“Pigs!” Major Domínguez said, glaring after the retreating ministers.
“Whoee,” Hand said with a grin. “Puts me in mind of the time a polecat wandered into the Texas senate chamber up in Austin. Nobody stopped hightailing long enough to see if the problem might just be a visiting Republican congressman from Washington.”
Ambassador Wilson looked pleadingly at Seth, “Cane, can’t you do something?”
Major Dominguez gestured toward the open door. “El Presidente will see you now.”
General Victoriano Huerta, the de facto President of Mexico, sat alone behind a long table on which was a wine stained white tablecloth, a water tumbler and an overturned empty wine bottle. Seth judged him to be in his late fifties or early sixties. Key features of the heavy brown face were a strong jaw and watchful suspicious brown eyes. The trimmed moustache adorning the upper lip was mostly white. Seth’s knew instantly that here was a man who could be very dangerous.
The watching eyes narrowed as he clearly studied Seth and Hand. When the three men approached the table he turned his attention to the Ambassador and stood up suddenly, jarring the table. Smiling broadly, he boomed, Buenas tardes, mi amigo Henry.” A short man with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, he strode around the end of the table to clamp the seemingly embarrassed Ambassador in a traditional Mexican embrazo. “It always gives me much pleasure to see you, Henry.” With something that sounded like a grunt, Huerta gestured for the three men to be seated in chairs facing the table. “Perhaps a little drink, gentlemen, a copita?”
“Thank you, your Excellency,” the American Ambassador said. “Allow me to introduce Mr. Seth Cane and Mr. Hand Comfort, representing the State Department of the United States. They lately arrived in Mexico.”
“Not too lately arrived,” Huerta muttered, ignoring Seth and Hand as he returned to his chair behind the table. “I am informed these men arrived at Vera Cruz aboard your naval ship Dolphin last April 2. They have been in my country for a week and in my capital for two days. Why, I ask you, Henry, have these emissaries from Washington not forthwith paid the customary courtesy call upon the President of Mexico?”
Seth spoke up, “You mistake the nature of our mission here, Mr. President. My associate and I—”
Huerta held up his hand to interrupt Seth. Still addressing only the Ambassador he said, “I ask you friend, Henry, why has there been this studied insult to my office and my country?”
“Your Excellency, I’m distressed to hear you feel there has been an insult to your office and country. I assure you that there is no intent to violate protocol in the visit of Mr. Cane and Mr. Comfort. Their mission here from the State Department does not assume the status of a diplomatic one. It is best described as solely ministerial, having to do with assimilating and analyzing claims of our citizens here arising out of the recent rebellion that you so expeditiously put down. Their status does not diminish their natural desire to meet and pay their respects to you today as leader of this country.”
Huerta, looking skeptical, studied Seth and Hand then asked, “Am I to assume that you two carry no message for me from Woodrow Wilson or William Jennings Bryan?”
“Yes sir,” Seth responded, “we carry no messages. Our orders just pertain to the claims question. However, we certainly appreciate your gracious extension of this opportunity to visit with you, Mr. President.”
Ambassador Wilson looked quickly at Seth and nodded approval at the Oklahoman’s surprising essay of diplomacy, only to be jarred by Hand’s acceptance of Huerta’s offer of a drink.
“Don’t mind if I do have a little snort, your Honor,” the Texan said, his face lighting up in anticipation perhaps of a shot of bourbon or tequila.
“Bueno!” Huerta said and pounded the table with his fist. Major Dominguez, who had been standing inside by the door, jumped to attention and disappeared momentarily outside. He returned followed by a waiter bringing a bottle of red wine and four water glasses. Hand looked crestfallen at only wine being offered. The waiter filled the four glasses and retreated.
Grabbing one of the glasses, Huerta rose and held it up, “A toast!” he shouted. The three Americans also stood up and raised their glasses. “May our two nations be bonded together in everlasting friendship and mutual economic benefit and there be recognition that such worthy goal will be best facilitated by a quick acknowledgment by the United States of the existing government of Mexico.”
Ambassador Wilson glanced at Seth and Hand and quickly added “Hear, hear.” Hand looked at Seth with an unspoken question of what they should do. Seth said for both of them, “To everlasting friendship between our countries.”
If General Huerta noticed the implied reservation, it was not evident since he was in the process of downing the entire glass of wine and reaching to refill his glass. On his part, Ambassador Wilson did not miss Seth’s sidestepping the toast.
The wine was too acidic for Seth’s taste and he set his glass down half full. The Ambassador and Hand, with a grimace, drank all of their wine.
“Henry, did you see those miserable ministers of mine running out of here like a pack of yellow dogs?”
“I did, your Excellency.”
“They are now on their way to the Palacio where I ordered them to go and wait for me. They don’t know it yet but when they get there they will be placed under arrest by my soldiers with talk of them possibly being shot. After a few hours, long enough to make them piss their britches, I’ll have them released. That ought to teach them a lesson.”
“What was their offense, Mr. President,” the Ambassador asked.
