Surprised that he’d broken his silence toward her, Holly took advantage of the opportunity, hoping that his anger toward her had softened. “Unless somebody’s got a videotape of him that’s so disgusting it would totally destroy his career, not to mention put him in prison.”
“Or get him executed.” Buchanan rubbed his pained forehead. “A man like Delgado would give anything not to have that tape made public. The question is what, though? What does Drummond want?”
“And what happened to Juana Mendez?”
Buchanan’s gaze was intense. “Yes. That’s finally what this is about. Juana.”
The word stung, as did its implication: not you.
“Don’t just tolerate me,” Holly said. “Don’t just keep me along because you’re afraid I’ll turn against you. I’m not your enemy. Please. Use me. Let me help.”
2
“My name is Ted Riley,” Buchanan said in Spanish. With Holly, he stood in a carpeted, paneled office, the door of which was labeled MINiSTRO DE ASUNTOS INTERIORES. Minister of the Interior. A bespectacled gray-haired secretary nodded and waited.
“I’m the interpreter for Senorita McCoy.” Buchanan gestured toward Holly. “As you can see from her credentials, she is a reporter for the Washington Post. She is in Mexico City for a limited time, doing interviews with important government officials-to learn their opinions about how the United States could improve its relations with your country. If at all possible, could Senor Delgado spare a few moments to speak with her? It would be greatly appreciated.”
The secretary looked sympathetic, spreading her hands in a gesture of regret. “Senor Delgado is not expected in the office for the rest of the week.”
Buchanan sighed in frustration. “Perhaps he would meet us if we travel to where he is. Senorita McCoy’s newspaper considers his opinions to be of particular importance. It is widely known that he is likely to be the next president.”
The secretary looked pleased by Buchanan’s recognition that she was associated with future greatness.
Buchanan continued. “And I am certain that Senor Delgado would benefit from complimentary remarks about him in the newspaper that the President of the United States reads every morning. It would be a fine opportunity for the minister to make some constructive comments that would prepare the United States government for his views when he becomes president.”
The secretary debated, assessed Holly, and nodded. “One moment, please.”
She entered another office, shut the door, and left Buchanan and Holly to glance at each other. Numerous footsteps clattered past in the hallway. In rows of offices, voices murmured.
The secretary returned. “Senor Delgado is at his home in Cuernavaca, an hour’s drive south of here. I will give you directions. He invites you to be his guests for lunch.”
3
“Can I ask you something?”
Holly waited for a reply, but Buchanan ignored her, staring straight ahead as he drove their rented car south along the Insurgentes Sur freeway.
“Sure, what did I expect?” Holly said. “You haven’t been communicative since. . Never mind. We’ll skip that topic. What I want to ask is, how do you do it?”
Again Buchanan didn’t reply.
“At Delgado’s office,” Holly said. “That secretary could just as easily have told us to get lost. Somehow you manipulated her into phoning Delgado. I’ve been trying to figure out how. It wasn’t what you said exactly. It. .”
“I get in someone else’s mind.”
Holly frowned at him. “And the CIA taught you how to do this?”
Buchanan’s voice hardened. “Now you’re being a reporter again.”
“Will you stop being so defensive? How many times do I have to tell you? I’m on your side. I’m not out to destroy you. I. . ”
“Let’s just say I had training along the line.” Buchanan clutched the steering wheel and continued to stare at the busy highway. “Being a deep-cover operative isn’t just having false documents and a believable cover story. To assume an identity, I have to transmit the absolute conviction that I am who I claim to be. That means believing it absolutely myself. When I spoke to that secretary, I was Ted Riley, and something in me went out to her. Went into her mind. Stroked her into believing in me. Remember we talked about elicitation? It isn’t merely asking subtle questions. It’s enveloping someone in an attitude and emotionally drawing them toward you.”
“It sounds like hypnotism.”
“That’s how I made my mistake with you.” Buchanan’s tone changed, becoming bitter.
Holly tensed.
“I stopped concentrating on controlling you,” Buchanan said.
“I still don’t understand.”
“I stopped acting,” Buchanan said. “For a while with you, I had an unusual experience. I stopped impersonating. Without realizing it, I became somebody I’d forgotten about. Myself. I related to you as. . me.” He sounded more bitter.
“Maybe that’s why I became attracted to you,” Holly said.
Buchanan scoffed. “I’ve been plenty of people better than myself. In fact, I’m the only identity I don’t like.”
“So now you’re avoiding yourself by being-who did you say you once were? Peter Lang?. . searching for Juana?”
“No,” Buchanan said. “Since I met you, Peter Lang has become less and less important. Juana matters to me because. . In Key West, I told you I couldn’t decide anything about my future until I settled my past.” He finally looked at her. “I’m not a fool. I know I can’t go back six years and God knows how many identities and start up where I left off with her. It’s like. . For a very long time I’ve been pretending, acting, switching from role to role, and I’ve known people I couldn’t allow myself to care about in those roles. A lot of those people needed help that I couldn’t go back and give them. A lot of those people died, but I couldn’t go back and mourn for them. Most of my life’s been a series of boxes unrelated to one another. I’ve got to connect them. I want to become. .”
Holly waited.
“A human being,” Buchanan said. “That’s why I’m pissed at you. Because I let my guard down, and you betrayed me.”
“No,” Holly said, touching his right hand on the steering wheel. “Not anymore. I swear to God-I’m not a threat.”
4
After the noise and pollution of Mexico City, Cuernavaca’s peace and clean air were especially welcome. The sky was clear, the sun bright, making the valley resplendent. In an exclusive subdivision, Buchanan followed the directions he’d been given and found the street he wanted, coming to a high stone wall within which a large iron gate provided a glimpse of gardens, shade trees, and a Spanish-style mansion. A roof of red tile glinted in the sun.
Buchanan kept driving.
“But isn’t that where we’re supposed to go?” Holly asked.
“Yes.”
“Then why. .?”
“I haven’t decided about a couple of things.”
“Such as?”
“Maybe it’s time to cut you loose.”
Holly looked startled.
“Anything might happen. I don’t want you involved,” Buchanan said.
“I am involved.”
“Don’t you think you’re going to extremes to get a story?”
“The only extreme I care about is what I have to do to prove myself to you. Delgado’s expecting a female reporter. Without me, you won’t get in. Hey, you established a cover. You claim you’re my interpreter. Be consistent.”
“Be consistent?” Buchanan tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Yeah. For a change.”
He turned the car around.
An armed guard stood behind the bars of the gate.
Buchanan got out of the car, approached the man, showed Holly’s press card, and explained in Spanish that he and Senorita McCoy were expected. With a scowl, the guard stepped into a wooden booth to the right of the gate and spoke into a telephone. Meanwhile, another armed guard watched Buchanan intently. The first guard returned, his expression as surly as before. Buchanan’s muscles compacted. He wondered if something had gone wrong. But the guard unlocked the gate, opened it, and motioned for Buchanan to get back in his car.