The Lotus Eaters

State shook his head. 'Not a chance, Mr. President. They need us.'

'Mr. President,' said JCS, 'we can prove to the Santanderns that the Balboans did it. We'll just release them the tapes of the whole incident.' The general screwed up his face. 'But then, they wouldn't necessarily believe we couldn't—didn't—fabricate the whole thing, would they?'

The press secretary bent down and whispered something softly in the President's ear. The President's eyed grew wide and he said, 'Ladies and gentlemen, if you leave me alone for a few minutes to confer . . .'

When the room was cleared the President of the Federated States asked 'No shit?'

'It's true, Karl. Your polls are soaring. Everyone in this country thinks you did it, and they're just tickled pink by it. And you need this. The people are happy the country's getting even with someone, and don't really give a shit if it's not the real guilty party.'

'But what about all the civilians killed, kids even?'

'Just the cost of doing business. Besides, they were just foreigners. Nobody cares.'

'And if Balboa decides to take credit?'

'They won't. Firstly because now no one would believe them. Secondly, they'll be too late once you've said we did it. Thirdly, because, as the general said, Balboa probably doesn't want Santander pissed at them. Santander is, after all, ten times bigger than Balboa is. Lastly, if they wanted to take credit, they would have done so already.'

The President reached a decision. 'Bring in the others.'

* * *

'Mr. President, you're live.'

Schumann looked into the camera, his sincerest-seeming expression writ plain on his face. 'My fellow Columbians. I would like to announce that a raid was conducted against certain members of Santander's drug cartels who were implicated in the recent criminal attacks in the Republic of Balboa in which American citizens lost their lives.'

'Naturally, I will not divulge any details of the mission. Operational secrets will be preserved in my Administration. But let this be a lesson to those who would resort to terror, wherever they may be. You cannot run far enough or fast enough. You cannot hide well enough. The forces of justice will overtake you.'

As the President fielded questions, the press secretary marveled, What a master. And he didn't even have to lie, exactly.

Santa Fe, Santander, Terra Nova

Of the roughly one dozen drug lords attacked, all had been killed or, more commonly, captured, along with sundry accountants, assistants, wives and mistresses. No one in Santander actually knew how many of each there had been. In any case, the losses did not, by any means, mean the end of the cartels. The money to be made was a magnet, one that pulled in greed as a normal magnet attracted iron. There were always new people to step up, nor had all of the old been targeted. At best, one could say that the efficiency of the remainder and the replacements might be somewhat less than that of those lost.

Or might not have, too.

That remainder, and the replacements, met with Guzman in one of the ornate to the point of tacky palaces which had been spared assault.

Guzman contemplatively held a golden crucifix on a golden chain. 'This,' he whispered, 'is proof positive of who was behind the attacks. The Balboan, Carrera, gave it to me. I gave it to Escobedo. It has returned to me again via the Balboan Embassy.'

'Having gone to all the trouble of pinning this on the gringos, why should they let us know who really did it?' asked one of the remaining drug lords, Senor Ochoa.

'So we learn the lesson,' Guzman answered.

'Lesson?'

'Yes . . . don't fuck with them. They gave me a more explicit message along with the cross. They want me, and one of you gentlemen, to go to Balboa. They promise safe conduct.'

Ochoa attempted a sneer, but found he didn't have the heart to pull it off. 'Or what?' he asked.

'Or else the attacks continue until we are all dead. Along with our families. I was told we have a week, no more.'

Isla Santa Catalina, Balboa, Terra Nova

Carrera, Fernandez, Menshikov, the Sergeant Major, Soult, and a dozen guards from Fernandez's department were waiting at the small landing strip when Ochoa and Guzman arrived by Legion plane. Most of the party looked quite somber and serious. Fernandez was the exception; his people now had enough captured documents, laptops, and prisoners to keep them busy for years.

The Santanderns were received coolly but politely, and then led to a lunch under a wide canopy. Carrera was somewhat surprised that Ochoa looked, if anything, more the legitimate businessman even than Guzman.

'I had nothing to do with the attacks on your country,' Ochoa began.

Carrera looked at Fernandez who answered, with a shrug, 'So far as I know.'

'I'll accept that, for now, then,' Carrera agreed. 'But . . . so?'

'So you can speak to me,' Ochoa said. 'I am not your enemy.'