“Well, that part won’t be hard to fake. The CIA does have the biggest Third World dealers on its payroll,” Buchanan said.
“Absolutely. However, that’s about to change. Those Third World dealers have become too smug. The information they’ve been supplying isn’t worth squat. They think they can take the Agency’s money, do virtually nothing in return, and in effect give the Agency the finger. Apparently, they didn’t learn from our invasion of Panama.”
“Of course not,” Buchanan said. “After we grabbed Noriega, other dealers took his place. Nothing changed, except children starved to death because of the economic embargo.”
“Good. You’re beginning to sound like your new personality,” Buchanan-Potter’s controller said.
“Hey, I lost friends in the Panama invasion. At the start, I believed the invasion was necessary. But when I saw the pathetic follow-up-why doesn’t the American government do things all the way? — I wanted to vomit.”
“Even better. You’re convincing me, and I know you’re acting, so obviously you’ve got a damned fine chance of convincing your targets.”
“But I’m not acting.”
“Buchanan, give it a rest, okay? We’ve got a lot of details to cover. So save your Method-acting techniques until later.”
“Don’t call me Buchanan. My name is Edward Potter.”
“Sure, right, Edward. Maybe it’ll give you further motivation to know that your assignment is intended to compensate for the halfhearted follow-up to what happened in Panama. Your ultimate objective is to scare the living bejesus out of the Agency’s Third World drug-lord informants who still make jokes about the American lives lost in the useless invasion of Panama.”
“No. That’s Buchanan’s motivation. I don’t want to hear that. I don’t want my mind to be contaminated. Just tell me about Edward Potter. What’s his motivation?”
The pallid controller lowered his head, shook it, and sighed. “I have to tell you, Buchanan-”
“Potter.”
“-sometimes you worry me. Sometimes I think you absorb yourself too much in your assumed identities.”
“But you’re not risking your ass if I forget who the hell I’m supposed to be. So don’t fool with my life. From now on, talk to me with the assumption that I’m Edward Potter.”
Again the controller sighed. “Whatever you want, Edward. Your wife divorced you because you were too devoted to your job and not enough to her and your two sons. She remarried. Because of the numerous threats you’ve received from drug dealers, she asked for and was granted a court order that forbids you to come anywhere near her and your children without prior approval from her and without guarantees of safety. Her new husband earns two hundred thousand a year as an owner of several health spas. You, by comparison, earn a paltry forty thousand-or rather, used to earn that amount-a salary that’s especially humiliating in contrast with the millions earned by the scum you arrested and saw released on bail and eventually plea-bargained to a short-term sentence in a minimum-security prison. You’re convinced that if you’d accepted the bribes you were offered, your wife would have been satisfied with a new house, et cetera, and wouldn’t have left you. When everything you believed in collapsed, you got pissed. You decided that by God, if you couldn’t beat the drug lords, you’d join them. You’d show your fucking wife that you could earn a hundred times as much as her faggot new husband. Your dick was bigger than his.”
“Yes,” Buchanan-Potter said. “My dick is bigger.”
The controller stared. “Amazing.”
Buchanan-Potter’s cheek muscles hardened. “So how do I get even?”
6
“You used to be an agent for the Drug Enforcement Administration?” In the restaurant in Cancun’s Club Internacional, the first Hispanic twin spoke softly yet with paradoxical force. Shocked, he and his brother jerked back in their chairs.
“Take it easy,” Buchanan said. “I’m on your side now.”
“Certainly,” the second twin said derisively. “By all means. Of course.”
“And you truly expect us to believe this?” the first twin demanded. “To accept that you’re a defector and to trust you?”
“It’s not as if I haven’t made a gesture of good faith,” Buchanan said. “That folded sheet of paper beneath your hand. If you put pressure on the Bahamian bank officials you hire to launder money, you’ll find that the supposedly loyal associates I mentioned on that list all have secret offshore bank accounts. Now I realize that graft is a way of life down here. But I think you’ll agree that the amounts your supposedly loyal associates put away for a rainy day are considerably higher than payoffs and kickbacks alone would explain.”
The second twin squinted. “Assuming for the moment that your information is correct. .”
“Oh, it is. That goes without saying. After all, I’m guaranteeing it with the best collateral imaginable.”
“And what is that?” The first twin tapped his fingers on the table.
“My life. If I’m lying about those bank accounts-and it won’t be hard for you to discover if I am-you’ll have me killed.”
“But in the meantime, perhaps you’ll be able to accomplish whatever you intend and drop out of sight before we can get our hands on you.” The second twin squinted more severely.
“What could I possibly accomplish?” Buchanan gestured. “Until you investigate the men on that list and decide if my information is valuable, you won’t let me into your confidence. You won’t do business with me.”
“We might not do business with you even if you’re telling the truth.” The first twin kept tapping his fingers on the table.
“There’s always that possibility.” Buchanan shrugged. “But the way I see it, I’m taking all the risks and you’re taking none. Certainly there’s nothing risky about your meeting me here-at a mutually agreeable, neutral place-for drinks and dinner. At the worst, you’ve been inconvenienced. From my point of view, however, at the worst, I get dead.”
Without looking at each other, the twins seemed to reach a mutual conclusion.
“Exactamente.” The second twin turned toward the half-filled restaurant, caught their waiter’s attention, pointed toward the glasses on their table, held up two fingers, and then waved his hand in a circle, indicating he wanted another round of tequila, doubles for everyone. Seeing the waiter nod, he pivoted toward Buchanan. “You interrupted before I could finish my earlier question.”
“Perdon. So ask it now.”
“Assuming you’re telling the truth about these offshore bank accounts, how do you explain the considerable amounts you claim our associates have hidden from us? What is the source of those funds? They must be bribes from drug-enforcement officers for supplying information. The only other explanation would be that they’re stealing a portion of our merchandise or else the money we collect, and I assure you we can account for every kilo we send to the United States and every dollar we get back.”
Buchanan shook his head. “Bribes alone won’t explain the tremendous sums in these offshore accounts. As you’re aware, drug-enforcement officers have never been known for being overly generous with their bribes. Their budget’s stretched too thin. But as it happens, you’re wrong about having protected yourselves against theft. Your men are running an extremely sophisticated skim operation.”
“What?” The second twin looked stunned. “No es posible.”
“It’s not only possible. It’s a fact.”
“I’m telling you, we’d know!”
“Not this way. Not the way they’re doing it. They’re using rogue DEA officers to help them skim. How many shipments did you lose last year? An approximate percentage. Ten percent?”
“More or less,” the first twin said. “It’s inevitable that some of our shipments will be discovered. Couriers get nervous and make mistakes. Or DEA officers happen to be at the right place at the right time. We expect a certain percentage of losses. It goes with the business.”