Treaty Violation (23 page)

“As if you don’t know,” she said.

Nicholas shrugged with a subtle glance at the policemen to convey his innocence, but this was more difficult than he imagined.

“For libel, you son of a bitch!” She wiped her smudged mascara and restrained her tears. “When the president demanded my proof, I couldn’t find it in my room. The newspaper retracted the story and fired me. And now I might go to jail!”

“What happened to your proof?” Nicholas asked.

Lina swung her arm to slap him, but Nicholas caught her wrist. The policemen inched closer but he gestured for them to stay put. Her situation wasn’t nearly as catastrophic as she imagined. The president’s strong arm tactics were only meant to scare her. She would be out of jail in no time, perhaps as a hero.

“How could you!” she said. “What about us?”

Nicholas embraced her as she cried. He felt an urge to tell the truth and to end her suffering, but it would ruin the operation.

“Please,” she pleaded, “just give them the documents.”

“Officers,” he said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know what documents she’s talking about.”

“You see!” she said. “How did you know I had documents?”

“Because you just told me,” Nicholas said.

Adriana and Maria laughed.

“Not a word from you two whores!” Lina looked at Nicholas as the vixens feigned fear. “I don’t know why you did it, and I don’t care.” She swiped at her smudged eyes again. “Please, just give me the documents. I’m begging you.”

Nicholas looked at the officers and shrugged. They nodded and grabbed Lina’s arms.

“Let me go!” she screamed and struggled to free herself. “He stole my proof!”

The officers apologized, led her out of the room, and closed the
door. The echoes of her screams faded.

“
B-I-T-C-H
,” Adriana snickered. “What’s her problem?”

“I have no idea,” he said and took a deep breath as he stared at the door, then turned and forced a smile. “She must be crazy.”

“No kidding,” Maria said and beckoned him with an air kiss.

Nicholas sat between them on the couch. “I have to say, I’m pissed about the way you two kissed up to Cesar.”

“We’re sorry,” they said in unison and started kissing him.

Nicholas slalomed the three cement barriers and
stopped the Jeep Cherokee at the front gate of Howard Air Force Base. An
MP
sporting a pencil-thin mustache and aviator sunglasses inspected the vehicle sticker and requested to see everyone’s
ID
card—Nicholas, K, and Dirk. Normally, during duty hours, the embassy decal sufficed for entrance, but two recent terrorist bombings in east Africa by Islamic extremists had increased the security level for military bases worldwide to Threatcon Bravo. There was a lot of talk in Washington that a group called al-Qa’ida and the so-called Global War on Terrorism would be the next War on Drugs. The airman wished them a good day and waved them past.

During the drive, K vented. He was the Sun Tzu of tact, but political shenanigans in Washington were approaching absurd levels. Congressmen insisted on exposing budgetary and operational details of the
CIA
, only to later complain the
CIA
wasn’t as effective as it could be. “Not when I have to advise my adversaries of my intentions,” K had quipped. He decried the cult of mediocrity for peddling feel good agendas that caused more problems than they solved, despite best intentions. People in the Beltway were too concerned about job security and political correctness to worry about defending the Republic. Despite this trend, while the self-proclaimed do-gooders attended yoga
class or debated postmodernism over tofu platters, K scheduled cigar puffing meetings to take care of business.

In front of the operations center, a soldier wearing camouflage gestured for Nicholas to park in a reserved spot. The military, like communist nations, had superlative protocol for VIP guests. In addition to the soldiers crowding into the
NCO
club for happy hour, the base was buzzing.
MP
s patrolled the area and directed unauthorized personnel away from the building in preparation for President Mendoza’s arrival.

Colonel Lance Dupree approached the vehicle. “Welcome,” he said to K, offering a handshake. “It’s an honor to have you, sir.”

“Afternoon, Colonel,” K said and sniffed the humid air. “Was hoping we could talk about something important before the president arrives.”

“Of course, sir,” Dupree said. “We can step into my office.”

K and Dupree entered the office. The door closed.

Nicholas turned to Dirk. “What’s that all about?”

“K is reading him in on Operation Delphi Justice,” Dirk said. “Given that Manuel is working for the military and has seen you, it’s only a matter of time before we’re exposed. Dupree has been pushing for membership to The Order for a long time. Today is his lucky day.”

The meeting wasn’t long. The door opened. K and Dupree were laughing.

On the way out, Dupree glanced at Nicholas and winked, then pumped his fist and pointed to the conference room to lead the way.

As a recruit, Nicholas
considered high-level political meetings forums for the acceptance of the superficial or the inevitable. From his perspective, nations, entrepreneurs, cartels, and others power organisms collided like molecules in Brownian motion. The goal of government was to manage the fallout. However, he inverted his thought process after he learned these same power organisms strategically manipulated the geopolitical arena, staking their claim to the world’s limited resources, struggling to create wealth.

Today’s meeting was supposed to include a formal acceptance of the inevitable. President Mendoza and Minister of Foreign Affairs Hernandez had brought a copy of the agreement to maintain a U.S. military base in Panama post-
1999
and had announced their intention to submit it to the Legislative Assembly, pending victory in the referendum. The inflow of cash from the last shipment had returned the president’s approval rating to above
50
percent.
El Tiempo
’s retraction of Lina’s story also helped, but victory would still require a last minute media blitz. Despite the good news, First Vice President Romero was threatening to use his influence with the Assembly to veto any attempt to keep U.S. troops in Panama post-
1999
. To back his position, he’d brought the Assembly president and two lawyers. Each time someone made a point about the benefits
of such an agreement, Romero and his cronies reiterated the legal restrictions and their plan to block approval in the Assembly.

