It's like a how-to-go-to-prison-for-dummies guidebook. Jonathan was staring at a digital map projected onto a large monitor, cross-referencing the addresses from Jenkins's notebook with the FBI's existing surveillance files on the Navarro cartel. He typed furiously on his keyboard, pulling up utility records and property deeds. Suddenly, Jonathan stopped.
He leaned closer to the monitor, his eyes widening.
"Sam," Jonathan said, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Read off the address for the stash house Jenkins and his crew robbed on June 12th."
Sam flipped back a few pages. Uh 14 4 Highland Avenue, apartment 4B.
"Why?"
Jonathan typed the address into the cartel database. A glowing red pin dropped onto the map directly overlapping with a known cartel subsidiary front.
"Now read the one from July 2nd. 899 Ponce de Leon."
The old auto body shop. Sam read standing up and walking over to the monitor. Jonathan hit enter. Another red pin dropped.
A perfect match for a Navarro Syndicate drop site.
"Jenkins wasn't just shaking down local street dealers," Jonathan breathed, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face.
He thought he was hitting low-level gangs. But these addresses, they match the Navarro cartel's distribution nodes. Jenkins and his corrupt cops were blindly robbing the most dangerous drug cartel in the southeast. Sam stared at the screen, the pieces rapidly falling into place.
And they didn't get killed because they were hitting the locations in full APD tactical gear. The cartel thought they were getting legitimately raided by local law enforcement. So they didn't shoot back. They just took the loss and moved locations.
"Exactly," Jonathan said, his heart pounding.
Jenkins ruined our sting today. But because he was so greedy, he kept a record of every location he surveiled.
"Look at the last entry in the notebook."