Remember The Alamo (21 page)

"I'd like to believe you '

"It's the truth."

"You have no proof that anything's going to happen. The
ceremony may go off without a hitch, and at the end of the
weekend, the Mexicans will return the Alamo just like they're
supposed to"

Dave couldn't hold back a snort of disbelief. "Silvio Cruz
has no reason to lie. We know the Garcia-Lopez cartel is planning something. We know the cartel has ties to the Mexican
government and army. The Reconquistadores are either members of the cartel or Mexican soldiers or both. They're not
some isolated group of crazy terrorists."

"That's pure speculation on your part," Mahone argued.

"It's a theory based on reasonable assumptions ... and like
Phil and I told you when you were still the director of the FBI,
if we're wrong, nothing will happen. So the only reason the
government has to shut us down ... is because somebody high
up is worried that we're right."

The two men stood there, the cups in their hands forgotten
as they met each other's level gaze. Finally, Mahone said, "The
San Antonio police checked with the cops in Matamoros about
your cousin and were told that he was a prominent member of
the cartel who had double-crossed the others and taken off
with a pile of loot he had skimmed."

"You're not telling me anything I don't already know," Dave
snapped.

"You probably don't know this," Mahone went on. "The
Matamoros detective who responded to the query from the
San Antonio PD has some pretty strong ties to the cartel himself. If the stolen money was planted, and if the information
about Cruz was a lie"

"It was"

Mahone went on as if Dave hadn't interrupted. "Then it's
pretty obvious the cartel wanted Cruz's story to be discredited.
They would only go to that much trouble if there was some
truth to what Cruz wrote in that computer file."

Dave nodded. "That's the way we've seen it all along."

"I'm coming around to your way of thinking," Mahone admitted. "My sources in Mexico are getting whispers that
something big is coming up. That comes from the cartel and
the military and from Mexico City, too"

"They're all in it together," Dave whispered in awe. "The
whole damn country."

"Not the common people," Mahone said. "But the politicians and the generals and Garcia-Lopez and his people ...
maybe"

"No maybe about it! A blind man could see it. The only people who can't see it are the ones who don't want to, like the
president and the mayor."

Mahone seemed to remember his coffee. He drank the rest
of it and set the empty cup on a table. "We're wasting our
breath," he said without looking at Dave. "Things have gone
too far to stop them now."

"What if you went to the president-" Dave stopped himself before he even completed the question. "No, that wouldn't
do any good, would it? She'd never listen. She doesn't want to
listen to anybody who disagrees with her liberal ideas."

"The party of tolerance," Mahone said with a bitter edge
to his voice. "The people who think they know what's in a
man's heart and mind because of the color of his skin."

"What about the press?" Dave asked. "You're still respected. Hell, you were the boss of the FBI! If you went to the
news media and told them what you suspect-"

"The story would be quashed, at least at first. The papers in
New York and Washington and L.A. would say that they
couldn't run it without checking it out first, and they'd drag
their feet to make sure the story didn't break until after it's too
late. The same thing goes for the network and cable news
broadcasts. They only run unsubstantiated rumors when they
think it'll hurt some politician they oppose"

"You're saying that it's too late? That there's nothing anybody can do to stop whatever's going to happen?"

"To stop it?" Mahone shook his head. "No, I don't think it
can be stopped. But it can be dealt with. That's what you and
your friends are planning to do, isn't it?"

Dave just looked at him in silence.

Mahone smiled. "You still don't understand, do you, Dave?
I didn't come here tonight to stop you, or even to try to talk
you out of anything."
"

"Then why are you here?" Dave asked.

I came to join you," Mahone said.

The big day had arrived at last, and by the time it was over,
Joaquin Alvarez thought as he woke up that morning, everyone in the country would know his name. He would be famous
for bridging the gap between the United States and Mexico,
and when people began talking about who would be the first
Hispanic president, his name would be at the top of the list.

It was good to be rich, famous, and powerful.

He rolled over in bed, snuggling against the ample butt of
Elena Alicia Obregon, familiar to millions of television viewers for her roles on various telenovelas. He had followed
George's advice and gotten back together with Elena Alicia,
and she would be on the podium this afternoon during the ceremony. Her presence there would be a mixed blessing, Joaquin
thought. It was always good for a politician to have a beautiful, sexy woman on his arm. That appealed to both male and
female voters. But every second the camera was on her and
the camera loved Elena Alicia Obregon--was a second that it
wasn't pointed toward him.

All it had taken to mend the rift between them was a beautiful, expensive necklace, several dozen roses, and a promise
that they could talk about getting married. Elena Alicia had gotten over her hurt feelings pretty quickly after that. According to George, the benefits she would bring to Joaquin's career
were well worth the investment.

Of course, Joaquin would have preferred being with Miranda Watson, the woman he really loved, but Miranda was
black and George said that although blacks and Hispanics generally supported the same candidates, they really didn't like
each other that much and it wouldn't be a good idea for
Joaquin to risk offending his base. The trick was to reach out
to independents while still maintaining solid control of the
base. Joaquin sometimes got confused when George started
talking about polling and demographics and recognizability
vectors and things like that, but George knew what he was
talking about. Joaquin trusted him.

So he would just have to continue seeing Miranda discreetly, whenever he got the chance, and meanwhile enjoy the
benefits of his relationship with Elena Alicia, who was undoubtedly one of the hottest women on the face of the earth.

Yes, it was good to be the mayor of a large, successful city,
an up-and-coming presidential aspirant, and after today, an internationally renowned statesman.

Things just couldn't be going any better for him, Joaquin
Alvarez thought as he reached around the gorgeous telenovela actress in his bed and filled his palm with one of her
full, proud breasts.

