Reign of Terror

economy is in the dumper, and an election is coming up. I don’t think anyone’s got a secret stash of people and cash that will help. I expect that we’ll hear about such-and-such meeting with so-and-so and a lot of demands and fingers being pointed across the border, but nothing will happen, and the news will drop it pretty fast until another guy gets sliced and diced.”

  Rick put down his fork. “What if we volunteered to work with the Federales in Juarez? You know, sort of a good will effort, only we’ll make the beaners actually do something. I bet some of the Mex military know where our guys are. Maybe they’re even bad guys in off hours.”

  “Hmm, you don’t seem to respect their Government much.”

  “Experience, man, experience.”

  Stokes wasn’t anxious to go into Mexico, but agreed to a point with Gorman. He offered, “I can talk to the Colonel, but I don’t think she’ll want us going across the border. It’s worth a try though.”

  They finished dinner and had another beer before returning to quarters for an a few hours of rest.

  Avoiding Rachael

  After the meeting with Vitale, Montes went to visit a friend in the basement archives, avoiding Rachael. He called Cybil to check Rachael’s schedule and went back to his office during the times when she was in meetings. He disappeared just before lunch then came back when she was busy again. He could say he was in his office most of the day. This game went on all day until she left for the evening. And then he spent the night cleaning out his desk and files, putting most in marked boxes for security inspection. CIA procedures made it impossible to take boxes out of the building without clearance.

  He had successfully hidden his scheme from others for several years when Will Lawrence was Director. There had been some earlier reports generated after Sept. 11, 2001 about the threat of Al-Qaeda setting up camps in Mexico and Central America.

  While it was true that several splinter groups were funneling people through South American airports and finding transport to the Mexican border towns, there were actually no large camps. At most, two or three companions would stay together while migrating north, but there were no permanent locations or training activities.

  Jamie had been able to build the façade following antiquated intelligence models going back to the First World War. At the beginning of the twentieth century, there was still a popular belief in Mexico that property ceded to the Americans during their invasion of 1848 could be repatriated. The Germans actually sent envoys and arms to raise a diversionary army to invade Texas in order to reclaim the land. The plan wasn’t successful before the war ended, but the intelligence reports that followed scared many Government officials. Through this legacy, the CIA maintained close vigil over Mexico. Montes had inherited the responsibility at an opportune time, based on world hysteria over Islamic radicals invading our continent.

  It had been a simple matter to re-invent the threat model once created by the Germans. It was entirely plausible. Montes had developed the program plan then managed to control all information (intelligence) from the region. Based on his preference to manage from the field, he spent most of his time away from headquarters, filing reports via email, including pictures and names of fictitious people. As the only “spy” on the ground, in charge of managing his own program at Langley, he had the perfect scheme.

  He could retire in comfort on the coast of Baja California where he had family roots and owned property. But with Rachael Aston snooping around, it was only a matter of time before she discovered incriminating evidence against him. After Vitale’s lashing, she would be diving deep into his business.

  Integrity

  Sandy Vitale had much larger responsibilities than Rachael Aston’s “Americas” region. The CIA had projects all over the globe and spent billions of dollars in the war zones: Yemen, Somalia, Iran and dozens of other countries. He regretted slamming her about Mexico, but he needed a scapegoat. He’d been in Washington all of his career and understood survival techniques better than anyone.

  Mexico represented a unique problem. Someone interested in damaging his career could make it appear that he had conflicting interests with the country. With over twenty years in Congress, he had taken advantage of lucrative honorariums and other perks, like his peers, but that was behind him now. He had also made enemies. The largest problem hanging over him was his property in La Paz, where he planned to retire someday. He wished he had never taken the gifts from Montes.

  It was an innocent land deal that anyone else in his position would have taken. Montes had a huge tract of prime coastal property that was becoming popular with wealthy Americans looking for ocean-front property at cheap prices. Building was booming and land prices were climbing at triple-digit rates. Montes had made him aware of his property and his desire to sell part of it, following one of the lengthy meetings they had when he first introduced the “Sandcastle” project to the Intelligence Committee that Vitale chaired. Vitale got five acres of beach front property deeded to him after funding Montes’ project. Montes had risen fast in the Agency, and Vitale wanted to encourage him in his new position. In the years after that, deeds to more acres came to him in the mail, following each Project Sandcastle renewal. Now, looking at it from one of the most prestigious positions in Washington, he should never have accepted the first gift. At the time, it had cost Montes almost nothing, Vitale rationalized, considering the paper-gains made each year on Montes’s remaining estate, which far exceeded the cost of the little land gifted to him.

  Vitale had always rationalized that he didn’t approve any funding because of the gift. The project was worthy on its own merits. He knew Montes was trying to gain favor, but he rationalized to himself that you couldn’t buy his signature on the committee report. He had too much integrity, which was the reason the President, his friend and former colleague, appointed him to the CIA.

  But the real prize of his relationship was the introduction to Hector Cardenas before he inherited his father’s empire. Vitale had questioned Montes severely in the House Intelligence Committee when funds were getting unusually tight. During the meeting, Montes reluctantly disclosed that he was developing a source within the Cardenas Cartel that would someday be important. Montes refused to name his contact, but Cardenas agreed to meet with the powerful Congressman anyway, if it could be done privately. He was flown to Washington by the CIA for a secret meeting that only Vitale and Montes attended with Cardenas.

  Nobody, at that time, knew how fast Alejandro Cardenas would secure power by killing off his rivals, or that the overland distribution under his control would become the primary smuggling channel into the States, bringing billions into his hidden bank accounts. The money and drugs were not important. The main thing was that smuggling of any sort, including Islamic men, would all fall under this man. It seemed ironic that Cardenas senior would be killed in an ambush set up by the DEA, and the man Vitale had met was now head of the most powerful gang in Mexico. He was more powerful than Mexico’s President. That connection, the ability for Vitale to call Hector at any moment, made all the funds channeled through Montes worth it to the United States. Someday, that connection would be important. Vitale was convinced it was all true.

  Still, it bothered him that people could get the wrong impression about the land, and he couldn’t risk an investigation while still waiting for Senate confirmation. He needed to remain above suspicion. If the Mexican situation blew up, Rachael was tee’d up and ready to be fired! He had the recording of the meeting.

  Retirement Plan

  Cardenas was at his mansion in the mountains overlooking Mexico City. Like most hot days, air pollution formed a sea of gray-brown muck below his vista, with occasional snowy mountain peaks piercing the surface. At his hacienda built above eight thousand feet, the air was clear although quite thin. He was accustomed to it.

  He was on the veranda when his senior body guard brought him a phone. The guard knew to remain out of earshot, or risk death, so he immedia
tely left while Cardenas waited to press the talk button, “Hello.”

  The conversation remained in English, partly to confuse the illiterate staff working for him. “Yes, mi amigo especial, I was thinking that it is time for us both to retire. We have played every deception possible to confuse the American DEA forces, but I do not think it is healthy, or necessary, to go further. I am wealthy many times over and can retire in luxury. You are also well-to-do.”

  After listening a bit, “Yes, we will continue with the plan, and you will get the final reward.”

  Listening further, he said, “I do realize that none of this was possible without you, so rest assured that our bargain will be fulfilled. Our last grand shipment will pass into the states soon.”

  “Yes, yes, for sure. Hasta la vista.”

  It was always their custom to talk for less than one minute to avoid interception of their conversations. He smiled at how little contact two people could have, yet accomplish so much. He would miss his associate, yet he knew when to leave the business. He would eventually be killed like his father if he lingered too long. There were no old drug lords. His father had outlived all of his contemporaries, but Hector would not attempt to beat the odds. He