America Libre (38 page)

“I’m so glad you could join us,” Ramon replied dryly.

“It’s been a while, man. It’s been a while. You haven’t called me in nearly six months. You dudes seem to be pulling off a
lot of jobs without my help these days. I seen the news of the attack on the Army camp last month. Was that you?”

Mano glared at Nesto. “Who wants to know?”

“Hey, ese, don’t go accusing me of anything, OK?”

“I’ve never trusted you, Nesto,” Mano said, his eyes locked on the mero. “I think you’ll sell us out the day you think you’ve
got a better deal.”

Bluffing, Nesto rose to his feet. “That’s bullshit, man. If you don’t trust me, then I’m outta here.”

“Nesto… Nesto… please forgive Mano,” Ramon said. “He’s only speaking his mind. But you must admit, amigo, your curiosity
is
a little suspicious.”

Nesto dropped back onto the couch. “OK, man. Forget it. I was just going to stroke you dudes on pulling off some of these
jobs without any real weapons.”

“Weapons are what we’re here to talk about. So let’s get to it,” Mano said.

“OK, ese. What do you need?”

“Two dozen AK-47s, twelve RPGs, and fifty pounds of Semtex.”

Nesto’s mouth gaped. “Are you shitting me?”

“We won’t need your services this time, Nesto,” Mano said. “Just the weapons.”

As the shock subsided, images of money began churning in Nesto’s head. This could be a really big score. If he played his
cards right, he could get one final, monster payday before he dropped the dime on the DDP. “That’s a lot of weapons, ese,”
he said, trying to mask his excitement. “How soon will you need them?”

“We need to have everything in our hands by the first week of May.”

Nesto sucked in his breath. “Four weeks… That’s not much time for all that material, man. I’m going to have to check this
out. But I’m guessing it’s going to be steep—at least a hundred thousand, all up front.”

“Seventy-five thousand,” Ramon said. “and you’ll get half in advance as we’ve always arranged it.”

“It’s not going to happen, ese. You’re not going to get that much material into the zone without some serious cash up front.
I’ve got to grease a lot of palms, man.”

Ramon shrugged his shoulders. “As you observed, Nesto, we haven’t needed your services for nearly a year. So it’s up to you.
That’s our offer.”

Nesto rubbed his chin, trying to appear reluctant. “OK, man. I’ll set it up. But I’m going to need the cash right away.”

Ramon picked up a backpack next to his chair and tossed it into Nesto’s lap. “Count it.”

Nesto unzipped the bag and saw the bundles of small bills inside. “No need, man. You’ve never shorted me before. I doubt you’re
going to start now.”

Leaving the dingy apartment with his escorts, Nesto was secretly exultant. He was about to save his skin with the CIA—and
still score his biggest payday yet. All he had to do was play this right.

After returning to his barrio, he dialed the number for Bill Perkins at the CIA.

“Something big is going down in May, man,” the mero of El Farol said into his baby blue vu-phone.

“Yes, Carol. I think we can trust our mole on this one,” Evans said into his PC.

Looking at the glaring face of Carol Phelps on his computer monitor, Evans could tell his boss was unconvinced. “A report
about a Pancho national offensive will have to go all the way to the White House, Hank. I don’t have to tell you the consequences
of getting this wrong.”

Evans swallowed hard. “Yes, I know,” he said cautiously. “But this can’t be a trap. All our mole told us was about a big weapons
buy, not a specific location. The rebels have nothing to gain by having us ready.”

“The Panchos are not the only military threat we’re facing. If we load up at home, we’re going to be weaker somewhere else.”

“I don’t get it, Carol. You told me to put the squeeze on our mole and now you’re balking because we came up with something
big?”

Phelps stared at Evans coldly from the screen. “All right, Hank. I’m going to send this upstairs,” she said icily. “But let
me assure you… if this goes wrong, I will have your balls parboiled.”

Two days later, preparations for a nationwide insurgent assault began. Military units throughout the Southwest were placed
on DefCon 2, the highest state of alert short of war. The equipment of many homeland units was upgraded and reservists due
for discharge were retained for another two-month stint. In addition, orders were issued for several elite units to be quietly
shipped stateside, including the fearsome Delta Force, cleared for domestic operations for the first time since the 1987 riots
at Atlanta’s federal prison. As a final precaution, military reconnaissance satellites were temporarily diverted to domestic
surveillance.

After months of being caught off guard, the U.S. intelligence community had finally produced a break. If a widespread attack
was coming, the U.S. military would be ready.

A
ll right. This is far enough. It’s time for you two to go home,” Ramon said to Jo and Mano as the three of them approached
the hidden entrance to the tunnel. “You can’t go all the way to Switzerland with me.”

Groping in the moonlight, Mano found the entryway’s concealed handle and lifted the camouflaged trap door. A handmade ladder
led into the pitch-black below.

Jo leaned forward and kissed Ramon’s forehead. “Adios, Ramon,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Travel safe, hermano.”

