are indications that he’s trying to set up a smuggling route between some place here in southern California, and some below the border down along the Baja coast, probably in the neighborhood of Ensenada. Hundreds of pleasure boats wander between U.S. and Mexican waters on a good summer weekend; nobody can really check them all.”
“Has he got a boat of his own?” I asked. “He didn’t look like a yachting type to me.”
“That’s more or less what put us onto it,” she said. “He bought a yachting cap and a big seagoing motorsailer a couple of years ago and started getting very nautical indeed. Since then he’s been running down to the Ensenada area quite frequently. Ostensibly it’s just a matter of booze and broads, if you know what I mean—the shipboard parties get pretty noisy sometimes. We have a hunch some of that noise is generated for public consumption, so to speak, and the parties have actually been a cover for some trial runs. Naturally, we’ve left him strictly alone so far. We’ve been trying to determine just how many boats besides the
Fleetwind
are involved; and where the actual southern terminus is located.”
“So you’ve got the probable route pinned down,” I said. “Have you any line on the laboratory, and the source of supply?”
“The source is easy, and at the same time impossible,” she said wryly. “What I mean is, there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of Mexican farmers back in the hills growing the poppies on a small scale. There are dozens, maybe hundreds, of independent collectors buying the gum from them and boiling it up to get the morphine base, which they’ll sell to anyone who’ll pay the going price—”
She had to stop as the elderly gent in coveralls passed us once more, heading for a grimy door next to the office, presumably the john.
“It would take the Mexican Army to make an impression at that end,” Charlie said when the old man was back on the job once more. “As a matter of fact, the crackdown by our brother agencies along the border has kind of jogged them into taking a little action: burning a few fields and arresting a few peasants. It won’t last, of course; it never does; but it’s the best we can hope for right now. The laboratory is a different matter. Frankie has got to set up a good one somewhere, if he wants to market a high-class product. We think he must have it just about ready to go.”
“Have you any idea where?”
She moved her shoulders half-helplessly. “Not really, except that it will undoubtedly be in Mexico. The surveillance problems are smaller there; besides, the refined heroin takes up less room than the morphine base and is easier to smuggle. We figure it’s either in Ensenada or between there and the border, but Frankie’s been very careful on his south-of-the-border cruises and we’ve had to do our watching from a distance so as not to tip him off. Once we locate the lab, we can get the Mexican authorities to close it down for us—but of course we don’t really want that to happen until the timing is just right. We want to be certain that the place is in actual production, and that Frankie himself has taken delivery of a few kilos and brought them up here, where we’ll be waiting.”
“What makes you think he’ll handle the smuggling himself?” I asked. “Most of those big boys make a point of keeping their hands clean of everything connected with drugs except the money.”
“Frankie’s got a problem,” she said. “The syndicate
does
frown on the dope trade these days, officially, for public relations motives. That means that Frankie’s got to keep his activities secret not only from us, but from his Mafia associates and superiors as well. I don’t think he’ll trust any underlings to handle the first few shipments. He’ll take as few syndicate people into his confidence as possible until he’s got things running smoothly and profitably.”
“It sounds reasonable,” I said. “But you’re
“Has he got a boat of his own?” I asked. “He didn’t look like a yachting type to me.”
“That’s more or less what put us onto it,” she said. “He bought a yachting cap and a big seagoing motorsailer a couple of years ago and started getting very nautical indeed. Since then he’s been running down to the Ensenada area quite frequently. Ostensibly it’s just a matter of booze and broads, if you know what I mean—the shipboard parties get pretty noisy sometimes. We have a hunch some of that noise is generated for public consumption, so to speak, and the parties have actually been a cover for some trial runs. Naturally, we’ve left him strictly alone so far. We’ve been trying to determine just how many boats besides the
Fleetwind
are involved; and where the actual southern terminus is located.”
“So you’ve got the probable route pinned down,” I said. “Have you any line on the laboratory, and the source of supply?”
“The source is easy, and at the same time impossible,” she said wryly. “What I mean is, there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of Mexican farmers back in the hills growing the poppies on a small scale. There are dozens, maybe hundreds, of independent collectors buying the gum from them and boiling it up to get the morphine base, which they’ll sell to anyone who’ll pay the going price—”
She had to stop as the elderly gent in coveralls passed us once more, heading for a grimy door next to the office, presumably the john.
“It would take the Mexican Army to make an impression at that end,” Charlie said when the old man was back on the job once more. “As a matter of fact, the crackdown by our brother agencies along the border has kind of jogged them into taking a little action: burning a few fields and arresting a few peasants. It won’t last, of course; it never does; but it’s the best we can hope for right now. The laboratory is a different matter. Frankie has got to set up a good one somewhere, if he wants to market a high-class product. We think he must have it just about ready to go.”
“Have you any idea where?”
She moved her shoulders half-helplessly. “Not really, except that it will undoubtedly be in Mexico. The surveillance problems are smaller there; besides, the refined heroin takes up less room than the morphine base and is easier to smuggle. We figure it’s either in Ensenada or between there and the border, but Frankie’s been very careful on his south-of-the-border cruises and we’ve had to do our watching from a distance so as not to tip him off. Once we locate the lab, we can get the Mexican authorities to close it down for us—but of course we don’t really want that to happen until the timing is just right. We want to be certain that the place is in actual production, and that Frankie himself has taken delivery of a few kilos and brought them up here, where we’ll be waiting.”
“What makes you think he’ll handle the smuggling himself?” I asked. “Most of those big boys make a point of keeping their hands clean of everything connected with drugs except the money.”
“Frankie’s got a problem,” she said. “The syndicate
does
frown on the dope trade these days, officially, for public relations motives. That means that Frankie’s got to keep his activities secret not only from us, but from his Mafia associates and superiors as well. I don’t think he’ll trust any underlings to handle the first few shipments. He’ll take as few syndicate people into his confidence as possible until he’s got things running smoothly and profitably.”
“It sounds reasonable,” I said. “But you’re
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