He poured them both some more red wine and stifled a belch with the back of a large hand.
What are you supposed to be doing down here anyway?' enquired Tom. Aren't you a little out of your jurisdiction?'
Yes, and no,' said Goldman, lighting his Kaywoodie pipe. Back in the forties the FBI built the whole special intelligence spy network in Mexico. For that matter, in the whole of Latin America. Anyway, come nineteen forty- seven, Truman told Hoover to hand over all his SIS assets to the CIA, and Hoover being Hoover didn't take too kindly to that. Nor did most of the agents down here, who suddenly found themselves working for the CIA instead of the Bureau. You got to understand, for a lot of those guys the Bureau was their whole life. So, while Mexico City may be a CIA station today - one of the biggest, too, just like the KGB - in spirit, it's still Bureau. The head of station in MC, fellow by the name of Winston McKinlay Scott, he's ex-FBI, as are most of the heads of section. Which means that Mexico Station maintains an unusually close relationship with the Bureau.
You might even characterise it as a covert relationship, because Allen Dulles and the rest of the Company boys up in Washington know nothing about it. Officially I'm down here at the behest of the Bureau of Narcotics to liaise with the Mexican Internal Security Police and the United States embassy's legal attachE to probe the relationship between the Mexican DPS - that's their equivalent of the CIA -and major drug trafficking organisations back in Miami. Lansky, the Teamsters, Happy Meltzer. But in actual fact, I'm down here for the usual COINTELPRO reasons.' Goldman glanced inside the bowl of his pear-shaped briar, then put it down. As part of the FBI's never- ending fight against the forces of international communism.' Goldman raised his glass and chuckled. Well, here's to it. What would we ever find to do without the Russians?'
Tom clinked Goldman's glass and looked back across his shoulder. Just to make sure he hadn't been followed. He had already told Goldman about the anti-Castro exiles he had encountered in Miami. Now he added some information about the two characters he had met in Mexico City.
They said they worked for Meltzer,' he said, almost as an afterthought.
And Meltzer runs things for Lansky,' shrugged Goldman. He smuggles most of the Mexican heroin into the United States. It's a regular fucking fraternity, that's what it is.'
Sounds a bit like your own outfit,' observed Tom.
Hell, they're much better organised than we are. More co-operative, too. As a rule, with our security and intelligence agencies, the left hand doesn't really know what the right hand is doing. The CIA doesn't speak to the Bureau who don't speak to the Secret Service who don't speak to the cops. No sir, not everyone's as gregarious and friendly as me. Being COINTELPRO means there's no fucker telling me who I can and who I can't speak to. Hell, I even speak to the Secret Service. Not that there's any big secret mind you. Other than the obvious one, which is that those bastards are all muscle and no brain. I mean, it's no accident they're called the Secret Service instead of something to do with intelligence like the rest of us. Last November, I had to go up to Augusta, Georgia. This was around the time Ike and Mamie were at their place there. Ike was playing golf and painting by numbers. Anyway, I met up with some of those Secret Service boys. And man, do they like to party. I'm glad they're not looking after my ass, that's all I can say.' Goldman wagged a big finger in Tom's direction. One day, Paladin. One day, it's all going to come unstuck, big time. I just hope I'm there to see their stupid faces when it does. That's one picture I'd like to see.
Where is that fucking waiter? We need some more wine here.'
Not finding one, Goldman reached down and, taking off his shoe, grunted painfully.
What?' asked Tom. Are you planning to get the waiter's attention with that shoe? Khrushchev style?'
Seeing Goldman look puzzled, and realising he probably hadn't seen an American newspaper, Tom related the story in that morning's New York Times, about how the Soviet Premier had banged his desk with his shoe when the Philippine delegate to the United Nations accused Russia of imperialism in eastern Europe.
Communism will try and bring the world to heel, one way or another,' added Tom.
Goldman found a waiter and ordered another bottle of wine. They talked a while longer, about some of the other things that had been in the paper. Tom could tell that Goldman was going to ask him to perform a service for him. But it was only when Tom mentioned the assassination of the leader of the Japanese socialist party, Asanuma, that he finally got around to it.
That I did hear. There was something about it on the AP and UPI wires. Some fucking right-wing student attacked him with a bayonet, wasn't it? Jesus. Typical fucking Jap, huh?'
Yeah.'
Listen Tom, how'd you like to go to Acapulco? Tonight. There's an Aeronaves flight leaves one a.m.'
To do what?'
What you're good at.'
Tom screwed up his eyes and opened them again. He looked at his watch. Jesus, Alex, it's ten o'clock. Why didn't you say earlier? I wouldn't have drunk so much.'
Forget about it. It's the kind of job you could handle in your sleep.'
Tom stretched and yawned. Looks that way.' He shook his head. I haven't got a weapon.'
You think I'm expecting you to do it with just a fucking bayonet? Come on, Tom. You know me better than that. There's a takedown Winchester seventy with a Unertl scope and a suppresser in the trunk of my car.'
A takedown?' Tom winced. You want me to use a takedown?'
Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking. That there's a trade-off in accuracy.'
All those threads and surfaces and tensions,' grumbled Tom.
But this is a good piece of kit.'
Hex screws imperfectly torqued.'
Listen,' insisted Goldman. I test-fired this weapon myself. Put it back together, refired it, and found no discernible zero shift. Believe me, this is a beautiful rifle. It comes in a nice hard-shell carrying case with a foam plastic interior. Real James Bond stuff, I swear.'
Which book?' asked Tom.
Goldman thought for a moment. Doesn't he use a takedown in From Russia with Love?'
Actually,' said Tom, it's not Bond who uses it, but the Turkish guy, Darko Bey.'
Yeah, you're right. Where the fuck does he get these names?'
Tom hedged. He wasn't keen to go anywhere other than bed. Why does it have to be tonight?'
Because tomorrow's the last day of the target's vacation. Believe me, this couldn't be easier. The guy goes water-skiing in Acapulco bay every morning at nine o'clock. I've booked you a cottage with a sea-view at El Mirador. You can make the shot and be back here by lunchtime.'
Tom poured himself another glass of wine and then thought better of it. If he was going to shoot a man at nine o'clock the next morning he would need a clear head. Instead, he lit a Chesterfield. Already he had shelved most of his objections.
Or, if you want, you can stay on and have a good time at the Bureau's expense. There's a cat-house down there, the Casa Raquel, that I can personally recommend. A real class joint.'
But Tom was shaking his head. What sort of range are we talking about?'
Four hundred yards. Five hundred max. The cottage is right on La Quebrada cliffs. From there you could hit Cuba.'
Tom grimaced. I hate sea-shots.'
Oh come on. I remember you back on the island of Saipan, sitting in a rubber boat, picking off Japs at night. At night, mind. For you this is automatic pilot.'
So who's the dead man?'
A Russian guy.'
A Russian?' Tom sounded surprised. A Russian? You are getting ambitious.'
No, just careful. His name is Pavel Zaitsev and he works here in MC as a consular official. Pretty good volleyball player, by all accounts.'
Not much of a reason to shoot him.'
Really, he's GRU. Russian military intelligence. And he's been making things quite awkward down here.'
I'll bet he's their top scorer, right?' Tom nodded. Okay, if you say so.'
Attaboy, Paladin. Zaitsev's staying at your hotel, so you can't miss him. There's a funicular down to the hotel swimming pool where the Aqua Mundo boat company picks him up every morning regular as clockwork. Blue hull, twin-engined job. Zaitsev's a big fellow. Looks like Harmon Killebrew. You know, the AL home run slugger? Balding.
