Edge of Battle

“Issuing more instructions to the faithful patriots of Mexico, Madam President,” Fuerza said. He started the recording and let her listen to it; when he saw that she was getting ready to explode with indignation and anger, he stopped the tape. “You agree with my sentiments, do you not, Madam President?”

“You have no right to speak for the government, senor,” Maravilloso said worriedly. “What kind of plan is this? Tell our people to just leave? Thousands, perhaps millions of people will be homeless and penniless. They will be targets of racists and xenophobes, not to mention the American immigration authorities, who will round up and detain everyone heading south.”

“I am hoping that is exactly what they try to do,” Fuerza said. “They will quickly be overwhelmed and will commence mass deportations…”

“Which we will then have to absorb,” Maravilloso said. “Once they are no longer America’s problem, the issue will evaporate.”

“Except for the thousands of American employers, farmers, and households who will be screaming for the return of their cheap laborers,” Fuerza said. “Trust me, Madam President: the American government will be calling you in no time, wishing to issue a joint statement promising immigration simplification, a relaxation of immigrant worker rules, greatly increased allocations of work visas, better pay for immigrant workers, and a host of other reforms.”

“You sound very well informed and very sure of yourself—for a drug and weapon smuggler,” Maravilloso said. She stepped closer to Fuerza, studying him carefully. “Who are you really, senor?” she asked. “Obviously you wear a disguise, and I would even guess that you are not injured and your bandages are part of your disguise.”

Fuerza stood and approached the president. She did not want to show any fear, but she glanced over to be sure the men of the Political Police were nearby and ready to protect her. “You are indeed a very beautiful woman, Madam President,” he said.

“Gracias, Comandante,” she responded. She looked deeply into Fuerza’s uncovered eye, shaking from both fear and delight at the same time. “I…I think you are a great man, a true inspiration to the people of Mexico. But your words are dangerous, senor. Won’t you consider changing that recording?”

“I can deny you nothing, Madam President…”

“Carmen. Please call me Carmen, senor.”

“Carmen. Your name is as beautiful and as powerful as the woman herself.” He stepped closer. His first touch was electrifying, but his kiss was a million-volt charge running up and down her spine. The fear was still there, but his passion, his fire, was like a narcotic, rushing through her…

And then she froze, opened her eyes, and saw Fuerza smiling at her, and he saw the realization dawn in her eyes—she knew that she had willingly fallen into a trap she had suspected was there all along. Her lips curled into a snarl, her eyes blazed with white-hot anger, and her fingers became claws, tearing away at the bandages covering his face.

“This is why I love you so much, Carmen,” Minister of Internal Affairs Felix Diaz said, grasping her wrists. “You are so fiery, so passionate—and so damned predictable.” He pushed her away roughly, right into the arms of two Political Police Sombras agents behind her, who held her arms tightly. Diaz removed his bandanna and started to undo the bandages on his face. “You made it so easy for me to execute my plan.”

“I knew it, Diaz,” she snapped, struggling to regain her composure and regain the upper hand here. “I always knew it! You were too nice to be a politician, and I was too blind or too stupid to notice.”

“You were too busy posing for Paris Match and People magazine and screwing me on your desk, Carmen.”

“Bastard!” She jerked her arms free of the agents holding her, then reached down to her wristwatch and pressed the hidden alert button on the back.

“The alarm works, Carmen,” Diaz said casually, “but only my men are stationed outside—and do not forget that it is my men that protect the Federal District. No one will respond here unless I authorize it.”

“Puto!” Maravilloso screamed. “I suspected from the day we first met that you were not just some milquetoast rich boy with delusions of grandeur. I should have seen through the disguise long ago.” She looked around the room, hoping that one of the agents would come to her rescue, but knowing that was never going to happen. Her attention was drawn to a man in a seat in the corner, watching all that transpired with an amused smile on his face. “Who is that man?”

“Perdon mis maneras pobres, Madam Presidente,” the man said, standing and bowing slightly. “Mi nombre es Coronel Yegor Viktorvich Zakharov.”

“Zakharov!” Maravilloso exclaimed. “My God…Diaz, you are working with Colonel Yegor Zakharov, the world’s number one most-wanted criminal? There are a dozen countries that would throw you in prison for twenty years just for being associated with him!” She glared at him in total confusion. “Is he the puppet master, pulling all the strings in this marionette show of yours?”

“I have my own agenda, Madam President, and I guarantee you, it does not include anything concerning the government of Mexico,” Yegor Zakharov said. “I need ‘Comandante Veracruz’ and the Sombras in order to complete my mission in the United States. Once both our objectives are reached, with all of our mutual assurances, I will be out of your lives forever.” Zakharov stepped closer to Maravilloso and removed his sunglasses, letting her see his empty eye socket for the first time. He ran a hand across her cheek, then down her neck to her breasts and belly. “You truly are beautiful, Madam President.”

“Screw you, pija,” Maravilloso spat, slapping Zakharov’s hand away. “You don’t scare me with this boogeyman act of yours. I know lots of Mexican grandmothers with more horrifying faces than yours.” She turned to Diaz, hoping—no, praying—that every second she could delay the inevitable meant one more chance for her to survive. “What is the meaning of all this, Felix? Who are you? Are you the lapdog of a Russian terrorist, or are you the true Mexican revolutionary patriot I had always wanted ‘Comandante Veracruz’ to be?”

“I am the patriot who just heard the president of Mexico agree to kiss the ass of the American president and allow an army of imperialist assassins to come into our country,” Diaz said. “I had hoped the fire still burned in your belly, but it clearly has gone out. It is time to start the insurgency, the real revolution. It is time for the Mexican people to come out of the shadows and take their rightful place in society. It is time for the rights and welfare of hardworking Mexicans to be part of our foreign policy, not work in opposition to it. I hoped that you and I could lead this fight together, but like all the others, you sold out. You never truly believed that the people of Mexico could be anything else but third-rate citizens of a third-rate nation. The revolution means nothing to you.”

“Then teach me, Felix,” Maravilloso said softly, earnestly. “I am a woman and an entertainer. I do not have your vision. But I love you, and I have always thought you would make a great president. I wished for nothing except to be by your side, as your adviser as well as your lover.” She stepped closer to him, then placed her hands on his chest. “Take me, Felix,” she implored, looking deeply into his eyes, pressing herself against him. “Take my hand, take my heart, take my soul. I am ready to believe you. Tell me your vision for our country, and I will use all my powers to help you achieve it.”

Felix Diaz nodded, closed his eyes, and placed his hands in hers, holding her closely. “Very well, Carmen. This is my vision, my love.”

That was the last thing she would ever hear, except for the sudden roaring in her ears and the sound of her own muffled screams as the towel soaked with ketamine, a fast-acting veterinary anesthetic used to euthanize animals, was pressed over her nose and mouth. In seconds Maravilloso lost control of her voluntary muscles, so she was unable to struggle with Jose Elvarez, her assailant; in less than thirty seconds she was unconscious; and in less than a minute she was dead.

“Too bad she had to be eliminated—she was an extraordinarily beautiful woman,” Yegor Zakharov said idly as he watched four Sombras carry the body out of the office. “I trust you have a foolproof cover story prepared for her untimely death?”

“I have been working for months to plant incriminating evidence in her homes, her prior places of employment, her ex-husband’s and parents’ home, and her office,” Diaz said. “An investigation would eventually