God's Favorite

  “One hundred seventy-seven meters.”

  “That’s pretty high,” Escobar conceded.

  “You know, our two nations were one before the gringos came and built this thing.”

  “I know very well.”

  “We should not let them come between us again,” said Tony. “That’s why I wanted to talk. There’s been a terrible misunderstanding.”

  “A misunderstanding,” said Escobar. “They gave you a fucking award in Washington.”

  “I know, I know! But still, it was a huge mistake. Okay, yes, I did authorize the raid, but only because the gringos already knew about the plant. The whole thing was a tragedy that could not have been prevented. I only hope you can forgive this unfortunate episode so we can get back to business as usual.”

  “I thought our mutual friend in Havana told you the price of forgiveness.”

  “A billion dollars is unrealistic, Pablo. I’m not a king. But I have given you sanctuary. Another leader might have taken your money and put you in jail.”

  “Another leader might find his dick stuck through his ears.”

  “What I am saying is that we have much in common. We can still help each other. What’s the alternative? War with each other? I don’t want this—do you?”

  “Tell me something,” Escobar said gruffly. “How the fuck did the Americans find out about the plant? It was buried in the goddamned jungle. They couldn’t pick it up on satellite. There was nothing around there for a hundred miles, no roads, no people. Somebody had to tell them. Somebody with connections. Somebody on their payroll.”

  “I know what it sounds like, but I am not the only person in Panama who consults with the Americans. They have their sources, like everyone else.”

  “If it is not you,” said Escobar, “then it is somebody in your operation. You see how that compromises everything? We cannot resume our business relationship without trust. You give me the son of a whore who betrayed us, then maybe we’ll talk again.”

  CHAPTER 18

  THE NUNCIO ENTERED the grotesque modern chapel in the Comandancia in the company of an elegant crowd of civilian guests, all of them dressed in their finest party clothes. The occasion was the christening of General Noriega’s first granddaughter. Many of the guests were among the leaders of the Civic Crusade. Was there another country in the world, the Nuncio wondered affectionately, where a party could stop a revolution?

  Although it placed him in an awkward position, the Nuncio had acceded to the General’s request that he perform the ceremony. Such a gesture might be well received in the Vatican. In any case, the grandchild was an innocent and required the Church’s blessing. Who could criticize a priest for performing such an office? But still, the Nuncio felt compromised.

  There were three or four hundred people in the chapel, about half of them military officers. Among the civilians, the Nuncio spotted several of the famous Colombians, including Escobar. There must have been a reconciliation between Noriega and the cartel. This was alarming news. The Nuncio wondered what Noriega had done to appease them. Whatever it was, the price must have been high: the General was already quite drunk. It was eight o’clock in the morning.

  The Nuncio stood at the baptismal font and offered a prayer. Then he asked for the family to stand, along with the godparents. Wobbling and grinning like a madman, General Noriega came forward with his grandchild in his arms.

  “Do you renounce Satan and all his works and pomps?” the Nuncio asked.

  “I do renounce them,” the General said on behalf of the infant girl in her lacy white gown. The smell of alcohol on his breath was slightly nauseating.

  The Nuncio dipped his hand in the baptismal font and dribbled the water in a nice even flow over the baby’s forehead. She looked surprised and began to wail. The General laughed and held her up over his head like a trophy.

  The reception followed in the courtyard. Young soldiers wearing aprons walked among the partygoers, carrying canapés and drinks.

  “Tony, you shouldn’t drink any more, you’re making a fool of yourself,” Felicidad warned.

  Tony started to take a defiant sip of his Bloody Mary, but the celery stalk in his drink got stuck in his nose.

  “See what I mean!” she hissed.

  “I need to check on security,” he said sourly.

