'Have you surrendered then?' Carrera asked. 'Surrendered unconditionally? Have all of your associates?'
'Surrender is premature,' Ochoa said. 'We can have peace, however. I propose a permanent cessation to hostilities. I offer that all cartel operatives will be removed from Balboa, that all Balboan operatives be removed from Santander, and that we of the cartels do all in our power to ensure that Balboa is no longer used as a drug thoroughfare.
Carrera had told him, simply, 'That might have been enough, once. Now? No, not good enough. Too much blood has been spilled. Too much more is threatened.'
Elbow on the lunch table, Ochoa raised one hand, palm up. 'What then?'
'Your operatives leave Balboa; mine stay in Santander,' Carrera said. 'You
'I demand ten billion Federated States Drachma, within the month. In addition, your people will pay to the Legion another fifty million, monthly. You can call it whatever you want. It's tribute all the same. Money paid to us for you to stay alive.
'And don't whine about it. The market share your surviving members will gain from the competition I've eliminated should more than pay that amount. I did you all a favor, really.'
Ochoa did sneer now. 'That's ridiculous, impossible.'
Carrera shrugged and said, 'Enjoy your lunch.' This caused Guzman to gulp, nervously.
* * *
'Come,' said Carrera to Ochoa, after lunch was finished. 'Let's walk and chat.' Fernandez, Menshikov, and a half dozen of the guards followed close behind.
They talked of meaningless things on the way, Carrera pointing out the flowers that lined each side of the pathway down. 'The prisoners put these in,' he said. 'They actually have a fair business going in growing flowers for the mainland. Some are even shipped south to the Federated States.'
The Santandern, playing along, walked with eyes down, admiring the pretty plants. Then he heard something strange, a sort of a moan. He looked part way up and saw a thick wooden beam sticking up out of the ground. He looked around, eyes still low, and counted seventeen more upright beams.
Then his eyes traveled up the beam. 'Oh, my God!' he exclaimed.
In a loose circle, there by the beach, fourteen men and four women hung on rough wooden crosses. The men all showed marks of hideous torture. Through the feet and wrists of each had been driven large spikes. Crusted blood marked their bodies and the wood. The emissary recognized many of his former business associates, and the wives and mistresses of others.
'You know,' said Carrera, conversationally, 'No one really knows what kills someone who has been crucified. The best theory I've read is that the strain on the diaphragm when the victim hangs by his wrists keeps his chest muscles from emptying his lungs normally. Eventually this tires the diaphragm until the victim suffocates. Of course, with the feet supported—by more spikes, as these are—the victim can push up, at the cost of some
'We took these a little less than a month ago. They were turned over to my intelligence people. With some effort, we think they have surrendered everything they ever owned. A lot of pain, then a little period of relief for turning over a few score million in assets. Then more pain until more assets were given up. It must have seemed a good deal to these people at the time. I understand there are computer nerds in the Federated States tearing their hair out because so many of the assets we grabbed they had spent months and years trying to uncover. It was really quite a haul.'
Carrera stopped briefly while the Santandern reeled in disgust. He continued, nonchalantly, 'I imagine you think that you can better use the money I demand to get to me and mine. It's been tried. Or maybe you think you can hire soldiers to protect you. These thought that. And with a tiny fraction of my force we took them and did . . . this. I control a country's army, you know, while you just have a petty little concern.
'Do you think you might be able to hire mercenaries? They often find it easier to rob the paymaster than to fight for him. No, mercenaries would be more dangerous to you than I am. I have a finite appetite and no interest whatsoever in taking your business from you. Besides, you can't offer them what I can, what they really crave; legitimacy, recognition, traditions, a uniform, a real army to be a part of. I think any you might hire will be second rate, no matter what they charge.
'Professional hit men? They could get to me, I imagine.' Carrera turned to Menshikov and asked, 'What are your orders if I am assassinated?'
The paratrooper answered, 'Sir, to attack the Santandern drug cartels, butcher their followers, then take them, their wives
'Will you follow those orders?'
'To the letter, sir.'
To the shaking Santandern, who understood English perfectly well, Carrera said, 'Perhaps it would not be such a good idea to kill me after all.'
Ochoa leaned against a cross briefly, then recoiled in disgust, unconsciously wiping a blood stained hand on his trouser leg. He risked a sally. 'How is it you are better than us? We both kill innocents; we both use torture. What makes you so moral.'
'I never claimed to be more moral than you. As far as the drug trade goes, I really don't care one way or the other, as long as it stays out of Balboa. The only difference is that you failed to understand me; to understand that I would never give in, that no measure could deter me. So all the evil you did was wasted. But I did understand you, and I knew, as I know now, that you would give in. So the lives I took and the pain I inflicted were not wasted. That's the difference. That . . . and that I won, and you lost.'
The Santandern took a last look at the writhing bodies of his former compatriots. One of them,
