“Can’t do it.”
“What the fuck do you mean, ‘can’t do it’? This is no shit, Gil! I’m up against a goddamn Ranger sniper, and he ain’t—”
“I told Pope not to send you after him.”
“He didn’t send me after him. I went off the grid. I’m going up against the Ruvalcabas, and I need—”
“Who the hell are the Ruvalcabas? And what do you mean you’re off the grid? You got a wife and kid to worry about now. Get your ass back on the fucking grid and back under Pope’s wing, where you belong.”
“Will you shut up and listen to me, goddamnit! You’re not my fucking handler, and I’ve saved your cowboy ass twice. You owe me!”
“I broke your ass outta the brig last year, tough guy.”
“Stockade, asshole, and you still owe me. You gonna shut the fuck up and listen to what I have to say or not?”
“Goddamnit, Dan, I got too much on my plate already without you adding to it.”
Crosswhite laughed. “Hey, this is the life we chose, dude.”
Gil grabbed his cigarettes, ignoring the questioning look he was getting from Lena as he sat down on the bed and fired one up. “Go ahead, fuckface. I’m listening.”
When Crosswhite finished his story, Gil sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor between his feet, the cigarette burned down to the filter. “I understand your motivation,” he said quietly, “but you should walk away. It’s not your fight.”
“It wasn’t my fight in the Panjshir Valley, either, but I jumped in there to save your shot-up ass.”
Hating to admit it, Gil knew that Crosswhite was 100 percent justified to call in the favor. “Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can — after mission complete in China.”
“Dude, is this China thing really that important?”
“Dude, I wouldn’t be going back there if it wasn’t. Give me five days.”
“Christ,” Crosswhite muttered. “Okay. Five days, then.”
“It’s the best I can do, partner. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, if it’s the best you can do, it’s the best you can do. One more thing before I let you go: watch out for a company prick named Clemson Fields. He’s Pope’s dirty-tricks guy, a real piece of shit—and he’s on to us.”
“Fields,” Gil said thoughtfully. “I’ve heard that name. I’ll take it under advisement. You keep your ass down until I get in-country. Hear me?”
“Roger that.”
Gil switched off the phone and tossed it aside, turning to Lena. “My life is a mess. Do you know that?”
She smiled. “He must be a good friend.”
“He’s a reckless asshole.” Gil lit another cigarette and flopped back on the bed. “He’s also the most loyal son of a bitch I’ve ever known.”
She got onto the bed, straddling his legs. “You’re taking me to Mexico, right?”
He nodded, knowing there was no need to argue with her. “Can Sabastian get his hands on a blank Canadian passport?”
She laid on him with a sigh, not liking to hear the name. “He can get his hands on fifty of them.”
“You were right, then,” he said, drawing from the cigarette. “He is worth more to me alive.”
35
Senator Lazaro Serrano shook hands with Clemson Fields outside his office in the Mexican senate building. “Señor Fields,” he said happily in English, “how nice to see you again.”
“The pleasure is mine,” Fields said. “I’m sorry to arrive on short notice.”
“Not to worry,” Serrano said, opening the door to his office. “Please step in and make yourself comfortable. Did my people arrive on time for you at the airport?”
“They were very punctual,” Fields said, passing into the office. “Thank you.”
Serrano moved around behind his large, old wooden desk and took a seat. “As you might imagine, things are very, very crazy here in the capital because of the tragic earthquake. I wasn’t sure if my people could meet your plane on time.”
“I understand.” Fields settled into his chair, resting his briefcase on the floor.
Serrano placed his hands flat on the desk. “So what can I do for you, Señor Fields?”
“We have a problem,” Fields said, coming straight to the point. “Director Pope thought I should talk to you about it in person.”
Serrano appeared stoic. “I am listening.”
“Agent Vaught is still alive.”
A flicker of uncertainty. “How is that possible? His body was sent back to the United States two days ago.”
“The PFM falsified the crime scene,” Fields explained. “One of Ruvalcaba’s men is a deep-cover agent. He can place you with Rhett Hancock. The PFM is using both Agent Vaught and the deep-cover agent to build a case against you for corruption — possibly even as an accessory to murder.”
Serrano was no longer feigning patience. “Why am I only now being told?”
“Well, I couldn’t exactly call you on the phone,” Fields pointed out, “and the situation has been developing rather quickly.”
“You could have come yesterday — even the day before — the very hour you knew that Vaught was still alive!”
Fields remained pacific in the face of Serrano’s displeasure. “There was no initial hurry. Vaught was under our control, and it was our intention at CIA to fetter the PFM investigation — thereby protecting you.”
“And now?”
“Now Vaught has disappeared, and we need to find him.”
Serrano’s temper flared. “You should have killed him when he was under your control! Now he’s a danger to us all!”
Fields held up a finger. “First, we were not in a position to safely remove him. Second, we didn’t have the proper assets in place to do that kind of work. Third, we had to play by the rules.
“And, finally, Agent Vaught poses no danger to the CIA — only to you.”
Serrano chortled, rocking back in his chair and reaching for a Cuban cigar. He took his time about clipping the end and lighting it with a stick match, shaking out the match and dropping it into a crystal ashtray. “Hancock is your man, not mine — a gringo sniper trained by the American army. The CIA sent him down here to help remove Alice Downly, and Agent Vaught has seen his face. I am no detective, Mr. Fields, but to me it seems that both of these men pose a threat — not only to the CIA but also to your Director Pope.”
The naivete of people in high government never ceased to amaze Fields. “I’m no detective either, Senator, but what I can tell you is this: there is no connection between Hancock and the CIA — none — other than your word, which won’t carry a great deal of weight with the US State Department. Pope is considered a national hero in my country, as you well know. Hancock was guided to Hector Ruvalcaba through an intermediary, after putting himself on the market as a mercenary for hire. He has no clue that he’s working for the CIA because he’s not working for the CIA. He’s working for Hector Ruvalcaba, and Agent Vaught can connect you to Hector Ruvalcaba.
“Therefore,” he concluded, pointing his index finger at Serrano, “both Agent Vaught and Rhett Hancock are direct threats to you.”
Had Serrano been in a position to do so in that moment, he would’ve ordered Fields shot. “You’ve left me holding the bag, you son of a bitch.”
“Not at all, Senator.” Now that Fields had broken Serrano’s spirit, he would build him back up. “It is still very much our intention to help make you president. That’s what we very much want to see happen, and that is why I am here. Mistakes have been made, yes, on both sides. After all, Vaught was in your personal custody following Downly’s assassination, was he not? You were in a much better position to deal with the problem than we were, but you failed to do so. However, this isn’t about pointing fingers or even about sharing the blame. It’s about working together to solve a problem. That’s my job, Senator: to help you solve the problem. Now, with that understanding, all we have to do is find Agent Vaught, tell Rhett Hancock where he is, and let nature take its course.”