Drone

icy.

“I understand it is a matter of some urgency, Mr. President. By the way, Dr. Karl Strasburg is in the room with me. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“No. In fact, I prefer it. Dr. Strasburg is a wise man. I hope he will give us both good counsel.”

“How may I be of assistance to you today?” Myers asked.

“It has come to my attention that the United States has engaged in covert military action against one of our sovereign citizens while in Mexican territorial waters. Is this true?”

Myers blanched. How could Barraza possibly know about Pearce and his operation?

“To whom are you referring, Mr. President?” Myers stalled for time.

“Aquiles Castillo, of course. He died of a massive hemorrhage in the brain.”

“I’m sorry. Who?”

“One of the sons of Cesar Castillo. I’m sure you’re familiar with his name,” Barraza sniffed.

“A parent’s worst nightmare. I understand his grief.”

“We believe that some form of covert action was taken by your government against him that caused the brain hemorrhage.”

Myers glanced at Strasburg.

“That’s quite an accusation, Mr. President. It seems a little far-fetched, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Myers said.

“Dr. Strasburg?”

“Yes, Mr. President?”

“Please remind President Myers of America’s long history of ‘far-fetched’ covert operations. For example, the CIA’s attempt to assassinate Castro with exploding poisonous cigars.”

Strasburg set his coffee down. “We’re all well aware of those attempts, Mr. President, along with Mr. Castro’s long record of torturing and killing his political opponents. We also know that the CIA is currently prohibited by law from assassinating governmental leaders. The fact that Fidel Castro is alive and well suggests that the CIA’s capabilities in that area were never terribly effective anyway, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Madame President, let me ask you directly. Did you authorize a covert mission to kill Aquiles Castillo?”

“No. And I resent the fact that you would even consider me capable of such action.”

“Then perhaps the CIA has a rogue operative, or there are other elements at work in your government that you are not aware of. Since you are not able to take responsibility for this crime, then I must. I am informing you that Mexico will take whatever action is necessary to prevent further incursions over our border and to protect Mexican national sovereignty. In addition to mobilizing additional troops, I am placing our military and police units on the border on high alert, and I am authorizing them to fire on any unauthorized persons found on Mexican territory or in territorial waters or airspace. Is that perfectly clear, Madame President?”

“Frankly, I’m stunned. I don’t know what to say.”

“Mr. President, I respectfully suggest that a summit be arranged immediately so that these matters can be discussed further,” Strasburg said. “May we instruct Ambassador Romero to contact your Foreign Office and begin to make arrangements?”

There was silence on the line for a moment. “You may instruct him to do so, but I have no interest in anything less than a frank and substantive discussion of the matter.”

“I would expect nothing less from either party,” Myers said. “We’ll see to the arrangements.”

“Until the summit concludes, the new heightened security measures will remain in place. Good day to you both.” Barraza hung up.

Myers stared at Strasburg. “What was that all about?”

“He’s afraid.”

“Of whom? Us?”

“More likely Castillo. He must have contacted Barraza.”

“So they are in collusion,” Myers said.

“Not necessarily. Castillo is a citizen of Mexico. It is not unreasonable for him to seek out his government’s assistance regarding the death of his son.”

“How many Mexican citizens can dial 911 and get President Barraza on the line?” Myers asked.

“Not many, I’ll grant you. But who else could Castillo call to get protection from us?”

“That’s a good sign. If Castillo’s calling President Barraza for help, that means he thinks he has no way of retaliating against us, right?”

Strasburg shrugged. “That is my sincere hope, Madame President.”

19

Dallas, Texas

Parkland Memorial was the hospital they rushed JFK to when he was shot and it’s the hospital where they pronounced him dead. As Dallas County’s public hospital, it processed over 140,000 cases through its emergency room every year—many of them indigents—making the Parkland ER one of the busiest in the nation. They handled gunshots, stab wounds, car wrecks, and heart attacks on a daily basis, but the last two weeks had been a real horror show.

* * *

The ambulance cut its sirens as it swung into the Parkland ER parking lot, screeching to a halt beneath a portico already jammed with three other trucks desperately unloading their dying patients.

The driver bolted out of his door and dashed for the rear. The EMT inside the vehicle threw the back doors open and leaped out. They grabbed the stretcher on a fast three-count and lifted it out, lowering it to the ground on the spring-loaded undercarriage. The girl on the stretcher, “Hispanic, teenage, female, no name,” convulsed beneath the restraining straps like a demoniac, her tiny fists clenched against the agony raging in her skull.

A weeping older couple stumbled outside through the sliding glass doors, numb to the world when the EMTs shouted, “Coming through!” as they raced the stretcher through the doors. The ambulance driver’s hip crashed into the elderly man, nearly knocking him over.

Inside the doors, a triage nurse ran over to them. “Bay three.” She pointed.

“How long?” the EMT asked. “She’s already coded twice.”

“She’s number four right now,” the nurse said. She glanced down at the sweat-drenched girl, mewling like a scalded cat. “I’m sorry.”

The girl on the stretcher coughed, then a geyser of vomit burst out of her cracked lips. Her contracting stomach muscles simultaneously forced an involuntary bowel movement that filled her filthy jeans with blistering diarrhea.

The driver swung the girl’s head to the side and put two blue-gloved fingers into her mouth to scoop out any obstruction to her airway. But her breathing had turned into short, spasmodic gasps that sucked back the vomit into her lungs, choking her.

“She’s coding again!”

The nurse ran for the portable defibrillator on the wall station, grabbed it, and dashed back to the gurney.

Too late.

She was gone.

The White House, Washington, D.C.

The DEA’s Roy Jackson continued relating the bad news.

“Los Angeles, Chicago, and New York, of course, but even Omaha, Salt Lake City, Eugene, and Buffalo have seen significant spikes in the numbers of deaths—all due to overdoses of meth. The ERs and neighborhood clinics have been inundated. It has put a real strain on already scarce resources in the impoverished areas. And God only