The Surge - 03 (25 page)

In less than 30 minutes, the reserve tank of “Freon,” and new capacitor were installed on the building’s primary HVAC unit. Using an ice pick, the technician then inflicted a small, pinhead-sized puncture in a tube leading to the main air induction ducts.

Holding his breath, he opened the reserve tank’s valve and scurried for the door.

As he exhaled and breathed on the stairwell, he knew the reaction was silly. It would be at least 30 minutes before the pressure on the coolant tank bled enough to release the secondary’s gas. While he’d not been told exactly what was inside the package, it wasn’t difficult to guess.

Fifteen minutes later, he was leaving the base, happy to be done with the task, and looking forward to relocating to Brazil. The airline tickets were already in his glovebox, a bird to freedom that was leaving that very evening, well before anyone would come around asking difficult questions.

With his HVAC skills, a pre-arranged work visa, and the $100,000 U.S. he’d soon be paid, life was surely about to improve.
My portly wife will never find me
, he grunted, relishing the thought of the beaches and Rio’s decadent lifestyle.

Aside from the money and a new start, the tech felt a strong sense of gratification derived from revenge. The Marines had gunned down his brother three years ago, an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire between the cartel and the government.

The money might be nice, a welcome, once-in-a-lifetime windfall. The arrangements to relocate even better. To live in a place with more opportunity and less violence was a Godsend. None of that, however, could compare to the satiation derived from the sweet taste of vengeance that rolled across the palette of his soul.

“I assure you that I personally had no knowledge that such research was being conducted,” Heidi Clifton informed President Simmons. “I would never have supported such an endeavor.”

The republic’s chief executive was skeptical, but decided now wasn’t the time. “I understand, Madam President. There have been numerous examples of government-supported projects that have been difficult to unwind post-secession. I believe it is in both of our nation’s best interests to determine the path forward, not point fingers of blame over the past.”

“I agree. What do you recommend?”

Damn her
, Simmons thought.
That woman treats us like some backwater tribe until there’s a catastrophe brewing. Then she is happy to stand aside and let us lead the way into the slaughter. I’m sure she’ll be happy to arrive after the battle is over and bayonet the wounded.

Clearing his throat, Simmons offered, “I think President Salinas needs to hear the truth – from both of us.”

There wasn’t an immediate response, almost as if the veteran Washington politician was having trouble choosing her words. Finally she answered, “There are many different ways to phrase the truth, Mr. President. We should be extremely careful how we present the facts to our mutual southern neighbor … and the world.”

It was Simmons’s turn to be coy. “How would you suggest we proceed, Madam President?”

“Before we get to that, I believe it’s important for both of us to consider the ramifications beyond Mexico and Latin America. There are certain nations that would take extreme poetic license with any statement we make. North Korea comes to mind, as do Russia and China. If we’re not careful, their propaganda machines will begin spewing tall tales that have both of us developing offensive biological weapons – and deploying them against peaceful neighbors. We’ll both be reading headlines about a new arms race, something neither of us needs before the next election. Every treaty negotiation, peace conference, trade agreement, and diplomatic encounter for the next ten years is going to throw these events right into our faces.”

“Go on,” Simmons said, wondering where Heidi was going.

“I suggest we downplay the entire affair. I recommend we classify many of the details as secret and place the majority of the blame on over-zealous private enterprise.”

Simmons didn’t like it, but he had to admit President Clifton had a valid set of points. “And Mexico? The people?”

Heidi’s response carried a dismissive tone, “We’ll both send help … lots of help. Between our two nations and the World Health Organization, we’ll stop this thing in its tracks and end the crisis. Later, after the dust has settled, we will throw some juicy foreign aid at Mexico City to make nice. It’s how things are done.”

When the Texas leader didn’t respond, President Clifton continued, “Let me have some of our best over at the State Department prepare a release. I will have it sent to you before we go public with anything. Agreed?”

Simmons didn’t have a better solution, and he begrudgingly had to admit that Washington’s diplomats had far more experience with such matters than his staff in Austin. “Agreed.”

President Salinas scanned his senior advisors with an expression that managed to encompass fear, anger, and a deep sense of loss.

He found very few eyes meeting his own, most of the gathered secretaries and officials still fixated on the speakerphone that had just delivered news of their worst nightmare. The cartels had a weapon of mass destruction. They were deploying it. God only knew when or where they would stop.

