“It’s no trouble.” Mariana was a Mexican American in her early thirties, with dark hair that she usually wore in a ponytail. “Pope’s got me based out of Austin now. He wanted me in position to help you if anything happened down here. I swear that man has a sixth sense. He told me last week that Downly coming down here was a bad idea.”
Crosswhite signaled the waiter. “I joke about Pope having superpowers, too, but he’s just a man — a man with a helluva lot of information at his disposal and a brain big enough to make sense of it.”
She chuckled. “Sounds like a superpower to me.”
“Touché.”
They placed their orders with the waitress.
“How’s Paolina?”
He smiled. “Three months pregnant.”
She sat back, a little stunned, a little envious. Crosswhite was so much different from the last time she’d seen him. Calmer somehow. He had saved her life in Havana, and she’d kept a special place in her heart for him since then — which was odd, because she couldn’t stand him when they’d first met. “Congratulations,” she said quietly.
“Thank you,” he said, knowing that Mariana had initially disapproved of him marrying a former prostitute.
“Aren’t you afraid of starting a family, considering the work you do?”
He stared across the lake. “It’s not something I think about. Life’s too short.”
“And it can turn on a dime,” she warned. “We both know that.”
He looked at her, recalling her rape in Havana; how she’d nearly been killed and how he’d beaten both of her assailants to death. “How are you?”
“I’m okay,” she said truthfully. “I have days that are tough, but the work helps, and I’ve got a good therapist.”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
She nodded. “He’s a nice guy — a lawyer. He has no idea what I really do for a living, so I’m not sure how long it will last. I don’t make a very good liar.”
Crosswhite took a pensive drag from a cigarette. “One day at a time.”
She was squeezing a wedge of lime into her beer. “So exactly what the hell is going on down here?”
“I’ve been shanghaied by the PFM.”
“Because of the Downly assassination?”
He nodded. “You heard they reported Chance Vaught dead this morning?”
“Yeah, Pope gave me the heads-up.”
“Well, he’s been shanghaied along with me as a witness against Serrano — which Pope must already know as well — but I’m not sure he knows there’s an American GI running down here doing hits for the Ruvalcabas. A Ranger sniper. He’s the one who blew Downly away.”
The latter came as a surprise to Mariana. “Have you told Fields?”
“Fields knows, but I don’t know how much intel he’s kicking upstairs to Pope. He told me over the phone this was his operation. I don’t like the sound of that, so I want you in the loop.”
“That’s fine with me, but Fields might not like it.”
“Fuck Fields. He’s a spook. I understand why Pope is using him, but I don’t trust the guy.”
“But if Pope trusts him, doesn’t that sort of—”
“Sort of what?” He watched her eyes. “Do you assume we can trust Pope?”
She sat up straight. “Since when don’t you trust him?”
He shrugged, his wary eyes scanning the passersby. “Let’s say I’ve learned a few things about him. Nothing to doubt his patriotism, but it’s still the last refuge of a scoundrel.”
Her face twisted into a sardonic smile. “Remember what you told me last spring? You said this is the business that we’re in, and if I couldn’t live with it, to find something else to do.”
“And I stand by that. All I’m saying is that Pope’s trust in Clemson Fields shouldn’t automatically translate into our trust in Clemson Fields.”
“Fair enough,” she conceded. “Should I mention your doubts about Fields to Pope or keep them to myself?”
“Pope’s sharp enough to read between the lines. Besides, we’re not going to change his mind about anything. He’s already a dozen moves ahead of us, and he’s going to do whatever the hell he wants.”
“You do realize,” she remarked, “that he’s probably the single most powerful man in Washington now — after the president.”
Crosswhite exhaled smoke through his nose. “And Congress loves him. After saving San Diego from the nuke last year and surviving two assassination attempts in the same week, they see him as the hero-protector.”
She sat chewing her lip, lost in thought. “Damn, why do I feel like we’re sitting here speaking treason against Caesar?”
He smiled. “Are we? Is Pope like Caesar now? I don’t know.”
“Well, the ATRU is slowly becoming his own private army, isn’t it?”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
She stared. “What don’t I know?”
After a moment’s hesitation, he told her about the gold bullion and Pope’s plan for the money. “He’s hitting whoever the hell he wants — based on his own judgement — and he’s hiring free agents off the books; pipe hitters from all over the world.”
She sat back and took a sip of beer. “Men like you and Gil?”
He nodded. “And Chance Vaught has just been added to the list. Little by little, Pope is putting together a lethal team — a team of assassins; let’s be honest. And I have no idea how many other cells there are. Or will be.”
“Will the president stand for it?” Mariana wondered, but seeing Crosswhite’s frown, she checked herself immediately. “Forget I asked that. The president’s never going to know what the ATRU is really being used for or how many men are being recruited.”
“Or women.” He gave her a wink. “Don’t forget, honey, you helped me remove two of Pope’s enemies from the board. So our little cell already has four assassins — not three.”
“My God,” she muttered. “He really has become like Caesar. What does Gil think?”
Crosswhite shrugged, watching off across the lake again. “Therein lies the problem.”
“Gil believes in him, doesn’t he?”
“With every breath he breathes.”
“So what’s going on with the PFM?” she asked, changing the subject. “Why are the Mexicans so keen to use you?”
“Because of Lazaro Serrano,” he said. “Serrano’s probably going to be PRI’s candidate for president next year, and if he is, he’ll probably win because PRI wins ninety percent of the time down here. If that happens, the cartels are gonna take over this country, and the border war is gonna explode.”
PRI stood for Partido Revolucionario Institucional — Institutional Revolutionary Party — and it had been Mexico’s most powerful political party over the last thirty years. The PRI was purportedly the more liberal wing of the Mexican government, with PAN supposedly the more conservative, but the two were not as clearly defined as the political parties in the United States were, and, in reality, there was hardly any daylight between them. PAN stood for Partido Acción Nacional, or National Action Party.
“Is that what Serrano wants? More trouble on the border?”
“Serrano hates the US, so anything that makes trouble on the border is okay with him, but what he wants is money.”
“Did the PFM tell you this?”
He shook his head. “No. There’s something Pope doesn’t know. I’ve been involved in the internal politics down here for a few months now — before this Downly shit kicked off.”
That worried her. “What are you up to?” she asked quietly.
“I’m acting as a military advisor to a police chief down in Toluca who’s been fighting his own private war against the Ruvalcaba cartel. It’s what I was trained for.”
She gaped at him. “Are you crazy? You’ve got a wife and baby to worry about.”