Buried Treasure Ch. 36-40

"Why not people from back home," she asked.

"Rori and my friends up there might be watched; I can't take the chance. I figured my family in Oregon, Denver, and Texas won't be watched like them. Also, if this goes well, I can trust them to do the right thing with the cash." It wasn't good enough to get away with the money; you had to get away with getting away with the money. That meant the people involved need to be disciplined and trusted. One person going around like they hit the lottery and the whole thing could crash down. "We need to warn Frank Grimes about the agents and cops you suspect are dirty. If he includes them in the takedown plans, the Sons will move it and we get nothing. I think we should turn over the list of phone numbers to them now, along with the list of law enforcement you suspect are on the payroll."

"The list is pretty long, and I don't want to email it," she said.

"It will take a while, but I'll text it to him. Names first, then the phones. If I do it by chapter, that breaks it down." Her sleuthing had dug up every number in use by every club.

"You text, I'll sleep," she said. She climbed into the front seat, and I moved over, laying my legs across the back seat while she reclined. The burner phone was pretty basic, but it was the best way; I'd already talked to him, and there would be only one number. I sent him a text explaining what was coming. The evidence she had on the dirty cops was not conclusive, but it helped explain how they had kept this pipeline going for so long. With the list of about two dozen names sent, I started relaying the groups of phone numbers.

It took me an hour to send him everything.

DEA Agent Frank Donovan's POV

Orlando Task Force Headquarters

I had turned in my report, and Commander Lindstrom had spent thirty seconds reading my executive summary at the three PM staff meeting. "So you have nothing," she said.

"Nothing actionable at this time; there are rumors, but nothing is solid enough to get a warrant," I had replied in front of everyone. "We know they are moving major quantities of product from the Bay Area inland, but we've never been able to figure out how. The surveillance efforts have come up empty, and we haven't made a bust we can trace back. The Sons are tighter than the Cartels when it comes to loyalty. We've never been able to flip one of them, and none have ever taken a deal." I looked over at Ramon Martin, the Assistant US Attorney from Florida who was on our team. "Ramon, did any of the Sons in prison help us out?"

"Every one of their men in prison refused to talk to us," he said. "One of my colleagues walked in with a deal that would have shortened a man's time from fifteen years left to time served, and he laughed at him, told him to stick his deal up his ass."

"We're not having much luck, are we."

"No," he said. "The Sons have distanced themselves enough from what Jose did that we are having difficulty justifying warrants. They've done nothing suspicious."

The cellphone in my pocket buzzed. I ignored it, knowing how much the bosses hated it when people were looking at their phones during a meeting. It buzzed a dozen times over the next minute or two, each time I pressed the side button to mute it. I finally got a chance to peek at the screen, and it was a list of phone numbers. "Something important, Agent Donovan," the FBI Commander asked, irritation in her voice.

"I don't know yet," I said. I opened the screen and backed up the messages to the first one. My eyes got wide, especially at the warning NOT to share the list of dirty cops with the Task Force. After that warning was a list of phone numbers, ordered by Chapter. "My office just sent me more names and phone numbers associated with the Sons of Tezcatlipoca in Mexico," I lied.

"Anything I need to know?"

"Director Grimes said they were uncovered in support of an ongoing investigation, but he doesn't have enough evidence to get warrants."

"Forward the numbers to me," Al Perkins said. "I'll see if there are any numbers we haven't checked already." The meeting went on for another ten minutes, and when it broke up, I followed Al into his office. "Got those numbers?"

"Forwarding them now." I copied and pasted the messages into an email and sent it to him.

He looked at it for a moment. "This is a much longer list than you had before."

"Frank said his source gave him not only the accounts registered to known Sons members but also anyone linked to the club. The burner phones have asterisks at the end; those are the priority." He raised an eyebrow at that. "Their source must have used tower data to detect every phone used in the area of the Clubhouse, then worked backward to eliminate ones not related. This list is what could not be eliminated."

"This is good stuff," he said. He forwarded the email on his CIA laptop to someone else, then closed it down.

"What do you do with that stuff," I asked.

"You know what Echelon is?"