“They are mas falso que Judas or as you Yanques say, as worthless as a plugged nickel. I have standing orders that all major generals when wearing civilian clothing, and most of my ministers are major generals, must wear the prescribed buttonhole emblem of their rank as well as a silk sash. When they fled from this room, did you see such emblems or silk sashes? Not a one. They constantly defy me in this. But today I shall make them sweat a little, no?”
Seth and Hand exchanged glances but the Ambassador nodded solemnly. “Quite right, Mr. President. I foresee that your action will have its intended result.”
“You damn right, Henry,” Huerta said and lifted his glass to drain its contents. He slammed the empty glass down and looked piercingly at Seth. “Senor Cane, now we shall speak without the bull shit. Why are you and this man, Comfort, here in my country?”
Startled by his sudden earthy directness, Seth was caught off guard, “Pardon me?”
“This business of the claims of your citizens sounds like bull shit to me. Your consulate is working on that matter and I see no need for your presence. So why do you come here?”
“Mr. President, what can I tell you other than that Secretary of State Bryan is most anxious that the rights of our citizens are expeditiously attended to. He wants a report from Mr. Comfort and me as to the progress, the nature and possible extent of the claims against your government, growing out of those ten days of fighting in this city.”
Huerta pointed his finger at Seth, “I’ll tell you this. If your government wants the claims of your citizens honored quickly by me, then it will have to first recognize me as the legitimate government of this country. You take that message back to your President Wilson.”
Ambassador Wilson quickly stepped in. “Mr. President, Mr. Cane does not have the official status to carry any message to President Wilson. That should be in writing and forwarded through my embassy.”
Huerta looked with pity at Ambassador Wilson , “Henry, my friend, your Woodrow Wilson hasn’t of late paid a damn bit of attention to my messages through your embassy. Why? I can only suspect he recognizes our close friendship and acts accordingly in the light of his unjustified prejudice against me.”
“Mr. President, I must take issue with your assessment of matters. Believe me, I am
devoting all my efforts to convey to President Wilson your right to the Presidency of Mexico.”
“I understand, but I want this man Cane to carry the truth back to Woodrow Wilson. His position defies explanation. Spain has recognized me. England is about to recognize me. Germany has recognized me. Why in hell does the United States drag its feet in recognizing me? Senor Cane, before you return with your important report on your citizen claims, we shall talk again and I shall prepare something official enough to please my friend Henry for you to carry back.” He stood up. “Now, I have business to attend to at the Palacio where I may just have to shoot one or two ministers in order to get my orders obeyed.” He walked unsteadily out the door preceded by Major Dominguez and two soldiers.
“Whoee!” Hand said, gazing after the departed dictator. “That’s some bad hombre. I sure don’t envy those ministers waiting back at that palace.”
Ambassador Wilson could not keep the irritation out of his reply, “He didn’t mean anything by that. Just the wine talking.”
“Maybe so,” Seth said. “If you want my thinking, the really bad case in this room was that Major Dominguez. He never took his eyes off us. Yep, he’s one you don’t want to turn your back on.”
“The major is the head of the President’s secret police,” the Ambassador offered, “and I suspect you may be right.”
44
IN THE DAYS FOLLOWING THE extraordinary meeting with Victoriano Huerta, Seth and Hand kept busy with the claims problem at the American Consulate just two doors off Juarez Avenue. The building had been badly damaged from shell fire in February and still showed it. As for the claims made by American citizens, they found Consul General Arnold Shanklin very cooperative despite his obvious puzzlement about their mission. They learned that he was something of a hero during the fighting. When the artillery shells came crashing into the Consulate, Shanklin and his staff found that their way into the street was cut off by rifle fire. He kept his head and managed to break down two doorways and led his people and a wounded man into the adjacent building and out into a side street not under rifle fire. Three other Americans had not been so lucky.
Seth visited the husbands of two American women who had been killed by shell fragments as they were preparing lunch. The third American was a man killed a block away from the Consulate as he stood looking out of the fifth floor window of Porter’s Hotel.
The entire resident foreign diplomatic corps in the city made a strong protest to both sides of the fighting aboutindiscriminate shelling that was killing many innocent civilians. It was charged as being beyond the bounds of civilized warfare, an expression that always seemed inherently contradictory to Seth. One thing clear to Seth and Hand, as most of the American residents were eager to explain, was that Henry Lane Wilson was unstinting in his efforts to protect American lives during the fighting.
“I’ll swear that man was everywhere. Why, he went out on the streets during the worst part of the fighting in that Embassy machine with Old Glory draped all over it. He was trying to arrange a cease fire so that he could get us to the Embassy for safety,” said Peter Griffiths, husband of one of the slain American women.
Thomas Danton, another resident, told them how heroic the Ambassador had been. “Wilson warned both the Mexican government and the rebels that he was going to call in the Marines if the situation didn’t improve.”
Hand turned up one American who was less than complimentary of the Ambassador. He found him in a bar patronized by foreign correspondents. He claimed to be a magazine writer and a close friend of the late Francisco Madero. Hand talked him into meeting with Seth at another bar where there were no correspondents.
