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get rid of the bodies by burning them in El Gordito’s crematorium.”

“That might work for a few unofficial cremations, but cremation on a large scale would eventually come out. There are regulations and checks in place for cremating bodies, and the excessive use of the chimney would attract attention,” David advised.

Lazlo nodded, accepting his point. He stood for a second looking at the board. He placed one pin on Newstone, New Jersey, where the fulfillment center was located, and another out toward the hamlet of River Creek near Newstone, the location of the immigrant workforce settlement. He hadn’t known precisely where the latter was, but Hamilton’s camera had had built-in GPS, which had tagged the photo to the nearest-named point on the map.

The isolated murders that he had suspected El Gordito of committing were making some sense now. They were strategic killings and part of a much bigger picture of corruption and murder, designed to smooth the way for new drug-manufacturing and organ-harvesting businesses. He had seriously underestimated El Gordito. His operation clearly went way beyond ruthless control of the largest distribution network of illegal drugs and opiates in New York. He was embarking on something enormous. He was manufacturing the latest and most addictive narcotic on the US market, had already made an impact on New York and was probably already spreading his product into neighboring states.

“We’re at the same point as we were in the Eighties before cocaine flooded the US in an unstoppable wave through Miami,” Lazlo declared.

Jennifer and David muttered their agreement. They were busy studying the images of El Gordito and his henchmen on the second bulletin board, hoping they would never have to meet them.

“Leave all this with me,” said Lazlo, breaking the silence. “I’ve got to check out the fulfillment center and hospital myself before I can plan how to raid them.”

“Be careful,” Jennifer said, her voice filled with concern.

“Always,” he replied with a warm smile.

David, Jennifer, and John left Lazlo’s brownstone with a sense that they had done all they could. Somehow, though, the results didn’t feel as good as they had hoped. Their plan to bring down El Gordito, and by so doing disqualify Santiago’s spirit from The Game, had already cost Hamilton his life. Now it could cost the detective his.

Twenty

Lazlo checked his watch. It was 5:03 a.m. He was sitting by a window on the eighth floor of a derelict building, looking out through a broken pane of glass at the delivery area of Hargreave Merciful Hospital. Since arriving by car two hours ago, he had seen nothing worth photographing, just the delivery of medical and janitorial supplies.

He had figured that he wouldn’t find evidence of the illegal organ-harvesting in the hospital’s basement just by walking around inside. The donors would most likely be hidden in plain sight, arriving in one of the many ambulances to be fast-tracked through the ER by hospital staff on El Gordito’s payroll. It would be impossible to distinguish the legitimate patients from the illegitimate. But taking the bodies out of an illegal facility would require a discreet, ground-level loading/unloading area, ideally close to the hospital’s own delivery zone to enable mixing in the clandestine with the regular traffic.

His chosen vantage point was the former psychiatric block in the hospital grounds, which the hospital had sold off to a residential developer. Whoever the developer was, they didn’t seem to be in a hurry to finish the development. In fact, they had done very little other than fence the site off and put down temporary road surfaces. The building was missing some windows and had been easy to break into.

Only a cool wind blowing into his face was keeping him awake. Three hours earlier he had been in Newstone, New Jersey, just long enough to confirm the fulfillment center existed and to see the size of it. It had been easy to distinguish it from other buildings, as it had an almost endless flow of trucks passing to and from it. He estimated that in a building that size, with that amount of product going through, there must be north of thirty men like the armed guard he had seen in Hamilton’s photo. El Gordito wouldn’t skimp on armed men to protect his business. It would take a large team to raid the place, even if he was able to get a warrant, which wasn’t going to happen because the center wasn’t in his jurisdiction—and there was no point passing the case on to the force in Newstone, as he was sure that El Gordito would have someone on the payroll in the police department to tip him off.

As daylight broke, things became clearer. Lazlo realized he had been looking at what the designer of the hidden facility had wanted him to see, and not what was actually there. The delivery zone was obvious, but next to it was an area of dense evergreen trees. He hadn’t paid attention to them before because they looked, well, just like trees. But now he could see that these trees had been planted together closely to create a screen. On closer inspection, Lazlo could see that behind them was a tall, steel fence, creating a secluded section of the grounds. It was practically invisible at ground level and barely visible at the height he was at. He scoured it with a telephoto lens, trying to zoom in on gaps in the foliage. The wind picked up, and more welcome, clean air blew into his face. It also caused the branches of the trees to sway more, offering larger gaps in the foliage and longer opportunities to check out the hidden area. All he could see, though, were fragments of a roller shutter door, similar to the one in the main delivery zone.

As he began to think he was looking in the wrong place, he saw signs of movement. He caught a glimpse of two people: a woman and a man dressed in scrubs, who were smoking.

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