. . I figured you for an expert on drugs, Mark." Beamon shrugged. He had a talent for quickly forgetting things that didn't matter--it cut down on mental clutter. As far as he was concerned, the drug war had been lost a long time ago.
"How does all this heroin get here?"
"Lots of ways. For the most part, though, it's smuggled in through Mexico."
Beamon folded up his map and shoved it in his pocket, lost in thought for a moment.
"What's going on behind those beady little eyes, Mark?" "I'm not sure," he said honestly.
"Oh, come on. You're thinking that al-Qaeda's trying to get into refining, transport, and sales--the money end of the heroin business. And if that's the case, you figure they used their new money and contacts to get ahold of that rocket launcher and smuggle it into the States."
"What if I do think that? Would it be a reasonable theory?"
Mastretta took his reading glasses off and flopped into a kitchen chair. "It might be. We've been doing a pretty good job cutting al-Qaeda off from its money. First we run most of them out of Afghanistan, then we start putting heavy pressure on financial institutions and Arab charities--not to mention coercing those asshole Saudis and Egyptians to stop stabbing us in the back. . . ."
"Thanks, Jaime," Beamon said, heading for the kitchen door. He stopped with his hand on the knob. "And I was never here, right?"
"Well, if you need any more help with what we didn't talk about just now, give me a call."
"Laura!"
"Mark?"
Beamon leaned forward over the wheel, surveying the desolate street before running the stop sign in front of him. "Didn't wake you up, did I?"
"It's four in the morning."
He laughed. "I didn't. I didn't wake you up."
He heard her sigh over the cell phone. "I don't sleep much these days."
"Did that ass Drake send you the stuff we asked for?" "Yeah, we got it--by the truckload. We're just starting to dig through it. You called at this hour to ask me that?" "Not just that."
"What, then?"
"I've got something you should follow up on."
"I'm listening."
"I had a thought that the fighting Drake told us about is over heroin production and transportation facilities--that it relates to Mustafa Yasin expanding his presence in the narcotics business. Think about it. What could be more perfect for him? He sells heroin to the U . S ., addicting our kids, and then uses the money to buy sophisticated self-contained weapons. And as a bonus, he gets access to the smuggling lines into the U . S to get those weapons here. From a radical Muslim perspective, it's got kind of an elegant symmetry to it, don't you think?"
"Where are you getting this?"
"Just a thought I had. I ran it by Jaime Mastretta and he seems to feel pretty good about it. You should talk to him." There was silence over the phone for a moment. "What about the CIA? Wouldn't they have figured this out?" "I guess it's possible that they missed the connection, but I doubt it. I mean, they were the catalysts for the Afghan drug trade. The caravans that the CIA used to get weapons to the mujahideen were coming back empty. It didn't take long for somebody to start loading them up with opium."
"Why wouldn't they tell us?" she asked, but her tone suggested she already knew the answer.
"My guess would be that they've got interests in the heroin trade over there and are using the money to finance some of their off-the-books stuff. Wouldn't be the first time: Remember Nicaragua and Laos?"
"It's an interesting theory, Mark, but it seems pretty academic to me right now. The question I need to answer is: Where is the launcher?" Her tone turned thoughtful. "How can I use this to find the launcher . . . ?"
"Think drugs, Laura. Middle Eastern heroin is smuggled through Mexico by a fairly organized and efficient group of people. If the launcher came in that way, it could be that somebody will remember something. Maybe somebody noticed a few Middle Eastern heroin dealers acting suspiciously--more suspiciously than
"How does all this heroin get here?"
"Lots of ways. For the most part, though, it's smuggled in through Mexico."
Beamon folded up his map and shoved it in his pocket, lost in thought for a moment.
"What's going on behind those beady little eyes, Mark?" "I'm not sure," he said honestly.
"Oh, come on. You're thinking that al-Qaeda's trying to get into refining, transport, and sales--the money end of the heroin business. And if that's the case, you figure they used their new money and contacts to get ahold of that rocket launcher and smuggle it into the States."
"What if I do think that? Would it be a reasonable theory?"
Mastretta took his reading glasses off and flopped into a kitchen chair. "It might be. We've been doing a pretty good job cutting al-Qaeda off from its money. First we run most of them out of Afghanistan, then we start putting heavy pressure on financial institutions and Arab charities--not to mention coercing those asshole Saudis and Egyptians to stop stabbing us in the back. . . ."
"Thanks, Jaime," Beamon said, heading for the kitchen door. He stopped with his hand on the knob. "And I was never here, right?"
"Well, if you need any more help with what we didn't talk about just now, give me a call."
"Laura!"
"Mark?"
Beamon leaned forward over the wheel, surveying the desolate street before running the stop sign in front of him. "Didn't wake you up, did I?"
"It's four in the morning."
He laughed. "I didn't. I didn't wake you up."
He heard her sigh over the cell phone. "I don't sleep much these days."
"Did that ass Drake send you the stuff we asked for?" "Yeah, we got it--by the truckload. We're just starting to dig through it. You called at this hour to ask me that?" "Not just that."
"What, then?"
"I've got something you should follow up on."
"I'm listening."
"I had a thought that the fighting Drake told us about is over heroin production and transportation facilities--that it relates to Mustafa Yasin expanding his presence in the narcotics business. Think about it. What could be more perfect for him? He sells heroin to the U . S ., addicting our kids, and then uses the money to buy sophisticated self-contained weapons. And as a bonus, he gets access to the smuggling lines into the U . S to get those weapons here. From a radical Muslim perspective, it's got kind of an elegant symmetry to it, don't you think?"
"Where are you getting this?"
"Just a thought I had. I ran it by Jaime Mastretta and he seems to feel pretty good about it. You should talk to him." There was silence over the phone for a moment. "What about the CIA? Wouldn't they have figured this out?" "I guess it's possible that they missed the connection, but I doubt it. I mean, they were the catalysts for the Afghan drug trade. The caravans that the CIA used to get weapons to the mujahideen were coming back empty. It didn't take long for somebody to start loading them up with opium."
"Why wouldn't they tell us?" she asked, but her tone suggested she already knew the answer.
"My guess would be that they've got interests in the heroin trade over there and are using the money to finance some of their off-the-books stuff. Wouldn't be the first time: Remember Nicaragua and Laos?"
"It's an interesting theory, Mark, but it seems pretty academic to me right now. The question I need to answer is: Where is the launcher?" Her tone turned thoughtful. "How can I use this to find the launcher . . . ?"
"Think drugs, Laura. Middle Eastern heroin is smuggled through Mexico by a fairly organized and efficient group of people. If the launcher came in that way, it could be that somebody will remember something. Maybe somebody noticed a few Middle Eastern heroin dealers acting suspiciously--more suspiciously than
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