Treaty Violation (4 page)

Tyler’s agents ranged from a mid-level drug dealer, a private banker, to a third country diplomat. Of particular interest, he’d recruited Minister of Foreign Affairs Victor Hernandez, the father of his late fiancée, Helena Hernandez, to collect information on Panamanian political plans and intentions regarding the prospect of maintaining a U.S. military presence in Panama post-
1999
. The information Hernandez provided had been instrumental in setting the stage for operation Delphi Justice.

While Nicholas contemplated the clues surrounding the death of Tyler, it occurred to him it seemed like only yesterday the two of them were eager young case officers starting their new careers.

Their first stop was The Farm, the secret training base where they learned the arcane craft of espionage and the martial skills that would keep them alive in the field. The monastic seclusion hardened their bodies and minds and exposed their weaknesses, which they chiseled away day and night until they reached the smooth, rounded core of their essence. They were part of a team, a fortress of stones piled high defending their nation; and what unified them more than anything else was the feeling that destiny was leading them. Their next stop was the real world of espionage and covert action.

Central America during the eighties was like the Wild West. Military dictators and insurgent guerrillas were regular items on the menu, not to mention civil wars, drug trafficking, and weapons proliferation. The U.S. was in the thick of every Machiavellian plot. While some American citizens protested the covert operations, the majority selectively ignored the dirty work being done by their government in defense of their freedoms. Many names were forgotten—the Contras, the Sandinistas, the FMLN, the death squads—but they were forever etched in the lexicon of U.S. covert action.

Nicholas and Tyler were there, sometimes together, sometimes not. Ultimately, Tyler was a casualty of the Iran-Contra affair. Unfortunately, the generals and politicians had grabbed all the chairs before the music stopped, about the same time Nicholas quit the Directorate of Operations after the fiasco in El Salvador. Both were reassigned to Washington—Nicholas by choice, Tyler as a guest in purgatory.

Nicholas had admired the way Tyler took things in stride and worked
diligently to prove he deserved a second chance. He’d ruffled some feathers and obliquely questioned the integrity of those persecuting him, but he didn’t let the bastards grind him down. Eventually, he was reassigned to the field, one successful mission after another, until he was selected for duty in Panama, until a bullet took his life at Veracruz Beach.

A loud knock on the door startled Nicholas as he scribbled some notes. He glanced at the clock and couldn’t believe it was already two-thirty. “Come in,” he said and stretched.

The secretary opened the door. “Excuse me, Mr. Dirk said the meeting at the embassy will begin in thirty minutes.”

Nicholas made the trek
to the embassy through the chaotic traffic. A strange combination of intuition and memory kicked in as he wove through the one-way streets, swerving to miss cars that were seemingly oblivious to the traffic laws or the other cars on the road. At Avenida Balboa, he drove along the Pacific Ocean until he arrived at the embassy. A tall black iron fence surrounded the embassy compound. A prominent U.S. flag flapped in the wind. After finding a parking spot, he stepped out of the car and started the short walk to the front gate.

Street vendors pushed wobbly carts around honking cars as people stepped off colorful buses and walked busily. Blue
Si
and red
No
signs were plastered on the walls—“Si” favoring the referendum for the president, “No” opposed. A lone policeman stood below a broken traffic light directing cars with broad hand gestures.
The place was loco but full of life.
Qué Panamá!

“
Idiota!
” a man in a rusted Datsun yelled and slammed his horn when a shiny red Toyota Corolla taxi cut him off. At the traffic light, cars blocked the intersection, exacerbating the traffic jam for a desired shortsighted gain, which turned into a maddening wait for everyone. When the traffic started moving, a gorgeous Latina with flowing black hair and Gucci sunglasses lowered the passenger window of a midnight blue Mitsubishi Montero and released the Panamanian reggae blasting on the radio.

At the front gate, the U.S. Marine verified his name on the embassy visitor list, handed him a badge, and wished him well.

Nicholas knocked on the conference room door. An Air Force major wearing an olive green flight suit opened the door. “I’m Nicholas Lowe,” he said to the gatekeeper. “I was told to attend this meeting.”

Dirk voiced his approval in the background. The major stepped aside. Nicholas entered a room kept frigid by a noisy air conditioner. The gaze of everyone settled on him—12 men seated around a large rectangular table and
30
or so mostly military personnel seated around the perimeter. The Department of Defense usually invoked the principle of mass for routine meetings.

Dirk stood at the head of the table and gestured for Nicholas to sit. “Gentlemen, this is Nicholas Lowe. He’s here to assist with the presentation.” He gestured to the computer.

Nicholas approached the computer. Power Point wasn’t rocket science but giving this public performance was the only way for him to attend the meeting. Good thinking on Dirk’s part. He got comfortable in his chair, opened the file, and turned on the color projector after someone dimmed the lights.

Dirk gestured to the screen illuminated with a welcome slide. “The purpose of this meeting is twofold. First, the ambassador requested our ideas regarding Panama and the Canal post-
1999
, from an intelligence perspective. Second, I wanted to discuss operation Delphi Justice.”

Dirk gestured to the bald, stocky officer sitting to his right, the only one in the group wearing camouflage. “Colonel, would you do us the honor of going first.”

Colonel Lance Dupree, U.S. Air Force, walked to the podium and nodded to Nicholas. Dupree looked battle hardened, as if he’d gripped the enemy’s throat with his bare hands.

“Despite the reduction of U.S. forces in Panama,” Dupree began, “the war on drugs continues full throttle, make no mistake about it. Although corruption and poor training often prevent the Colombians and Panamanians from making drug seizures, we’ve had many successes this quarter—seven planes destroyed. Next slide.”

