An EMP agent looked inside the control room, finding her there. “Señor Presidente is asking for you.”
Garza nodded and followed him out of the room.
CHAPTER 75
President Vargas was seated alone inside a meeting room, his chair turned to face a windowless wall. His elbows were on his thighs, palms rubbing together.
Garza entered, and Vargas looked up as though surprised. He stood, straightening his jacket, and went to her.
He said, “Is everything ready here?”
Garza nodded. “Yes, Señor Presidente.”
Vargas nodded once, slowly. He had something on his mind.
“Kind of a bust now, but we’ll make the most of it. I don’t know about you, but I am quite anxious to return home.”
Garza nodded.
The president rubbed his palms together again. “In any event . . . very well done today, Comandante. I am sorry if I was . . . short with you, or rude. It was not my intention.”
“Fine, Señor Presidente,” she said.
Vargas looked at her. He wanted more. “I know you are an outstanding federale, and exceptional at what you do . . . exceptional in every way.”
Garza clasped her hands tightly behind her back, looking to the side. Waiting for this to be over.
President Vargas said, “Is there anything you’d like to get off your chest, Cecilia? I feel as though I am apologizing to a wall.”
“I prefer ‘Comandante,’ ” she said.
Vargas said, “Very well.”
“May I go now?”
After a moment, he said, “Yes. Certainly.”
Garza got as far as the door before pivoting hard and walking back to him.
“I will not work for you in Mexico City. I will never have dinner with you. Once we return to Mexico, I hope to never have to speak to you again.”
Vargas looked away, puzzled, trying to understand the source of this outburst. “What is it, Comandante? Speak.”
Garza tried to hold her tongue, feeling she had already said too much. “He was not here for you,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“I was mistaken. Chuparosa did not come to New York to try to assassinate you.”
Vargas shook his head. “Of course he did. And you stopped him. Brilliantly.”
Garza’s smile came out warped with anger. “No,” she said. “He was not here to kill the president of Mexico. He was here to kill someone measurably more influential.”
CHAPTER 76
Fisk pushed through the hospital exit doors with his good forearm, his left arm in a blue sling.
Dubin ran out just behind him. “Fisk! Stop! You’re delirious.”
Fisk stopped on the curb at the ambulance bay. “Where is it?” he said angrily.
“Where is what?”
“Your car,” said Fisk. “Where is it?”
Dubin said, “Look, Jeremy. Listen to me. Are you having a reaction to the medication?”
“I’ll get a goddamn taxi.”
“Here,” said Dubin, pointing.
Fisk went off toward the unmarked car with NYPD plates in the nearby handicapped spot. “Gimme your phone.”
“No.”
“I need a phone!” said Fisk.
An attendant came out the door after them. Dubin was torn between explaining their quick getaway and staying with Fisk.
“Here,” he said, handing Fisk his phone and getting inside the car.
“Code,” said Fisk.
“Uh . . .” Dubin had to do it in the air. “Five nine one four.”
Fisk played with it while Dubin started the engine and backed out.
“No good,” said Fisk. “I need my contact list.”
He put the phone on top of his side of the dashboard. It promptly fell to the floorboard.
“Hey!” said Dubin, fishing with his hand, finding it near Fisk’s shoe, then pulling on the man’s seat belt. “Where the hell am I supposed to be taking you?”
“Mexican consulate. Thirty-ninth and Park.”
“Mexican . . . ?” Dubin stopped, braking hard. Looking at him. “Fisk. It’s over. You stopped it, remember? You’re going to hurt yourself. They want you to stay for observation—”
Fisk said, “It’s not over. It’s not over. Drive, Barry. Go.”
“Why?”
Fisk pointed straight ahead. “So we can stop a murder.”
CHAPTER 77
The reception hall was slowly filling with diplomats and their spouses. President Vargas was greeting the arrivals. Vice President Biden was due any minute, and the street closure was already in effect outside. Then the formalities would officially begin.
Cecilia Garza wiped a bead of sweat from the damp hair at her temple. She watched the monitor until she saw the man she was looking for, making conversation on his way through the final stage of security and entering the “tent,” or secured area.
Garza choked down a swallow and walked downstairs to intercept him. Andrés León wore a black suit with silver accents on the lapels, pants with matching cuffs, and silver-toed cowboy boots. His braid was pulled back more neatly than it had been that morning.
“Comandante Garza!” he exuded when he saw her crossing the room toward him. “The woman of the hour, everyone!”
Applause from the rest of the attendees, which shocked her, making her stop when she would have thought no power in the world could have slowed her pace. She stood for a split second listening to their hollow clapping, then continued to the large expatriate, who insisted on making a scene.
“What bravery! What fortitude! And a woman! What a shining example of Mexican mettle!”
Garza reached León, trying to keep her expression calm as she gestured to the hallway. “Don Andrés, may I offer you a tour of the premises? I know you don’t get out much.”
“How can I resist any request from Comandante Garza on a great day such as this? A privilege! An honor! Lead on, Comandante!”
She did, past smiling onlookers, stepping out into the hallway leading to the portrait room.
“Will it be long, Comandante?” he asked. “I haven’t yet had a cocktail.”
“Not too long,” she said, without turning around. She opened the door and stepped aside for him to enter.
He passed her, walking inside with his hands out in a gesture of appreciation. “All the greats.”
Garza closed the door behind them. Portraits hung around the room’s only bench, lit from lamps above each frame. Emiliano Zapata. First President Guadalupe Victoria. Hernán Cortés. Diego Rivera. And the most recent addition, the writer Octavio Paz.
“Magnificent,” he said. “Oh, the lure of the homeland. So kind of you to show me this. So nice to be out of my cage.”
Garza nodded, telling herself to stay focused. “What was your name, Don Andrés? Your former name. Your real name.”
León reacted with surprise. “Strange question.”
“I tried to look you up this afternoon, using both police and Department of State resources. I could not find any so-called financier fitting the profile you described to me this morning.”
“Please, Comandante.” He spread his hands in supplication. “I don’t even like to think of it. On a night such as this? Tonight is about the future.” He waved at the portraits. “The past is history.”
“No,” said Garza, shaking her head strenuously. “No, it’s not. It’s right here with you, right now. Which bank did you work for?”
León sighed, smiling and shaking his head. “So many.”
“Name just one.”
León crooked his head, looking at her with one eye nearly closed. He had noticed her growing more agitated. “I should return to the reception. I was promised a cocktail.”