Chapter 20: Nannies International

NOT LONG AFTER MY LUNCH WITH TOOTSIE, our regional security officer came by my office one afternoon.

“Hey, Michael.”

“What’s up, Jacob?”

“I had a cable from Washington, my channel, no distribution, this morning. There’s an issue the legal attaché needs your help with.”

He raised his hands to stop me when I started to speak.

“He’ll brief you, Michael, no questions now. I told him we’d have lunch tomorrow, that work for you?”

“Sure.”

“Legal attaché” was J. Edgar Hoover’s term for FBI agents stationed at U.S. embassies and consulates. Our guy here, José María Garibaldi, was pretty mellow, at least as far as FBI types go, but I’d heard stories about his early career that suggested his mellowness didn’t go very deep.

The legal attaché and security officer were already seated when I arrived for lunch.

“José María,” I extended my hand.

“Michael, glad you could join us,” he answered.

“Sure.”

“Michael, I’ve got a story to tell you. I won’t go into all the details here in public, but I wanted to have this lunch on the theory it will look to others like three guys from the embassy having lunch, no big deal.”

I guessed folks might wonder about our particular threesome but decided it wasn’t my problem. I nodded, looked to Jacob. He nodded as well.

“The long and short of it,” he continued, “is Monsieur M is trafficking in women, girls. Probably boys, too, but we don’t know for sure.”

My breath stopped in shock, even as something told me this wasn’t impossible. Garibaldi must have seen my question coming.

“What’s it got to do with you, right?”

I nodded again.

“You’re dating his daughter, Alejandra, aren’t you?”

It wasn’t really a question. I shrugged.

“Yeah. We had a little misunderstanding a few weeks ago but I think we’ll work it out.”

José María laughed.

“I heard about that. Her mom is something else, right?”

My jaw must have dropped, because José María chuckled.

“It’s not like the Bureau has spies everywhere, Michael, but we hear things, you know?”

I nodded.

“Look,” he continued, “I’m not going to go into detail, but people talk. Our job is to listen, and to encourage when we need to.”

I was pretty sure I knew the answer but I asked anyway, “Where do I come in?”

José María put down his coffee and leaned closer.

“We want someone close to Monsieur M, close enough to hear things, close enough to see things that might be important to the investigation. You’re close to Alejandra. Alejandra is close to her dad. You’re also close to Mme Natalia.” He grinned. “Even if things might be a little up in the air right now.”

“You mean you want me to bug his office, or something?”

“Probably not.”

I noticed the “probably.” Before I could ask another question, José María continued.

“Let’s talk about this in the secure conference room tomorrow morning, Michael, OK? In the mean time, not a word to anyone, and I mean anyone, clear?”

“Sure.”

José María had a file in his hand when he opened the door to the secure conference room the following morning. We settled ourselves on opposite sides of the table. After a moment, he opened the file and began laying out photographs. All girls, young girls, all properly dressed. A couple of boys, more pretty than handsome, but not necessarily effeminate.

“Recognize anyone, Michael?”

Christ. I pointed to María Fernanda at the end of one row, and Roland, the referral from Monsieur M, below her. I pointed to Roland’s image.

“I gave him a visa last year.”

I tapped the photo of María Fernanda.