Drone

now.”

Cesar glowered at Ali for another moment, then his face resumed its normal color. He finally sat back down and nodded at Ali, the closest he could get to an apology. “Why are you sure it’s the Americans?”

Ali opened the envelope. Removed a red lanyard with a plastic badge attached. Handed it to Cesar.

“This arrived today.”

“Who sent it?” Cesar demanded.

“No return address or name. No note,” Ali said. “But there can be no question.”

Cesar glanced at the plastic badge. It was labeled FRIDA KAHLO ARTS ACADEMY, and had the name and face of Ryan Martinez. A bullet hole puckered the badge, and dried blood smeared the photo.

“An eye for an eye, jefe,” Ali said.

“Why not kill him?” Cesar asked, pointing at Ulises.

“Myers is offering you a deal. A son for a son. She thinks you are stupid enough to take it,” Ali said.

Cesar’s face darkened with thought. “One dead son is enough, isn’t it?”

“One dead son is too many, jefe.” Ali sighed. “And it might be a deal worth taking, if that’s all there was to it…”

“What else is there, Arab?”

Ali pointed at Ulises. “She has twisted your son into a collar around your neck. By leaving him alive, she keeps you chained to a post, like a dog, snarling and snapping, but hurting no one. Anyone can walk by. And if the dog charges?” Ali yanked violently on his own shirt collar. “The dog gets pulled down.”

Ulises’s face reddened. A vein bulged in his forehead.

Ali’s words had landed perfectly. He fought the urge to smile. By sending her son’s identity badge to Cesar, Myers had given Ali the perfect tool to leverage the drug lord into action.

Ulises leaped to his feet. “We’ll kill some more yanqui bastards. Ali, let’s put together a strike team. We’ll hit San Diego, maybe L.A.—”

“With what? Bombs? Rockets? Machine guns? Don’t be stupid. The Americans have more of those than there are stars in the sky,” Cesar snapped.

“But you can’t let the Americans get away with killing Aquiles,” Ulises said.

“Your son is right. The other cartels will see your inaction as a sign of weakness. It puts you and your son in even greater danger.” Ali was worried now. He needed Cesar to retaliate against the Americans immediately.

“And so what do you propose?” Cesar asked.

Ali smiled. “You do not know the Americans like I do. They are cowards. They hide behind their machines and their body armor. If they take a few casualties, they quit and go home. You have nothing to fear by striking out at them, and much to fear from your enemies if you do not.”

Cesar crossed to the bar and refilled his glass, lost in thought. Ulises and Ali followed him with their eyes as he returned, but he didn’t sit down.

“I agree with you, Ali. We must strike back, but in a way that the Americans can’t respond to.” Cesar took a sip of rum. “How?”

The men racked their brains in silence for a few moments.

“By attacking them with a weapon they don’t have,” Ulises finally said.

“Asymmetrical warfare. Excellent,” Ali said.

“Does such a weapon exist?” Cesar asked.

“Yes, in abundance,” Ulises said. He explained his idea. It was simple, doable, and lethal.

Cesar liked it, but wasn’t certain. “What do you think, Ali? You’re the expert.”

Ali hesitated. He wanted a more direct course of action, but he didn’t dare offend the younger Castillo. Besides, it would definitely work and it might finally provoke the Americans into an all-out assault.

“It is a brilliant suggestion, jefe.”

Ulises beamed with pride. So did his father.

So far, so good, Ali thought.

“But I suggest one additional course of action we should take first. It will likely yield nothing, but it costs nothing, and perhaps it will be a diversion for the Americans while Ulises executes his plan.”

“What needs to be done?” Cesar asked.

Los Pinos, Mexico D.F.

Hernan Barraza paced the floor of his private office, a cell phone glued to his ear. Cesar Castillo was on the other line. It was past midnight. The line was secure because it was Castillo’s own private cell network.

“What do you expect the president to do? Invade the United States?” Hernan sweated. Castillo had never called him directly before. It was a complete breach of their security arrangement, and now he was making insane demands.

“The gringos killed my son on Mexican soil and the Mexican government has no interest in this matter?” Castillo roared on the other end of the line.

“Forgive me for saying so, but as an attorney, I don’t believe you have enough proof that the Americans killed your son.”

“I’ve explained to you the proof! But that’s not the point, is it? Tell me, Barraza, what if you did have your lawyer’s proof? Would your brother the president have the huevos to do anything about it?”

Hernan paused. There was no good answer. An attack on the United States was out of the question. Surely Castillo understood that. But doing nothing was out of the question as well. Hernan understood that perfectly. In his gut, he believed the Americans probably were behind it. “Do you have any suggestions, Cesar?”

“Yes.” Castillo detailed what he wanted the president to do for him. But Castillo didn’t explain what his own course of action would be or that his Iranian security chief had concocted the scheme.

“Very well. Consider it done,” Hernan said.

“When?”

“Starting tomorrow. You have my word.” Hernan clicked off the phone, then opened the cell-phone case, extracting the SIM card and shredding it in his high-security shredder. He didn’t want that psychopath calling him directly ever again.

He then crossed over to his desk and picked up a landline. He called his brother.

“At this hour?” the president asked. “Can’t it wait?”

“I just had a call from our friend, the Farmer.”

“What did he want?”

Hernan described Castillo’s request.

“That’s all?” the president asked. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“There is one more thing. We need the Federal Police and other drug enforcement agencies to back off of him for a while. He needs ‘room to maneuver.’ His words, not mine.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“Yes. I have a feeling that Castillo’s reach is about to exceed his grasp.” Hernan grinned. “Our friend could stand a dose of humility.”

The Oval Office, the White House

Dr. Strasburg was on the couch, perched in his usual spot. He held a cup and saucer in his slightly trembling hands, a symptom of the Parkinson’s that he had recently developed. The cup was brimming with freshly brewed coffee, despite doctor’s orders. They had been discussing Russia’s recent diplomatic offensive in the Caucasus when Myers received the urgent message that a call was coming through. He nodded reassuringly at her to take it.

President Myers took her seat behind the famous desk. She picked up her phone. “Put him through, Maggie.”

The receiver clicked as the call was rerouted. Myers pressed another button and put the call on speakerphone so that Strasburg could hear it as well. A familiar voice came on the line.

“Madame President. Thank you for taking my call.” It was President Barraza on the other end. His tone was