"My organization has its own mandates, but it still respects the democratic process. If you give me something of value, I can promise you a return if I develop anything from your lead."
Rachel shook her head bitterly. "It becomes so damned political, Carter. Suppose you think there's nothing in it? Suppose we do?"
"Look, Rachel. I know what you're saying. But my group doesn't have to protect people. Very few persons know about us — the president and a few key others. Our size is strictly limited. There's no way we can get out of hand or lose touch with reality. In a very real sense, we're above politics."
"I'm going to trust you, Carter, because you saved my life, and because your being here isn't any accident."
"I think," Carter said, "you're doing the right thing."
Rachel Porat began to walk about the room, filled with the tenseness of her decision. After a minute or two she sat next to him and made eye contact all the while she spoke.
She might have been young and vulnerable, but she had the hard center necessary to be a good agent. It became clear to Carter that the accident of Rachel's Argentine background and her knowledge of Cardenas had influenced the higher echelons of the Mossad to let her in on more than they had Abrams, the operative running in Paris.
The Mossad had reason to believe Lex Talionis, whatever its goals were, was growing, gaining momentum and followers. They weren't clear where the money was coming from, but it was apparently well financed.
"Does the name Abdul Samadhi mean anything to you?"
Rachel Porat frowned. "Little cast-eyed PLO pig with a cleft chin trying to run up a reputation for himself."
Carter motioned for her to continue.
What came out was a series of anomalies — apparent or suspected dealings between persons who were either natural enemies or close to it. "As it was, I can tell you the names of three men who spent time with Cardenas in the meetings he held at Covington." Purposefully, she gave Carter some names of members of the notorious tonton macoute secret police from the deposed "Baby Doc" Duvalier regime, a former member of Ferdinand Marcos's staff, and an ardent white supremacist from Idaho.
"You know for a fact they were there?"
Rachel nodded. "I have the names of others who met with him, but I will end this conversation and all our covenants if you push me on these. Two of them we want, one of them I want."
"I understand," Carter said.
She smiled, relieved. "In that case, there is a name I will give you, because I don't think I'm going to be able to get to Mexico City just yet."
"You're determined to work these people Cardenas met with?"
"And his contacts here. Cardenas was planning something big, big enough to betray the people who laundered him and brought him in."
Maybe not betray them, Carter thought, but he said nothing. He waited while Rachel Porat began to describe and lead up to the contact in Mexico City.
Carter had to stop her. "Why are you hesitating like this?"
"Because, damn you, I'm jealous." Then she went on to explain why. "The person I'm sending you to, Margo Huerta, is a fascinating woman. She's tall, good-looking, sensual. She's an artist who is well respected, and she has great passions for everything in life. I know what will happen when she sees you." While she went on describing Margo Huerta, Rachel lapsed into the formalized, stilted method of reporting that characterized so many police, security, and political organizations.
"Subject is known to have significant contacts with liberal fund-raising groups and is thought to have funneled funds for indigenous tribespeople and nationalist fighters involved in armed conflicts with American — and Soviet-sponsored military groups." While Rachel Porat spoke, Carter had to muster all his control not to erupt into a large grin, but he was successful at keeping a poker face.
Rachel's description was professional enough, although she did manage a few catty digs.
When she finished talking, she looked at her watch. They had sixteen hours left — sixteen hours for Rachel Porat to work out her jealousy in ways that would give Nick Carter something to think about when he was in Mexico City. "Come here," she said. "I'm going to make sure you remember me."
Carter eased out of Rachel's room while she slept. It was not an easy decision to make. Theoretically he was still on schedule, and as Rachel lay there, her hair spilling over the pillow, her body warm and inviting, he was tempted to wake her up for a proper farewell.
But Carter sighed, went to the door, and left. He used the taxi trip to Phoenix International Airport to set the complex skein of events in perspective. He had time to put in a call to Hawk and for a barbershop shave and massage before his flight to Mexico City boarded.
"I imagine your interview with Miss Crystal was productive," Hawk said, and Carter could hear the sucking and puffing of smoke as well as Hawk's ironic bite.
Hawk listened carefully as Carter went through the details. "No question about it, Nick. This is a profitable line of enquiry. While you were digging up your details, we got a few of our own. We had to twist a few arms, and the CIA bloody well yowled when I gave them a quid pro quo. They hadn't known one of their boys had been doubled by the Cubans. Here's what it amounts to."
He went on to report that Guy Prentiss had been in Mexico City shortly before his death, trying to contact old intelligence sources, especially a rare book dealer named Norman Sasner. "Prentiss was desperately trying to get word through that he was on to something."
"Did that have any effect?"
"You know the bureaucratic maze, Nick. CIA and State took notice, but in all cases, they discounted his reliability and placed the material in a file where it will stay until they either get confirmation or decide it isn't worth pursuit."
There was a long pause and Carter could hear the TV monitors in the background. A private teletype began to clatter, bringing forth fresh, reliable information from somewhere in the world.
"We're most interested in the participation of this Bezeidenhout fellow. Pursue that. Find him if you can. See if you can discover what he's up to. Is this something he's doing for the South African diamond cartel?"
"Could it be something he's working on independently, sir?"
"Good question. Find out. We need to know that. Those diamond security police pay their operatives well, but they brook no nonsense. If a man is caught with even the suspicion of an unsavory deal, there are severe reprisals."
Hawk paused to let that sink in.
"See if you can get any fresh material from the sources our colleagues at the Agency and State missed," he continued. "Go to Mexico City and keep in touch, especially if you land anyone who is a member of this Lex Talionis."
"I'll see if I can get you some Cuban cigars," Carter said.
"Don't bother," Hawk growled, but not without regard.
Five
Several noted commentators have projected that the huge sprawl of Mexico City would be the largest metropolitan area in the world by the end of the century. There were already twenty-eight million people living in varying degrees of opulence or poverty, depending on where you drew the line between luxury suites and packing crates. Probably another two or three million more than that if you remember that census programs begin to lose their accuracy as you move closer to the pockets where the poor and the dispossessed try to eke out a living.
As far as Carter was concerned, Mexico City already was the largest, measurably larger since his last visit a few years earlier. A heavy layer of smog pressed down, amplified by the rattle and clatter of slow-moving streams of cars and trucks without mufflers and, even worse, by too many smoke-belching diesel-powered vehicles.