“Miss me already?” I ask upon answering.
“Terribly,” he responds. “So much, in fact, I’ve spent the last hour talking to my Dad about your proposition.”
“And? What did Chief Tomlinson have to say?”
“He called a friend in the DA’s office to ask about best procedure. Apparently, there’s already an open investigation into increasing gang activity in the North Shore area.”
I nod. “I’m not surprised this is already on their radar. Everyone at the docks is talking about it; they treat it like an open secret. The Kings aren’t exactly being discreet. And a crew of tattooed ex-cons doesn’t really fit into the Yankee Doodle demographic.”
Chris chuckles. “Be that as it may, sleepy little harbors like Gloucester, Manchester, and Rockport have become prime locations for smuggling drugs from offshore rigs onto dry land. And since many of those drugs come all the way up the coast from our southern neighbors….”
“It’s federal jurisdiction.”
“Correct.” He blows out a breath. “My Dad’s contact at the DA said they’ve escalated the investigation. Kicked it over to the Drug Enforcement Administration — the DEA — to take point. There’s a special task force in place to coordinate with the Coast Guard for water coverage, plus local police departments for additional ground support the day of the raid.”
“So it’s really going to happen, then. They’re planning to raid the docks.”
“Depending on some things.”
“Such as?”
“You, mostly.”
“Me?”
“Look, Reyes, I’m going to be honest with you — you could be the break the DEA needs to crack this operation wide open. Apparently, they’ve been trying to get enough evidence to justify a warrant for weeks. But your brother’s crew is being especially careful. Speculation isn’t enough. Rumors aren’t proof. Surveillance teams have gotten jack-shit, watching the warehouse from afar. They need someone inside. On that trawler.”
“To confirm there are drugs present.”
“Not just drugs. They also need intel on how many men are in Jaxon’s crew. Plus, what kind of heat they’re packing. The last thing anyone wants is a shootout at a commercial port with all kinds of innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire. The US government can’t afford a WACO-style fuckup.”
“I don’t know anything about guns. Even if I get onboard…”
“They don’t need specifics. Just a general count, along with a basic description.” He pauses. “Three gangbangers with some basic pieces they bought out of some dude’s trunk makes for an entirely different scenario than a full crew locked and loaded with serious, semi-automatic firepower at their disposal. You feel me?”
“I feel you, Tomlinson.”
“The DEA guys will tell you more in person. What to look for, what to take note of when you’re onboard. Entry points, potential exits, hidden compartments. They’ll walk you through everything — the wire you’ll be wearing, the camera.”
“Camera?”
“It’s tiny. Size of a dime. You won’t even know it’s there.”
“I’m more worried about Jaxon knowing it’s there…”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get a full debrief before they send you in. That’s your chance to sort through any performance anxiety.”
“I don’t get performance anxiety. You must be thinking of yourself, Tomlinson.”
“That’s the cocky bastard I know and love.” I hear the grin in his voice. “Reyes, I mean it — you may be going in alone, but you’re not going in unprepared. These agents at the DEA are professionals. They know what they’re doing. They know how to keep you safe.”
“Mhm.” I breathe deeply, pinching the bridge of my nose with two fingers. I’m struggling to wrap my mind around all of this. Trusting the system to work for me instead of against me… Putting my faith in the police to handle things efficiently, when they’ve fumbled so spectacularly in the past… It’s a foreign sensation. It doesn’t sit naturally inside my skin. My body is in full fight-or-flight mode, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end, my pulse hammering inside my veins.
“You still with me, Reyes?”
I clear my throat. “I’m here.”
“You still up for this? I’m asking, because… Well, they want to bring you in for a debrief as soon as possible.”