Undercover

Javari drove the Porsche 911 thirty miles over the speed limit for twenty minutes before a state trooper pulled her over. Then she acted nervous enough to make the cop suspicious. He searched her vehicle and found half a kilo of cocaine under the spare tire. She was arrested, booked, fingerprinted and posed for her mug shot.

She was eighteen years old so she would be tried as an adult. There would be no question of her guilt, so conviction was a certainty.

Javari knew that in the United States the average sentence for first-offense drug trafficking was three years. She figured since she wasn’t one hundred percent Caucasian, her sentence would be twice that, maybe more. Not that it mattered.

If things went as they were supposed to, a judge would sentence her to serve her time at the state prison in Perryville. There was an inmate there, a woman named Louisa. She would get close to Louisa by whatever method necessary. When she and Louisa were friends and she’d gained her confidence she would reveal to her that the coke she’d been busted for was nothing compared to the quantities she usually moved. She’d tell Louisa that she’d been in the game since she was fifteen, and that the people she worked for were so industrious they provided her with speedboats to transport merchandise between Florida and the Caribbean and along the Gulf Coast.

If things went as planned, two years after her incarceration the warden at Perryville would receive a Federal directive mandating her transfer to a prison in New York as part of a DEA investigation. The directive would be bogus, and once she left Perryville she would be free again.

By then Louisa would have contacted her people in the Maldonado cartel and told them about her and her contacts. At some point after that introductions would be made.

The game would begin.