At 7:00 AM, Mendoza told Soares that the two helicopters that had landed on the building had lifted and flown off beyond his view. Before the helicopters departed, one of the Devices had shown me the NEST team loading and securing the nuclear weapon in one of the helicopters. Some of the NEST team and DELTA Operators had boarded the same helicopter. The remainder had left on the other.
At 10:45, Mendoza told Soares that three trucks – escorted by several military vehicles - had departed the blockaded area around the site and driven to Mexico City`s central hospital, where dozens of body bags were taken off the trucks and in through the emergency entrance.
By late afternoon, Mendoza had learned that the body bags contained the remains of Miguel and Khan and all of their men, save one; that all had died violently by specifically targeted projectile impacts to their heads or necks, except three; that of those three, one had been killed with a knife, another by two bullets to the heart, and the third, apparently, by hand. The identity of most of the projectiles remained unknown. Bullets or the remnants of bullets were found in only eight of the bodies.
By early evening, Soares – for the first time in a long time – was a worried man.
With the departure of the weapon, the Machine had guided 3 of the remaining five Devices back to me. As you would think, they’re very expensive. A fourth PD had micro-mechanical problems and could not reach me. The Machine had brought it to rest in an out-of-the-way place, where it was not likely to be found until I could go and fetch it. Waste not, want not. The fifth Device was on one of the helicopters that had departed with the weapon and the NEST and DELTA teams. It would remain with the weapon and relay its location and other useful information for as long as it was active. The Device had already tagged the weapon with a secreted resonating chemical that melded with the metal of the weapon’s casing, enabling the Grid to know its location after the Device went inactive and self-destructed. It was with it now as it crossed the Mexican- US border.
The Grid sought always to be scrupulous – in all things.
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A brief time later, after the Pakistani atomic weapon arrived at its destination in the United States, the Grid began the process that would provide the appropriate US and Mexican authorities with photographs of Pakistani Colonel Amir Trak meeting with Omar in the back alley in Al Hodeidah. This was being done very subtly and indirectly, so as not to allow any possibility whatsoever of a track back to the Grid. In fact, it was being done in such a manner that the US and Mexican authorities would believe that the information was being provided by a friendly or concerned government that wished to remain unnamed for its own reasons of security. The quality of the original photo had not been clear. The Grid had made it very clear. Additionally, the Grid had inserted into the photograph the image of a computer disk being given to Omar by the Pakistani Colonel. No such disk had been present in the original photograph. If one looked very closely – which the recipients of the disk most certainly would – the Pashto lettering that would roughly translate to “nuc….. …pn arming … uctions” and, underneath that lettering, the last five digits of the serial number of the stolen Pakistani atomic weapon could be made out on the disk case. Overlaid on the photo near the two human figures were text boxes. The one on the left side of the photograph read:
Omar (Family Name Unknown)
Brother of the radical terrorist known as Khan
Member of Khan’s terrorist group
(Presently located at the Central Hospital in Gwadar, Pakistan)
The text box on the right side read:
Colonel Amir Trak
Current Head of Security, Pakistani Nuclear Weapons Program
(Brother – Rashid Trak – deceased member of the Khan group and murderer of Chinese Ministry of State Security officer, Huang Li on 27 September 2012. Rashid Trak’s remains and those of 6 Khan group accomplices located in Al Hodeidah, the Yemen, 22 meters northwest of storage warehouse situated at geographic grid coordinates 14.8301 N / 42.9633 E)
The computer disk in the image had been circled so as to draw attention to it. The very best photo analysts available to the US and Mexican governments would not be able to determine that the photograph had been modified.
A third text box below the first two read: Photograph taken in Al Hodeidah, the Yemen, on 22 September 2012.
A fourth text box at the bottom center of the photograph read: Think Mexico City.
Sometimes, you have to shape a perception of reality to achieve a desired result. The minds estimated that Colonel Amir Trak and whoever had helped him smuggle the atomic weapon to Khan were not likely to survive the reality with which they were about to be confronted.
========================================================
Soares sat in his office at his desk. Mendoza sat facing him in a chair in front of the desk. I was reminded of a schoolboy reporting to the schoolmaster - a formal setting. No handshakes this time, no small talk between the Patron and one of his valuable subordinates. It was 9:45 at night.
I watched via the Device that nearly never left Soares. It sat in shadow on the underside of a picture frame on the wall to Soares’ right, almost equidistant between the two men. I could see both of them as they continued their discussion or, more to the truth, as Soares continued his verbal interrogation. Mendoza looked uncomfortable, his gaze frequently breaking away from his Patron’s to peer at his hands laying inertly in his lap.
“How is that possible, Mendoza? Please explain to me how that is possible?
“Patron, I do not know. But I assure you that my information is accurate.”