“You see,” the writer explained, “I was walking about a mile from the Citadel when these soldiers of Felix Diaz arrested me. They took me before some General and charged me with being a spy.”
“Who were you supposed to be spying for?” Hand asked.
“Madero, of course. They confined me in a dungeon in that damn Citadel where I stayed for seven hours until Ambassador Wilson came in response to my note to the Embassy.”
“What did the Ambassador do?” Seth asked.
“Well, he listened to all I had to say and then he told me it was one of his busy days but that I would be safe there for the night and that he would be able to get me released the following morning.”
“Maybe there was some logic to that,” Seth said.
“Yeah, but then he asked for my name and I gave him a fictitious one.”
“Good Lord! Why did you do that?”
“I was afraid to give my own name because if the rebels found out, I would be shot right off”
“Why? Because of your friendship with Madero?”
“Exactly. But then Ambassador Wilson asked me some names of my friends so he could verify my identity and I had to tell him my real name. When he learned I was John Kenneth Turner, he became very peeved. He said that the rebels would have to be told who I really was.”
“Reckon you should not have lied to him in the first place,” Hand put in.
“What happened next?” Seth asked.
“Well, he said again that he thought I would be safe for the night and left. After he left, I quickly tore up a letter I had concealed in my sock. It was from Madero.”
“What I can’t get through my head,” Hand said, “is why should Diaz rebels hold your friendship with Madero against you?”
Seth answered for Turner. “You’ve got to remember who Felix Diaz is. He is the nephew of Porfirio Diaz, the dictator president that Madero’s revolution overthrew in 1910. General Felix Diaz tried to raise a revolution against Madero using discontented federal officers and troops. He was defeated, and sentenced to death, but federal judges who had been appointed by his uncle commuted the death sentence to prison. He was later freed and in February of this year joined with General Bernado Reyes and a part of the federal army to rise once more against Madero. A few days later, Huerta with another division of the army also turned against the president to whom he had sworn an oath of loyalty.”
Turner looked at Seth with admiration, “Hell, mister, you seem to know a lot about the political situation down here.”
Thanks to Croy Wister’s briefing at the State Department.
“How is it that Diaz’s soldiers didn’t find the Madero letter the first time they searched you?”
“They never really searched me proper but I knew if they found that on me, it would have meant my being shot without any time for coffee and frijoles.”
“When did you next hear from the Ambassador?” Seth asked.
“Never.”
“You never heard from him again?”
“As God is my witness, neither he nor anyone from the embassy showed up. I was taken before Diaz’s General again and this time, they had my correct name and charged me with trying to assassinate General Diaz. You may not believe this but I was led out into the shooting yard to be executed three times. Each time the officer in charge of the firing squad appeared to have something else to do and I was led back to my cell until the next time.”
“Since you’re sitting here having a beer, you don’t appear to be a ghost, leastwise not like any I’ve ever heard of,” Hand said.
“Yes,” Seth said. “How did you escape?”
“On the evening of the third day there was a big parade, or something like it, of Diaz troops. All the senior officers were ordered to take part, including the commandant of cadets who had taken $500 of mine as a souvenir. They put some new Capitan in charge and he didn’t have a clue as to who I am, although I guess he later found out. Anyway, he was halfway human and let me take a stroll outside in the cool of the evening. I just kept going out the gate and now all I want to do is get the hell out of Mexico. I’m leaving for Vera Cruz on the morning train. You can bet on that.”
Later bac
k in their bedroom at the embassy, Hand asked, “What did you think of that scribbler’s story?”
“I think he was telling the truth. But as an indictment of Henry Lane Wilson, it isn’t.”
Hand stopped in the act of pulling off his right cowboy boot and looked at Seth in surprise. “How do you figure that? Pears to me, our fine outstanding Ambassador feller almost got one of our citizens vented with a bunch of 30.06 lead or whatever them Mausers shoot.”
“Have you forgotten our fine upstanding magazine writer wasn’t exactly honest with Ambassador Wilson?”
“Aw, I don’t know as I would have been so danged honest in his boots. When Wilson found out his correct name, wasn’t it strange that the rebels also found out and set up to shoot the feller? It couldn’t be that our Ambassador went trotting off to tell the rebel commandant who his prisoner really was, do you reckon?”
“Hand, we don’t know that he did. Maybe they intended to shoot him whatever his name was.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Also,” Seth continued, “according to all reports we’ve had, Henry Lane Wilson was pretty busy about that time. Maybe this Turner fellow’s life may not have actually been in danger. Three times out to be shot and three times back to his cell and then allowed to simply walk off. Doesn’t that sound kind of funny to you?”
Hand’s face suddenly lit up and he slapped his knee. “Wal, I’ll be bored for the simples! Same danged trick they tried on Harley Joe Ritter down in Nueva Rosita in 1906. You remember him, Seth. He was one of my ranger pals who followed some murdering varmint across the border and got caught by the Rurales. They did the same thing to him to get him to own up to being an assassin.”
“The old game of intimidation to force a confession.”
“Yeah, but I just remembered something…”
“Yes? What?”
Call Down The Hawk Page 21