I nodded. "It's a system the National Security Agency developed. It monitors all electronic communications, including email and phone, and can listen or search for keywords."

"Pretty close. The NSA collects this stuff and stores it in huge data centers. If you've made a phone call or sent a text or email in the last ten years, they have it stashed in memory. The hard part is accessing it. There are rules about spying on US citizens, and Echelon data has never been subject to subpoena or used as evidence. The intelligence guys don't like mixing with law enforcement; we have far different operating rules."

"Like how you can't operate domestically."

"Exactly. You gave me these numbers, but if you want to listen in, you have to get a wiretap. These are US citizens, at least some are, so I can't do anything with it either."

"So why did you want them?"

He just smiled. "Echelon is just a database; the computers that query the database to get the information are the ones to exploit it. We worked with the British, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand to develop the system. Intelligence agents in those countries can access the database, and I just forwarded those phone numbers to my counterpart in Canada. He will start with those burner phones and then move to the others. When he's listened to the intercepts, he will send me an intelligence summary. There are cases under the Patriot Act when foreign intelligence reports can be used to get domestic warrants."

I looked at him quizzically. "This is a gang war, not terrorism."

"Presidential Decision Directives to target money laundering and drug smuggling fit within the Patriot Act guidelines because they are used to fund terror operations," he said. "The lines can get blurred. Just relax... in a few days, I'll have a summary of what we have from those phone numbers, including transcripts of relevant conversations. You guys package that into a warrant, then you go after them as normal."

"But we can't use the intercepted communications directly in their prosecutions since they were obtained without a warrant."

"Now you're catching on. The other part of this is that my boys can go after any part of this criminal conspiracy that is outside the United States. That means anything linking back to the Sons in Mexico or Central America, any Cartel connections, and the money laundering in overseas banks. Working together is going to be a lot of fun. Trust me."

I walked out of his office, feeling a lot better about things. I needed to talk to Director Grimes, and I couldn't do it around here. "I'm heading out," I told the others in my area. "See you in the morning." I walked out to my car and made the phone call as the air conditioning was kicking on. "Director, it's Frank," I said.

"You got my messages?"

"Yes, sir. I passed the phone numbers on to our CIA contact; he's going to run them through Echelon. He said it would take a couple of days to get the results."

"That's good, but it's not soon enough. You saw the names?"

"I did. Damn, sir, I had no idea the Sons, and the Cartels had so many on the payroll. And to have the corruption go all the way up to Director Phil McClintock, that's a blow."

I could just imagine how he felt; these men had betrayed us all for money. From his voice, he was pissed. "I was shocked as well, especially since the DEA Director in San Francisco has such a good operational record. I bet the Cartel was using him to take out the competition while leaving their supply line alone. Our source has been a godsend; we're preparing a raid in Oakland right now."

"That's what you didn't want me to mention the names."

"Exactly. Where there are twenty, there are likely more. Chase gave us detailed information on a smuggling operation in progress right now. I've spoken to the DEA Director and the Homeland Security Director already; we are bringing in an outside team for the takedown, and we aren't alerting local law enforcement or Federal assets in the region of the operation. The men are flying in from Washington right now, under complete radio silence."

I thought about this; agencies and police were very territorial, and a raid like this was going to ruffle all kinds of feathers. A different thought crossed my mind. "Wait, would a Director have sufficient access to personnel files to see who had performed undercover work in the past?"

"That thought has crossed my mind, as well. If Phil is the one who has exposed Sean and the other agents, God himself won't be able to save him."

I believed him. This whole thing had been deeply personal to Frank Grimes. "What can I do?"

"I need you to be with the Task Force when this goes down. I'll call you once the attack is underway. Observe the reactions, and keep your Commander from doing anything stupid. I'm hoping that one of them calls one of these phone numbers we got with a warning for the Sons. If it happens, we find another compromised agent."

Layers upon layers. "All right, I'm going to grab dinner and get back to work. I'll be waiting for your call."

Ch. 40

Three Tequila's POV

Orlando, FL Chick-Fil-A

I felt like I was falling apart, and only my husband's arms around me kept me from falling to the ground and screaming my pain.

