It was the reasonable question to ask. “No,” Garza admitted. “They do not have any idea who might be posing as a drug smuggler. However, I do have my own ideas.”
“Tell me,” Victor said, putting the hot coffee mug to the tip of his lips.
“I keep thinking about Sadeem. I have this feeling all along, this man is not who he pretends to be.”
Victor was nodding, something in his eyes gaining momentum. “Yes, Jefe. This is a logical conclusion.” Victor glanced up at the clock on the wall. “We have several hours before our meeting with him. Let me make some calls and find out what I can.”
Garza liked this thought. “Yes. We need to know who this man is. I had little concern until he requested to join us. Now, he becomes a liability. And maybe even a threat.”
“Who is a threat, Papa?” Julio said from the entryway to the kitchen.
Garza turned to see his son rubbing his eyes in his flannel pajamas.
“Julio,” Garza said. “What are you doing up?”
“I heard noises.”
Garza gathered his son into his arms. Julio fell into his father’s embrace.
“Mijo, you need to go back to bed,” Garza said.
“Can I have a glass of milk first?”
“Of course.”
Victor poured a glass of milk and handed it to Julio.
The boy finished the drink, wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve and placed the empty glass on the kitchen table.
“Who is the threat, Papa?” Julio asked again.
Garza searched for the proper words, finally looking at Victor for help.
“There is a coyote attacking some of the desert animals,” Victor said. “And your Papa is going to chase him away.”
Julio’s eyes seemed to brighten. “Really? Can I come with you?”
“Yes,” Garza said. “But first you need to sleep.”
“Okay, Papa.”
“Good boy.” Garza gave him a kiss on his cheek, then patted him on the butt as he went off to bed.
Garza went over to get another cup of coffee, then returned to the table. “He is getting too old and he is understanding too much.”
Victor nodded. “Of course, he is your son. It is only natural that he have your instincts.”
“Yes, but he must learn to avoid certain people and certain places.”
“You are thinking too much, Jefe.”
“Maybe,” Garza said. “But when Rodriguez wins the election, the Zutons will own the northern territory and there will be a bloodbath. I think it would be wise to leave Mexico for a while.”
The house was completely still while the two men were quiet with their thoughts. Finally, in an assuring voice, Victor said, “I can watch after him.”
Garza considered the comment. There was a tiny sense of relief which came with the notion. An insurance policy for his only child.
“Yes,” Garza said. “That would be good.” Then another thought occurred to him and Victor seemed to notice his expression change.
“Something else?” Victor asked.
“This package we are taking. It will be dangerous. I do not want this thing to linger. Tell Chizek to be prepared to accept this delivery by tonight. I want this out of my hands quickly.”
“What about the FBI?” Victor asked. “Are they getting close?”
“Maybe,” Garza said. “But they are already too late. Chizek will be ready for them.”
A ray of sunshine peeked through the kitchen window onto Garza’s face and the warmth brightened his mood. That and the image of the briefcase full of cash hidden in his basement.
Chapter 19
White House Chief of Staff Paul Dexter’s office was a tidy room, filled with carefully crafted cabinetry, and a bookshelf which filled one entire wall. Sam Fisk was finishing his arrangements for his trip to Mexico City when Dexter gestured to the flat screen TV above them.
An angry mob of people were gathering around a building while a line of police attempted to hold them back. Demonstrators held placards saying, “No More Blood!” and “We’re Fed Up!” The words at the bottom of the screen read: “Protests in Mexico City.”
“You sure you want to do this, Sam?” Dexter asked. “It’s pretty nasty down there.”
“Not really,” Fisk said.
“Sounds like the people just want peace,” Dexter said. “Isn’t that what Rodriguez is offering them?”
Fisk grinned. “Yeah, like offering a piece of candy laced with arsenic.”
“You still here?” President Merrick stood in the doorway with a thick manila file in his right hand.
“Just leaving,” Fisk said.
“Sam, you don’t need to do this,” Merrick said.
Fisk pointed to the TV. “If you’ll notice, those signs are written in English. Those people are asking for our help. If we just sit here and let nature take its course, we’ll have the same protests outside this building in a couple of months.”
Merrick nodded. “Okay. I have a call scheduled with President Salcido this afternoon. He’s going to want to know if we’re endorsing him.”
“Yeah,” Fisk said, “I’ve thought about that.”
“And?”
“And tell him I want to meet with each candidate individually before we make our decision.” Fisk looked at Dexter. “Then let the Rodriguez people know I want a personal meeting with their candidate. And make sure that gets leaked to the press.”
“Okay, Sam,” Dexter said. “I’ll take care of it.”
Fisk grabbed his passport from Dexter’s desk and put it in his inside jacket pocket, then looked at Merrick. “I’ll take care of my end, just make sure Nick takes care of things on the border. Otherwise this thing will blow up in our faces.” Fisk raised an eyebrow. “Literally.”
Merrick handed Fisk the thick manila file. “Some easy reading for your trip down.”
Fisk frowned. “I asked for his profile, not his life story.”
Merrick put his hands in his pocket. “Listen, Sam. I just spoke with Ken and the United Palestinian Force has just threatened to sever an oil pipeline in western Syria. It seems they’re upset about the way we’ve been treating them.”
“What does Walt think?”
“I’m not taking a damn poll, Sam,” Merrick snapped. “I’m just telling you the head of the Central Intelligence Agency thinks we should put these guys on our radar and raise the threat warning.”
Fisk thought about his plan. Everything he did was predicated on stopping the UPF’s dirty bomb from reaching US soil. He felt like he had just rolled a pair of dice and desperately needed a seven to stay alive. Maybe he’d become too cynical. Maybe he’d become too jaded. Either way, he was pulling Merrick’s presidency into turmoil if his plan failed.
Fisk sighed. “Tell you what. If I’m wrong about this, I’ll resign immediately. I’ll take full responsibility for these foreign policy blunders and explain how I made huge mistakes based on my experience with Middle Eastern terrorists and their past behavior.”
Merrick narrowed his eyes. “I’m not looking for a scapegoat. I trust you. I’ve always trusted you. I just want to do the right thing.”
Fisk patted his friend on the arm as he headed out the door. “Do me a favor. Tell Nick I highly recommend finding that bomb.”
* * *
Francisco Rodriguez walked across the desert terrain next to the leader of the Zutons, Santiago Valdez. They strolled casually with their sunglasses and their sandals and twenty armed soldiers making sure their meeting was secure.
Rodriguez had his hands behind his back and spoke with reverence to the cartel leader.
“You seem preoccupied, Santiago,” Rodriguez said. “What is troubling you?”
Valdez nodded. “You are very perceptive. I have a very large package which needs to be delivered by tonight. It is more than my people can handle.”
“Is there something I can do to help?”
Valdez appeared to appreciate the gesture. “That is okay. I will find a way.”
“Have you contacted Garza?”
Valdez stopped and turned to face Rodriguez. “I am curious. Do you make a percentage from Antonio’s service?”