After an hour of deliberation, Romero hadn’t budged. The situation was delicate. The political party was divided regarding keeping U.S. troops in Panama, and the president’s recent, albeit temporary, fall from grace had polarized the two camps. The referendum would be the turning point. Until then, savvy politicians were making ambiguous statements, while hacks like Romero were making their opinions known in the hope of attracting followers. Even if Mendoza were to win the referendum, he would still need Romero on his ticket to win the next election. Romero’s anti-American rhetoric would win him national respect.

Just as the situation looked hopeless, K stood. Nicholas sensed the situation was about to be resolved one way or another.

K walked behind Thomas Rendall, Dylan Dirk, and Colonel Dupree to the head of the table. “You know what this discussion reminds me of?” he asked and waited for a few shrugs. “Marriage,” he said. Everyone laughed. “Except the discussions I have with my wife are more civil,” he added, sparking more laughter, even from Romero and his lawyers. “Marriage because we want to be together, but also because we know each other intimately.” He rested his hands on the table. “So intimately that we’ve spilled each other’s blood.”

“Let’s go back to the beginning,” K continued, “to our wedding day, to see whether some marriage counseling is in order. In
1903
, our two countries signed a treaty. In exchange for helping you gain independence from Colombia, we received enough land to build and operate a canal in perpetuity.” He gestured to Hernandez. “Minister, I believe your grandfather signed the treaty. Any comments?”

“Some people say my grandfather sold out Panama. With hindsight, perhaps the treaty did
give away too much, but any of us would have done the same thing. Panama was in shambles—an incomplete canal the French had abandoned, rampant disease, and poverty. He did what he thought was best for Panama.”

“Did Panama benefit from the treaty?” K asked pointedly.

Hernandez nodded. “The land we gave you was mosquito infested—useless to us, given our technology—and the inflow of American capital helped build Panama as we know it. I’ll also acknowledge that my family benefited, but my grandfather worked hard. He helped build this nation. I’m proud of what he did.”

“Proud you should be,” K said and turned to Dupree. “Colonel, what is your assessment of the territory the treaty granted to the U.S.? Do you think the U.S. benefited from the treaty?”

Dupree paused, probably thinking about his meeting with K. “The land was sufficient to build and defend a canal. American shipping companies have benefited from the nonprofit status of the canal, but so has the rest of the world. We’ve used the Canal to position naval forces, but today’s force structure doesn’t require it to the same degree, and we’ve incurred a financial burden keeping troops here. Overall, we benefited, but so has the rest of the world.”

K gestured to Romero. “Both sides seem to think they benefited from the treaty, Mr. Vice President. Any comments?”

Romero chuckled and shook his head. “You Americans like to break everything down into neat economic transactions. I’ll be the first to admit that Panama benefited from the treaty, but that treaty was a disgrace. A French man and a few oligarchs negotiated on our behalf. They had no right to give away our sovereign territory, and you had no right to demand so much from us when we were vulnerable.”

K nodded. “Let’s suppose you’re right. In
1977
, we signed a treaty giving the Canal to Panama.” He rested his hands
on the table and looked at Romero. “Whatever injustice might have been done in
1903
was undone in
1977
. I’m not saying I agree with you, because we weren’t obligated to sign the
1977
treaty, but the fact remains that the Canal will be yours.”

Romero didn’t respond.

“What, may I ask, is your gripe?” K asked.

Romero shook his head with leftist disdain. “You can’t undo over seventy years of injustice with a treaty. You’ve intervened in our affairs and you treat us like second class citizens in our own country. Take this meeting, for example,” he said and gestured to the participants, mostly Americans. “You no doubt expected us to give you what you’re asking for, no questions asked. Yet you’ve shown a complete lack of respect for our national sovereignty.”

K nodded sagely and gestured to Rendall. “Thomas, as our State Department representative, how would you respond to the vice president’s comments?”

Rendall cleared his throat. “Using another analogy, we’re what you might call strange bedfellows,” he said. That got a few laughs. “The U.S. has promoted economic and political progress, but we’ve also used Panama for strategic purposes, at times not always with their best interests in mind, I suppose.”

Good lawyers always know the answers to the questions they ask. Nicholas could only assume K knew what he was doing.

“Mr. Vice President,” K said, “is it fair to say you want to be treated as an equal?”

Romero nodded cautiously.

“Dylan,” K said, “please explain why we haven’t treated them as equals.”

Dirk cleared his throat and gestured across the table. “Whenever
we discuss serious issues regarding national security, such as this, you create a political circus.”

Romero shook his head and groaned.

Dirk continued: “You turn every request into a threat to your national sovereignty, as a way to take advantage of the situation.”

Romero scoffed. “All countries negotiate and make deals.”

“This isn’t a game,” Dirk said.

“Why should we agree to your requests?” Romero asked. “What’s in it for us?”

“A secure future for Panama!” K thundered. The room fell silent. “For one moment, Mr. Vice President, don’t concern yourself with us—with how much money we have or how powerful we are. Think only of Panama’s future—not yours but your children.” The room was still silent. “I’ll ask again. Do you want to be treated as an equal?”

Romero looked blinded by his own ambition. The cat’s-got-your tongue syndrome transmogrified into spasmodic shrugs as everyone in the room waited for an answer. “What kind of question is that? Of course we want to be treated as an equal.”

“Gentlemen,” K said, “the recent deaths of Tyler Broadman and Helena Hernandez came as a shock to all of us. Given the probable involvement of Cesar Gomez, we put our operation to arrest him on hold, but now it’s time to pick up where we left off. Over the past few days, we made arrangement for a large controlled cocaine shipment with Cesar Gomez. We would like your assistance in taking him down.”