Treaty Violation

by Anthony C. Patton

  For the first time, Cesar felt the American was really looking out for him.

  “They’ll kill you.” Nicholas checked his watch. “I’ll see you tomorrow at six.”

  Cesar nodded and escorted Nicholas to the elevator and returned to his office where he grabbed the photo of Helena from the desk drawer. The violet perfume still lingered. Her eternal smile sent a chill up his spine. Her death had created a void that could never be filled.

  He cursed himself for giving her cocaine and taking advantage of her. The few occasions they made love, he saw only distance in her eyes, not passion—the only time Helena Hernandez wasn’t beautiful. His caresses, his kind words, nothing could make her love him. She’d wanted his cocaine, nothing else; and rather than refuse her outright or give cocaine to her without conditions, he’d used the opportunity to satisfy his own desires.

  He gazed at her photograph. “Why!” he screamed as tears filled his eyes. He refused to believe she’d jumped to her death. Perhaps her addiction had been too strong. Perhaps the prospect of life without cocaine had been too overwhelming.

  He closed his eyes to feel the pain more intimately, to feel close to her again, to suffer the punishment he knew he deserved.

  “I’m sorry. I killed you, Helena Hernandez,” he whimpered.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  Minister of Foreign Affair Victor Hernandez looked at his wife Ivonne and sighed as he lay in a hospital bed. The doctor was concerned about his health and had requested more tests, which was a euphemism for saying his condition was terminal. Too many years of living the good life had finally caught up with him. He had no regrets. Well, perhaps a few.

  Ivonne squeezed his hands with love beaming through her eyes. All his happiness and passion for life he owed to this marvelous woman. The happiest day of his life had been the day she said yes to his marriage proposal. She was everything a man could hope for; he wondered what he’d done to deserve such a blessing. They’d lived a dream life: a beautiful family, a comfortable home, many good friends, and a successful career.

  The solitude of the hospital bed had given him time to realize he wasn’t worthy of her. Sheena, the other mistresses, the lame excuses—she deserved better. He’d tried to keep his affairs a secret, but Ivonne knew and surely felt betrayed. Still, his family had always been most important. He’d taken care of them and spent lavishly on them, which was more than many faithful men could say.

  Ivonne kissed his hands with the look of a saint praying for the soul of a sinner.

  He looked at her, paralyzed, afraid of losing her respect. He prepared to speak but coughed and held his chest until the pain subsided. Ivonne encouraged him with a smile He closed his eyes. “I haven’t always been a good husband,” he said.

  “You were a loving father. You provided for us well.”

  Her past tense response, without reference to their love, caused him more pain. He held his eyes shut to avoid facing her.

  “I forgive you, dear,” she added and squeezed his hands.

  Hernandez opened his eyes, relieved. “I love you,” he said. She forgave him! But he needed an answer to an important question. “Have we lived a good life?”

  “We’ve lived a wonderful life.”

  He wondered whether that was true. Poverty was rampant in Panama, yet he sat atop a pile of wealth he’d inherited from his father and grandfather. His success had been largely a function of his last name. Who knows how well he would have fared in a world of free competition. He worked hard and paid his dues but with a head start and few obstacles. In fact, he’d used his status to prevent competition and to protect his own business interests.

  “We could have done more for Panama,” he said.

  “You’ve served Panama with great distinction,” she said.

  He hoped she was right. Perhaps one could never give too much, but at least he’d given something back to the people of Panama. He could have stashed the family fortune in offshore accounts and lived off the interest, but he didn’t. Perhaps he wasn’t as courageous as he could have been, but he’d done what he could.

  “We have lived a good life, haven’t we?” he asked again.

  Ivonne smiled and nodded. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

  A man at the door knocked. “Excuse me, Minister Hernandez, I’m sorry to bother you, but could I have a word with you?”

  Hernandez looked up as the familiar looking man leaned inside and waved.

  “I’m sorry,” Ivonne said. “No visitors please.”

  “I’m Nicholas Lowe,” he said. “Tyler Broadman was my friend. I only need a minute.”

