“It’s my job, sir. You offered me the opportunity to refuse.”
“But you didn’t, Alex, and the Service as always is deeply grateful. And, don’t get me wrong. I’m extremely concerned about what I read in your report. Deeply disturbed, in fact.”
“It is a deeply disturbing situation. Perhaps one of the most dangerous the free world faces at the moment.”
“Alex?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I do have one final thought if you’ll bear with me another minute. Just occurred to me.”
“Of course, sir,” Hawke said, and slid back into his chair.
“Tell me about your relationship with the American Secretary of State, Consuelo de los Reyes.”
“I beg your pardon, sir? I thought that was private.”
“Not your personal relationship, Alex. I already know all about that unfortunate business. Your working relationship is the one in question.”
“Ah, that one. I would describe it as cordial.”
“Hmm. Une entente cordiale.”
“Sorry?”
“A secret agreement to avoid hostilities. Well, no matter, Alex. Look, here. After you’ve had your little chat with the German ambassador I’d like you to give your old friend the American Secretary of State a call.”
“A call.”
“Indeed. She’s chairing a secret and very high-level security conference in Key West, Florida, a fortnight from now. You’re aware of this, of course?”
“Yes. My colleague in Miami is involved. Gathering preconference intel for the Pentagon. I believe you’ve met him. Stokely Jones.”
“Large chap? American.”
Hawke grinned. “Tear Stokely Jones down, one could erect a rather large sports complex.”
C nodded, not bothering to smile. “Quite. Well. All the American regional ambassadors and LATAM State Department officials will be attending a CIA brief by your friend, Director Kelly.”
This was Patrick Brickhouse Kelly, a lanky Virginian whom Hawke had befriended in the first Gulf War.
“National Security Agency will be there as well, Alex. Various U.S. border and police personnel. The Americans are one step ahead of us on this. Like you, some of them suddenly seem to believe Latin America is the world’s next terrorist mecca.”
“It’s true”
“Well, at any rate, I’d very much like it if you were invited to Secretary de los Reyes’s Latin pow-wow. In fact, now that you and I have had a chance to discuss your report in more detail, I think it’s critical you be there.”
Hawke forced a smile.
Despite his convictions about Papa Top’s operations in the jungle, he found the very idea of calling Conch appalling. Humiliating, to be exact. She’d refused to take his calls for months. All of his letters had been returned unopened.
“With all due respect, sir, this conference sounds very much an American—”
Sir David Trulove stood and fastened his somber tweed jacket. He had that resolute look of a man headed once more into the breech. His smile to Hawke was brief, his mind already grappling with the howling Americans down the hall.
“Come now, Alex, you’ve scraped by in far more perilous assignments than this one. It’s a simple phone call. I’m sure Conch, that’s what you call her isn’t it, I’m sure Conch will be delighted to hear from you after all this time. Besides, a bit of tropical sun would do you worlds of good. You look very pale, to be honest.”
Hawke searched for words as the man crossed the room and pulled open the heavy wooden door to leave.
“Sir David, with all due respect, what possible explanation could I offer the American Secretary of State for simply ringing her up after all these months and inviting myself to her—”
“You’ll think of something, dear boy,” C said cheerfully before leaving the room. “Send her some flowers, pink roses, that’s usually the ticket. I already forwarded her a copy of your report in the morning pouch. Once she’s read it, she’ll be chomping at the bit to have you give a first person account at her conference. Nothing to worry about, I assure you.”
Hawke sat back down and stared into the fire for a few moments. He was quite sure C had never sent anyone roses in his entire life. When he felt he could safely exit the room without breaking any furniture, he got to his feet.
Nothing to worry about, Hawke muttered to himself. You’ll think of something.
After all, he had nothing to fear but the inestimable and incandescent wrath of a woman scorned.
Pink roses? For the second time this evening, C had absolutely no bloody idea what he was talking about.
14
NUEVO LAREDO, MEXICO
A ll the streetlights are out, Sheriff. You notice that?”
“Yep.”
“Transformer down somewhere maybe.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Nobody on the streets.”
“Nope.”
“Kinda early to be so quiet on a Friday night. Spooky.”
“Folks rather stay home than get shot at.”
“I guess. Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot.”
“Don’t say that!”
“Homer.”
“Sorry. I know you don’t talk about, uh, Cam Ranh Bay.”
“Right. I don’t.”
“But, see, I can’t help but ask you, Sheriff. When you guys, I mean, your squad, when you’d go into a village at night, say. After dark. And you knew they were waiting—waiting for you to come around a corner or whatnot. Did you—I mean, did you ever worry about—I mean—”
“Homer. Are you scared? Are you afraid?”
“Yessir, to tell you the honest truth, I am.”
“Don’t feel bad, son. Everybody is.”
“I don’t believe that for one minute, Sheriff. I don’t think you are.”
“Not now, maybe. But I have been.”
Homer and Dixon had decided it was probably better to go down to Mexico at night. They’d taken Dixon’s pickup, mainly because to take a marked American police vehicle south of the border these days was suicide. They’d even switched the plates, hung a banged-up old Mexican plate on the tailgate. He let Homer drive the thing. He was tired.
They’d all been pretty busy going to funerals.
The whole town had.
It had taken a couple of hours to drive down south of the border from Prairie. During that time, Homer had talked a lot. He couldn’t seem to stop. It was mostly about the twelve boys who’d been killed in Mexico. Franklin had listened respectfully; he knew Homer cared deeply about those kids and their families. They’d all been friends since grade school, some cases nursery school. Homer’d been bottling a lot of things up inside and it probably helped him to just let some of it come on out.
