All of this presumed Hurin was alive and there.
I zoomed in on an aerial view of Cargoland so those in the room could get an idea of what a village in the desert built of used cargo containers looks like. I left the image up until I reached the Denny Mondari link, and then switched to the map Lacey had created of Mondari’s two road trips. Trip one was in yellow. Trip two was in blue. I traced the credit card trails.
“Follow the most recent trip,” I said. “You can see he was in the Phoenix area on this day, and here on the next.”
The laser pointer followed the road. I stopped the pointer and drew a little circle with it.
“He got tagged for speeding and a burned-out taillight on the twenty-seventh of June. The highway patrol officer said the driver’s license matched Mondari. He doesn’t remember his face, but he’s a veteran and his drill is to always compare license photo to face. He remembers the man as nervous and apologetic. The bottom line is, we can put him in Arizona within two miles of the warehouse where the C-4 was allegedly stored, and we can follow him from there to the Anza-Borrego. We’ve got a second, almost identical, trip that just happened.”
Somebody interrupted and asked, “What did you mean when you said ‘allegedly stored’?”
“I’m not sure it was ever there, but that’s me. Forget that for now.”
I stopped and looked around the conference room. I didn’t want to lose them with my personal theories about how the C-4 entered the US. Nine people in here, and they all had to be thinking, There’s no evidence connecting Mondari to Hurin. I turned the PowerPoint back to the Arizona-to-Anza road map.
“If you’re wondering whether we’re wasting our time charting some pleasure trip Denny Mondari took, I’m wondering too.”
Somebody laughed, but nobody thought it was funny.
“The CHP officer remembered Mondari because he sensed something was off. Those are his words. After he was ticketed, Mondari continued on to the Anza-Borrego. We can follow that movement with credit card charges. With this most recent trip, we’re talking about just a few days ago, and with that one, there are no credit charges of any kind on the return trip.”
“So he’s still there,” someone said. “Why don’t we go out with a warrant, find him, and answer this?”
“We’re already looking for him.” I paused. I gave it a beat. “We’re not looking for his car anymore. The car was found torched on a dirt desert road beneath Potosi Mountain late on the night of the tenth. ERT went out. So did a cadaver dog early the next morning, and there was no sign of foul play. Either Mondari drove the car to the Anza-Borrego or someone impersonating him and able to forge his signature near perfectly drove the car. We’re pretty sure it was Mondari.”
John Munoz, an agent on the DT squad, interrupted.
“I want to make sure I’m getting this right. You’re proposing Mondari as a courier, possibly unaware of what he was delivering. He thinks he’s delivering a drug shipment, but he’s carrying C-4 in the trunk of his car. He delivers to Hurin.”
“More likely to a drop point.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he’s on the hook for his guys hacking into a Sinaloa cartel manager’s computer. I’ll explain, but let me go on a little further here first. Here’s why we’re meeting. In the Anza-Borrego in Ocotillo Wells, we have a sighting of a known freelance bomb maker who—”
“Who may or may not be dead already,” Munoz said.
“That’s right.”