George Menendez had gone to sleep in the recliner in his
den the night before, his lap still full of reports and other documents he had been studying before he dozed off. He didn't
wake up until early the next morning, when the cell phone in
his shirt pocket buzzed. Groggy with sleep, he sat up and
shook his head a time or two before he reached for the phone
and flipped it open.

"Menendez"

"Buenos dias, amigo."

George recognized the guttural rasp of General Salgado.
Even though he knew the line was almost certainly secure, he
didn't use the general's name as he said, "Buenos dias."

"How's the weather in San Antonio this morning?"

George didn't know; the curtains were closed over the den's
single window He pushed himself up out of the chair, stumbled
over to the window, and opened the curtains. Sunlight flooded
into the room, making him wince and narrow his eyes against its
glare. He hadn't thought the hour was that late.

"Looks like it's going to be a beautiful day," he told Salgado.

"A momentous day, eh? A day when we reclaim what is
rightfully ours and show the world just how strong we
truly are"

George frowned and pulled the curtains closed again. Salgado didn't need to be talking about this. Both of them knew
what was going to happen today. He supposed the general was
just too proud to contain his emotions.

Salgado's voice roughened as he went on. "Tell me there are
no last-minute problems, amigo."

"There are no problems on this end," George said. Impatience prompted him to add, "As long as your people do as
they're supposed to ""

"My people always do what they are supposed to. Are you
implying that they are not properly trained?"

George heard the angry edge in Salgado's voice and recalled how touchy the general was. He hurried to say, "No, no,
not at all. I'm sure everything will happen just as you planned,
General."

He grimaced as the word slipped out of his mouth. Salgado
didn't seem to notice the potential security breach, however. He
said, "You're going to be a powerful man when this is all over,
my friend. The power behind the throne, as they say."

George knew that Salgado was talking about Joaquin. Great
things were in store for Joaquin. He would go down in history
as the man who brokered the new arrangement between the
United States and Mexico, the arrangement in which the land
that had been stolen from Mexico would be returned to her at
long last, restoring her to the power and the glory that was
rightfully hers.

Joaquin knew nothing of any of this, of course-but he
would find out when the time came. Everything would be laid
before him, and all he would have to do was look handsome
and dignified and sound statesmanlike. George would take
care of everything else. Joaquin wouldn't even have to think,
which wasn't his strong suit, anyway.

Humbly, George said, "I don't matter in all of this. I'm just
doing what I can to help my homeland. Mexico is all that
matters ""

"I am glad to hear you say that, amigo," Salgado said. "If I
was there, we would drink to Mexico. As it is, we will just say,
viva la raza! Viva Mexico!"

Despite the deeply ingrained cynicism that years spent in
the slime of business and politics had given him, George felt
the proud words stir his blood. "Viva Mexico!" he said, his
voice choked with emotion. After today, things would be different. Never again would the world think of his true country
as weak.

After today, everyone would know just how strong Mexico
really was.

"Ah, what a fool," General Salgado said as he set the phone
on the umbrella-shaded table on the terrace of his villa.

Yar Ali Al-Khan sat across from the general, with the remains of their breakfast between the two men. The Arab
sipped from a glass of juice and pointedly kept his eyes averted from the nearby heated pool, where two young women
swam in scandalously skimpy bikinis. Salgado knew that the
sight of their bodies was more than Al-Khan's religion would
permit.

"Your man in San Antonio believes that today's events will
benefit him?" Al-Khan asked.

"Of course. What better way to bend people to your will than
to make them believe that they will profit from it as well?"

Al-Khan smiled. "Is that what we have done with each
other, General?"

"Not at all," Salgado answered without hesitation. "There
is trust between you and me, to be sure, but not blind faith.
Each of us knows that were we to betray the other, our lives
would be worthless. Agents of vengeance would seek us out,
no matter where we hid, and deliver that vengeance."

"Very true " Al-Khan grimaced faintly at the sound of laughter and splashing from the pool. "What about the Americans?"

"Their threat has been dealt with. They have been thoroughly discredited, and no one believes their story. They are
regarded as paranoid fanatics, nothing more"

The Arab pursed his lips. "I would feel better about things
if they were dead. They may try to interfere with our plans."

"We have nothing to fear from them," Salgado insisted. "At
worst, they may try to disrupt the ceremony, and if they do, my
men will deal with them" The general's shoulders rose and fell
in a shrug. "What are a few more dead Americans?"

"A good start?" Al-Khan said, and the fact that the solemn
Arab had made a joke startled Salgado so much that the general let out a hearty bark of laughter.

Only to have Al-Khan frown at him in puzzlement.

After a moment, Salgado realized that Al-Khan hadn't been
joking at all. In the Arab's mind, the death of the American infidels really was a good start....

A good start on the death of millions more.

Dave had called an emergency meeting of the group's leaders the night before. John Howard Stark was staying with Phil,
so they had arrived at the VFW hall together, followed a short
time later by Dieter and Belko, both of whom had taken cheap
motel rooms nearby since they didn't live in San Antonio.
Belko had no close family, so that wasn't too much of a hardship for him, but Dieter's daughter was staying with his parents in Waxahachie and Dave knew he really missed her.

The two of them would be together again soon enough,
Dave hoped.

All four of the other men had looked very surprised when
they walked into the building and found Edward Mahone sitting there with Dave. The former top dog at the FBI wore
khakis and a leather jacket, having abandoned the conservative, buttoned-down look of a veteran federal agent when he
resigned from the directorship. All the others knew Mahone
by sight, even though Phil and Dave were the only ones who
had actually met him before.

"What's he doing here?" Phil had demanded. "Is this
a raid?"

"I asked the same thing," Dave said. "Mr. Mahone's not
here in any official capacity, though"

"Call me Ed," Mahone said in a genial voice.

Phil turned toward him and said, "I call you a man we can't
trust"