chair and the other on the desk, Zavala was leaning forward over Molina's right shoulder, reading a document Molina was reviewing.
Looking across the room at his fellow conspirators, Guajardo suddenly felt self-conscious about the state of his uniform. Having stopped only to wash his hands and shave, he wore the same uniform that he had worn for the last twenty-four hours. Besides being dusty with a sprinkling of dirt, mud, and grass stains, it had a peculiar smell that was a mixture of aviation hydraulic fluid, sweat, and the pungent odor of burnt flesh.
Any reservations Guajardo had about his appearance were soon brushed aside by the greeting given him by Colonel Hernando Molina, chairman of the Council of 13, president of the provisional government, and godfather to Guajardo's oldest son. As soon as Molina saw Guajardo, a smile lit his face as he practically jumped up out of his seat. 'Alfredo! My friend! How glad I am to see you.'
Guajardo's unexpected appearance and Molina's sudden and exuberant reaction to him caught Zavala off- guard. He was practically knocked down as Molina moved around the desk in a rush and grasped Guajardo's right hand with both of his and began to pump it vigorously. 'We have done it, my friend. We have stepped forward and done that which should have been done years ago.'
'It has only started.'
Without acknowledging Guajardo's laconic response or expressionless face, Molina led Guajardo to a large, overstuffed leather chair. 'Yes, yes, we have much to do, but at least we are finally doing something. Come, sit and give me your report.'
Before he turned to sit, Guajardo's eyes fell upon the red, white, and green sash that had been the president's badge of office. The sash was haphazardly draped across the back of the chair where Molina had taken him. For a moment, Guajardo wondered if Molina's choice of seating was an intentional insult to the office that the sash represented, or if he was simply overwhelmed by the enthusiasm of the moment and the overpowering feeling of relief one experiences when action allows the release of nervous tension and stress. If there was a hidden meaning in this action, it was far too subtle for Guajardo's practical, and tired, mind.
Turning his back to the sash, he sat down and eased himself into a comfortable position.
Moving to a chair similar to the one Guajardo was seated in, Molina sat. His actions, his expressions, and his manner were those of an excited man, a man with much to do and little time. Molina's excitement was not based on panic, fear, or confusion. Guajardo and those members of the council who considered him a friend knew better. Molina, a colonel of infantry, had the reputation throughout the Army as a man who feared no one and nothing. Even in the greatest of adversity, he kept his head and functioned with a cold machinelike precision, efficiency, and ruthlessness, earning him the nickname 'the Shark.' Guajardo surmised that it was the sudden rush of events of the past twelve hours that animated Molina, for he had felt the same. No doubt, all the members of the council, after secretly planning and plotting for months while suppressing the fear of betrayal or failure, felt great exhilaration at finally being able to release their stress through action.
'So, tell me, my friend, is everything in order?'
Guajardo closed his eyes and nodded slowly. He then opened his eyes and recounted his actions since leaving Victoria in a low, steady voice.
'The president with his party, including the secretaries of finance, national defense, programming and budget, and the comptroller general boarded the presidential plane. The two F-5 interceptors that were to track the presidential jet were airborne and in a holding pattern north of Victoria when the presidential jet departed. According to the Air Force, based on transmissions from the president's plane and the manner in which it flew, no one on it detected the interceptors during the flight.
'As soon as possible, I left Victoria and followed the president's plane in my helicopter. En route, the interceptors reported when the president's plane went in and its location. They remained on station over the wreckage until I arrived. Before departing, the flight leader reported that, as best they could tell, no one arrived at the site before I did. The team with me confirmed this once we were on the ground.' Finished, Guajardo leaned back further into the chair.
There was a momentary silence as Molina waited for Guajardo to continue. When he didn't, Molina, in a quiet and almost faltering voice, asked the question that bothered him the most. 'Did you, could you confirm that the president was dead?'
Under ordinary circumstances, Guajardo would have lost his patience and not have answered such a stupid question. But these were not normal times. Molina, like Guajardo, was operating under a great deal of stress and pressure as they carried out an intricate and fast-paced plan to decapitate the government of Mexico and replace it with the Council of 13.
In such an operation, it was wrong to assume and sometimes the obvious must be confirmed.
Before answering, Guajardo looked up at the ceiling. He continued to stare at the ceiling as he spoke. 'When the aircraft impacted, it was almost completely vertical and nose-down, causing it to collapse upon itself. Imagine, if you can, a full-size 727 compacted into a heap less than a fifth its original length.' Guajardo paused to let this image sink in.
'Fire broke out almost immediately and covered not only the wreckage but the area immediately around it. When I arrived, it was still burning.
The molten aluminum and twisted wreckage fused into a single great smoldering lump. Even if I had been able to get close, there was no way to sort out what charred remains belonged to the president.' Turning his hard gaze toward Molina, he added, 'I doubt even our best pathologist could.'
With that, both men lapsed again into silence, averting their eyes to the floor. Without looking up, Molina spoke first. 'I am sorry for being so boorish, my friend. I simply had to hear you say it. You understand. The vision of the failed Soviet coup several years ago still haunts me.'
Without looking at him, Guajardo shook his head before he responded.
'The Russians were fools. They didn't have the stomach to do what was necessary.' Then, Guajardo chuckled and looked up at Molina. 'You know, it's almost ironic. The very people who made the saying 'You can't make an omelet without cracking a few eggs' a cliche didn't have the nerve to eliminate Yeltsin and Gorbachev. Who would have thought that we would live to see the day when the head of the KGB would hesitate to pull the trigger?'
Molina sighed, smiling as he spoke. 'Yes, who would have thought?
At least, my friend, we were able to learn from their errors. It seems none of our brothers suffer from a weak stomach.'
Then Guajardo, his face reverting to an expressionless mask, asked point-blank how much longer he and the other members of the Council of 13 were going to have pretend that the president's death was an accident and not the first stroke of the New Revolution.
Molina, glad that Guajardo had changed the subject, smiled. 'Soon, my friend, soon. In fact, at noon, I will make a public announcement. In the meantime, we say nothing. Our deception has worked. All the key officials, as well as the leadership of the opposition parties, rushed to their offices when they were informed that Montalvo's plane was missing. It seems that everyone was anxious to see how they could further their own position as a result of the president's death. Without exception, none of them were prepared for the reception they found.'
Yes, Guajardo thought. What they found must have come as a shock to many of them. He could almost envision the scene, repeated a hundred times in the last few hours across Mexico. Informed that the president was missing, Montalvo's advisors and assistants, as well as the leaders of the PSUM and PAN parties, would immediately rush to their offices.
Instead of finding their own trusted staffs ready to take advantage of such a crisis, each of the president's men and opposition leaders found a young Army or Air Force officer, hand-picked by members of the Council of 13.
Accompanied by two or three armed soldiers, the officer executed his instruction to the letter, either placing the surprised official under arrest or, as the American CIA liked to put it, 'terminating the target with extreme prejudice' on the spot. Few would live long enough to realize that the officer and the soldiers with him were the same people who had been responsible for agitating the workers across Mexico to strike, precipitating the crisis that had set the stage for the New Revolution. In retrospect, Guajardo had to agree that it had been better to do things this way, rather than send bands of armed soldiers careening about the country like a bunch of American cowboys hunting their targets.
From where he had been left standing, Colonel Zavala broke the trance that both Molina and Guajardo had lapsed into. 'Colonel Molina, should I come back later to confirm the names on this list?'