Nicholas clicked the mouse and observed the audience. Dupree’s authoritative tone had everyone’s attention.

“Panama is facing an uncertain future,” Dupree continued. “Political stability is absolutely necessary when Panama assumes control of the Canal. One of the greatest threats to stability is the influence of drug traffickers. Drugs destabilize nations, and the associated problems like addiction and corruption tear apart the social fabric. For this reason, we must maintain military bases in Panama post-
1999
—to continue fighting this war, despite what the
1977
treaties say. Hell, if I had it my way, we’d keep the Canal; but since that ain’t going to happen, we should do this at a minimum.”

Dupree continued: “In addition to stabilizing Panama, maintaining military bases will have other advantages.” He listed items such as geography, logistics, the looming threat of China, and the capability to deploy assets in support of “other operations” in Latin America, which was a euphemism for covert action.

Dupree finished and returned to his seat—no polite comments, no thanking the audience for their time. Nicholas liked his style: to the point
and no bullshit. Once the leadership had made a decision, he was the kind of guy you wanted on your team.

Thomas Rendall walked to the podium next. He was the State Department Political Counselor, a New England liberal with a condescending smirk. He wore Continental wire rimmed glasses, and his gray suit couldn’t disguise his frail frame.

“Those were some compelling points,” Rendall said, “but reality is less propitious. Although funding for counterdrug operations shows no signs of waning, the key to Panama’s future, including the Canal’s, is economic reform. Next slide, please.”

Nicholas clicked the mouse, impressed by Rendall’s slides.

“About fourteen thousand ships transit the Canal annually,” Rendall said. “Recent profits have been low. Because shipping companies have other options, Panama won’t have the luxury of increasing tolls significantly. Only reduced costs and increased efficiency will make the Canal profitable during the next century.”

Rendall continued: “Being shielded from economic competition has fostered Panama’s oligarchic, monopolistic culture; income disparity is at a dangerous level. Economic reform is required to promote a level playing field and to transform Panama into an entrepreneurial culture with a strong middle class. The only way to achieve this is by promoting competition and by moving toward compliance with World Trade Organization standards. As a final word, I must stress that any attempt to violate the
1977
treaties, to include keeping military bases here post-
1999
, would have disastrous consequences for U.S. foreign policy in Latin America and the rest of the world. The world is watching. If we violate this treaty, we’ll lose credibility, which will hurt our ability to sign other treaties in the future.” Rendall thanked everyone and sat.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Dirk said. “I selected you to present two sides of the issue because Panama’s future will be determined by political and economic factors.”

“He’s living in a fantasy world,” Dupree said, indicating Rendall.
“This is the third world. Panama occupies a
strategic location. Our concern should be security and stability, not building an
entrepreneurial culture
.”

Rendall laughed condescendingly. “In case you didn’t hear, Colonel, the
1977
Carter-Torrijos treaties require our military to leave Panama by December 31
^st
this year. Does the concept of national sovereignty mean anything to you?”

“Not if it interferes with U.S. interests,” Dupree said bluntly.

“Besides,” Rendall said, unscathed, “even if political stability were
the primary goal, we can’t provide that. The biggest problem in Panama is income disparity. Economic reform will create a middle class and promote the stability you are looking for.”

Dupree’s gaze shifted around the room. “That could take decades. In the process, Panama might collapse, which would threaten the Canal. It’s not worth the risk.”

“Gentlemen,” Dirk interjected, “as we can see, the issue is complex. Please give me a copy of your presentations. I’ll include them in my report. From what I understand, the White House is watching this issue closely.”

Dupree and Rendall nodded.

“Let’s move on to the second item.” Dirk gestured for the next slide. Nicholas clicked the mouse. “Operation Delphi Justice, for those of you who don’t know, was a sting operation to arrest Cesar Gomez. We’ve had—”

“What do you mean
was
?” Dupree asked.

Dirk raised a finger to put the colonel on hold. “Most of you know that Tyler Broadman was murdered Saturday night. What most of you don’t know is we received information indicating his death might have been related to this operation, perhaps retaliation.” Dirk couldn’t admit Tyler was running the operation, but the odds were everyone in the room had figured it out. “The most likely suspect is Cesar Gomez, but we don’t have any—”

“Who else did it?” Dupree asked. “Communist China?”

“We don’t know,” Dirk said, playing the fool. “The bottom line is the operation is on hold until we get more information.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Rendall said. “Cesar might flee the country with his money.”

“Now he wants to get his hands dirty,” Dupree said, gesturing to Rendall.

Rendall glared at Dupree. “Mr. Broadman was a good friend, Colonel.”

Dupree leaned back and lifted his hands defensively. “Please forgive me for that. I was out of line,” he said.
Rendall accepted the apology.

Nicholas watched the drama unfold with the comfort of knowing operation Delphi Justice was still in full force. Dirk was doing crowd control, spreading a rumor that would soon be larger than life.

“Cesar’s most recent activity provided us a lot of evidence we can use against him,” Dirk said. “Our plan is to let the dust settle and determine whether the lawyers have enough evidence to indict him.”

“You were right to keep Cesar as a Linear target,” Dupree said. “I
knew that son of a bitch never stopped dealing cocaine.”

“Guys like that never do,” Dirk said.

Some people had questioned Dirk’s decision to make Cesar a Linear target, primarily because Tyler himself had received information from a reliable source indicating that Cesar had stopped selling cocaine. Declaring him a Linear target had translated into the allocation of additional tax dollars to put him behind bars, but the operation hadn’t resulted in an arrest, and some people were beginning to reevaluate the funding, but most people were reluctant to question the judgment of a veteran like Dirk.