Rojas nodded in approval. Messina was a smart man. “Good idea. Now where do we go from here?”
Messina threw up his hands. “I don’t know. I’m sure we’re being watched, how closely, I don’t know. So we will have to be careful.”
“Agreed,” said Rojas. “For the time being, we will just have to sit tight and wait. Something is bound to open up. You are now the third person I know who knows about all this. With our Presidente liking to brag, I’m sure we won’t be the last. The only other ones are his personal guard and secret police. Somehow I don’t think going to them would be appropriate.”
“The way our superiors like to curry favors, I don’t think we need to share this with them either,” said Messina.
“Then we wait and look for opportunities,” said Rojas. “The problem we will have is the distance between us, you being at the air base and me in the palace.”
Messina thought for a moment. “You like fútbol?”
Rojas smiled. “Since I was twelve.”
“Parente does too. Maybe we should arrange to go along with him. We’ll go to the general seats while he goes to his box. I understand he prefers female company there anyway,” said Messina. “Then the occasional lunch, maybe my son’s lacrosse games, maybe drinks after work, the normal things.”
“He’s planning to go to the fútbol game day after tomorrow. I’ll let you know how it goes,” said Rojas.
“Good,” said Messina as he stood to leave. “By the way, what do we say if someone saw me come in here tonight?”
Rojas thought a minute. This was a real possibility. There would have to be some plausible explanation. He looked around the room. In the corner was his old lacrosse gear. Messina had mentioned a couple of weeks back that his fourteen year old son was getting interested in the sport. Rojas had gotten it out to give it to him. He walked over and gathered up the equipment. “Here, take the sticks,” he told Messina.
A smile crossed Messina’s face. He chuckled, “You just gave us an excuse and saved me a ton of money,” he said.
After gathering up the equipment and the briefcase, the two men went down to Messina’s car and loudly placed it all in the trunk. Thanking Rojas profusely, Messina started the car and backed into the street. Rojas gave a friendly wave as he left. That was when he saw what appeared to be someone in a parked car just down the street. Rojas turned and slowly made his way back to his apartment. Now he knew.
Ambassador Craig Jonas looked up from his desk to see Pete Wilson as he came into his office. Wilson was from the FBI and was down to work with the local agencies in the current crisis. Although Jonas didn’t really want him there at all, he had to keep the President happy. “Good morning, Mister Wilson. I take it you are here to brief me on yesterday’s activities?”
Wilson smiled. It was a fake smile because he wanted to keep Jonas off balance as far as the FBI was concerned. He had been there for two days and had already been looking at some irregularities in the embassy. The offices and quarters had been clean of bugs and he had installed measures to trace calls from the buildings. One of the communications staff had told him of a private line the ambassador had installed in his office outside of the normal security set-up. He also found out about a small, secluded private entrance and exit from the compound from the ambassador’s quarters which had been installed just one month after Jonas had been assigned to the embassy. The fact that it was there, was not so bad, but that he had insisted that there be no monitoring of the entrance was a little suspicious. It had been explained that on occasion, the ambassador wanted some privacy. Otherwise, there were some of the usual things, lax message procedures, no monitoring of some of the regular staff when they interacted with local dignitaries, even some questionable purchases or expenses. Those kinds of things could be found in most embassies around the world. He would mention these to the supervisors, but not the ambassador. Supposedly, Wilson was visiting with government officials to solicit their aid. He had done that the first day and simply kept up via the phone. The real mission had been detailed when Jonas had mentioned something to the Secretary of State about his very close ties with Parente. The Secretary had thought they might be a little too close. They all hoped that it was just bragging, but with the current conditions, everyone wanted to make sure.
Wilson handed over a sheet of paper. “I thought you would like a detail sheet of who is doing what at their defense and foreign relations sides. These guys are turning up the heat against the FARC in this country. Although they are a little distant when we talk, they are being very helpful. I can understand the distance, since we haven’t had the greatest track record down here,” he said.
Jonas smiled at the man. He hated having the FBI in his back yard, but at least he wasn’t doing much more than what a policeman would do. “Yes, we haven’t always been the best friend around here. Have you heard anything from your side in Washington?”
He always asks that question, thought Wilson. Maybe now would be a time to let out a little line. “They’re still in the dark except for the video and now a letter restating what we already know. The President is hoping that the governments down here can find our people and get them back, but I did hear he’s looking at some military options of some kind. It might even involve the Navy,” he said nonchalantly.
Jonas sat back. Now there was some interesting news, he thought. “Doesn’t make much sense, but who am I to second guess our President,” he said. “Anything else?”
Wilson shook his head. “No sir, I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” he said.
“Good. Thanks for keeping me informed,” Jonas said as he dismissed Wilson.
Wilson turned and left the office. He was beginning to dislike Jonas more and more. His suspicions were getting deeper. He had already decided to monitor all communications coming out of the embassy, including one phone line he had found that led solely to the ambassador’s desk. With enough rope, there would be a fine hanging.
The young guard was a new one. Unlike the others, he didn’t pace back and forth or simply glare through the bars at his captives. This one was sitting opposite the barred doorway. His rifle was lying across his lap and his head was down. There was almost a pained look on the young man’s face. On occasion, he would look up from his thoughts and peer at one or two of the mayors sitting in the sweltering heat.
Patricia noticed the young man. She noticed that this one was a little different and decided to take a chance. She eased over and sat next to the bars of the door. “Are you okay?” she asked quietly in Spanish.
The young man nearly jumped off the seat, springing to his feet. His rifle was swept up and he pointed it toward the door. His eyes glued to Patricia. Suddenly, as if realizing what he was doing, he stopped and the rifle was pointed toward the floor. His shoulders slumped slightly as he relaxed. After taking a breath he slowly placed a finger to his lips, then he gave a glance toward the door. After a moment he sat back down.
“I must not allow you to talk to me,” he said almost in a whisper.
Now it was Patricia’s time to relax. For a moment she thought it was the end, but after seeing the understanding in the young man’s eyes, she eased back and nodded. “I’m sorry, but you looked so troubled I wanted to help,” she said.
A slight smile appeared on his face. He shook his head. “I do not think you are able to do so.”
Patricia shrugged her shoulders. “I’m willing to listen,” she said.
He waved her off. “It is something I saw that bothers me,” he said. “As a soldier, I am not allowed to let these things upset me. My father would tell me to ‘be a man,’” he said. By now his smile had grown larger.