“I will summarize what you have told me to ensure that I have understood. Miguel and all the rest of my men at the construction site are dead. Khan and all of his men, except one, are dead. All from violent deaths. Almost all have been shot or struck by something. Bullets or the fragments of bullets have been found in only eight of the bodies, including Miguel and Khan. No specific evidence of the cause of the violent deaths of the other men was found. The only man to escape this carnage is one of Khan’s men, but we do not know which one. Are we to believe that this one man is responsible for all of this violence?” Soares’ stare bored into Mendoza.
“I do not know, Patron.”
“Let me continue. My people in the government have told me that its forces and those of the Norte Americanos found the dead bodies strewn throughout the building, from the underground garage to the tenth floor; that it looked like they had been in close combat with someone; most of them had their weapons drawn and many of them had been fired. There was no evidence of anyone else having been in the building. It is as if some very highly trained assault force entered the building, took our people by complete surprise, killed them all, picked up all of their spent cartridges, and – without taking the atomic weapon with them - left in the night without leaving a trace. This is absurd. I cannot believe this, let alone that it was the work of that single man from Khan’s group. So who did this? I must find out.”
Soares leaned back in his chair and shifted his gaze, momentarily, to the old wooden beams that adorned the ceiling of his office and then back to his audience. His voice was tired now. “Apparently, it was the Americans who somehow first learned that the nuclear weapon was here in Mexico City and in that specific building. The government does not know how the Americans found this out. The government was only happy to turn over the weapon to the Americans. They wanted nothing to do with it and the many problems its possession would bring them. The nuclear weapon is now in the hands of the Americans – lost to us. The attack on Khan’s brother and men in Pakistan must have been connected to this. I should have suspected more strongly – much more strongly. My plan has been laid waste. Someone did all of this.” He leaned forward in his chair and pounded his fist onto the surface of his highly polished desk, his voice no longer tired but angry - furious. “We must find out who and take revenge - one thousand times!” He yelled
these last words.
Mendoza slunk back into his chair, not meeting his Patron’s stare.
Soares stood, pushed a hand back through his hair, then straightened the jacket of his impeccably tailored suit, his voice once again calm and level. “But first, I must recover my money.”
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I was watching the same image of Soares’ office, but now the Director of the Mexican First Bank sat in the chair in front of the highly polished desk, instead of Mendoza. It was 6:20 the next morning.
Soares had been busy through the night ensuring his informants in the Mexican government were appropriately informed in order to provide answers to his most urgent information requirements: was the government yet turning its attention in his direction, looking to place the blame on his shoulders for the recent presence of an atomic weapon in the heart of Mexico City; would they be coming for him; if so, when? The Grid and I had listened to these discussions and others throughout the night. It had become clear that Soares very much wanted his money back. He thought he would need it, if the future suddenly became uncertain.
Now, Soares and Ramirez exchanged pleasantries, but Ramirez’s face portrayed some concern, perhaps due to the early hour of the meeting and the fact that he was not seated on the more comfortable over-stuffed sofa, as was Soares’ custom.
“Tell me, my friend, how can I help you? Maria told me that you needed me immediately, even at this early hour. Of course, I am always at your disposal.” He was watching Soares closely.
“Yes, thank you again, Manuel, for coming to see me at such an early hour. I believe the matter is urgent. I want you to recover all of my funds that were transferred to your Grand Bahama banking associate for investment in US defense industries. Let me simply say that the timing of my investment has changed and I require the return of my money.”
Ramirez cleared his throat. “And you want this done now?”
Soares nodded his head, once. “Yes – immediately.”
“Mr. Whitmore will certainly have expended considerable effort to put in place the financial arrangements to execute your investments on such short notice. It would be helpful to me to be able to tell him a bit more about your change of heart, my friend.”
“He is to be told nothing more than I have just told you, Manuel. Certainly, you may reimburse him for his work to date. But that is all. This is a business transaction. Is that clear, Manuel?”
Ramirez shifted in his chair at this admonition. “Yes, Gomez, that is clear.”
“The day moves on, Manuel, and I do not wish to take up any more of your time this morning. You have work to do.”
As Ramirez stood up from the chair and turned to make his way to the office door to let himself out, his face displayed what I would call worry. As he approached the door, Soares called out to him. “Tell me, my old friend – you are certain of your banking associate – this Mr. Whitmore in the Grand Bahama? You are certain of your confidence in him – absolutely certain? It is a great deal of money.”
At the sound of Soares’ voice, Ramirez had stopped and turned to look back at him. “Yes, Gomez, absolutely certain. I would not otherwise have involved him in your business, regardless of the amount. He will return your funds as rapidly as possible, I assure you.”
“Please ensure that is the case, Manuel.”
At these words, with the same look of worry on his face, the Director of the Mexican First Bank quickly turned and left the presence of his old and good friend.
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The sound of a telephone ringing on the Grand Bahama. The time was 7:20 AM.