“It is good that Presidents Simmons and Clifton have pledged their support,” Salinas began, trying to muster bravado when in truth he felt none.

“The gringos unleash a tiger in our village, and then offer to provide U.S. bullets to hunt it down – after it has eaten the children,” mumbled the Secretary of Interior. “With such friends, who needs the cartels?”

“Both of them were hedging,” noted another. “They never tell the entire truth when they fuck up.”

Salinas shrugged, “Would we? Have we been honest with our people and ourselves? The Americans didn’t send the bio-weapon to our country. The Texans didn’t invite the cartels to invade their territory and steal the germs. The blame doesn’t rest entirely on their shoulders.”

“Will any of that matter to our people?” grumbled the Secretary of Health. “There is a mass panic brewing in the streets. The pressure has been building like the magma of a volcano preparing to erupt. Our citizens have barely managed to tolerate the corruption, violence, and lack of justice that has commanded Mexico for generations. We’ve had outbreaks of vigilantism, a mass exodus of our most talented professionals, and now this … this attack. I fear for our country. I fear for our people.”

The president’s gaze again canvassed the faces that surrounded him, giving all of them a chance for their voices to be heard. When no other comment was offered, he continued, “If Mexico is to survive as a sovereign nation, we must all pull together and summon every last bit of greatness in our souls. This crisis must bring out the best in all of us. We owe it to our people. We owe it to our great nation.”

“What do you propose, sir?” a voice from the far end of the table queried.

Salinas pondered the question for only a few moments before he spread his hands and said, “We must give our citizens something to rally around. We must give them a reference point to focus their hatred and fear. Until we can bring this Texas-born death under control, we must provide a channel for the grieving, rage, and terror that will surge through our populace.”

He had their attention now. For the first time since the foreign leaders had dropped the bioterrorism bomb, the leadership of Mexico was engaged. Their leader evidently had a plan, and in the vacuum of hopelessness that filled the room, any course of action would be welcome.

The president, sensing the momentum, continued, “I will go before the people and be forthright about the challenge we face. The blame, however, will not reside in Mexico City or with the cartels. We didn’t create this horror.… This plague wasn’t a product of our military or industry. If the United States and Texas hadn’t been dealing with the Satan, his demons wouldn’t have been loosed to ravage our countryside. The people need to know this.”

Many of the officials grasped Salinas’s concept instantly. They were educated people, well versed in a history that was ripe with examples where challenged rulers had redirected the ire, rage, and hatred of their citizens when faced with extreme challenges or external threats.

Hitler had used the Jews as a lightning rod, refocusing the German population’s frustration with deplorable economic conditions. Stalin had used the West to rally the people to his cause. Japan had used the Chinese as they expanded their empire across the Pacific Ocean.

“We will put the blame directly where it belongs,” Salinas stated without emotion. “We will point our people’s pain and suffering to the north.”       

For the first time in his adult life, Vincent smiled while watching a national press conference. It was the only time he could ever remember cheering a Mexican President as he spoke to the people. He had to give the man credit; Salinas was definitely inspired today.

On and on, the politician droned, hammering home the message that the United States and Texas were doing what they had always done – treating their good-hearted Mexican neighbors like dogs.

El General had to admit, the man was doing a damn good job of bashing his fellow heads of state. Salinas didn’t come right out and say that the gringos were deliberately trying to destroy their neighbor to the south. He didn’t specifically point a finger at any single person, race, or political party. Yet the meaning was clear – the superpowers to the north had gotten sloppy, and now the poor, undeserving citizens of Mexico were paying the price.

When the speech arrived at the point where Salinas promised to lead his people out of the crisis, Vincent lost interest. When the president began promising a massive international response, the Gulf Cartel jefe turned off the television.

Turning to Ghost, El General sighed, “They are reacting just as anticipated.”

“More inspired perhaps, but yes, El General, just as we predicted.”

Vincent rubbed his chin for a moment. “As our gringo friends like to say, it’s time to let the other shoe fall.”

“Yes, Jefe. I’ll see to it immediately.”

An hour later, media outlets throughout Mexico began receiving a second series of video recordings from the cartel.

The release of professionally manufactured social media pieces had been Ghost’s doing.

The rise of the Arab Spring, as well as the secession movements in Tibet and Scotland, had all used social media and the World Wide Web as their catalysts. “It is the most powerful weapon we can implement,” Ghost had informed a skeptical Vincent. “Keyboards are the new ammunition and computer modems are far more deadly than AKs or M16s.”