Drone

Hernán took another thoughtful sip. “Thank you for your candor. Of course she wouldn’t be satisfied. Neither would I, were I in her shoes. Officially, César Castillo is an upstanding Mexican businessman who donates millions to charitable work. His two sons earned their bachelor’s degrees in business administration at the University of Texas at Austin, and MBAs at the IE Business School in Madrid. They, too, are legitimate businessmen working within their father’s privately held corporation. Neither Mr. Castillo nor his sons have ever been convicted of a crime.”

Hernán swirled the tequila again in his snifter. “And yet, ‘Hijos de maguey, mecates.’”

Romero nodded. “The sons of a hemp plant are going to become ropes.” It was a clever variation on an old Mexican proverb.

Hernán leaned forward, his eyes locked with Romero’s.

“Unofficially? I think we can all agree that César Castillo is the boss of the most powerful crime syndicate in Mexico, if not all of Latin America, which makes him a very dangerous man. He will not view a ‘discreet inquiry’ as anything less than a personal assault on his honor and his position, and he will likely retaliate. But a ‘discreet inquiry’ won’t accomplish anything at all, as you yourself have just admitted.”

Hernán leaned back in the couch, his head against the rear cushion. He was so short that the top of his head didn’t reach to the top of the couch. “America is our strategic partner and our best trading customer. We share a common border and a common history and, increasingly, a common people, which means we share a common destiny. We want an end to the violence and destruction even more than you do.”

Hernán turned toward his brother, his head still resting against the couch.

“What I recommend, Mr. President, is that we bring the two Castillo boys in for questioning, by force if necessary. If we suffer the consequences for this, so be it. It’s the least we can do for our friends in the north, don’t you agree?”

President Barraza frowned with confusion. That was the last thing in the world he expected his nationalistic brother to say. An oily smile greased Hernán’s pockmarked face. What was Hernán’s game? No matter. He would follow his brother’s lead. The president smiled, too, and turned toward Romero.

“Yes, of course. We will do whatever it takes to get to the truth behind this terrible tragedy. You have my word on that, Frank.”

Romero beamed. “Thank you, Mr. President. I will convey your heartfelt message to President Myers, and I can assure you she will be eternally grateful for your assistance in this matter.”

* * *

Romero departed for his embassy, eager to convey the good news to Secretary of State Eddleston on a secure line. Antonio Barraza shut the door behind the American, then stormed over to his brother, who had retaken his seat on the couch.

“Are you fucking crazy? We can’t arrest Castillo’s kids. Next thing we know, he’ll be stacking cops’ heads in the Zócalo. Maybe ours, too.”

Hernán leaned back on the couch, propped his stumpy legs on the hand-carved coffee table, and folded his hands on the curve of his round belly. He closed his eyes. “This Myers woman. She’s not stupid. If she could handle this problem herself, she would. But she can’t. So she needs us to do it. Or at least try to do it.” His voice was calm, even soothing.

Antonio’s curiosity was piqued. He sat down next to his brother and listened in rapt attention.

“We must make a good show of it. We’ll have live video feed, both here and in Washington. The Americans must see our heroic men risking their lives in order to try and carry out justice for the grieving American president.”

“I know just the man. Sanchez. He’s with the Federal Police.” Antonio was getting excited. He liked to think he was able to keep up with Hernán’s scheming.

Hernán kept his eyes shut. “No. Not him. We need our best man, the head of our best unit. Incorruptible. Undefeated.” Hernán searched his photographic memory. “Cruzalta. Colonel Israel Cruzalta.”

“Dios mio. Yes. If anyone can stand up to Castillo, it’s him and his gung-ho Marines.” President Barraza patted his brother on his flaccid thigh. “We’ll drag those Castillo assholes to the police station in chains if we have to. Their father, too. Excellent suggestion.” He checked his Rolex. “I’m late for an important meeting.”

Hernán kept his brother’s schedule. The important meeting was actually a round of golf with his mistress.

“Make the arrangements and coordinate with the Americans.”

“As you say, Mr. President.”

Antonio dashed out of the office.