up the rear. Inside the cavernous hangar Bosch saw there were three black helicopters sitting side by side in the bay area. There were several men, most in black jumpsuits, milling about and drinking coffee from white cups. Two of the helicopters were wide-bodied personnel transport craft. Bosch recognized them. They were UH-1Ns. Hueys. The distinctive whop-whop of their rotors would forever be the sound of Vietnam to him. The third craft was smaller and sleeker. It looked like a craft manufactured for commercial use, like a news or police chopper, but it had been converted into a gunship. Bosch recognized the gun turret mounted on the right side of the copter's body. Beneath the cockpit another mount held an array of equipment, including a spotlight and night-vision sensor. The men in the black jumpsuits were stripping the white numbers and letters off the tail sections of the craft. They were preparing for a total blackout, a night assault. Bosch noticed Corvo come up next to him.
"We call it the Lynx," he said, nodding to the smallest of the three craft. "Mostly use 'em in Central and South America ops, but we snagged this one on its way down. It's for night work. You've got total night vision set up— infrared, heat-pattern displays. It will be the in-air command post tonight."
Bosch just nodded. He was not as impressed with the hardware as Corvo was. The DEA supervisor seemed more animated than during their meeting at the Code 7. His dark eyes were darting around the hangar, taking it all in. Bosch realized that he probably missed fieldwork. He was stuck in L.A. while guys like Ramos got to play the war games.
"And that's where you're going to be, you and your partner," Corvo said, nodding at the Lynx. "With me. Nice and safe. Observers."
"You in charge of this show, or is Ramos?"
"I'm in charge."
"Hope so." Then, looking at the war chopper, Bosch said, "Tell me something, Corvo, we want Zorrillo alive, right?"
"That's right."
"Okay, then, when we get him, what's the plan? He's a Mexican citizen. You can't take him over the border. You just going to give him to the Mexicans? He'll be running the penitentiary they put him in within a month. That is, if they put him in a pen."
It was a problem every cop in southern California had come up against. Mexico refused to extradite its citizens to the United States for crimes committed there. But it would prosecute them at home. The problem was that it was well known that the country's biggest drug dealers turned penitentiary stays into hotel visits. Women, drugs, alcohol and other comforts could be had as long as the money was paid. One story was that a convicted drug lord had actually taken over the warden's office and residence at a prison in Juarez. He had paid the warden $100,000 for the privilege, about four times what the warden made in a year. Now the warden was an inmate at the prison.
"I know what you're saying," Corvo said. "But don't worry about it. We got a plan for that. Only things you have to worry about are your own ass and your partner's. You better watch him good. And you better get some coffee. It's going to be a long night."
Bosch rejoined Aguila, who was standing at the workbench where the coffee had been set up. They nodded at some of the agents who were milling about the bench but the gestures were rarely returned. They were the invited uninvited. From where they stood, they could see into a suite of offices off the aircraft bays. There were several Mexicans in green uniforms sitting at desks and tables, drinking coffee and waiting.
"Militia," Aguila said. "From Mexico City. Is there no one in Mexicali that the DEA trusts?"
"Well, after tonight, they'll trust you."
Bosch lit a cigarette to go with the coffee and took an expansive look around the hangar.
"What do you think?" he said to Aguila.
"I think the pope of Mexicali is going to have a wake-up call tonight."
"Looks that way."
They moved away from the coffee bench to let others have at it and leaned against a nearby counter to watch the raid equipment being prepared. Bosch looked over toward the back of the hangar and saw Ramos standing with a group of men wearing bulky black jumpsuits. Harry walked over and saw that the men were wearing Nomex fire retardant suits beneath the jumpsuits. Some of them were smearing bootblack around