Edge of Battle

helping the Mexican people who choose to work in the United States, I think our cause would be greatly helped. A slight imperfection might enhance his character a bit.”

“There is no way on earth we can find that out for sure without a face-to-face meeting.”

“I can make it happen, Carmen.”

“A meeting with the infamous Comandante Veracruz?” Her face turned from serious to thoughtful. “You are the one person in the world who could pull off such a meeting, my dear.” Maravilloso thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Collect more information on this man—hopefully even capture him so you can question him directly.”

“Or kill him, if necessary, if he proves a threat to your administration’s plans to work with the Americans and solve this immigration dilemma,” Diaz said matter-of-factly.

Maravilloso smiled, stepped over to Diaz, put her arms around him, and kissed his lips. “Why, Felix, you almost sound as if you really care about what happens to me,” she said.

He kissed her again, grasping her shoulders seriously. “I admitted to you from the first day we met that I aspired to the presidency, Carmen,” he said. “We even would not talk about marriage for that very reason, although you know how much I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. But I am not your political rival, or just your lover. I am a member of your government, and I am a Mexican. Whether you believe it or not, I do care about what happens to our country—and yes, I care about this government too, if for no other reason than I will have less to clean up after assuming this office.”

“Do not try to pretend that you care that much, Felix,” Maravilloso said. She pushed away from him and looked at him with great concern. “Why that stunt with the helicopter, Felix? You embarrassed me on worldwide television. You provoked a riot while I was talking to the President of the United States!”

“Carmen, I was out there inspecting that base firsthand—I didn’t go out there to incite a riot or embarrass you,” Diaz said. “It just made me angry that our people were being herded around like that. I wanted to be sure they knew their government was there looking out for them.”

“That is my job, Felix—yours is to inform me of developments like this Rampart One abomination and help me decide the best course of action,” Maravilloso said. “We need to keep avenues of dialogue open with the Americans, not shut them down. Do you understand, Felix?”

“Of course, Madam President.”

The phone on her desk rang. She kissed him again, then held his face between her hands. “What in hell am I going to do with you, Felix Diaz?” she asked, then released him and went to her desk and picked up the phone. “I told you not to disturb me,” she said into the receiver. “I will kick you in the…what? He what? Bring it in here immediately!” She hung up the phone.

“Fifteen minutes, on the dot,” Diaz said.

“This is the real thing, Felix—another videotape by that Veracruz character, released to the press, with a detailed account of the incident in Arizona and calling for a worldwide insurgency against America to avenge the killings.”

“The man might be a genius,” Diaz said. “Imagine the power one could have if she could sway every Hispanic man and woman in the United States, Carmen! Imagine the influence one could have if you could take one tenth of America’s entire workforce and not only order them not to show up for work, but to rise up against their employers! The American government would be forced to make a just deal for worker amnesty!”

“This Fuerza guy is a complete unknown—worse than a loose cannon, he is a criminal with a popular following,” Maravilloso said. “How can you trust someone like that?”

“I think it is worth a try,” Diaz said. “I might be able to use my special investigators, the Sombras, to find this man.”

Maravilloso was silent for a long moment, then: “This is something I cannot support, Felix,” she said finally. “This Fuerza is too dangerous. He could turn on his handlers in an instant, like a wild animal trainer surrounded by lions.”

“You and he, together—it would certainly be a very powerful combination.”

She looked at him with a knowing smile. “Or it could be a disaster, and you would certainly benefit from that, would you not, Felix?” He did not reply. “You are not ready to give up your chance at the presidency of Mexico…for me,” she said. His smile dimmed, only for a moment, but she knew she had hit her target. She made a little show of acting disappointed, happy that she had uncovered a tiny bit of the man, the real man, before her; then, as her assistant came into the office after a very quiet knock, shrugged her shoulders. “Good day to you, Minister Diaz,” she said icily. “Please come again.” Her tense body language and hooded eyes told him the meeting was definitely over—perhaps for good—and he departed with a courteous bow and no words.

Diaz paid courtesy visits on several government officials in the Palacio Nacional, shook hands with visitors, and made a brief statement in the press office about the worsening situation on the U.S.-Mexican border but said that he was confident that all could be resolved peacefully. Then he headed to his waiting car. The Ministry of Internal Affairs was located on the other side of the Federal District from the Palacio Nacional, south of the president’s residence on Constitution Avenue in the center of the Bosque de Chapultepec, so even with a police escort it would take a long time to make it back to his office.

Although Diaz had ready access to a helicopter—he could even fly it himself, and had done so many times— he preferred the relative peace and quiet of his specially outfitted armored Mercedes S600 sedan and its wide array of secure voice, data, and video communications equipment, specially installed himself and tied into the government communications net only one way—he could access all government systems and networks, but they could not access his. With a police escort, he could get back to his office relatively quickly. He donned his lightweight headset and called back to his office and was immediately connected to Jose Elvarez, deputy minister of Internal Affairs, director of operations of the Political Police and of the Sombras, or Special Investigations Unit. “Report, Jose,” Diaz ordered.

“Follow-up report regarding the visit by TALON One and Two and FBI Director DeLaine in San Diego, sir,” Elvarez said. The computer screen in the back of the sedan came to life. It showed a photograph, obviously taken from the ground at a street intersection, through the clear windshield of a dark government-looking armored Suburban. Four persons could clearly be seen in the photo, two men and two women, seated in the rear two forward-facing rows of the vehicle, plus a driver and woman sitting in the front passenger seat. “Subjects were photographed leaving the FBI field office yesterday. The second man has just been identified as Paul Purdy, one of the U.S. Border Patrol agents believed to have been killed near Blythe, California.”

“Mi Dios,” Diaz breathed, studying the digital photo. Damn, a survivor, a witness—that could be a very significant development. “Where did they take him?”

“They first went to Montgomery Airport, where DeLaine, her female bodyguard, and TALON Two were dropped off at her jet, and then the others went to a charity store in downtown San Diego,” Elvarez said. The Sombras had managed to plant tracking devices on most of the American official government vehicles, and although the bugs were usually discovered and deactivated within a few days, quite often they could still get a great amount of useful intelligence from them. “They purchased several bags of clothes.”

“Clothes, eh? From a charity used-clothing store? Sounds like they are going undercover.”

“After that, they went to a market and came out with several more bags of supplies, then got on Interstate 15 northbound. We lost GPS tracking a few minutes later and notified all of our southern California lookouts to watch for the vehicle.”

“And did someone spot it?”

“Yes, sir. It was observed arriving at the U.S. Border Patrol sector field office in Indio, California.”

Interesting, Diaz thought—the heart of the Coachella Valley, with a very large concentration of illegal immigrants and smugglers nearby. “And then?”

“After two hours, TALON One and Purdy were observed wearing civilian clothes and getting into an unmarked civilian-asset-seizure vehicle. We had this vehicle under both electronic and agent surveillance. The vehicle was heading south on Route 196. The agents we had following the vehicle terminated visual contact when they suspected Purdy was making some countersurveillance turns, so we lost visual contact, but we are still tracking it electronically.”

“Interesting,” Diaz commented. “This Border Patrol agent, Purdy, seems quite resourceful. He may require some…diligencia especial.”