“ Someone who doesn’t care how many people he kills,” Broxton said.
“ Have you made any progress?”
“ Not really. A Colombian picked up during a drug bust wanted to deal. Miami heard what he had to say and called in the FBI. They believed the story and State issued an invitation to the prime minister to visit Washington where they laid it all out.”
“ And?” Warren asked.
“ As long as the government went after the users and the dealers, the drug cartels didn’t care, but when Prime Minister Ramsingh started going after the money they decided he had to go.”
“ So they’ve hired a professional, someone like Carlos the Jackal?”
“ They’ve hired Scorpion,” Broxton said.
“ I’ve never heard of him.”
“ Since Carlos’ capture the Scorpion is number one on the assassin’s hit parade. No political affiliation, an equal opportunity killer. He’s taken out a right wing presidential candidate in Uruguay and a left wing one in Chile. He’s even killed in the United States.”
“ Who?” Warren asked.
“ Senator Rowland.”
“ That was an accident,” Warren said.
“ It wasn’t,” Broxton said.
“ How do you know all this?”
“ Couple of guys from Langley came to the office and filled me in. Until then I’d never heard of Scorpion and I certainly never thought of major drugs going through Trinidad. I was just a lowly DEA guy back from a year in Mexico.
“ So why you? Is it because of me?”
“ Sure it’s because of you. When Ramsingh turned down American protection they went scrambling around for someone they could send in that wouldn’t attract too much attention. Someone that could hang out where Ramsingh does, go to the same parties, attend the same functions, meet the same people, that sort of thing, and when they found out how close we are, well, all of a sudden I filled the bill.”
“ You have backup of course?” Warren said.
“ If I do, they didn’t tell me, but who knows? You know how they are.”
“ And you’re supposed to prevent this Scorpion from assassinating the prime minister?”
“ That’s what they said.”
“ How are you going to do that?” Warren asked.
“ I don’t know. I’ll figure something out, but it won’t be easy after what happened on the plane,” Broxton said. Then he told Warren about the silver flask that he’d mistaken for a knife.
“ So you’re not very undercover,” Warren said when he’d finished.
“ Not at the moment.”
“ I’ll have Dani throw a party. You can meet Ramsingh under different circumstances, cozy up to him, make him like you.”
“ Thanks,” Broxton said. Then he asked, “How is she?” He dreaded the answer. Sooner or later they were going to have to talk about the story on the front page of the Guardian.
“ Just watch.” Warren picked a video tape from the bookcase. He went to a bamboo cabinet, opened it to reveal a portable television and a video player inside. He slipped the tape into the player and punched the play button.
Broxton was drawn into the beauty that was Danielle Street. Flowing blonde hair the color of honey mixed with straw, sparkling blue eyes, flawless skin, like a child’s, and her beguiling smile.
The camera cut away to reveal a small black child in her lap. The little girl had her hair in braids and wore a bright smile, her wide brown eyes stared up at Dani. The background could have been a village anywhere in Africa. The camera panned over villagers going about the daily business of living. Broxton saw a man herding scrawny cows in the background, a woman pounding grain with a mortar and pestle, another sat with her and they were talking. They seemed happy.
The camera left them and came back to Dani.
“ What you see behind me,” she said, “is a village that works. People here contribute. They help their neighbors, grow their own crops, tend their own cattle and raise happy children like Amanda.” She bounced the girl on her knee and the child giggled. “But it wasn’t always that way. Before Save the Children got involved there were no crops to tend, no cattle to herd, no happy children. Amanda was sick and wasting away, her parents had no food or shelter, they’d already lost two children and Amanda was close to being the third. Then you helped through Save the Children, but we can do so much more. So if you’re not one of our sponsors, please help. You can do so much for just pennies a day.”
The camera pulled in for a close up and Dani reached a hand to her forehead and pushed some hair out of her eyes, then she wiped away a tear. “We need your help. Amanda needs your help. I need your help.” Then the screen faded to black.
“ I can’t believe it,” Broxton said.
“ A powerful ad,” Warren said.
“ Better than any I ever wrote. I almost started crying when she wiped that tear away,” Broxton said.
“ She’s the perfect spokesperson. She’s doubled the income for Save the Children in less than a year and she’s hoping to double it again.”
Broxton stepped toward the pictures on the wall behind Warren’s desk. “A who’s who of world politics,” Broxton said, as his eyes moved from a picture of Warren and the President of the United States to one of him with the Prime Minister of England. “When was the one of you and Aaron Gamaliel taken?”
“ In Paris. Dani took it. A few hours later he was dead.”
“ Killed by the Scorpion,” Broxton said. Aaron Gamaliel had been the Israeli Defense Minister. “Him, too.” Broxton pointed to a picture of Dani and President Jomo Seko of Zaire.
“ He was assassinated while she was up country doing one of the those commercials for Save the Children,” Warren said.
“ Poor Dani,” Broxton said. “It must have been horrible to have been with two such men hours before they were assassinated.
“ She’s had horrible nightmares about it,” Warren said. “It’s really shaken her.”
“ I won’t mention it,” Broxton said.
“ God, I hope not. She’s just starting to act like her old self again. Let’s just say you’re here on vacation.”
“ That’s my cover story,” Broxton smiled. “I’ll stick with it.” He was quiet for a second. “You’re right, Save the Children couldn’t have found a better spokesperson. I can hardly wait to tell her how proud I am of her.”
“ You can do it over dinner. You’ll be staying with us, of course,” Warren said.
“ How’s the palace, Street?” Broxton said. It was pointless arguing, Warren always got his way.
“ It’s just a simple home,” Warren said.
“ Warren, if you’re living in it, it’s a palace.”
“ I have brought over a few of my little luxuries,” Warren said, and laughed.
“ Like the grand piano, the walk-in wine cellar that’s bigger than a garage, and the drive-in movie screen that you call a television.”
“ Well yes, I brought those.”
Broxton followed Warren out of his office and through the embassy to the garage in back. He watched as Warren ran his hands along the walls as they went from room to room, almost like he was trying to reassure himself that he wasn’t dreaming, that he really was out of the Washington mad house. Broxton knew that Warren loved being Ambassador to Trinidad as much as he’d hated being National Security Advisor.
In the garage Warren went to the driver’s side of a two-year-old left-hand-drive Ford, and Broxton was reminded about the left-hand-drive car that had run them off the road.
“ What happened to the Silver Cloud?” Broxton asked, looking over the roof of the car at his friend.
“ Left it at home,” Warren answered.
“ That’s not like you,” Broxton said.
