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involved with narcotics, and—”
    â€œOh, shut the fuck up,” Kay muttered.
    She didn’t think she’d spoken loud enough for the judge to hear, but she was wrong. “What did you say, young lady?” the judge said.
    â€œI apologize, Your Honor,” Kay said, “but this isn’t a courtroom and there’s no jury here. If Olivera’s mouthpiece keeps interrupting every time we say something, we’ll never get through this meeting.”
    â€œYour Honor,” Prescott said, “I will not stand for—”
    â€œBe quiet, Mr. Prescott,” the judge said. “Although I don’t approve of Agent Hamilton’s language, I want you to stop interrupting and let Mr. Davis speak.”
    â€”
    I t took Jim Davis about ten minutes to state his case. First, he said, the judge had to recognize Caesar Olivera’s capabilities. He had thousands of people working for him in Mexico, had connections to every Hispanic gang in California, and, after twenty-seven years in the drug business, his net worth was estimated to be in the billions. But it wasn’t just his money and his manpower that were frightening, Davis said.
    â€œIt’s his
mind-set
. He’s not intimidated by law enforcement. He’s not like the old-time Mafia guys who were afraid to kill federal agents, and he knows as long as he stays down in Mexico we’ll never get him.”
    In Mexico, Davis said, Olivera’s men had killed cops, lawyers, politicians, judges, and journalists who interfered with his operations. A year before, his people had attacked a Mexican jail with more than fifty men, using rocket-propelled grenades and automatic weapons to free a prisoner. Sixteen Mexican soldiers guarding the jail were killed.
    â€œThis isn’t Mexico,” the judge said.
    Davis basically said
Not yet
. Since Tito Olivera had moved to San Diego five years before to manage his brother’s affairs in the United States, the murder rate in the Southwest had tripled. Most of the victims had been criminals connected to the drug business, but a few had been innocent bystanders. One journalist had been killed, and although his murder was unsolved, the motive appeared to involve an article he wrote about Tito. Furthermore, Jim Davis said, the DEA had recently obtained evidence that Tito had three San Diego Police Department detectives on his payroll.
    This statement had John Hernández leaping to his feet, demanding that Davis prove what he’d just said. “I’m sorry to blindside you with this, John, but the judge needs to know that Olivera has penetrated your department, because it’s relevant to this discussion. I’ll give you the names right after this meeting because you need to detain these men before Mr. Prescott can warn them.”
    Prescott opened his mouth to protest, but the judge said, “Not now, Mr. Prescott.”
    Davis continued. “What I’m saying, Your Honor, is Caesar Olivera has enough money to buy cops, and he’s already bought some. We also know he’s corrupted people at MCC in the past.” Davis then recounted the five incidents in the past year where MCC correctional officers had been caught passing contraband to inmates, and three of those inmates worked for the Olivera cartel.
    Now it was Warden Taylor’s turn to sputter, saying that just because a few bad apples had been found in his bushel it didn’t mean all his apples were rotten.
    â€œI appreciate that, Warden,” Davis said, “but the fact remains that Olivera has proven he can buy some of your people and he has an intelligence network capable of learning everything there is to know about how Tito is being guarded.”
    â€œJust cut to the chase here, Mr. Davis,” the judge said. “What do you want?”
    â€œThe first thing I want is for everyone in this room to realize that Caesar Olivera will do
anything
to get his little brother out of