  Tony walked up the steps to the fortifications that surrounded the Comandancia. From here there was a clear view of Quarry Heights, the Olympus where the Americans spied down on them. Why, Tony wondered, did his enemies have to be so powerful? Life would be so much easier if he had more manageable opponents. On the other hand, the size and number of a man’s enemies say something about him. They are history’s yardstick, a way of measuring a man in his time. Where would Nelson be without Napoleon? Lincoln without the Confederacy? No one achieves greatness without struggling against formidable opponents, so in that sense perhaps Tony really was blessed. He had stirred up the most impressive enemies of his era—the Church, the Colombian mob, and the Americans. He had a lot to be thankful for.

  Major Giroldi was at his command post on the ramparts overlooking the party. He snapped to attention as Tony approached, then jumped to give him a hand when his commander tripped on a step.

  “Are you all right, sir?”

  Tony examined his new suit in dismay. It was a pinstriped Hugo Boss that Señora Morales had picked out for him, now stained with tomato juice. “Major, if you see any American helicopters flying over, shoot them down,” Tony said, loudly enough that many of the guests in the courtyard could hear.

  Giroldi laughed in a tolerant manner.

  “You think I am joking?” Tony shouted.

  “You’re not joking?” Giroldi asked in alarm.

  “That’s an order, Major! No American aircraft flying over our party!”

  All the guests in the courtyard were now staring at Tony, their mouths open in surprise and dumbfounded agitation. They suddenly looked like guppies in a pond. Tony imitated their bug-eyed expressions and then burst out laughing.

  Many of the guests slipped away immediately, not wanting to take the chance that the Americans might inadvertently fly within range of PDF rockets. The effect of their departure on Felicidad was obvious despite her attempt at composure. She was red-faced with humiliation and near tears. Tony, however, was oblivious.

  “Enrique, you filthy dog,” he said to the chief justice of the Supreme Court, a bald man with a self-important air, whose standard of living depended on the brown envelopes he regularly received from the PDF. He was in the company of a buxom teenage girl in a scoop-necked dress who shyly looked at the ground. “She is young enough to be your daughter.”

  “She is my daughter, General,” said the chief justice. “Lorena, this is the famous Tony Noriega.”

  Tony kissed the daughter’s hand, then impulsively buried his head in her virginal bosom. “Mmm, life!” Tony said. “Enjoy it while you can, Lorena.”

  The remaining guests gasped. The chief justice went deathly pale. “Is he completely insane?” one of the guests muttered under her breath.

  “It is possible,” the Nuncio said. “A man in his position, subjected to the pressures he must face—yes, even insanity would be a refuge. Men do crazy things when they feel that they have used up their rational alternatives.”

  “Now he doesn’t even have César to put the brakes on him,” said another partygoer. “No one else had the nerve to tell him when he was out of control.”

  “César Rodríguez?” asked the Nuncio. “What happened to him?”

  “You didn’t hear, Monseñor? They found César’s body in Colombia. He had been given the necktie.”

  “The necktie?”

  “It’s a filthy Colombian habit. They slit the throat of an informer and pull his tongue through.”

  “I didn’t know this,” said the Nuncio. “Well, perhaps General Noriega’s behavior can be explained by the fact that his best friend has died and he is overwhelmed by grief.”

&nb
sp; “Or guilt,” said the partygoer under his breath as the General walked toward them, carrying his granddaughter around as if she were a ventriloquist’s dummy.

  “Bless you, my children,” Tony said in a high, girlish voice, making the sign of the cross with the baby’s tiny hand.

  The Nuncio smiled uneasily.

  “Any response from the Americans?” the General muttered.

  “It’s going through channels,” the Nuncio quietly replied.

  The General cleared his throat in a manner that was meant to draw attention, and as the other guests turned to notice, he patted the Nuncio on the shoulder and handed him a manila envelope.

  The Nuncio left in a furious mood. There was really nothing wrong with accepting a contribution for a pastoral service, he told himself on the ride back to the nunciature. It wasn’t as if he were selling indulgences! And it was just like the General to make it appear that he had the Church in his pocket.

  On the other hand, it was a very generous contribution.

  TONY, WE COULD HAVE eaten in my apartment,” Carmen said under her breath.

