From out of the shadows of the doorway of the terminal office where the three men sat, Alaman emerged. He had been listening to their idle chatter for several minutes in an effort to gauge their dedication and attitude. When he was satisfied that he had a feel for where each man stood, he came forward.
The sudden appearance of Alaman caught the three mercenaries off guard. Turning to face the apparition, Delapos began to stand. Alaman indicated to Delapos to keep his seat with a motion of his right hand.
Striding over to the one side of the table where no one was seated, Alaman stood there for a moment before speaking. Then, almost shyly, he asked if he could have a moment of their time.
Since their arrival, this was the first time that Alaman had come forward and addressed them, either separately or together. Now, standing there before them was the man who had once considered his power in Mexico equal to that of the country's president. Though his clothes showed spots of dirt and were stained with sweat marks, they were neatly arranged, like his hair. With an air of confidence that made him appear larger than he was, Alaman looked at each man without speaking. Each of the mercenaries, realizing that he had a proposal, said nothing when he looked at them in turn. When Alaman began to speak, they were all ears.
"If we are to believe the news on the radio," Alaman stated, "there is no possible way for me to reestablish my operations under the current regime in Mexico City. The military appears to have a solid base of power and no viable opposition. In addition, the Council of 13 has gained great popular support from both the middle and lower classes. The council's program of taking immediate and direct action against corrupt officials and government employees, while encouraging the people to help them track down and identify those officials, seems to have captured the imagination of the people. The people are finally being allowed an op1 portunity to vent their frustrations against a government that has long abused and ignored them and provided us with a 'comfortable' environment to work in."
As Alaman spoke, he began to circle the table. Delapos, always cap tivated by his fellow countryman's fairy-tale success story, watched every move Alaman made and took in every word. Childress and Lefleur, on the other hand, began to wonder where Alaman was going with this lecture. Both men shot furtive glances at each other before turning back to watch Alamdn.
"Under these circumstances," Alaman continued, "there is little that we, the four of us and the handful of guards who survived the raid, can do on our own to remove the new government or alter its policies from within. The climate," he stated as he paused, lifting his right hand up to his side and holding the index finger of that hand in the air for dramatic effect, "is not suitable for us at this time. But that does not mean that all is lost." As a conclusion to his meandering introduction, Alaman stated,
"If someone were to remove the new regime, then things could once more return to normal. It is up to us, the four of us, to precipitate that change."
As Alaman spoke, Delapos nodded every so often in agreement. As a Mexican, he understood. Childress, poker-faced, sat and listened in silence, knowing that the other shoe was about to drop. Lefleur, though he was just as curious about what Alaman had to say as Childress was, feigned a lack of interest. When Alaman paused again, the three men looked at each other, then back at Alaman. As their leader, and the one most loyal to Alaman, Delapos asked the question that was on all their minds. "How, Senior Alaman, do you propose we do that?"
With a smile that lit his entire face, Alamin whispered, as if he were saying a prayer in the Catedral Metropolitan, "The Americans, my friends, the Americans. They will be our salvation."
Alamans comment caught Childress and Lefleur off guard. They had been expecting something more dramatic, such as assassination or bribery.
Only Delapos understood. In a flash, he jumped to his feet and embraced Alaman. "Brilliant, senor! Brilliant!"
8
The first law of war is to preserve ourselves and destroy the enemy.
There was little enthusiasm that morning for much of anything. Even the ceiling fans gave the impression that they had no great drive as they spun lackadaisically at half speed around, and around, and around.
Below them, the monotone drone of the current witness reading his prepared statement reminded Ed Lewis of a faulty fluorescent light, a low, annoying buzz that quickly got on your nerves. The witness, a third-echelon flunky from the office of the CIA director, was as exciting as a white plaster wall, but not nearly as interesting. He was dressed in a dark blue, three-piece suit, a white shirt, and a thin red tie that was decorated with those funny little multicolored shapes that looked like pears and didn't have a name. The thin, narrow face, accented by advanced balding at the temples and round horn-rimmed glasses, was indistinguishable from the faces of four out of five bureaucrats who wandered the streets of the capital. Lewis had no trouble seeing that the witness would be just as comfortable conducting audits for the IRS, handling a divorce trial, or prosecuting a malpractice suit. For a moment, Lewis wished the CIA had had the common decency to send over an attractive female spokesperson to deliver the prepared statement like some of the more astute agencies did. At least a well-attired and groomed woman provided a pleasing distraction from the dull, arduous task of patiently listening to drivel while one waited one's turn to verbally rip the witness to pieces. But, Lewis lamented, no such luck today, as he watched the geek from the CIA drone on, and on, and on.
Like most prepared statements, this one was being delivered with a zeal that matched the ceiling fans' slow and tedious rotations. It was cluttered with redundancies, stuffed with embellishments, and liberally sprinkled with caveats. The prepared statement, in short, was ninety percent grade A, government-inspected horseshit. Still, Ed Lewis listened intently, for he knew that there was no such thing as pure horseshit.
Somewhere hidden in the horde of words the witness was issuing was an idea, a grain of truth, a real and cognitive thought. It was the task of Ed Lewis, and the other members of the House Committee on Intelligence, to capture those few precious thoughts and truths as they whizzed by and beat them to death during the questioning that would follow.
The likelihood of that happening this day, however, was quite remote, and the witness knew that. At least his bosses did, which is why only a relatively low-ranking administrative assistant had been sent to deal with the congressional committee. With the summer recess about to begin, Lewis, by pushing for hearings on-the crisis in Mexico, was fighting the annual drive to finish up or postpone all business that might force the congressmen and their staffs to prolong their stays in D.C. Opposition from every quarter, including an occasional plaintive whimper from his own staff, had threatened to postpone the hearings until the Congress met again in October.
It was only through threats and a few well-chosen comments to the press that Lewis had been able to convince his fellow congressmen on the committee to hold preliminary hearings on the failure of the nation's intelligence community to predict and accurately track recent events in Mexico. In an election year, when the race was close, the last thing an incumbent could do was appear to be negligent in his duties, especially when they were connected to the crisis du jour.