“Have you talked to him? Will he be able to stop Serrano?”
Vaught had his doubts. “I honestly don’t know. He’s done a reconnaissance of Serrano’s estate, and he has another meeting with the fat bastard today. But even if he’s successful, it won’t be in time to help us — not if Ruvalcaba’s men are already here.”
Sergeant Cuevas was concerned for Crosswhite’s safety. “How can he kill Serrano on his own property and hope to escape alive?”
“I asked him the same thing.”
“And?”
“He said he’ll have to see how the situation develops.”
Cuevas shook his head. “Crazy gringo.”
“Well, you know how they are.”
“Yes, I do,” Cuevas said, “and you’re half gringo, so how crazy are you?”
Vaught grinned. “I’m not crazy, Sergeant. I’m just too stupid to know when to run the other way.”
70
Upon arriving at Serrano’s estate, Crosswhite and Mike Ortega were searched by two of Serrano’s security men before entering the house. Oscar Martinez then showed them to a small sitting room and asked them to make themselves comfortable. “Señor Serrano and Captain Espinosa are discussing some business matters. I’m sure they won’t be long.”
“Thank you,” Crosswhite said, sensing that Oscar was paying him closer attention than most men normally did and wondering idly if Serrano knew that his personal assistant was gay.
He’d spoken with Vaught the night before, directly after the failed attempt to bag the sniper, but he did not have his satellite phone with him this morning, so he was completely unaware of the situation developing in Toluca. Mariana had not called to check in the night before, nor had she answered her phone, and this concerned him, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment.
Ortega, meanwhile, was a nervous wreck. He’d spent a mostly sleepless night handcuffed to Crosswhite’s left wrist on a cheap mattress in a crappy motel, and he had no clue what the crazy ex — Green Beret had planned.
“You have to tell me something,” he whispered. “How am I supposed to play along if I don’t know why we’re here?”
“No one’s expecting you to know anything,” Crosswhite said in English. “You’re a dumb-ass, and they know it, so just be yourself, and you’ll do fine.”
Ortega scowled. “You’d better know what you’re doing.”
“Or?”
“Or we’ll never get out of here alive.”
Crosswhite patted him on the back. “We’d be lucky if all they did was kill us, Mikey.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“It’s not supposed to.”
Oscar returned a short time later and showed them outside. Today Serrano’s mistress lay beneath a sunshade reading a magazine. She wore a green robe made of silk, and her Chihuahua sat beside her, chewing on a piece of rawhide.
She glanced at Crosswhite, who smiled at her, and went back to reading her magazine.
Lazaro Serrano and Captain Espinosa of the Federal Police were seated at the stone table beneath a tree. Captain Espinosa wore a formal-type uniform but was not armed.
Two bodyguards stood off to the side near the garden wall, much the same as they had the day before, pistols bulging beneath their jackets in shoulder holsters.
“Agent Pendleton,” Serrano said happily, almost arrogantly, getting up from the table to offer his hand to Crosswhite while ignoring Ortega altogether. “It’s good to see you again. I apologize for the wait, but I haven’t had time to speak in much detail with Captain Espinosa before this morning. I was just telling him I believe you’re the kind of man we can work with in the coming months — should Director Pope wish to continue our relationship.”
“That will be entirely up to the director,” Crosswhite said, offering his hand to the black-eyed, mustachioed Captain Espinosa. “Dave Pendleton, Captain. Good to meet you.”
Espinosa’s grip was firm and confident, unlike Serrano’s, which was limp and clammy. “Good to meet you,” he echoed.
“So,” Serrano said as they settled around the table, “what are your plans concerning Clemson Fields? Have you spoken to your embassy?”
“I have,” Crosswhite said, aware that Espinosa was scrutinizing him. “We think he’s in Tijuana right now. If that’s the case, it might be necessary for me to acquire him there.” He looked at Captain Espinosa. “That might be something you can assist us with, Captain.”
Espinosa stared coldly. “Are you under the impression that I work for the CIA?”
“Not at all, sir,” Crosswhite replied coolly. “As I mentioned to Senator Serrano yesterday, our primary goal is to remove the immediate threat to his safety. After that, we hope to see him elected to the office of the president, and from there to assist him in the removal of Antonio Castañeda in the North.”
Espinosa brushed a fly from his nose. “The CIA wants to be very deeply involved in Mexican affairs these days.”
Crosswhite glanced at Serrano and then back to Espinosa, deciding that the pleasantries were over. “Well, if I may speak openly, Captain, Alice Downly was an American diplomat killed on Mexican soil with your assistance. Am I correct?”
Espinosa stiffened in the chair, glancing askance at Serrano. “I have no idea where you get your information.”
“For the sake of argument,” Crosswhite said, “I’ll accept that as a yes. Now, please understand that my superiors in the CIA aren’t losing any sleep over Downly’s death. Quite to the contrary, Director Pope is relieved to have her out of the way. However, the US State Department is an entirely different matter. They’ve been holding off because Mexico City has suffered such a terrible disaster this week, but trust me: the US Secretary of State is gearing up to make real trouble over this Downly business. The best way for us to avoid any danger to both you and Senator Serrano is to see the senator elected president. That will put him in control of the political arena here and mitigate any threat to you. It’s my job to help make that happen, and that’s the service I’m here to offer. Now, if that’s not agreeable to the senator, he just has to say the word, and I’ll get on a plane today — leaving you gentlemen to deal with Fields and his band of assassins on your own.”
Crosswhite sat back, noting that Serrano’s cocky air had suddenly dissipated. Something just changed, he told himself. What is it?
Ortega cleared his throat, as if he were about to speak. Crosswhite gave him a look. “I remind you, Mike, that you’re here as a courtesy to your station and nothing more.”
Ortega was instantly cowed, and this caused Serrano to appear even more confused. “Will you clarify something for me?”
“If I can, Senator.”
“Are you here as Director Pope’s direct representative? Or some other faction of the CIA?”
“As I told you yesterday, I am here at Director Pope’s personal direction. Why do you ask?”
Serrano nodded, glancing at Captain Espinosa. “Because it might interest you to know, Agent Pendleton, that Clemson Fields called me shortly after you left yesterday. We had quite a long conversation about you.”
Crosswhite showed no change in his expression. “I assume he had many glowing things to say?”
Serrano shook his head. “None at all. In fact, he says you are a liar. I described you to him, and he said that your real name is Daniel Crosswhite — that you and Agent Vaught are working with the PFM to have me thrown into prison.”
“And?” Crosswhite said.