the comfort of his private office and placed his hands behind his head. With the barrage of digital communications assaulting him twenty-four hours a day, he needed to shut down for a few minutes each night. He turned off his computer and his cell phone and attempted deep breathing exercises. Normally, he would take out a book and read for a few minutes before going to bed. But tonight would be different.
As he sat in the dark, his office door opened.
“Knock, knock,” a man’s voice said.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
“What are you doing?” Sam Fisk asked.
“Rebooting.”
Fisk dropped in a chair opposite the couch with a heavy sigh.
“I saw your routine,” Merrick said. “Very convincing.”
“Somehow, I feel dirty,” Fisk said, just a silhouette in the dark.
“How was Salcido?”
“He took it well. I think he knows I’m up to something.”
Merrick grinned. “You’re always up to something, Sam. That’s why I like you.”
“How are things on the border?”
Merrick rested his head back even further and shut his eyes. “There’s a big dispute over how to proceed. Ken wants to send in the military and create a war zone. Walt wants Nick and Matt to do everything by themselves.”
“Since it’s on US soil, I take it you’re waiting for a phone call from Walt.”
Merrick thought about his daughter sleeping in the safest building in the country and wondered what kind of world she would inherit once the White House was no longer her residence.
“You know, Sam,” Merrick said. “Remember when all we had to worry about were the Russians?”
“Are you lamenting about the old days when you had to hide under your desk at school for bomb drills? Is that what you’re yearning for?”
“Killjoy.”
“I’m just a realist, Dad. Everything seems prettier once Father Time’s had a chance to shine it up.”
“Yeah, well, this Rodriguez is a bad man. If he wins the election down there, we might be wishing for Russian missiles.
“He won’t.”
“You haven’t seen the latest polls. He killed at the debate tonight. He’s almost ten points ahead.”
“Shit,” Fisk murmured.
“Exactly.”
They were quiet for a while. Two old friends comfortable with the silence between them. After a few minutes, Merrick couldn’t stay disengaged any longer. He turned on his cell phone and checked his messages. Nothing from Walt. He looked at the time.
“Less than three hours before Ken gets his wish and they swarm that little town with black helicopters and a few hundred soldiers.”
“Mind if I stay?”
“I wish you would.”
“Got anything to eat?”
“There’s pizza in the fridge.”
Fisk got up and carefully maneuvered around the furniture until he reached the small refrigerator next to Merrick’s desk. The door opened and the light broke through the dark. Fisk fished around until he found what he wanted.
“You want a water?” Fisk asked.
“I’m good.”
Fisk shut the refrigerator and managed to return to his chair in the shadows.
“You know, Sam,” Merrick said. “When this is over, we’ve got to find a way to make these agencies play nice together. Instead, they distribute intelligence like it’s a competitive sport.”
“That’s because it is.”
“Well it has to change. People are dead because the CIA won’t give out specific information about this imbedded agent.”
“Technically he’s a contracted employee.”
“It doesn’t matter. We needed that information.”
“I don’t think they have the info to give. I think they’re in the dark as well.”
Merrick could hear Fisk chewing his pizza.
“Tell me something, Sam. Now that you’ve met the guy, if Rodriguez wins, what are our chances of negotiating with him?”
Fisk choked on a piece of pizza. He drank some water and rasped out, “He’s an egomaniac with his hands in everyone’s pockets. You’d need to threaten him with something fierce or he’ll just continue to fortify the cartels’ power.”
Merrick looked down at his phone. Nothing. “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Amen, brother. Amen.”
“They are dead,” Sonny Chizek told Garza over the phone.
Garza let out a long breath and briefly smiled. “Good. We will be there within the hour.” He clicked off the Dodger game and gestured to Victor on the recliner across from him. “Go get our guest.”
Victor left and Garza’s stomach tightened as he glanced over at the bomb and once again considered its potency. He went over to the bar and slid a panel from the base of the structure which exposed a hidden keypad. He entered a series of numbers and a giant section of the basement wall began to recess into a false back. From behind the slab, a hydraulic arm hummed as it slid open the huge chunk of concrete, exposing a seven feet high by ten feet wide tunnel. The basement wall was creatively made with the concrete seams every ten feet to emulate a standard construction break.
The tunnel had taken forty men over a year to install. It had halogen lighting, ventilation, wood floors and an electric rail system used to roll the shipments the three hundred yards to its American destination.
Just inside the tunnel was the Zutons’ pallet of cocaine. Five of Garza’s men were already loading the packets of cocaine onto the flatbed cart for transport.
The basement door opened and a pair of footsteps creaked down the stairs. Garza poured another shot and downed the mescal while pointing Victor toward the tunnel entrance. Victor led Sadeem by the arm, as the blindfolded man felt the air ahead of him with his fingertips. Garza followed them into the tunnel pulling the dirty bomb inside, then pressed a button on the wall and watched the hydraulic arm move the slab back into place.
Once the wall was shut, Garza motioned Victor to remove the blindfold. The man stood with his shoulders tall, a look of irritation on his face.
“Is that how you treat your business associates?” Sadeem said. “Drive around the country in circles, then drop them into a tunnel?”
“Is that what you are?” Garza asked. “A business associate?”
Sadeem glanced around the tunnel, finding the bomb, then seeing the electric rails and the cart being loaded. He nodded to himself.
“This is impressive,” Sadeem said.
“I am so happy you approve,” Garza said, pushing Sadeem down onto a wooden bench against the wall.
Sadeem jumped back up and pumped out his chest. “Don’t,” he said. “I am not one of your lackeys you can push around.”
Garza felt the blood rushing to his head and wanted to slap this guy for making him so tense. He removed his knife from his belt holder, held it up, and slowly pressed the tip down Sadeem’s chest.
Garza looked the man in the eyes. “I want the address of your drop.”
Sadeem’s face held resolve which surprised Garza. The man was by himself in a tunnel with a knife against his chest, yet his expression didn’t waiver.
“There is no address, you fool,” Sadeem said. “This is a one way mission. I take the bomb and detonate it
