Fisk pointed to a female CNN reporter.
“So, in your eyes, President Salcido has not done enough to garner the support of the United States?” the woman asked.
“I didn’t say that,” Fisk said sternly. “As a matter of fact, President Salcido has far exceeded any expectations we could have projected. He is a good man and we wish him well. We simply want the process to be fair and unbiased.”
The questions went on along the same theme for ten or fifteen minutes, before a side door opened and President Salcido walked in, followed by a handful of men in military uniforms. Salcido walked tall and greeted Fisk with a grandiose handshake.
Ambassador Blake tried to head off the greeting, but it was too late. Instead, he led the two men to the tall-backed chairs and stood beside them with a smile painted on his face.
“I am grateful to see you, Mr. Secretary,” Salcido said, once they were seated.
The room was filled with camera flashes and questions being blurted out. The two men posed in their seats briefly to allow for the photo opportunities.
“It is my great pleasure to be here, Mr. President,” Fisk said, above the noise. He looked the man directly in the eyes, then added, “I cannot offer you the president’s endorsement, but I can tell you I am here to assist you with an election night victory.”
The president’s head tilted. “How is that, Mr. Secretary? Please explain this to me.”
Fisk turned in his chair toward Salcido and folded his hands on his lap. “All I can tell you is, we have a plan in place. I apologize for not going further with this discussion, but I need something from you which our two nations cannot survive without.”
“Please,” Salcido said. “What is it you need?”
“Trust,” Fisk said, and left it there.
Salcido’s face seemed to take it in, then something in his eyes convinced Fisk he understood.
President Salcido made a terse nod, then said, “You have my trust, Mr. Secretary.”
There was a commotion as the side door opened again. Five men in matching blue suits and bulges under their jackets came barging in like foxes in a henhouse. They scanned the room for targets, while the Secret Service confronted the men with the usual exchange of credentials.
President Salcido pressed his lips together tight and shook his head. “He has no regard for anyone but himself.”
“Rodriguez?” Fisk asked.
Salcido nodded.
Francisco Rodriguez emerged from the crowd of security agents and smiled and waved as the throng of reporters focused their cameras at the new meat in the room.
Salcido stood.
“Don’t leave yet,” Fisk told him. “It will seem as if he chased you away.”
Salcido shook Fisk’s hand and said, “It will only get worse if I stay. He wants a spectacle.”
Fisk could see by Rodriguez’s actions that Salcido was right. The man never once removed his eyes from the cameras and knew exactly how to appear affable even during the interruption.
Salcido and his men had to steer around Rodriguez’s men and were almost out the door when Rodriguez called to the president and hurried over to offer an open hand. Salcido looked at the man’s hand, then shook it quickly before leaving the room.
Fisk made eye contact with Ambassador Blake. The man came to life, remembering his responsibility. He approached Rodriguez and gestured toward Fisk, who pointed to the empty seat next to him.
Rodriguez immediately jumped on the opportunity. He strode over to Fisk with a great big politician smile and held out his arm ten feet before he got there, ready to press flesh.
“Mr. Secretary, it is a great honor to meet you,” Rodriguez said, shaking Fisk’s hand with a hearty pump.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Fisk said, gesturing for Rodriguez to take his seat.
Rodriguez sat next to Fisk as the two men posed for the reporters and smiled like old friends.
“President Merrick appreciates your position on the cartels,” Fisk said, over the noise of the reporters. “He believes your proximity to their leaders allows you to control the violence. A very smart tact.”
“Thank you,” Rodriguez said, waving to the journalists. “Will he be endorsing anyone for the election?”
“No” Fisk said. “We don’t believe in meddling with your country’s election process. We think the people should decide their leaders, not us.”
Rodriguez seemed to like the answer. “That is a very noble position.”
“How is your wife?” Fisk asked over the noise of reporters jockeying for their position. “Miranda, right?”
Rodriguez smiled, almost giddy with the attention he was receiving. “Yes, Mr. Secretary, she is fine. Thank you.”
“Good,” Fisk said, his voice low so Rodriguez needed to lean toward him to hear. “You keep her happy and the rest comes easy, eh?”
“Yes, Mr. Secretary.” Rodriguez laughed with approval, clapping his hands to show the press they were sharing a real moment.
Fisk gently placed his hand on Rodriguez’s shoulder and whispered in his ear, “I appreciate you taking time from your busy schedule to meet with me.”
“Mr. Secretary.” Rodriguez turned to Fisk, his face serious. “It was very considerate of you to invite me here.”
“Of course,” Fisk said. “It’s only appropriate to begin our relationship prior to you taking office. The United States is committed to working with Mexico to keep both of our nations strong and prosperous.”
Rodriguez seemed to like the way the conversation was going. He almost forgot about the reporters shouting questions just a few feet away.
Fisk leaned toward Rodriguez and spoke into his ear. “Also, should you win the election, President Merrick would like to invite you and Miranda up to the White House.”
Rodriguez was eating it up. His eyes rose unexpectedly and seemed genuinely unprepared for such a kind gesture.
“That is very generous of you, Mr. Secretary,” Rodriguez said, patting Fisk on the back. “Tell the president we would be honored to join him.”
They spoke casually for a few more minutes, before Fisk looked at his watch. “I apologize, Mr. Rodriguez, but I must be heading back now.”
Fisk rose and Rodriguez stood as well. The two men faced each other, smiling and shaking hands, knowing every nuance was being recorded for the evening news.
Fisk leaned over and said, “I look forward to seeing you in Washington.”
Rodriguez beamed. “Yes. Thank you again for your invitation, Mr. Secretary.”
Fisk made sure they faced the cameras for one last time with his arm on Rodriguez’s back. He wanted to throw up in his mouth as he smiled and nodded to the media. He’d done what he came for, now he just needed the tough part of the plan to come through. If it didn’t, Fisk would come off as the laughing stock of Washington. The images of him joking around with a narcissistic cartel supporter would live on for eternity.
He could almost feel himself falling on the sword as he waved to the press.
Chapter 25
Walt Jackson was pacing in his office, waiting to hear an update from someone, anyone. It was the hardest part of the administrative side of the job. The wait. When you were in the field, time flew. You were marking assets or following leads, but now the walls surrounded him like a cage.
“Ken is on one-nineteen,” his secretary said, over the speaker on his desk.
Walt quickly pushed a button on his phone and put the receiver to his ear. “And?”
There was a sigh on the other end and it forced Walt down into his chair.
“The plant is in Garza’s compound with the bomb,” the CIA Director said.
“That’s encouraging,” Walt said, glad to hear anything remotely positive.
“Maybe,” Ken said. “I can’t confirm a name or even a gender, but the person is working alone and can’t stop the transfer. He or she can only stay with the device until it reaches our border.”
“Then what?”
“Then we have Nick take over from there,” Ken said. “He is in position, right?”