“Thanks, Josefina. I’ll be fine,” Ramon answered, patting her cheek. “Give ’em hell on Marcha’s birthday.”

Mano extended his palm toward Ramon. “Try not to freeze, old man,” he said, trying to keep his emotions in check.

Instead of shaking his hand, Ramon spread his arms. “Don’t be such a gabacho,” he said, stepping forward and hugging his friend.

Mano felt his throat tighten as he gently clapped Ramon’s bony back. “Vaya con Dios,” he said softly.

Ramon stepped back and laughed. “Speaking Spanish? My God, Mano. You
are
taking this seriously. This is a farewell, hombre, not a funeral.”

“Watch yourself near the border,” Jo cautioned. “The patrols have increased lately.”

Ramon winked as he adjusted the straps on his backpack. “The baldie hasn’t been born that can catch
this
old gray fox,” he said before climbing down the ladder.

Mano watched Ramon turn on his flashlight and disappear into the tunnel’s darkness. If all went well, Ramon would reach Geneva
in a few days. There, he would join Octavio Perez on a historic mission.

Three days earlier, the United Nations had passed Venezuela’s resolution. Two representatives from the Hispanic Republic of
North America would be granted non-voting seats in the U.N. General Assembly. Only the United States had voted against the
move. Great Britain and Israel had abstained.

True to his word, President Brenner recalled the U.S. representatives to the United Nations the same day. In Washington, the
White House began lobbying Congress for passage of the latest resolution by Congressman Melvin Bates calling for a full U.S.
withdrawal from the United Nations and the expulsion of the U.N. from American soil. Anticipating the move, the U.N. announced
it would be moving its international headquarters to Geneva.

Following the United States’ withdrawal, U.N. secretary-general Balraj Mehra addressed the General Assembly from its complex
on the banks of the East River in New York for the last time. In the speech, Mehra denounced the United States as a rogue
nation behaving outside established international law—law, Mehra pointed out, the U.S. itself had helped create as a founding
member of the United Nations.

At that moment, the globe’s power structure began dividing into two hostile blocs. In one camp was the U.S., the planet’s
last remaining superpower—and in the other, virtually the rest of the world.

Between the two lay the powder keg of the Marcha Offensive.

THE MARCHA
OFFENSIVE

N
esto followed the two burly Verdugos through the doorway of the abandoned Holiday Inn and found Jo in the litter-strewn lobby.
“What the hell is going on, chica?” he said to her. “Your boys here got me out of bed at seven on a Sunday morning. This better
be important, goddammit.”

Before Jo could answer, the two young vatos closed to within inches of Nesto’s face, glaring at him menacingly. Although Rafael
and Enrique spoke little English, Nesto’s tone of disrespect toward one of their leaders did not sit well with them.

“What’s the matter, Nesto?” Jo said. “Are you worried you’ll miss Sunday Mass?”

Nesto’s indignation quickly cooled under the stares of the beefy guards. “OK, OK… What are we doing in this low-rent joint
anyway?”

“Follow me,” Jo said, leading Nesto and his escorts through a series of doors into the kitchen of the empty hotel.

The long steel counters, once used for food preparation, were now covered with a hodgepodge of electronic devices. On the
left counter were four laptops, three fax machines, and a switchboard-style desk phone. Along the right counter, a bank of
high-def plasma sets was tuned to the major networks and CNN. Behind the devices, a tangle of wires led to a gas-powered electrical
generator, which operated near the empty pool in the facility’s central courtyard.

“You trying to start some kinda pawn shop or something?” Nesto said, glancing at the mostly outdated equipment.

“We may need you for some information today, Nesto. We’ve got a nice comfy seat for you over there,” she said, gesturing toward
a collection of metal folding chairs in a corner of the kitchen.

Nesto scanned the room again. “I get it,” he said. “Today is the big day.”

Jo was not surprised by the mero’s deduction. Nesto had become a leader by using his wits and cunning to best much bigger
men.

As Nesto sauntered toward the chairs, Rafael and Enrique in tow, Jo was grateful once again to Mano for the foresight to bring
Nesto here. The mero’s exposure to the workings of the CIA might prove useful today. But more important, they had Nesto where
they could keep an eye on him. On the loose, his knowledge might prove disastrous during the offensive.

Mano’s principles had shaped the choice of targets for today’s offensive: they would attack only unmanned facilities and military
garrisons. Mano had insisted they minimize the risk to civilians. His ideals were not abstract political concepts. They were
based on common decency and compassion. His unerring moral compass had made Jo face up to the ruthlessness of her own zeal.

She hoped the surprise she’d arranged for Mano today would help atone for her past failings. It had eaten up a great deal
of her remaining wealth. But Mano’s homecoming tonight would be one he would remember for the rest of his life. A pang of
sorrow pierced Jo as she realized she could never be a part of that life.

You haven’t got the time for sorrow—or guilt—right now
, she told herself. There was work to be done. By force of will, she turned her attention to the array of machines along the
counter in front of her. A flurry of readiness reports was coming in from their teams across the country.