visible was the improbably long tunnel leading from this garage to a far less impressive building on the other side of the Mexican border. In fact, it was so well hidden that no one in Homeland Security’s entire network had ever found even the slightest trace of it. The tip had come from NASA, of all places. They’d been testing a new geological survey satellite when they’d stumbled upon an underground anomaly that traced a perfectly straight line from San Ysidro to Tijuana.
At first they’d thought it was a glitch in their equipment. Once that was ruled out, they started searching for evidence of a disused sewer line or power conduit. When that turned out to be a dead end, a tech in Houston had made a joke about it being a drug tunnel. Apparently, someone there had taken the idea seriously enough to send a few screen shots to her cousin at DEA.
And now there he was, sweating his ass off with a spare tire wedged against his spine. Probably because of some forgotten mine or collapsed well that would have been easy to check out with a little cooperation from the Mexican authorities.
Unfortunately, the chances of that happening were right around zero. Relations with America’s southern neighbor were at an all-time low. The constant background noise about immigration, trade, and drugs had been bad enough, but with the upcoming election, it was all blowing up. Everything was about blame and politics. Us versus them.
Even the solid Mexican law enforcement guys were now either sitting on their hands or, worse, actively undermining DEA and ICE operations. They figured why should they die in gangland executions because the Americans like to get high, eat tacos, and have their lawns mowed on the cheap.
Flores watched the screen of his phone as a maintenance guy appeared on the north camera. It would have been nice if he’d been one of theirs, but they’d run into a suspiciously solid wall on that front. Normally, those kinds of jobs were abundant in this area and the DEA sent various applicants with nicely fabricated résumés. Not so much as a call back.
That had left them with a pretty complicated surveillance environment, but they’d finally figured out the narco trafficker’s system. How were they getting in and out of the tunnel with enough product to make this enterprise worthwhile?
A fucking car elevator.
The very thought of it made Flores a little queasy. Not the elevator specifically, but everything around it. This mall had been built by an American-Mexican consortium. The city had provided incentives and tax credits. When it opened, the mayor and Arnold Schwarzenegger had cut the ribbon. That’s right, Kindergarten Cop himself had shown up to open a drug trafficking front partially paid for by the state of California.
The maintenance man paused, glancing around in a way that was suspicious enough to get Flores’s attention. This section of the garage was as far as you could get from the elevator leading up to the mall. Lighting was worse than in other areas and there was a slight choke point that formed a bit of a psychological barrier for all but the most intrepid parkers, mostly those who wanted space to let their overpriced rides breathe and to reduce the possibility of a door ding.
After confirming he was alone, the man slipped into a spotless Ford Escape and pulled it out of a space along the wall. Flores felt a burst of adrenaline and disbelief when the floor behind it dropped six inches and slid back. A moment later, a van rose from the ground so fast that it was almost thrown in the air when the platform reached ground level. But only almost. Clearly the weight and speed had been calculated to make sure it just bounced silently on well-oiled shocks.
And all this had happened with the Ford situated in a way that would completely block the view of anyone approaching. Fortunately, the DEA had managed to mount a camera on an overhead pipe, allowing everyone to watch this magnificent operation in full HD.
The van began pulling smoothly off the platform and the elevator immediately dropped again, allowing the asphalt cover to begin sliding back into place.
That, however, was exactly what this operation was designed to prevent. There was no practical way to get into that tunnel from the U.S. side once the cover was closed. It would take serious construction equipment and approvals that wouldn’t go unnoticed by the drug lords. At best, everyone