Still, Cerro couldn't figure out what to call the relationship between them. Perhaps there wasn't a name for it. Perhaps, Cerro thought, the relationship they had was like Dixon's military career, one of those things that simply defied definition and refused to be classified.
Shaking his head, Cerro was about to join Grumpf, who had moved to the map in preparation for giving Cerro a quick update, when the division G2 came rushing into the van. "Scotty, we've got 'em."
Startled, Dixon looked up at the G2 with blurry eyes. "Got who?"
"Remember me telling you that I thought it was strange that there were no weapons missing from the MP or Lewis ambush sites?''
Not really remembering, Dixon nevertheless nodded his head in order to get the G2 to make his point a little faster.
Continuing, the G2 pointed a finger toward Dixon to emphasize his points. "In every other ambush, those that we know were made by units of the Mexican Army or guerrilla units led by Mexican Army officers, every piece of equipment and weapon that looked like it would be of value was missing. Even when they didn't overrun the unit under attack, the Mexican guerrillas were reported to take what commanders in the field considered extraordinary risks to collect whatever they could before withdrawing. You see, the Mexican Army, especially guerrilla units, are still quite poor when it comes to weapons and equipment r and they refuse to miss an opportunity to make up that deficiency." The G2 was talking too fast for Dixon to follow, but Dixon didn't stop him. He was too tired and only wanted the G2 to finish. "In addition, in the two cases where prisoners have been taken by the Mexicans, the International Red Cross had the full name, rank, and Social Security number of the prisoners within twenty-four hours."
In his own roundabout way, the G2 was preparing to make a point, a point that Dixon wished he would get to. "Okay, so this ambush isn't like the others. What's it mean?"
A smile lit across the G2's face. "The Mexican Army didn't ambush the MPs or Lewis. Their story that they don't know anything about the ambushes, and the one being put out by the government, is true. They didn't do it."
Dixon shook his head. "Okay, you've lost me. Seems like the info about the weapons being left behind is all very nice, but doesn't mean much by itself. Anyone can make a mistake. Hell, I got two weeks' worth of duty log that will prove that."
The G2 held out a small folder with yellow top secret cover sheets.
"That Mexican we found at the MP checkpoint that was hit came to last night long enough for our people to interrogate him."
Dixon, wide awake now, sat up. "And?"
"Well, what he said, by itself, didn't make a whole lot of sense. Most of what he gave us was gibberish. He's in really bad shape, you see.
Doctors say he should have died. But that's not important right now.
What is important is that the little info he gave us, combined with other bits and pieces, like the fact that no weapons were taken from either site, adds up."
Dixon was becoming impatient. The G2 was beginning to ramble.
"Adds up to what?"
Not to be rushed, the G2 used his fingers as he enumerated his points.
"First off, he's not a Mexican. In fact, he's not even working for the Mexican government. That we know. As it turns out, he's a Colombian mercenary. The CIA confirmed that a few hours ago. Seems he's working for some drug lord he kept.calling El Dueno, that's Spanish for 'manager.'
We're not sure why he's called that, but right now, that's unimportant."
Dixon threw his hands up. "Look, I'm beat. Could you please tell me what is important?"
The G2 looked around to see who was in the room. Then he pushed the folder a little closer to Dixon. "I can't tell you. Not in here. It's classified, special compartmented information. You can either read this or come over to my shop and I'll brief you on what we think this Dueno dude's been managing." After Dixon took the folder, the G2, unable to restrain himself, added, "If half the shit that's in there turns out to be true, our fearless leader in the White House and half the CIA's staff better find themselves new jobs."
With their meeting coming to an end, Molina turned to Barreda. "Then we are agreed, Felipe. Your actions must be timed so as to ensure that Colonel Guajardo will have achieved everything that he can. Do you see a problem with that?"
Barreda shook his head. "No, there is no problem from our side. The problem all hinges on what the commander of the American 16th Armored Division decides to do. I will be prepared to go either way. If the American does not agree to the meeting that Alfredo is trying to set up, or if they run to their government after the meeting and drop the matter into their State Department's hands, then I will contact the American charge d'affaires and give him everything we have. If, on the other hand, the American division commander agrees to cooperate with Alfredo, then I wait to meet with the charge d'affaires until seven am on the twentieth."
Closing his eyes, Molina nodded. "Things will go better for you, Felipe, and for us, if we are able to point to a success."
"As Alfredo and I have pointed out, Carlos, that depends upon the Americans themselves."
Opening his eyes, Molina turned to Guajardo. "Is there no way to go in and destroy the mercenaries' base and free the American hostages ourselves? Must we depend on the Americans?"
Guajardo answered without looking up from the folder in front of him.
"Yes, we could try. And I can give you my assurance that none of the mercenaries would escape. But I cannot guarantee the safety of the Americans, especially since we know that there are traitors amongst us, even on the council."
Guajardo's comment about traitors on the council made Molina flinch.
He, and he alone, had invited each and every man on the council to join.
The idea that his judgment had been flawed, and could result in the total failure of their efforts, struck him hard. "What makes you think that the American soldiers will be able to do any better than your men?"
Looking up at Barreda, then over to Molina, Guajardo answered slowly and deliberately. "Nothing, absolutely nothing. They, like us, will be going in blind. The big difference is that they will be in control. It will be, essentially, their operation and, God forbid, their failure if the hostages die in the process."
Molina stood up from his seat at the desk, looked down at the papers that Guajardo had handed him, glanced over to his minister of defense and friend, and sighed. Lifting his face toward the ceiling before looking down at Guajardo again, Molina took a deep breath, then sighed again.
Turning away from his desk, Molina walked over to the window. With his hands behind his back, he looked blankly out into the square below.
After a minute or two, he turned his head slightly toward Guajardo. "Had you come to me with a story that the man in the moon was waiting to see me outside my office, I could not have been more shocked."
Looking back out the window, Molina folded his arms across his chest and shook his head. "Are we being too clever, my friend? Are we trying to be too clever for ourselves? I still feel the better, safer course would be simply to announce publicly what we know, or turn over the information we have on the mercenaries to the Americans. This military operation of yours, Alfredo, and Felipe's diplomatic brinksmanship, is risky." Pivoting, he looked at Guajardo. "No, I believe we should simply tell the Americans what we know and be done with this."
From his seat, Guajardo looked down at his hands, held loosely in his lap. "We must be realists, who deal with the truth as it is, not as we would like it. We all know that as soon as we pass any information through formal channels, no matter how hard we try to safeguard it, Alaman will know. My God, we cannot even trust our own brothers on the council." Guajardo looked up and fixed his eyes on Molina's. "Yes, this entails great risk. But if we hope to end this, we must accept the risks. And part of those risks include using the American military to free their own people."