  Hernandez gestured to Ivonne that he would be fine. She kissed his hands and left the room. Without her touch, however, the spell was broken. He was a sick man again. The antiseptic smell repulsed him; the IV in his arm made him feel like a circus spectacle; and the beeping heart monitor reminded him of the flesh and blood fate he couldn’t escape.

  Nicholas held the door open for Ivonne and approached the bed. “I promise I won’t take much of your time.”

  Hernandez coughed as he looked up and admired the handsome young man.

  “Do you know someone named Manuel Espinosa?”

  Hernandez nodded. Recognition dawned on him. “You were talking to Lina at the hotel. I saw you at the meeting the other day.”

  “That’s right,” Nicholas said. “Could you tell me about your relationship with Manuel?” He poured a cup of cold water for Hernandez and held it out to him.

  “Thank you,” Hernandez said and took the cup. He managed sips between painful breaths. The crushed ice soothed his throat. “I paid him for information about Cesar’s drug shipments.” He finished the water and dropped the cup by his side.

  “Could you tell my why?” Nicholas asked.

  “Cesar destroyed two people dear to me. Mr. Dirk said the operation to arrest Cesar had been put on hold. I decided to eliminate him myself. Something had to be done.”

  “That was honorable,” Nicholas said. “Do you have any plans that might interfere with our operation tomorrow?”

  Hernandez took pride in the fact that he was still part of the plot to destroy Cesar. “You seem to have things under control.”

  Nicholas nodded. “Cesar will never bother you again.”

  “I assume you know about my relationship with Tyler,” he said.

  Nicholas nodded. “Without you, we wouldn’t be where we are today. If our plan works, you’ll have played a major role in destroying Cesar and ensuring a secure future for Panama.”

  Hernandez enjoyed a moment of pride but quickly returned to reality. “Perhaps, but I regret what I did.”

  “I understand,” Nicholas said, “but I think we both agree that leadership involves making difficult choices.”

  The true mettle of a leader is having the courage to make decisions contrary to popular consensus, for the good of the country. “But I gave secrets to the CIA.”

  Nicholas smiled. “If our president had asked you directly to help the U.S. maintain a military presence in Panama post-1999, would you feel the same?”

  “Of course not,” Hernandez said. Diplomacy and spying were different. “I’ve had good relations with your president. I was never a big fan of the 1977 treaties.”

  “The president wants to maintain a military presence in Panama,” Nicholas said. “We just happened to be the agency he tasked to execute his policy decision. Don’t worry. You were helping us build a bilateral alliance for Panama’s future.”

  Hernandez felt relieved. Any great political leader would have made the same decision. Panama needed U.S. troops.

  “I promised I wouldn’t take too much of your time,” Nicholas said. “Thank you, Minister Hernandez. Speedy recovery.”

  Hernandez managed a wave as Nicholas left. For a moment his pain subsided, until the door closed and a vision of Helena appeared before his eyes.

  “Helena,” he whispered and reached out to her. She removed a metal case from her purse,
dipped her finger in, and snorted some cocaine. “No!” he begged, trying to yell, but he was in too much pain. She dropped the metal case and cried, reaching out to him.

  “Help me, Daddy.”

  Hernandez trembled as he looked around the room. For the first time, he felt alone. The beep of the heart monitor pushed time ahead in ruthless, discrete intervals. The clear IV liquid dripped from the plastic bag, slow steady drops that refused to synchronize with the beeps of the heart monitor, until the fifth drop, when the cycle started again. He suddenly felt warm and removed the blankets.

  “Help me, Daddy,” Helena’s voice echoed.

  “Daddy’s here,” he said and looked around, but he couldn’t see her. He blinked, trying desperately to conjure an image of her. Since the day he’d learned of her cocaine addiction, he yelled at her and punished her, all in a feeble attempt to make her quit.

  “Help me, Daddy,” her voice echoed again.

  He’d done everything right, except this. His hard work, his career, his money—none of it meant anything without Helena. She had a problem, and he’d been too blind to see that all she had needed was his love.

