behind their back. They were the only people in the room who weren’t with the State Department, or Secret Service.
Fisk nibbled on a couple of pieces of broccoli, before placing a sopapilla on a plate. When he reached the front of the buffet, he noticed a large prime rib sitting under a heated lamp. He was going to ask for a slice, then saw a man in a suit with an earpiece standing next to the cutting board with a boning knife in his hand.
“You know how to cut that thing?” Fisk asked the Secret Service agent.
“I can try,” the man said, holding the blade like a weapon.
“No thanks,” Fisk said.
Just then, a partition slid open and two dark-skinned men with earpieces and military uniforms entered the room. The Secret Service circled the men and exchanged IDs along with handshakes and firm instructions. They pointed to a couple of tall-backed chairs where Fisk would be meeting with the candidates separately.
Fisk gestured to the head of his security team and the man allowed the media to gather along the opening to the room. A silk rope separated the two rooms. Fisk took a bite of his sopapilla, then tossed it away and approached the gaggle of reporters with a smile.
“Mr. Secretary, Mr. Secretary,” they yelled and shoved for position. Fisk held out his hands. “Please, stop pushing. I’ll answer all of your questions. I promise.”
This seemed to calm the crowd and they settled into a tight mass of cameras and microphones.
Fisk pointed to a Mexican reporter first.
“Mr. Secretary of State, who will the United States be endorsing for the election?” the man asked.
Fisk nodded cordially. “Yes, this is the question I keep getting asked and let me put it to rest right away. The United States will not be endorsing any one candidate. I am here to show support for the process. Our neighbors to the south deserve our support. Let’s face it, politicians will come and go, yet the Mexican people will still be here long after they are gone. It is these people who we will be supporting.”
Fisk pointed to a female CNN reporter.
“So, in your eyes, President Salcido has not done enough to garner the support of the United States?” the woman asked.
“I didn’t say that,” Fisk said sternly. “As a matter of fact, President Salcido has far exceeded any expectations we could have projected. He is a good man and we wish him well. We simply want the process to be fair and unbiased.”
The questions went on along the same theme for ten or fifteen minutes, before a side door opened and President Salcido walked in, followed by a handful of men in military uniforms. Salcido walked tall and greeted Fisk with a grandiose handshake.
Ambassador Blake tried to head off the greeting, but it was too late. Instead, he led the two men to the tall- backed chairs and stood beside them with a smile painted on his face.
“I am grateful to see you, Mr. Secretary,” Salcido said, once they were seated.
The room was filled with camera flashes and questions being blurted out. The two men posed in their seats briefly to allow for the photo opportunities.
“It is my great pleasure to be here, Mr. President,” Fisk said, above the noise. He looked the man directly in the eyes, then added, “I cannot offer you the president’s endorsement, but I can tell you I am here to assist you with an election night victory.”
The president’s head tilted. “How is that, Mr. Secretary? Please explain this to me.”
Fisk turned in his chair toward Salcido and folded his hands on his lap. “All I can tell you is, we have a plan in place. I apologize for not going further with this discussion, but I need something from you which our two nations cannot survive without.”
“Please,” Salcido said. “What is it you need?”
“Trust,” Fisk said, and left it there.
Salcido’s face seemed to take it in, then something in his eyes convinced Fisk he understood.
President Salcido made a terse nod, then said, “You have my trust, Mr. Secretary.”
There was a commotion as the side door opened again. Five men in matching blue suits and bulges under their jackets came barging in like foxes in a henhouse. They scanned the room for targets, while the Secret Service confronted the men with the usual exchange of credentials.
President Salcido pressed his lips together tight and shook his head. “He has no regard for anyone but himself.”
“Rodriguez?” Fisk asked.
Salcido nodded.
Francisco Rodriguez emerged from the crowd of security agents and smiled and waved as the throng of reporters focused their cameras at the new meat in the room.
Salcido stood.
“Don’t leave yet,” Fisk told him. “It will seem as if he chased you away.”
Salcido shook Fisk’s hand and said, “It will only get worse if I stay. He wants a spectacle.”
Fisk could see by Rodriguez’s actions that Salcido was right. The man never once removed his eyes from the cameras and knew exactly how to appear affable even during the interruption.
Salcido and his men had to steer around Rodriguez’s men and were almost out the door when Rodriguez called to the president and hurried over to offer an open hand. Salcido looked at the man’s hand, then shook it quickly before leaving the room.
Fisk made eye contact with Ambassador Blake. The man came to life, remembering his responsibility. He approached Rodriguez and gestured toward Fisk, who pointed to the empty seat next to him.
Rodriguez immediately jumped on the opportunity. He strode over to Fisk with a great big politician smile and held out his arm ten feet before he got there, ready to press flesh.
“Mr. Secretary, it is a great honor to meet you,” Rodriguez said, shaking Fisk’s hand with a hearty pump.
“The pleasure is all mine,” Fisk said, gesturing for Rodriguez to take his seat.
Rodriguez sat next to Fisk as the two men posed for the reporters and smiled like old friends.
“President Merrick appreciates your position on the cartels,” Fisk said, over the noise of the reporters. “He believes your proximity to their leaders allows you to control the violence. A very smart tact.”
“Thank you,” Rodriguez said, waving to the journalists. “Will he be endorsing anyone for the election?”
“No” Fisk said. “We don’t believe in meddling with your country’s election process. We think the people should decide their leaders, not us.”
Rodriguez seemed to like the answer. “That is a very noble position.”
“How is your wife?” Fisk asked over the noise of reporters jockeying for their position. “Miranda, right?”
Rodriguez smiled, almost giddy with the attention he was receiving. “Yes, Mr. Secretary, she is fine. Thank you.”
“Good,” Fisk said, his voice low so Rodriguez needed to lean toward him to hear. “You keep her happy and the rest comes easy, eh?”
“Yes, Mr. Secretary.” Rodriguez laughed with approval, clapping his hands to show the press they were sharing a real moment.
Fisk gently placed his hand on Rodriguez’s shoulder and whispered in his ear, “I appreciate you taking time from your busy schedule to meet with me.”
“Mr. Secretary.” Rodriguez turned to Fisk, his face serious. “It was very considerate of you to invite me here.”
“Of course,” Fisk said. “It’s only appropriate to begin our relationship prior to you taking office. The United States is committed to working with Mexico to keep both of our nations strong and prosperous.”
Rodriguez seemed to like the way the conversation was going. He almost forgot about the reporters shouting questions just a few feet away.
Fisk leaned toward Rodriguez and spoke into his ear. “Also, should you win the election, President Merrick would like to invite you and Miranda up to the White House.”
Rodriguez was eating it up. His eyes rose unexpectedly and seemed genuinely unprepared for such a kind gesture.
“That is very generous of you, Mr. Secretary,” Rodriguez said, patting Fisk on the back. “Tell the president we
