The Last Line by Anthony Shaffer Page B

East L.A. Congressional District, has personally issued a plea for calm while the incident is investigated.”

    DISTRICTO IZTACALCO
    CIUDAD DE MÉXICO
    REPUBLICA DE MÉXICO
    1535 HOURS, LOCAL TIME
    They’d parked the Escort on Sur 145, a narrow street in the barrio of crowded tenements, houses, and shacks. De la Cruz had pointed out the suspected safe house used by Escalante and other members of the Los Zetas cartel, a two-story house with a cracked plaster façade and a decaying front stoop.
    â€œI’d have thought a drug lord could afford something more upscale—something with a Chihuahua at least…” Teller observed.
    De la Cruz shrugged. “In this part of town, it’s best to be inconspicuous. Besides, it’s not his home.”
    â€œSo, how do we know if he’s here?” Chavez asked.
    â€œOh, he’s here alright,” de la Cruz said. “That’s his car parked in front of us. See the sticker on the plate? Hoy no circula .”
    â€œâ€˜No drive today’?” Teller translated. “I don’t get it.”
    â€œMexico City has two major problems,” Chavez told him, “traffic congestion and pollution caused by traffic. The hoy no circula program takes some of those cars, the older ones, off the streets.”
    â€œNewer cars are exempt,” de la Cruz explained. “But cars older than eight years can’t go out on the streets one day a week plus one Saturday a month.”
    â€œ Exacto . His ’02 Chevy has a red sticker, and his license plate number ends in ‘4.’ That means he can’t take it out on the streets on Wednesdays, or on the third Saturday of the month.”
    â€œAnd today is Wednesday,” Teller said. “That must be hell on people who have to commute.”
    â€œIt forces people to find other ways to get to work,” de la Cruz replied. “But Mexico City proper has nine million people living in it … and almost twenty-five million people in the metro area. It’s the largest city in the Western Hemisphere. Twenty years ago, they were issuing hazardous air warnings for this city 355 days out of the year. Today … well, things are a lot better.”
    â€œYeah, the air doesn’t seem that bad,” Teller admitted. “A little thin, but not bad. I can’t see people in the United States giving up driving, though, even one day a week. I think we’re addicted to it.”
    De la Cruz chuckled. “Don’t get smug, gringo. I’ve seen Los Angeles and Washington, D.C., in rush hour. Mark me, you yanquis will be doing something just like it soon!”
    â€œSure,” Chavez said. “Remember gas rationing, back in the seventies? It could get that bad again.”
    â€œBefore my time,” Teller said. The steady erosion of basic American freedoms over the past couple of decades was a sore point with him. He decided to change the uncomfortable subject. “So … tell us about this Escalante character.”
    â€œHere…” De la Cruz reached into a jacket pocket and produced a smart phone. “You have net access?”
    â€œSure.” Teller pulled out his mobile phone. With de la Cruz’s phone acting as a mobile wireless hotspot, he could exchange contact information with the CISEN agent, then download a file from de la Cruz’s phone. He opened it, and began scanning through the information. The attached file photos included several surveillance shots of Escalante, plus one prison photograph, showing front and side views. He was a young man with dark hair, a heavy mustache, and cold, cold eyes.
    â€œHe started off working for Sinaloa,” de la Cruz said. “Strictly mid-level management. He oversaw the shipment of cocaine, mostly, up from Colombia, and passed it on to the smuggling networks in Tijuana and Nogales. When the Tijuana Cartel went independent, they put a price on his head, but he went to