  “I am sure the food is better here.” Tony looked around at the affronted faces of the other diners in Las Polvidas, the seaside spot that had become the most expensive restaurant in the entire country. Part of its ambience derived from the fact that it was a former dungeon. Condemned prisoners had been locked in the caves in the lower part of the structure, which flooded during high tides. One could imagine their screams as the waves lapped against the walls and their cells began to fill. Now the sounds of jazz filled the stone rooms and the smell from the kitchen was heavenly. All of that lent a romantic air to the place, which was the reason that Tony had chosen it for this special night.

  “Everyone is staring at us,” Carmen muttered.

  Tony picked up the menu and smiled. “It’s a good thing I’m so goddamned rich!” he said loudly. “But how do these other bastards afford this place? They must not be paying their taxes.”

  Heads in the room abruptly turned to other conversations. Carmen’s eyes rolled in embarrassment. “You don’t understand these people. It’s one thing to behave as we do in private. Okay, it is even expected. But they will never accept this—Tony and his mistress, in public!”

  “Is that how they see it?”

  “That’s how it is.”

  Tony reached into his jacket and pulled out a small gold box. “I see it differently,” he said as he handed the box to Carmen. “I see Tony and his fiancée.”

  Carmen gasped. She stared at the box in shock.

  “Aren’t you going to open it?” Tony asked.

  “Have you told Felicidad?”

  “Not yet,” Tony admitted. “I don’t want to upset her until it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “I’m glad,” said Carmen. “I’m glad you haven’t told her because I can’t do this. It would be wrong for everyone.”

  “But this is what you wanted!”

  “I know, I thought it was what I wanted. I guess it was. But I finally realized something, Tony. All my life I’ve belonged to someone else—my mother, you. I never did anything for myself. Now I’m going to do something I want to do, just for me.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to be a fashion designer in Miami.”

  Tony choked on the champagne.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Carmen said hurriedly. “It sounds vain and shallow. But Tony, I am vain and shallow. I’m not the kind of woman who can be the first lady of Panama. Felicidad has it in her nature. She loves power and fame. That doesn’t mean anything to me, Tony. I’m not a queen. In my heart I know what I was born for.”

  Tony stared at her in disbelief. “You’re leaving?”

  “As soon as the semester starts.”

  “But, Carmen, if you like fashion, I’ll give you a fashion business! I’ll appoint you minister of fashion! Everyone in Panama will wear what you tell them to wear!”

  “God, Tony, you really miss the point.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “It’s not just fashion—I need another life!”

  “But . . .” Tony’s mouth opened but he didn’t know what to say. Finally he sputtered, “Don’t you know how much I want you?”

  “Want? Want?” Carmen said furiously.

  “Don’t get excited. People are staring.”

  “Do you know what it’s like to be wanted by Tony Noriega? It’s like a prison! I feel like one of your caged birds. You don’t know, Tony. You don’t know what I’ve had to put up with. I have things I want, too! But nobody ever thinks about that! No! Nobody ever says, ‘Carmen, what do you want?’ It’s always, ‘The Americans are trying to screw me!’ or, ‘Fidel doesn’t understand me!’ Well, for once in my life, it’s my turn!”

  “Carmen, my dear little Carmen,” Tony pleaded in a low voice, desperately trying to calm her down. “Carmen, please listen to me. Let’s be reasonable. We can work this out. Look, you give me what I want, and I’ll give you what you want. That’s fair enough, isn’t it? I’ve only been waiting for you to tell me what is your heart’s desire. Think about it! What is it that I can’t give you? Money? Love? Power?”

  “Respectability,” said Carmen. “I just don’t want people hating me all the time. It takes a toll, Tony.”

  Tony was stopped. “You just can’t do this,” he finally said.

  “Well, what are you going to do about it? Put me in prison? I mean, come on, Tony—I’m a free woman! You don’t own me! What gives you the right to tell me what I can do?”

  “I love you,” Tony said simply.

  At last Carmen subsided. She studied him for a moment. “Okay, if you love me, prove it.”

  “Anything you ask, tell me.”

  “Become a regular person.”

