Fake Truth by Lee Goldberg

Fake Truth by Lee Goldberg

Author:Lee Goldberg [Goldberg, Lee]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-04-06T16:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The White House. Oval Office. November 12. 9:30 a.m. Eastern Standard Time.

The president paced in front of his desk. Healy sat on a couch across from Attorney General Ritchfield Douglas, who sat on the matching couch opposite him and looked to be in considerable discomfort, as if he’d eaten something that violently disagreed with him.

“I called you both here because this border situation is getting out of control,” the president said. “First that illegal in San Diego murdered two women with a gun the ATF sold to a drug cartel. Now a bunch of Mexicans with bags of cocaine taped to their bodies crossed the border in Texas and got into a gunfight with a citizen militia patrolling a ranch down there.”

Healy frowned. “With all due respect, sir, this is a law-enforcement and immigration problem. I don’t understand what I am doing here.”

The president glanced at Douglas. “Tell Mike what you told me.”

The attorney general cleared his throat. “No Americans got hurt last night, but the Mexicans were killed. The dead men were carrying guns that the ATF sold to the Vibora cartel, which is run by Arturo Giron, who escaped from a Mexican prison into a quarter-mile-long tunnel that was lit, air-conditioned, and had an electric-powered rail system. It was well engineered and must have cost millions.”

“I’ve followed the story in the news,” Healy said.

“Then you know that Giron is a rich, smart, calculating son of a bitch who has half of the Mexican government in his pocket,” Douglas said. “He’s smuggled hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of heroin and cocaine into the United States using elaborate tunnels, homemade submarines, tricked-out speedboats, and private jets. He’s trucked his heroin directly across our border as frozen orange juice and shipped cocaine into our ports disguised as bathtubs and ceramic tiles.”

The president faced Healy. “What Ritchy is saying is that the Frito Bandito wouldn’t tape kilos of cocaine to illegals running into Texas.”

“It’s amateurish and makes no financial sense for him,” Douglas said. “The quantities are too small and the odds of his drug mules getting ripped off or caught or dying on the journey are too high.”

“Maybe it’s not Giron,” Healy said. “Maybe it’s some small-time operator.”

Douglas shook his head. “The Viboras own that corner of Mexico. Anybody who crosses them would end up with their head on a spike. And there’s more that doesn’t fit. Giron’s stuff is pure. It doesn’t get recut until it hits his dealers. Those bags were mostly baking soda and flour with a bit of coke. You’d get a bigger high snorting crushed Cap’n Crunch.”

“You’re saying it’s a setup,” Healy said.

“I’m saying it’s not about drugs. All I know is that someone is going to a lot of trouble to humiliate the Justice Department, the Border Patrol, the ATF, and this president,” Douglas said and looked at the president, who looked at Healy.

“It’s a hostile act against our country by a foreign agitator,” the president said.

Now Healy understood why Douglas seemed uncomfortable. It was Healy who was being set up now.



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