“Mariana left the reservation,” he said obdurately.
“She left because Fields scared her off of it!”
“She left because she worries more about Crosswhite than she should.” He was showing irritation for the first time. “She’s throwing away her career over a man who belongs in prison.”
“My God, what a hypocrite you’ve become.”
“There is no hypocrisy. Crosswhite murdered in Chicago for personal profit. The people we kill from this building are killed to serve the greater good. That’s a mathematical fact.”
“And suppose Fields orders the Baja boys to kill Mariana?”
“If she isn’t smart enough to avoid that trap, she doesn’t have what it takes. I shouldn’t have to remind you that I didn’t order her to Mexico. She went down there of her own volition, and she met with Castañeda without consulting me.”
“I see. That’s why you don’t care what happens to her.” Midori got up from her chair. “What about me, Robert? Am I expendable?”
He looked up at her, his expression suddenly soft and calm. “You’re my most loyal protégé, and I value your life above all others.”
She walked out of the office, and he sat staring at his computer, wondering if Mariana would do as he’d planned. I’m not so sure now, he thought to himself. She’s become less predictable.
61
Serrano’s assistant, Oscar, found him trimming rose bushes in the garden on the south side of the estate, where a large marble water fountain had recently been installed. The senator was dressed all in white and wore a wide-brimmed gardening hat against the sun.
“That man from the CIA is on the phone.”
Serrano looked up from his work. “Fields?”
“No, the other one. The pocho: Ortega.” Pocho was a pejorative term used to refer to Mexicans born in the US. Chicano would have been more politically correct.
Serrano had met Ortega only once and had not been overly impressed with him. “What does he want?”
“I don’t know,” Oscar said. “He won’t tell me, but he insists it’s extremely important.”
Serrano took off his sun hat and gloves, and Oscar gave him the house phone. “This is Lazaro Serrano. I’m very busy today. How might I help you, Señor Ortega?”
“We need to meet,” Ortega said. “You’re in danger. Clemson Fields is planning to move against you.”
Serrano wasn’t sure if the feeling that began to rise up in his gut was fear or anger, but it certainly threatened to spoil his afternoon. “What’s happened? Fields and I have an agreement.”
“I don’t know about your agreement,” Ortega said, “but I have received an Operational Immediate from Director Pope warning me to protect you. We have to meet. I have classified information that you need to hear at once.”
“What kind of classified information?”
“I can’t be specific over the telephone.”
“Very well,” Serrano said with an impatient groan. “Come here to the estate, and we’ll talk it over.”
“I’ll be arriving with a gringo,” Ortega said. “Pope has sent him from the US to neutralize Fields, and he wants the two of you to meet.”
“Fine, fine,” Serrano said. “How soon will you be here?”
“Within the hour.”
Serrano broke the connection and tossed the phone to Oscar. “The CIA is becoming a very large annoyance to me, Oscar. This man Pope up in Washington believes I work for him.” He wagged his finger. “I do not work for him. And to prove it, I should send the heads of these two men back to him in a FedEx box.”
Oscar smiled dryly. “I think it might be too soon for such a flamboyant gesture. You have an election to win.”
“Which is the only reason I will not have these men killed — yet.” He drew a white sleeve across his perspiring forehead. “Apparently Fields has decided to double-cross me. I don’t suppose I should be surprised.”
“Why would he cross you? You have an agreement.”
Serrano chuckled. “Perhaps he’s realized I have no intention to honor the agreement.” He put his hat and gloves back on and picked up the rose snips. “Be sure the guards are alert. Ortega is bringing another one of Pope’s assassins with him. I tell you, Oscar, once I am president, it will be a pleasure to run these interfering gringos out of our country for good. They’re like a plague of rats.”
Ortega and Crosswhite arrived fifty minutes later, and Oscar showed them out back to the pool, where Serrano’s mistress had been told to sunbathe naked on a raft as a distraction. Her Chihuahua floated nearby on a separate raft. Crosswhite recognized the purpose of the woman’s presence at once, but this didn’t prevent him from staring.
“Nice view,” he remarked, taking a seat at the table in the shade.
“If Serrano’s seen your file,” Ortega replied, “it’ll be our last.”
“Don’t get cranked up. Let me do the talking and keep your mouth shut.”
Serrano came out of the house flanked by a pair of capable-looking bodyguards, crossing the patio and offering his hand to Ortega. “Good to see you again,” he said in Spanish. “Who is your associate?”
Crosswhite offered his hand, saying in Spanish, “Good to meet you, Senator Serrano. I’m David Pendleton.”
Serrano motioned for them to be seated. “So, gentlemen, do I understand that Clemson Fields wishes to see me dead?”
“We believe that to be the case,” Crosswhite replied.
Serrano eyed him for a moment. “I’m sorry, who I am talking to? To you or to Señor Ortega?”
“You’re talking to me, sir. Without offense to Agent Ortega, he’s only an intermediary in this instance. Director Pope wishes for you and me to establish a rapport so that we might work together to neutralize Agent Fields.”
“What has happened with Fields?” Serrano wanted to know. “We have an arrangement that should be very agreeable to him.”
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Crosswhite said, “what is the nature of that agreement?”
Serrano was hesitant but decided to disclose the information. “He has asked me to secure a villa for him on the coast where he might retire when this operation is over.”
Crosswhite looked at Ortega, conjuring his story on the fly. “See?” he said in English. “It’s the same every time. He doesn’t even change his MO.”
Ortega didn’t have to pretend to be uptight. He shrugged. “Fields is old school.”
Serrano was not fluent in English, but he understood more than he spoke. “What does MO mean?”
“Modus operandi: method of operation.” Crosswhite sat in closer to the table, as if taking Serrano into his trust. “Fields is a confidence man — an actor. He often strikes these little agreements in order to give a false sense of security. The idea is to convince you that he needs something from you on a personal level, which makes you trust him more. He already has a house on the coast up in San Diego, so I doubt seriously he needs one down here. You’re being manipulated, Senator.”
Serrano began to simmer. “Why would Pope send such a man to me?”
“In Pope’s defense,” Crosswhite continued, “this is the first time Fields has acted contrary to his directives. The truth is that we don’t know his exact intentions, but he’s contacted a couple of assets in Baja and ordered them here to Mexico City. At first, we believed he was sending them after Chance Vaught and Dan Crosswhite”—he watched Serrano closely here for any hint of recognition—“but a text message was intercepted naming you as the target, and Pope contacted me immediately. As luck would have it, I was vacationing up in Guadalajara, which enabled me to get here quickly. My personal guess — and this is only a guess — is that Fields has cut a better deal with Antonio Castañeda regarding the narcotics trade. I’m guessing this because we know he was recently in Vallarta.”