  His heart raced. He held his breath as the pain returned—first a sharp pain around his heart, and then a numbing pain permeating his body. Finally, Helena’s radiant face appeared as he closed his eyes.

  “Daddy’s here…Daddy’s…here.”

  The steady tone of the heart monitor faded away.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  Dylan Dirk stirred his scotch and rocks to escape the humdrum. Embassy events were usually a waste of time, this one especially, with operation Delphi Justice less than twenty-four hours away from completion. However, K was in town, and protocol dictated that certain formalities be satisfied. He would be relieved when this operation was over, but the extraordinary measures had been necessary to ensure operational success.

  “Dylan, are you listening to me?” K asked.

  “Of course,” Dirk said and looked up.

  K grumbled and finished his drink. “We should have ended this operation when we had the chance. It’s gotten out of control.”

  “What do you mean out of control?” Dirk asked.

  “We should have helped Tyler coordinate the arrest of Cesar weeks ago,” K said. “We could have found another way to pay off this damned S&P futures contract margin call.”

  Dirk swallowed hard. “But you told me—”

  “I know what I told you,” K said. “I’m not blaming you. You were right to encourage Tyler to continue the operation, but we should have been more sensitive to his situation. We asked the poor guy to work with the slime who was destroying his life.”

  Dirk leaned closer to whisper. “Don’t forget, Tyler was snorting cocaine with Helena. He killed her. I showed you the proof. Besides, the mission wasn’t complete.”

  “Mission,” K said incredulously. “The damned leadership is messing things up.” He inspected the area cautiously. “I’m worried about The Order. Historically, we focused on geopolitical strategy, but now our hotshot MBA weenies are only concerned about speculating in the financial markets. We’ve lost our way.” He swirled his ice cubes. “If we would have told Tyler the truth, we might have avoided these problems.”

  K’s tone worried Dirk. For the first time he sensed weakness in his mentor. “We can’t disclose those details to outsiders.”

  “As far as I’m concerned,” K said, “Tyler was as much a member as those spoiled pricks who have never worked an operation.” He grabbed a drink from a passing waiter. “Nicholas, too. Luckily for us he has things under control. Our future depends on people like him, people who naturally rise to the top because of merit and sheer will.”

  Dirk agreed about Nicholas but disagreed The Order should accept new members like a country club. Membership had to be tightly controlled. Fathers bred their sons from a young age and taught them the virtues the middle class couldn’t master overnight. Trust and loyalty were essential, but today’s college graduates were for sale to the highest bidder, even to foreign corporations. Duty, honor, and country were nostalgic virtues of a distant golden age.

  “Would you have the same opinion if Tyler had been successful?” he asked.

  “Tyler was successful!” K said forcefully. “I want this thing behind us. We can’t let reckless speculation in S&P futures contracts screw up our objectives.”

  Dirk sipped his drink in disbelief. K was telling him that Delphi Justice wasn’t important, that they should have quit at the first sign of trouble. The Order didn’t conduct operations without careful forethought. The “MBA weenies” K referred to couldn’t have tampered with Order funds without approval from the high leadership. Did K think Tyler’s happiness was more important than maintaining military bases in Panama post-1999? Did he think letting The Order lose $87 million was trivial?

  “Regarding tomorrow,” Dirk said, “where’s Nicholas?”

  K checked his watch. “Probably working. He’ll deliver Cesar’s head on a plate and clean up this mess. You’ll see.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Dirk,” a waiter said and handed him a note.

  Dirk accepted it. It was from Nash, saying he had to see him right away outside the front gate. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  As Dirk headed outside, he thought about Helena. He couldn’t believe a year had passed since they’d met. Fresh wounds opened each time he remembered her—one for lost passion, the other for his transgression.

  The humid air simmered as the sun hovered in a cloudless blue sky. Dirk and his wife Ellen entered the swimming pool patio of the beach resort, a cozy escape on the Pacific coast for wealthy Panamanians. Children played and splashed in the shallow end. Men in snug shorts and round bellies rubbed oil on their tanned skin and strutted while women relaxed in lounging chairs, read fashion magazines, or gossiped. Waiters carried trays of food and drinks to the guests. A listless lifeguard spun a whistle around his finger.