  “I don’t even know what that means,” said Tony.

  “It means quit this crazy job. Then maybe I’ll consider your offer.”

  “What kind of thinking is this? I’m the boss! I’m somebody! I can give you things! What good am I if I step down? Who will care about Tony Noriega then? You? I don’t think you know yourself very well, Carmen. I am not an attractive man, it’s no secret! You don’t stay with me because of my personal qualities. No one does! And now you ask me to give up the very thing that makes me what I am. You want me to become nobody? You think you could love that? Are you loco?”

  “Maybe,” said Carmen. “Maybe I am.”

  LIEUTENANT CHEEVER followed General Honeycutt at a trot into the brilliant tropical dawn. It was always hard to keep up with the huge commander, who walked in mammoth strides across the manicured grass toward the officers’ mess. On the long slope below them they could see the soldiers squaring up on the parade ground. Everything was orderly and in its place.

  “God has done a good job today,” the general observed with satisfaction.

  “Yes, sir. But, sir, shouldn’t we be scrambling some aircraft, General? The coup is supposed to happen in fifteen minutes.”

  “Giroldi,” said the general. “How much can we trust this guy? Could be a trap.”

  “I don’t know, General, but we’ve obligated ourselves to provide air cover and to block the main roads. We’re supposed to enact what appear to be routine maneuvers.”

  The general looked pained. “I thought we were talking hypotheticals. Just spook talk, maybe this, maybe that.”

  “Well, evidently Major Giroldi has taken us at our word.”

  “Something in my gut tells me this would be a horseshit mistake.”

  “Ten-hut!”

  The officers in the dining room jumped to attention as General Honeycutt entered. He paused for a moment to savor the cholesterolic odors of bacon, sausage, cheese grits, eggs, pancakes. “Smells like America,” he said happily. “At ease, ladies and gentlemen.”

  “But, sir,” Lieutenant Cheever said, trying to hold the general’s attention as he passed through the lengthy buffet line, “we’ve spent months trying to get the Panam
anians to do something, anything! We’ve practically been begging them to hang him from the courthouse clock.”

  “Throw in some more hash browns, Irene,” the general said to the server. “I’m a starving man.”

  “Yes, sir, General. You want another plate?”

  “No, just dump ’em on top of the pancakes.”

  Cheever took a half bagel from the pastry shelf. “I don’t mean to pressure you, General, but we’ve made a commitment.”

  The general stopped and looked his aide sternly in the eye. “Look here, son, you’re Manuel Noriega.”

  “Sir?”

  “You’re the dictator of this godforsaken mosquito factory. You’re getting pressure from all sides to step down. People talking coup, people talking revolution. What do you do?”

  “What, sir?”

  “You appoint your most trusted man, this Giroldi fellow, to provoke the Americans into making some threatening maneuvers, then he can point to us and say we’re playing gunboat diplomacy. It’s a setup. You can smell it from here to Timbuktu.”

  “But what if it’s not? They say Giroldi is a real righteous guy. This could be a golden opportunity if—”

  “If! If!” the general shouted. “How do we know Giroldi isn’t another Noriega? He’s PDF! The whole institution is rotten! And suppose this really is just a show. Don’t you think Noriega is smart enough to stage this whole thing? How many people do you think might get killed in this little drama? I say let’s let it play out a bit and see what happens. Irene, I don’t think I can live without a brace of sausage to go with that omelet.”

  CHAPTER 19

  TONY AWAKENED feeling woozy but strangely elated. He had never felt exactly this way before. There was something wrong with the mood and also with the circumstances, now that he noticed them. He was not in his own room, or any place he recognized. It was a plain white room with barred windows. The bubble-gum odor of industrial disinfectant made him a little nauseous. That, and a hangover that belonged in an alcoholics’ museum.

  His eerie serenity was a bit disturbed by the discovery that he was wearing a green hospital gown. Have I been in an accident? he wondered. An assassination attempt? He tried to recall the events that had led him to this unexpected place, but all he could remember was breaking up with Carmen, and that was too painful to think about.