Cartel by Chuck Hustmyre Page A

seemingly random turns. Except they weren't random at all. They were textbook counter-surveillance moves, designed to see if anyone was following him.
    Mobile surveillance was tough under the best of circum-stances. To be effective, a good surveillance team needed at least four cars and four walkers, passengers who could bail out of the vehicles, blend in with the community, and follow the target on foot. Marcus had one vehicle, a tech geek, and a 'roided-up white boy who didn't speak Spanish.
    They followed Greene west on Hidalgo Street. Marcus expected him to turn left on Santa Ursula Avenue and head south toward the Juarez Bridge, but when Greene kept going west on Hidalgo, Marcus realized he wasn't going to the Jua-rez Bridge. He keyed his headset. "Sierra One, this is Sierra Two."
    "Go for Sierra One," came Gavin's voice.
    "Tango One just crossed the access road. He's either go-ing to the old bridge or all the way to the World Trade Bridge."
    "Roger that," Gavin said. "Let me know."
    They followed Greene past Convent Street, Salinas Av-enue, then Juarez Avenue. Marcus expected him to make the next left, onto Santa Maria, which ran one way south and led to Water Street, then back to Convent Avenue and across the Gateway to the Americas Bridge, what locals called the old bridge. But Greene kept going, past Davis Avenue, past Main Avenue. He banged a right onto Santa Cleotilde Avenue and drove north.
    "He's headed to the World Trade Bridge," Marcus said into his headset.
    "Roger that," Gavin replied. "We're moving."
    "Why the fuck would he do that?" Dwayne asked.
    "Because he's careful," Marcus said.
    They followed Greene north past Farragut Street. A block later he turned right onto a one-way street headed east. "Change of plan," Marcus said into his headset. "He took a right on Matamoros and is doubling back."
    At Saint Peter's Plaza, Greene turned right onto Main Avenue, another one-way, this one headed south.
    "Now south on Main," Marcus said into the micro-phone. "He may be headed to the old bridge after all."
    "Roger," Gavin said. "He's a cautious son of a bitch, is-n't he?"
    Marcus clicked the transmit button twice to acknowledge.
    Main Avenue ended at the Riverdrive Mall, and Marcus followed Greene's F-150 as the DEA agent made his way around the mall and back to Santa Cleotilde, then made a left onto Water Street. "Headed east on Water to Convent and the bridge," Marcus advised Gavin.
    "I'm three blocks behind you," Gavin said, and Marcus could hear the deep roar of the engine as Gavin raced to catch up.
    Six blocks later, Greene merged onto Convent Avenue headed south toward the Gateway to the Americas Bridge. The two Chevrolet Suburbans were thirty yards behind him when he crossed the bridge into Mexico.

Chapter 22

    Scott found Café Americain in a part of Nuevo Laredo called Mirador, four blocks west of Calle Monterrey. He drove past it once to check it out.
    Café Americain looked pretty much like every other ca-fé in Nuevo Laredo; in fact, it looked pretty much like every other café in Mexico. The front was wide open because there was no air conditioning. Six or eight tables were scattered around inside, and there were four more outside on the side-walk. A TV mounted in a back corner had the volume cranked up on a soccer game. Several men sat at the inside tables drinking beer and watching the game. The outside ta-bles were empty.
    Scott circled around and parked on a cross street two blocks from the café. He checked his watch. Five minutes past ten. He sat in his truck and watched the café.
    Nobody came or left, and as far as Scott could see none of the patrons gave off a cop vibe. Scott considered the pos-sibility that the meeting was a trap, that Officer Benny Alva-rez was a friend of Sergeant Felix Ortiz, that this was going to be payback for snatching Ortiz. Maybe Scott would end up in the hands of Los Zetas, tortured, murdered, and be-headed, just like Mike Cassidy.
    But Glenn Peterson