“Yeah. Somebody obviously leaked. They find out who?”
“Not yet. Probably doesn’t matter. If they find the guy—or gal—there’ll just be another one next time. I’m afraid the Castillos were sending us a message, and they set those poor young Marines on fire to make sure we got it. They want us to know that the Mexican government can’t fight this war, let alone win it.”
“And neither can you, at least not with American troops. Otherwise, you’ve broken one of your campaign promises, right?”
“It wasn’t just an empty campaign promise to win votes. Too much blood and too much treasure have already been spent fighting the War on Terror for more than a decade now. If we invade Mexico, we’re probably in for another ten years of bloody warfare. I’m not saying it wouldn’t be worth it. I’m not even saying we couldn’t win it. But the American people don’t have the will to start another war right now, let alone to make the necessary sacrifices to see it through.”
“So what’s your plan? Where do I fit in?”
“I can’t fight and win the drug war. But I’ve got to send my own message. I can’t control what Castillo does in Mexico, but I’ve got to keep him from crossing the border at will and killing American citizens with impunity.”
“Hire more Border Patrol agents. Call up the National Guard. Seal the border.”
“Can’t. At least not now. The budget freeze cuts across every department of government, Border Patrol included. And troops on the border are considered racist, fascist, and xenophobic by the rabid left and increasingly so by the middling center. Frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass what they think, but the political reality is that the moderates in Congress won’t authorize troops on the border or slash other welfare programs to beef up the Border Patrol. More important, a great deal of trade takes place across that border. We gum it up too much, and we hurt the economies of both countries.”
“That doesn’t leave many options,” Pearce observed. “Maybe it’s best to let this dog lie.”
“I was raised with the belief that action is morality. It’s quoted so often it’s a cliche now, but Burke’s aphorism is still true. All it takes for evil to thrive is for good men to do nothing.”
Pearce shook his head. “The only problem with that kind of thinking is that every zealot with a suicide vest thinks he’s the good guy fighting evil, even when the bus he blows up is full of innocent civilians.”
“I’m not talking about ideology or politics. I’m no moral crusader. I’m talking about putting down a rabid dog before it bites somebody else. My job is to save American lives. I think that’s something you understand quite well.”
Once again, Pearce had to process for a moment. “So what do you want to do?”
“I believe in Occam’s razor. In this case, the simplest solution is the best one. I want to send Castillo a clear message. Blood for blood. I’m convinced he killed my son, so I’m going to kill one of his sons. Tit-for-tat.”
“A telegram would be cheaper.”
“I’m willing to pay the price,” Myers said.
“Why only one son if they’re both killers?”
“So Castillo won’t retaliate. He gets to keep one son alive if he keeps a cool head. The dead son will be a daily reminder to him to keep his war on his side of the border.”
“But what if he does retaliate? You take out his other son? Then he retaliates again. Then what do you do?”
“You were CIA. You must have read about the Phoenix Program?” She was referring to the CIA program that assassinated key Vietcong leaders during the Vietnam War.
“We studied it. A lot of mistakes were made.”
“But according to William Colby, the North Vietnamese said that the Phoenix Program was the most effective thing we ever did during the entire war.”
“Of course he’d say that. It was his program.”
“You think he lied about it?”
“I have no way of knowing. It was before my time.”
Pearce had mixed feelings about that war. His father had served in it and eventually died from it. “What I do know is that the Phoenix Program killed nearly thirty thousand Vietnamese.”
“I only want to kill one Mexican.”
“And that’s where my company comes in.”
“Yes. But it must be kept secret.”
“Who else knows about this, besides you, me, and Early?”
“Sandy Jeffers, my chief of staff, and the attorney general.”
“What does she say about all of this?”
“You don’t strike me as someone overly concerned with matters of the law.”
“I have people to worry about.”
“Without getting into the specifics, you’re operating under my authority as commander in chief, the same way President Obama dispatched SEAL Team snipers to take out the Somali pirates.”
“Our situation is a little different. We’re private contractors.”
“Then just think of it as a private contract for taking out the garbage.”
“And if this thing goes south?”
“Doubting yourself, Mr. Pearce?”
“Not at all. But humor me.”
“Then I’ll have your back. Mike will vouch for me.”
“He already did. I just wanted to hear it from you.”
“Is that why you’re recording our conversation?” Myers asked. It was an educated guess.
“Trust, but verify. In case I’m not around,” Pearce said. “Speaking of trust, why isn’t Greyhill in the loop?”
“I take it you don’t follow politics very closely. We had a shotgun wedding. Only the shotgun was pointed at me.”
“Is the operation covert or clandestine?” Pearce chose his words carefully. “Covert” actions fell under Title 50 of the U.S. Code, “clandestine” under Title 10. What Pearce was really asking was: are you notifying the armed services committees or the intelligence committees about this action?
“Neither. Or both. It’s irrelevant. This is a tactical operation. Congress doesn’t have the right to micromanage national security.”
“In other words, you want to keep this secret because your political opponents would make a lot of hay over this, even if it does go right.”
“I need to keep this secret because if I publicly shame Castillo, he’d be forced to retaliate.”
Myers locked eyes with Pearce. All her cards were on the table.
“Are you in or out?” she asked.
Pearce had an instructor at the Farm. He was one of the original cold warriors with the missing fingernails to prove it. The old man had drilled the
Pearce took just two.
Old habits die hard.
“Better call Mike back in,” Pearce said.
Myers pressed the intercom. “Please send Mr. Early back in.”
Early came in, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. “You want me to throw this bum out?” he asked with a smile.
Pearce pushed out the chair next to him with his foot. Early fell into it. Pearce turned to Myers.
“No JAG lawyers looking over my shoulder. No bean counters asking for receipts. No squawking when I hand you guys the bill—and it’s gonna be a doozy. I do this my way, with my team, no questions. Are we clear on that?”
Myers and Early both nodded. “Agreed,” Myers added.
“I’m also going to need access to DEA intelligence and NSA databases, at least the ones my firm hasn’t already hacked. Without their knowledge, of course.”
