Chapter Two #3
“He said he wanted to go home to the Garden City and fish for little bull trout. But Kirk was from New York City, the Big Apple, and he hated—”
“Fishing,” Jackson said, finishing her sentence. “The Garden City. Place of the Little Bull Trout. Nicknames for Missoula.”
“Exactly.” Her face brightened. “A week ago, he told me you were a US marshal on his task force and would help with my extraction. I assumed his message meant you were here in Missoula. Why on earth would I, a wanted fugitive, pick a motel two blocks from the US marshals’ building instead of crossing the border into Canada if I were guilty?
I planned to wait in the café across the street, see if you showed up. Talk to you.”
Made more sense than any alternative. Still wasn’t enough. “What information did you give Kehoe over the years?” Proof she was indeed the asset.
“Everything his task force worked on for Operation Big Sky Guardian.”
“You know about that?” Jackson asked, wondering why Kehoe had shared such sensitive information with her.
“Where do you think all your actionable intel came from? I am Operation Big Sky Guardian. It’s all built around the information I gave Kirk.
It took me two years to get into a position where I was able to get anything substantial—that’s when I told him about a medical imaging company washing money for the cartel. ”
“The sting was our first big success.” The imaging firm with offices throughout the state had submitted more than two hundred million dollars in fraudulent claims to the Montana Workers’ Compensation system cleaning money for the cartel.
“The last significant piece of information I gave him was on a money-laundering scheme the cartel set up with the Cutthroat Creek Mining Company.”
They’d hit pay dirt with that tip. After Kehoe flipped two employees inside the company to testify and revealed their identities to the task force, the cartel had found out about them. That’s when they’d suspected they had a leak.
Christina’s answers supported her claim that she was an asset for Kehoe. Jackson was tempted to dismiss any lingering doubts, but he couldn’t let their history or emotion cloud his judgment.
Not on this. The stakes were too high.
He also couldn’t ignore the questions racing through his mind. “Did Kehoe know about us? That we had a relationship?”
Christina glanced at the one-way mirror and hesitated. “Yes. He asked for private details about everyone in my past when he recruited me.”
But why hadn’t Kehoe told Jackson that he’d made her an asset?
What had really happened in that tunnel? Since no one had known Christina was undercover, not even Jackson, how did Kehoe end up there in the first place with her cover blown?
And had she accomplished their top priority?
Jackson studied her face. “Were you ever able to get any intel on Rio Estrada, the guy who controls the cartel’s stateside unit?” They called themselves Team US. The name always made Jackson’s gut burn.
Dante Estrada ran the main operation in Mexico. They had pictures of him and monitored his movements. But the younger brother, Rio, proved far more elusive.
Christina shook her head. “I never met him. Only a select few have. That’s one of the reasons he’s been so successful. You can’t track him if you don’t know what he looks like and can’t find him. And if you apprehend one of his lieutenants, they can’t give him up in exchange for a lesser sentence.”
“You’ve been in deep with the cartel, getting high-level intel, and never had a face-to-face meeting where Rio Estrada was present? Do you really expect us to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.” She held his gaze. “I’ve spoken to him on the phone a handful of times, but he always initiated the call through someone else’s cell.
Like he was paranoid about being traced.
Otherwise, I communicated to El Jefe through Hector Ibarra and…
” Her voice trailed off, as though she was reluctant to say more.
“Who else did you communicate through?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She looked away from him. “One of the sicarios. The point is I never met him.”
Christina was holding back. Possibly lying. Not a good sign.
There was no getting around the fact that six years undercover was a very long time. Lines blurred after a while. Anyone could get fuzzy about which side they were fighting on.
“We are moving you,” Jackson said. “To the FBI regional facility in Salt Lake City. Nothing I can do about it. But this is helpful. Something I can work with.” He’d ensure the bodies were transferred to an ME he trusted.
Nichols was already looking into the sheriff’s deputy.
Christina had given them plenty to verify she was an asset, but it didn’t eliminate her as a murder suspect. Not yet.
He stood to leave.
“Wait.” Christina grabbed his hand. “Don’t be on the crew that transports me. Stay here.”
With the whole team watching, Jackson fought the impulse to curl his fingers around hers and instead pulled his hand free. “Why?”
“It’s not safe. Anyone who goes—anyone close to me—might not survive.”