I clung to Mongo's chest, my face buried in his shirt, as Frank Donovan's car drove away. "Don't say anything, baby. I got you." He slowly moved me over to one of the outside tables, setting our food down on the table. I set my banana shake down, and he guided me into his lap. I was shaking; the emotions rolling through me were more than I could take right now.

I'd watched Harleigh as she lay injured in the hospital room. I'd been helpless as they took her. I'd grieved for her when the Sons of Tezcatlipoca killed her. I buried a casket that only had her photograph and some of her treasures inside. Losing my sister and her husband was tough, but losing the girl that I loved like my own daughter? That almost killed me.

And now, in less than a minute in the back seat of a DEA agents car, my entire life had shifted. "She's alive?"

"Not now, not here," he told me. "Eat your lunch."

He set me on the bench, and I opened up my sandwich before wrapping it back up again. "I can't eat," I said as I started to cry again.

"Drink your shake, then. Try and calm down, then I'll take us home." He unwrapped his three sandwiches and fries and dug in.

"How can you eat right now?"

"I'm hungry, baby. I think better on a full stomach." I just drank my shake and tried to calm down. Mongo didn't take long, and by the time I finished my drink, he was done eating. "I'll put this back in the bag; maybe you'll be hungry later."

"Maybe."

Mongo called the Club, letting Tripod know that he was on his way back. He got up and threw the trash away, then grabbed my food before helping me to my feet. It was like I was in shock; I saw and heard everything, but it was like it was happening to someone else. He handed me my helmet, and I put it on. I got on the Harley behind him, my arms automatically wrapping around his waist as I leaned forward onto his cut. He started the motorcycle and pulled out of the lot. "You all right," he asked over the Bluetooth connection between us.

"I don't know what I am right now," I said. "Harleigh is alive?"

"Agent Donovan thinks so," he said. "This whole time we thought the Sons had taken her because that is what they wanted people to think. The DEA didn't do it, so it had to be Chase and Rori. Why else would they be in Minnesota?"

I didn't know what to say to that.

Rori had joined the Ladies in our Chapter, and I loved that girl. Chase was a good man, and I loved him too. We had spent a lot of time together over the past few years, both here in Orlando and at their beautiful home on the North Shore of Lake Superior. How could they do this to me? The more I thought about it, the angrier I got.

"Hey, let me breathe," he said. I loosened my arms; I wasn't even aware I'd been squeezing him like that until he said it. "Thanks."

I leaned my helmet against his back. "They knew. This whole time, THEY KNEW, and THEY LET ME SUFFER THINKING HARLEIGH WAS DEAD!"

"I know, baby."

"How could they do this to us?"

"Do what? Keep her safe?" He didn't say anything more until we were past the stoplight, while I just tried to sort through my thoughts. "Look, someone in the DEA gave Sean up, and the police weren't going to keep her safe from the threat of the Sons. One rookie posted outside her room wasn't enough, and they wouldn't let the Club protect her either. Is it that unreasonable for Rori and Chase to figure she'd be safer with them, over a thousand miles away?"

"Maybe, but they could have told us!"

"I'm sure they were going to, but they almost killed a cop, baby. He overdosed on the sedative, and killing a cop in Florida will get you the electric chair. They couldn't say anything; they had to disappear. It's what I would have done."

"Chase and Rori stood with me at the service, they CRIED with me and hugged me and the whole time they knew she was safe!"

He reached down and patted my hand that was around his waist. "The investigation is ongoing, and you know the Police Chief wants all of us in jail. Think about it for a moment. If you knew Harleigh was alive, would you have reacted as you did at the service?"

"Sure, I could act like that!"

"Not that convincingly," he said. "Nobody who saw you could doubt you were grieving your niece."

Dammit. Mongo was right, and that grated on me. "He said Harleigh was recognized in public, and that we have to tell Chase to keep her out of sight."

"He also said we weren't to trust phones or emails, baby."

There was only one way. "I have to go see them, love. It has to be in person."

He thought about it. "Shit. I can't leave, you know the cops are going to follow me everywhere I go. You're going to have to do it." He stopped at a light and looked back at me. "You have to do it in a way no one knows you're there."