  The wet deck soothed Dirk’s scorched feet as they walked. He focused on the man waving at them in the corner as they approached two open chairs near a patio umbrella. “Minister Hernandez,” he said, “what a pleasant surprise.”

  Hernandez stood. They shook hands.

  “You remember my wife, Ellen,” Dirk said.

  “Always a pleasure,” Hernandez said and kissed her cheek.

  “A perfect weekend,” Dirk said as the wives greeted each other.

  Hernandez nodded. “Absolutely splendid.”

  Lying beside the minister’s wife was a young woman wearing sunglasses. She lowered her copy of Vogue and gestured to the crowd of people. “If you can call this a vacation,” she said scornfully. “Those screaming kids are driving me insane.”

  Hernandez chuckled, embarrassed. “You’ll have to excuse my daughter, Helena. She’s in one of her moods.”

  “Daddy,” Helena protested. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dirk,” she said and lowered her sunglasses with a smile to reveal her hypnotic sapphire eyes. “I’m not in one of my moods.” She wiggled her toes and looked at her magazine.

  Dirk’s gaze fixed on Helena as she slid her sunglasses up: tanned skin glistening with coconut oil; firm body with all the right curves; full, rounded breasts pressed together by a Corvette-red bikini with sweat dripping into her cleavage. “Honey,” he said and touched Ellen’s arm when Hernandez gestured to the two open chairs, “should we sit?”

  “Darn,” Ellen said, “I forgot the sunscreen.”

  Dirk sneaked another peek at Helena as Ellen rummaged through her beach bag. Helena applied lip gloss and kissed the air as she looked at him from behind her sunglasses.

  “We have some extra,” Hernandez said and held up a bottle of coconut tanning oil.

  “Thanks,” Ellen said and continued rummaging, “but I need a forty-five sun block. My skin is sensitive. Honey,” she said and looked up at Dirk, “could you get it?”

  “Of course,” he said, jerked back to reality. “I’ll be right back.”


  Helena set her magazine aside. “I need my headphones.” She stood and rattled the cubes in her plastic cup. “Daddy, order me another drink, would you?”

  “Helena,” Hernandez said, “you’d better slow down—”

  “Daddy, please,” she said. “Just one more drink.”

  Hernandez nodded and gestured to a passing waiter.

  “Love you, Daddy,” Helena said cheerfully and grabbed her purse. “Ready?”

  Dirk nodded. “We’ll be right back, honey.”

  Ellen looked up and smiled. He gestured to the gate and led the way.

  “Don’t be so shy,” Helena whispered playfully as they left. “Haven’t you ever been with a younger woman before?”

  “I…no, I just don’t want people to get the wrong idea,” he said.

  They stepped inside the elevator with an elderly couple.

  “The wrong idea?” she said and raised a suggestive eyebrow.

  “What floor?” he asked.

  “We can stop at your room first,” she said.

  Dirk swallowed hard and pushed the button for the sixth floor. He glanced at the elderly couple and smiled to suggest, “Nothing going on here.” His heart pounded as her leg rubbed up against his. Finally, they reached the sixth floor.

  The doors opened.

  Helena followed Dirk and stood by him as he opened the door.

  Dirk paused but couldn’t resist a smile. “Right, we’ll get my stuff…and then get your stuff.” He gestured back to the pool as he pushed the door open. “My wife needs her sunscreen.”

  Helena set her purse on the table near the humming air conditioner and rubbed her arms. “It’s freezing in here. Why do you Americans like it so cold?”

  Dirk closed the door and allowed his eyes to peel off her bikini. “The sunscreen is in the bathroom.”

  Helena sat on the end of the bed.

  “Right, you have a seat and I’ll…be right back.” He closed the bathroom door and looked in the mirror. He checked his teeth and sucked in his stomach, then took a deep breath and looked for the sunscreen.