Damage Control

“If you need to speak to me about this further, please give me a call.” He pulled a business card from his wallet and a pen from the pocket of his uniform blouse. He circled a number on the card. “This is my cell phone,” he said.

Madrigal took the card, but hesitantly. “Did I forget to tell you something, Captain?”

Palma offered a cold smile. “I hope not,” he said. “But only you can answer that question honestly.” He meant his words to be chilling, and it was obvious they’d had the desired effect.

“Certainly,” Madrigal said. He hesitated, looked back, and then returned to his red pickup truck.

As soon as Madrigal walked away, Almanza reappeared to fill the vacuum. He seemed at once excited and disappointed. “Alas, Captain, perhaps I was wrong.” He displayed a shell casing in his open palm. “The reports said that the missionaries were using five-five-six and seven-six-two millimeter ammunition. This casing is much smaller. In fact, I’ve never seen so small a bullet.”

Palma’s stomach twisted as he took the casing from the corporal and examined it more closely. This was the 4.6-millimeter ammunition that was the new favorite of the American Special Forces. What did that mean? What it could mean was that he-as well as Felix Hernandez-had been lied to. They’d both received specific assurances that the American government would not interfere.

“An interesting piece of evidence,” Palma said. “But it does not rule out the American missionaries.”

“So you believe they have many weapons?”

Palma nodded to the section of the jungle where the bodies were being cared for by Sergeant Nazario. “They have at least six rifles and six sidearms that they did not have before this incident happened.”

Almanza let that sink in silently. Something changed behind his eyes as it seemed to dawn on him for the first time that Palma knew more than he was sharing. “Do you know where these men came from?” he asked.

“They worked for me, Corporal. Of course I know.”

“I need to know as well,” Almanza said. “I need to know anything that will help in the investigation.”

Palma pursed his lips and made himself taller. “Actually, Corporal, you need to know what I decide to share with you. Nothing more.”

Almanza’s face reddened. “It is my job, not yours, to investigate crimes. I understand that these murdered men were in the Army-”

“You think too much of yourself, Corporal Almanza,” Palma interrupted. “Or perhaps you believe that I think too much of you. We both know that your job is to pretend to enforce laws, much as I pretend to serve our commander in chief. In reality, we all serve Felix Hernandez.”

The corporal’s face darkened still more. “That is not so!”

“It is so. I know it is so because you are still alive. Such cannot be said of so many men with badges who chose to fight the inevitable. You live to pretend, and you pretend so that you can live. We can say this out loud because there are no reporters here. The president himself pretends because he, too, has children and parents and siblings. He knows that one day he will no longer be president, and when he no longer has his security detail, he does not wish to be spirited off in the night to have his joints crushed and his private parts shredded.”

As Almanza listened, he lurched his head from side to side, worried that his men might hear.

“Do you think they are different, Corporal?” Palma went on. “Do you believe that anyone on any police force in Mexico wishes to see their families killed? These games of pretend in which we engage are the worst kept secrets in the whole country. We do it to allow the population to believe that the government is in control, but in their quiet moments, I’m sure that every citizen understands the reality.”

“I do not appreciate being lectured to like a schoolboy,” Almanza said.

“I’m sure that no one would. That’s why I’m urging you not to be as naive as a schoolboy.” Palma said this in a way that he hoped would not sound patronizing. It made no sense to anger the man. “I will ask you this as a favor, then. Would you please be so kind as to allow me to conduct this investigation, and to stay out of my way while I do it?”

“What will I tell my superiors?”

Palma placed a hand on the corporal’s shoulder. “Tell them that you are acting at the request of Captain Ernesto Palma, and that Captain Ernesto Palma is working very closely with Felix Hernandez.” He gave Almanza a few seconds to absorb the full meaning of his words. “Once your superiors hear that, I think they will understand. Don’t you?”

Once the bodies of his men were properly bagged, Palma left them in the custody of Corporal Almanza, with very specific instructions to have them delivered to military authorities who would manage the details of notifying families. On the one hand, it felt like a waste of precious time to go through all the ceremonial rigmarole, but on the other, he understood the importance of such things to his men. Soldiers made many sacrifices in service to their country. Often, the only true respect they ever saw was that which came in death. Palma did not consider himself to be a sentimental man, but even he could understand the need for dignity.

Besides, so much time had already elapsed that an extra forty-five minutes would likely make no difference. Now that it was done, he and his soldiers were driving north. He didn’t yet know what the Americans’ plan was, but logic dictated that it included return to their country, and the only way to get there was to head north. By his estimation, the Americans had at most a five-hour head start.

Palma had alerted his forces along the coast to keep an eye on the marinas and the ports, but his instincts told him that the Americans would stay to the interior. That’s what he would do if he were in their position. Traveling by land left near infinite options for evasion. Once on the water, they would be exposed to too many interdiction assets, not the least of which would be the ones designed to keep them out of their own country, now that they were the subject of an international warrant.

Sergeant Nazario drove their Sandcat, and Palma could tell from his posture alone that the man was uncomfortable. “Tell me what’s on your mind, Sergeant,” Palma said.

The driver’s ears reddened. He hesitated.

“You may speak freely,” Palma said.

The sergeant settled himself with a deep breath. “Sir, the men are concerned about the killings.” He spoke softly, despite the noise from the engine, which would drown out any possibility of being heard by the soldiers in the back.

“I’m concerned about them, too,” Palma said.

“That’s not what I mean. Nothing has gone right in this mission. It has the feel of being cursed.”

Palma shot his driver a disgusted look. “Are you believing in ghosts and goblins now, Sergeant?”

Nazario laughed without humor. “Not me, sir. But some of the boys. Not ghosts and goblins perhaps, but you have to agree that the corpses are stacking up.”

Indeed they were. And Palma knew how susceptible soldiers could be to superstitious nonsense. The mere suggestion of a curse could make perceptions of bad luck become self-fulfilling.

“The killing of those soldiers was a terrible thing,” Palma said. “But the kidnappers? Their deaths speak of good luck, not bad.”

“I understand, sir. And I agree with you. But even the ambush went bad.”

“They have only themselves to blame for that. I’m still considering a posthumous court-martial for Private Prado.”

“He misunderstood his orders,” Nazario said. “If you’re going to court-martial anyone, court-martial me. I’m the one who didn’t make myself clear.”

Palma smiled. He admired non-commissioned officers who defended their troops. It spoke of integrity and inspired respect from subordinates. “Don’t think I’m not considering that, as well,” he said.

Nazario knew better, yet he shifted uneasily in his seat. “I have another question, sir, but it is certainly out of line.”

Palma waited for it.

“It’s about the ambush,” he said. “How did we know that the mercenaries would be there? How did we know where their vehicles would be?”

Palma stared straight ahead as he tried to form an answer. According to Felix, the CIA had been feeding them satellite tracking information, and as outlandish as it sounded, Palma believed it to be true. To invoke the CIA, however, would only make the troops more uncomfortable. He chose to say nothing.