Bolan requested a mineral water. The sergeant smiled and inclined her head, mumbled something, then turned to a compact refrigerator. She produced a plastic bottle a moment later and tossed it to him. He caught it one-handed and nodded his thanks.
Captain Amherst came around the corner of the hallway to Bolan’s left. She strode with confidence, but the uniform didn’t quite hide the curves of her slight, lean form. She wore her coal-black hair pulled back in a ponytail, but the oval face looked mature. She projected the air of a woman in charge, and Bolan immediately pegged her as a pro through and through. This wouldn’t be easy.
“Captain Rhonda Amherst,” she said, extending her hand.
“Matt Cooper,” he replied.
“We weren’t expecting anyone from the DEA just yet,” she said.
“You probably weren’t expecting us at all,” Bolan said with a lopsided grin. “Or at least hoping.”
She inclined her head slightly. “We’re all in this together. Would you follow me, please?”
Bolan fell into step behind her. She led them to a conference room, flipped one of the wall switches and gestured toward a seat at the lit end of the long table. Amherst took the seat at the head of the table, folded her arms and leaned forward. She lowered her voice, but her eyes burned with pure scrutiny.
“Just to be sure I’m making no mistakes, I don’t suppose you’d be willing to show me some official credentials?”
“No problem.” Bolan reached into his back pocket and removed his wallet. He flipped out the identification, set it on the table in front of her and then added the badge to it.
She studied them a minute, then returned both to him. “Thanks. Can’t be too careful these days.”
“You’ll find out they’re in order when you call.”
“Excuse me?”
“I saw your lips move,” Bolan said. “You memorized the ID number. I was letting you know I’ll check out when you talk to the DEA.”
Amherst couldn’t do a thing about the sudden flush in her cheeks, and Bolan figured she knew it.
“So forget it,” he said with a wave. “I’m not here to tread on toes, Captain. I’m only interested in tracing the origin of the drugs your people seized. Washington tells me it was high-grade opium, and there isn’t too much of that flying around in the quantities we’re talking here. You knew it would attract attention.”
“I’m afraid it goes deeper than that, Agent Cooper.”
“Tell me what you know,” he said, leaning back and relaxing. Bolan figured she’d open up if he kept it loose. “Maybe I can help.”
“Let me start by giving you some idea of our territory,” she replied, getting out of her chair and walking over to a wall map. She stopped to eyeball him and added, “Only because it’s important to our present circumstances. I won’t try to snowball you.”
Bolan nodded his acknowledgment.
“This map encompasses the entire jurisdiction of LASD. My particular area is that part shaded in light blue. Chiefly we provide service to the unincorporated parts of L.A. County, broken into three main areas. Area Marina we monitor with six patrol boats, and we share responsibility with another division over at Santa Monica Bay. We’re also responsible for a number of communities east of us and then of course Lost RD.”
“The what?” Bolan interjected.
Amherst chuckled. “Our little pet name for a small island piece about a mile inland.”
“You said this little tour you’re giving me is important.” Bolan shrugged. “In what way?”
“We recovered more opium in every one of our jurisdictional areas. This stuff has been located in everything from the mansions in Windsor Hills and Ladera Heights to the slums in View Park. That’s what hasn’t been in the papers. I’m under strict orders from the higher-ups to keep this as quiet as possible. I’ve argued with the sheriff. Hell, I even risked my rank by threatening to take it over his head and straight to the county commissioners, but he swore to me he’s keeping them apprised. And yet, nada.”
“So you don’t believe him.”
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” she said with a deep sigh.
“Exactly how much opium are we talking about?” Bolan asked.
Amherst dropped into a chair next to the wall map. “Including the other night, I’d say we’re up to about three thousand kilos. Frankly, it’s more than we can handle. I’m actually relieved the DEA’s involved. The sheriff has no choice now that the cat’s out of the bag.”
Most of what he’d just heard didn’t make sense to Bolan. “So your superiors ordered you to keep it under wraps?”
“Until the other night. You know, it’s a little easier to keep this quiet when the drugs aren’t accompanied by seven corpses aboard a boat owned by one of the most famous actors in Hollywood.”
“Raul Montavo?”
Amherst nodded and expressed distaste. “Yes, but I don’t know why they called him the Latino Angel. I can testify he was anything but.”
“Why’s that?”
“The only reasons we even ran that raid was because of a reliable tip and a very friendly judge. Hell, he’s probably one of the few judges on our side.”
“You’re too young to be that jaded,” Bolan replied easily.
She frowned. “I got a lot on my plate, mister, believe me. There’s more graft in the L.A. County court system than hookers on Hollywood Boulevard.”
Bolan got to his feet. “I don’t doubt you have a lot on your hands, so I’ll keep out of your way and you keep out of mine. But you can bet I’ll look into this further.”
“That a promise or do you really mean it?” Amherst quipped.
“Funny,” Bolan said. “You could help by keeping word of my involvement strictly need-to-know for now.”
She did nothing to hide the derision in her tone as she threw up her hands. “Oh, great, another person who wants to keep this all hush-hush. Oh, well, who would I tell?”
“I don’t want to keep it quiet because I have some hidden agenda,” Bolan said in an even tone. “I just don’t want to attract attention. If there are legit reasons the sheriff has kept a gag on this, fine. But if there’s corruption involved, then it would be better if they didn’t know anything about me until I can determine how deep it goes. Make sense?”
Amherst nodded. “Yes. And I owe you an apology, Cooper. I’m just tired, I guess. It seems like nobody wants to do anything about this.”
“I do,” Bolan said. “Trust me.”
B OLAN SPOTTED THE TAIL in a nondescript sedan as soon as he left the parking lot of the LASD station. It didn’t make sense. He hadn’t been in-country even twelve hours, and nobody outside of Stony Man Farm would know of his existence or mission. That meant one of two things: Amherst had arranged for her people to follow him and see what he had up his sleeve, or someone already had the station under surveillance and Bolan’s sudden arrival sparked their interest.
Bolan bet the latter scenario as the likeliest.
He’d use the next few minutes to decide if the followers were friend or foe. As Bolan merged with traffic on the interstate, he kept an eye on the tail through his rearview mirror and considered his options. Jack Grimaldi, Stony Man’s ace pilot and longtime friend to Bolan, waited at the airport with the plane that had brought them there. Bolan had skipped renting a hotel room; he didn’t