Edge of Battle

turn up enough long-standing corroborating evidence to make even General Alberto Rojas believe she did away with herself with a drug overdose. Distraught and under pressure from the disasters on the border, plus her earlier transgressions such as looting the treasury and establishing foreign bank accounts, she overdosed on heroin. Her medical records even hint at a possible heroin addiction when she was on TV. There is evidence of payoffs to a jealous homosexual lover for any really dedicated investigative journalists to discover. The ketamine will dissolve in less than an hour—there will be no trace of it to discover if there is an autopsy.”

“It seems you have done your homework, Diaz—I hope you know what you’re doing,” Zakharov said. “What about the rest of the Council of Government?”

“I get reports every half hour on their exact whereabouts,” Diaz said. “I have already targeted a few for elimination, such as General Rojas, if they become troublesome. I am not too concerned with the others. They care about their jobs, pensions, and girlfriends more than who is running the government. They have their escape plans ready.”

“I congratulate you, sir—it appears to be a fairly well-organized coup,” Zakharov said. “I thank you for rescuing me, but I must depart immediately. I have unfinished business in the United States.”

“With the robot and the American officer?” Diaz asked. “Have you been able to figure out how the thing works?”

“It responds to voice commands—that is all I know,” Zakharov admitted. “But there must be a way that a new user can employ the device without extensive training.”

“So you must convince Richter to reprogram the device to allow anyone to pilot it? Do you think that will be difficult?”

“Richter is a U.S. Army officer, but he was trained as an engineer, not a field combat officer,” Zakharov said. “My guess is that he will crack fairly easily under interrogation. But I will probably use drugs anyway to speed the process. Once we have control of the robot, he can be eliminated.”

“The Ministry of Internal Affairs has an extensive medical facility and interrogation centers set up to do exactly as you wish,” Diaz said. “We can transfer him here and begin immediately.”

“I prefer to do my own interrogation, Diaz.”

“Of course. But why not enjoy some Mexican hospitality for a while, polkovnik? ”

“My mission is still incomplete.”

“Your mysterious task in Amarillo, Texas?” Zakharov said nothing, but looked suspiciously at Diaz. “There are not many military-significant targets in that part of Texas, Colonel, so I have taken the liberty of having my operations staff draw up some general plans for an assault on some of the facilities they believe would make useful targets.” Now Zakharov looked plainly worried—he didn’t like outsiders horning in on his operations. “If you tell me your specific objective, I can arrange to have well-trained, well-equipped, and experienced scouts, intelligence agents, workers on the inside, and saboteurs in place well in time for you, your men, and the robot to begin your operation.”

“I can handle all that myself, Diaz,” Zakharov said. “Our original deal was to get my men and me to Amarillo. If you can get us there immediately with Richter and the robot, our business will be completed and you can carry on with your plan to take over the government.”

“But you agreed to help train my men and provide security for…”

“That deal is terminated, Diaz,” Zakharov said. “You are on the threshold of taking control of the entire Mexican government. You don’t need me anymore.”

“Alliances and loyalties change at the drop of a hat around here, Colonel. I need someone who will fight for me, not for the highest bidder. And with you in control of the robot, our power will be unquestioned.” Zakharov was unmoved by that argument. “I’ll double your pay and pay double that for use of the robot, plus another one hundred thousand dollars to sign with me for just sixty days.”

“Not interested, Diaz.”

“Thirty days, then, and I’ll pay two hundred and fifty thousand dollars as a bonus.”

“Not interested.”

A flash of anger flashed across Diaz’s face, and for a moment Zakharov was certain he was going to explode and order his men to try something; instead, Diaz smiled confidently. “Then I have an interesting tidbit of information to pass along in exchange for one more operation by your men inside the United States for me.”

“I know now why your information is always so accurate, ‘Comandante Minister,’” Zakharov acknowledged. “What this time?”

“I did some checking on one of your friends, the lovely Dr. Ariadna Vega.”

“So?”

“As it so happens, Colonel, she is an illegal emigre from Mexico.”

“What?”

“I found her Mexican birth certificate and those of her parents,” Diaz said. “Her father is a university engineering professor in southern California; her mother works in her husband’s office. They are all illegals, overstaying the father’s educational visa obtained over thirty years ago to attend the University of Southern California. She obtained false birth records that allowed her to be accepted into classified government research programs.”

“So not only illegal—but criminal?” Zakharov exclaimed. “How perfect! How ironic…the deputy commander of America’s military task force charged with border security to be from a family of illegal aliens? I would like to pay a visit to Dr. Vega’s family.”

“Now who is taking chances here, tovarisch polkovnik?”

“You worry about yourself and forget about me, Veracruz…Fuerza…Diaz, whatever the hell your name is now,” Zakharov warned.

“Very well, Colonel,” Diaz said, smiling casually. “You shall have support from the Internal Affairs Ministry to get you back to the United States together with your men and equipment.”

“Gracias, Diaz,” Zakharov said. “But I warn you: if I even sniff the faintest whiff of a double-cross, you will be the next illegal immigrant casualty–turned buzzard food rotting in the California desert.”

It wasn’t until Zakharov was escorted out by Diaz’s Sombras that Diaz’s deputy, Jose Elvarez, fastened the holster strap over his pistol at his side and buttoned his suit jacket again. “The quicker we get rid of him, the better I’ll feel, sir,” he said.

“I as well, Jose,” Diaz said. “But not before we get our hands on that robot he stole. That thing could be more valuable than any mercenary army he could ever raise in a lifetime.”

“Then why do we not simply eliminate him right now and take his prisoner and that machine?” Elvarez asked. “His men are good, and their security is strong, but they cannot withstand an attack by the entire ministry.”

“Because he has one more important function to serve for us, and then we will let the Americans deal with him,” Diaz said. “I need to know precisely when he begins to move against Vega’s family. It might be right away.”

“Do you believe he will risk discovery by going after the family, sir?”

“He is obsessed with revenge so strong that it overrides any common sense or tactical advantage the man possesses—almost to the point where he might forget this suicide plan in Amarillo, Texas,” Diaz said. “We need to be close to him in case he asks us for our help in Texas. But he really wants revenge on the ones who defeated him the first time. He’ll do it, I’m positive—and we need to be ready when he does.”

SUMMERLIN, NEAR LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING

“Did you hear Veracruz’s last message, Bob?” Fand Kent said excitedly.

“Yes, of course I heard it,” Bob O’Rourke said on his cellular phone as he took a sip of coffee in the kitchen of his five-thousand-square-foot luxury home in an exclusive gated community west of Las Vegas. “So what? It’s just