"How?"

He didn't have an answer. We drove on in silence, finally arriving back at the clubhouse. He parked in his reserved spot by the door, and I off the bike. "Come on, let's go to our room." The Orlando police still hadn't released our house, so we were staying in one of the guest rooms at the new Clubhouse.

I took off my helmet, then put a foot on the ground. I stepped off, having to hold on to the backrest just to stand. I was so emotional I couldn't stop shaking, and I couldn't let go or even stand up straight. I just stood there and sobbed.

Mongo gave up after a few seconds of waiting and swept me up into his arms. I was crying on his shoulder as he carried me in.

Bowlegs rushed out to meet us, her old man Tripod right behind her. They must have watched us drive in from the Club office, which meant they saw me break down too. "You all right, honey," she asked as she held the door open.

"It's been a rough time. She needs to rest," Mongo said. "We're going to our room, make sure no one disturbs us."

"Sure, boss," Tripod said.

"I'm here if you need to talk," Bowlegs added. "All the Ladies are here for you."

"Thanks." He carried me up to our room, which was at the far end of the hallway. He set me on the bed; I removed my cut, T-shirt and bra while he was taking off my boots and jeans. I flopped back onto the pillow, turning onto my side as I hugged his pillow in the fetal position. Mongo was taking off his boots.

Now only in his boxers, he crawled into bed behind me and pulled me back to his chest. He held me as the stress and emotions of the day faded away. I felt much better when I woke up a few hours later, his rampant erection poking me in the back.

I smiled as I reached my hand back. Mongo had been my old man for twenty-five years, but he still managed to rock my world a time or two a week. His hand had found its way up to its favorite spot, cupping my right tit. He was sleeping soundly.

I moved my hand until it was encircling his hard length. He must have been having a good dream because he moaned softly as his hips started to move against me. I moved my other hand into my lace panties, running a finger over my rapidly moistening slit. I quickly built to a shuddering orgasm.

He woke to my hand jacking off his big cock as I played with myself. "What?"

"Fuck me," I told him. "Fuck me hard, baby."

I raised my leg and pulled my panties aside as I moved him towards my entrance. He reached an arm around my raised left leg, moving me to where he could plunge in. "Fuck you're wet," he said as he pushed deep inside me in a powerful thrust.

"Oh God, yes," I said. He started moving in long strokes, his hips smacking my ass every time he bottomed out. "I need more," I said.

He pulled out, then pushed me over until I was laying on my stomach, my legs trapped between his muscled thighs. He lined himself up again, then pushed forward. "You're so fucking tight this way," he said as he drove all the way in.

"Pound me," I begged him. He held me down, his hands covering mine by my shoulders as his big body trapped me underneath him. I loved the feeling of being helpless under a strong man, so I loved this position. He started to drive into me with long strokes, his cock hitting my G-spot before it stretched me to the limit. I came hard, shaking under him as my greedy pussy squeezed him tight. "FUCK, yes," I screamed.

He let go of my hands as he knelt back, pulling me up doggy-style. His hands held me helpless by the hips as he slammed into me faster and faster; I couldn't think, I couldn't hold myself up, I just gave myself to him as he fucked me stupid. I let out a scream as my orgasm came again, and this time, he was with me. Slamming as deep inside as he could go, he held on as my spasming pussy milked his cock of all he had.

When he finished, he held me tight to him as he guided me back down onto my side. He kissed my neck and cheek as we lay there, recovering. "I love you, baby," he said.

"I love you too," I said. He finally popped out, causing the mess to drip down my leg. I put my hand down and rolled out of bed, dashing for the shower. Our room had been the President's office, so it was the only one on this floor with its own bathroom until we completed remodels. I jumped into the small shower stall, emerging clean five minutes later.

"How long will you be gone," he asked.

"A few days, I don't know," I said. I pulled on clothes; jeans, boots and a Harley T-shirt. I grabbed a sweatshirt, that was the extent of my winter clothing. "Any ideas on how to hide my trip from them?"

"You can't fly commercial, not if the Feds or the cops put an alert on your name in the system," he said. "I suppose you could take a bus; you ought to get there in three days or so."