'Yep.'
'Can he win?'
'Yep.'
'Can I help?'
'You will.'
'I feel like I'm not earning my paycheck.'
'You're like the fire insurance policy on my condo, Eddie. I pay the premium every month and hope to hell I don't need to make a claim. But if my condo catches fire, I'll damn sure need to then.'
'Huh?'
'I'm happy to pay you, and I hope I don't need your services. But I might. Especially once we get the 'Bode Bonner for President' campaign in full gear. A national campaign always has a lot of unforeseen, unexpected, unpleasant moments.'
The governor of Texas could be dead in a matter of days.
Five hundred seventy-five miles due west of Austin, DEA Agent Rey Gonzales sat in his El Paso office and stared out the window at Mexico. On his desk lay the results from the investigation of the shooting in the Davis Mountains. Specifically, the fingerprint results. Two of the men the governor had shot and killed were exactly who Rey figured they were: throwaways. Street boys recruited by the cartel in Nuevo Laredo. Their prints were in the system due to prior detainment in the U.S. and deportation to Mexico. No one cried for them.
But the third man was not a throwaway.
His prints were in the system for a different reason: he was an American citizen who held a U.S. passport. Born in the USA. Houston, to be exact. His name was Jesus de la Garza, the first-born son of Enrique de la Garza, alias El Diablo, head of the Los Muertos cartel.
The governor of Texas had killed the son of the most dangerous man in Mexico.
Now, if a politician in Mexico had committed such a foolish act, he would be dead before the sun again rose over the Rio Grande. As would be his wife, his children, his parents, his relatives, his neighbors, and his dog. After being cut into pieces, beheaded, and burned beyond recognition. Every politician in Mexico-every person in Mexico above the age of six-knew this fact well.
Consequently, such a politician would immediately gather his family and drive as fast as possible to the nearest border crossing, throw himself and his family on the mercy of America, and beg for asylum and protective custody from the United States government. In the likely event that his request was denied, he would commit suicide. At least then he could control the manner of his demise.
But politicians in America do not understand such harsh facts of life and death. They have lived under the rule of law all of their lives. They have lived under the protection of police and state troopers and the FBI and the DEA. They have not lived in constant fear of abduction, death, and dismemberment by drug cartels. They do not have tracking chips implanted in their bodies so they can be found with GPS if the cartels abduct them. That is not an American politician's life.
They don't have a clue.
The governor of Texas didn't have a clue. So what did he decide to do after killing the son of El Diablo? Did he decide to lay low until the media frenzy died down? Did he decide to stay out of the public eye? Did he decide to update his last will and testament and get his affairs in order? No, he did not decide to do that. He decided to go on a nationally televised victory tour, like a football team returning home after victory in the Super Bowl.
He decided to flaunt his foolish act to cheering crowds.
Which, of course, was not the most prudent course of action. In fact, the most prudent course of action would be to sign up for the Witness Protection Program and move to the middle of Alaska. If Rey Gonzales knew his Mexican drug lords-and he did-El Diablo would come after the governor. Hard. Even as Rey sat there in El Paso that Monday evening, sicarios might already be tracking the governor, waiting for the opportune moment.
To kill him.
So Rey had taken the information to his station chief and suggested 24/7 security for the governor. The chief laughed.
'You want me to call headquarters and ask for round-the-clock security for the same Texas governor who's hammering the boss over border security?'
'Yes!'
'No!'
'Why the hell not?'
'Politics.'
'Because he's Republican?'
'Because he's gonna run against the boss.'
'So?'
'So how you figure that's gonna play in D.C.? The president himself came here to El Paso and stood right by the river and declared to all the world that the border is safe and secure. Three months later, the governor of Texas kills three Mexicans running a cartel marijuana farm and holding thirteen kids captive eighty miles north of the border. How's the president gonna explain that in the debates? Now you want the president to admit that we can't stop a Mexican drug lord from sending hit men across the border to kill a U.S. governor?'
'But what if they kill the governor?'
The chief shrugged. 'He won't be running against the boss.'
'But-'
'But nothing, Rey. That information doesn't leave this office. Fact is, we've got no credible leads, no evidence of a plot, no information leading us to believe that the governor is in imminent danger… we got nothing except your vivid imagination.'
The chief paused a moment then almost pleaded.
'Rey, I'm up for a promotion… to headquarters. That promotion is my ticket off this fucking border-and I'm gonna punch it.'
DEA Agent Rey Gonzales now stepped to the window and gazed down at the Rio Grande. That sliver of water served as an international border. But a line on a map would not stop El Diablo. Rey sighed. The governor was hoping to be elected president next year. He should be hoping to survive the next day.
Six hundred miles downriver of El Paso, the governor's wife sat on the back porch of the doctor's house. When Jesse had returned from the desert, they had taken the girls to the Mexican consulate. The girls had hugged her, then Jesse had taken them inside. She had waited in the truck with Pancho. They had saved eleven Mexican girls' lives that day. She now pointed up at a group of birds, like ducks flying south for the winter. But these were flying north. And they were too big to be ducks.
'Are those eagles?'
Jesse stared into the night sky.
'Drug smugglers, flying ultralights.'
Lindsay now heard a low buzzing noise as they came closer. She saw the flying machines. Six of them, flying in formation.
'Together they carry about a ton of dope, probably heroin or cocaine. They drop their loads in the desert. Their compadres on this side track them with GPS. Sometimes they fly too low and are decapitated by power lines.'
He paused.
'Drugs, money, guns, girls-it all comes and goes across the river.'
TWENTY
'Killing Mexicans has been an effective strategy for Texas politicians since the Alamo,' the lieutenant governor said.
The jet engines hummed and ice tinkled in glasses filled with bourbon as the Gulfstream ferried the governor of Texas, the lieutenant governor, the speaker of the Texas House of Representatives, and Jim Bob Burnet down to