Then, the sound of James Whitmore’s voice. “An early morning call this time, Manuel? How are you and how can I be of service?”
“I apologize for the intrusion at this hour, James. Sincerely. Please excuse me, but my matter is urgent.”
“You sound perplexed, Manuel. Give the hour no more thought and tell me how I may help you.”
“James, you are most gracious, as always. Still, I find that I must apologize not only for the early hour, but also for the untimely and unexpected news that I must convey to you.”
“Now I am the one who is perplexed, Manuel. Please go on.”
“James, my clients, for whom I recently transferred that very large sum of money to you by way of Mr. Winnfield for investment in US defense industries … well, they have had a change of heart, at this late hour, and wish to recover their money – minus, of course, charges for work your firm has already expended on their behalf.”
“Manuel …”
“Please James, I know. This is most untidy. You have responded marvelously to my requests for your assistance on their behalf and have had your people expend numerous hours already to move their investments forward. I know, James, and for this I must apologize …”
“Manuel …”
“Please James, let me finish. I do not like to do business in this manner. You know that. But I have no other recourse but to honor their request and ask you to return their funds as rapidly as possible. For this, I humbly apologize.”
Silence on the line, then: “Manuel, now I am truly perplexed. I have no idea what you are talking about, my friend.”
“James, while I appreciate your efforts at good humor to raise my spirits, this is not the time for such kindness. Please believe me.”
“Manuel, I am not trying to lift your spirits – though you do sound a bit distressed. I meant what I said. The last time you spoke with me – 3 days ago - you told me that your clients had already had a change of heart about the investments. Based on your request, I have taken no further actions – and what did you say about Carlton Winnfield?”
There was silence. Ramirez did not respond – just the sound of his breathing on the line.
Then, “James, please listen carefully, most carefully. Three days ago, I told you that my clients wished to proceed. I did this telephonically. I called you from my cell phone to yours. I used the same number that I am using now to speak with you. I spoke with you personally. I recognized your voice.”
“Manuel …”
“Just listen, James. The next day you dispatched Mr. Carlton Winnfield to fly here to meet with me in my office in Mexico City. You provided me by telephone the flight information. When he arrived in my office, based on our prior agreement, I telephoned you to complete Mr. Winnfield’s introduction, employing that extraordinary briefcase of yours to do so. Again, I called you directly from my cell phone to yours. Both Mr. Winnfield and I recognized your voice. Mr. Winnfield was exceptionally professional and helpful. One of the best I’ve seen. I even tried to offer him a job to steal him from you, but he declined due to his loyalty to you. When we had completed our business, again, based on our prior agreement, I conducted a video teleconference the following day with you to complete the arrangements. That was yesterday. Mr. Winnfield was with me in this room and we both saw and recognized you. You saw and recognized us. I recognized your office from where you participated in the video teleconference. At the conclusion of the conference, I transferred 500 million US dollars to Mr. Winnfield, again employing your briefcase. Mr. Winnfield provided me a legal document signed by you as the receipt for the transfer. That document is in my personal safe, at this very moment. Are you truly trying to tell me, James, that you do not know anything about these events in which you personally participated?”
“Manuel, it is my turn to ask you to listen very closely. First, describe Mr. Winnfield to me.”
“He was in his mid- to late 30s, tall, broad at the shoulder, somewhat athletic-looking – though a bit stooped in his posture. Light-colored hair, I think.”
“Manuel, Mr. Winnfield is in his late 40s, short, pot-bellied, anything but athletic, and has no hair. I’m sad to say that he has been in the hospital in the Florida Keys for two days with a bad case of append
icitis. He was on holiday there.”
“Searching.”
“Second, I do employ some hi-tech briefcases but have never used them as a form of introduction. Third, I was not in my office yesterday. I was off the island in Miami on business. I could not have participated in the video teleconference to which you refer. Tell me, Manuel, who initiated the video teleconference: you or this Mr. Winnfield?”
“It was Winnfield, using your … the … briefcase.” Ramirez’s voice was becoming quieter and hesitant. “But … I SAW YOU! You were as real … as the last time we met.”
“Manuel, I do not know who you saw, but I assure you, it was not me. And, most sadly, I do not have your clients’ money. I never had it. You gave your clients’ money to an imposter.”
Only the sound of silence and labored breathing on the line.
“Manuel, are you there?”
Silence.
“Confirmed. A Carlton Winnfield, listed as a resident of Grand Bahama Island on the admittance forms, was admitted to the Keys Medical Center 2 days ago for an acute case of appendicitis.”
“Manuel?”
“Yes, I am still here.” Ramirez’s voice was low now, on guard. “I have considered what you have just told me. I must tell you, in all good conscience and common sense, that I do not believe a word you have said. It cannot be possible. The only thing I cannot understand is why – after all these years – you are trying to discredit and ruin me. And believe me James, my clients are quite capable of doing the latter to both of us. They are - how should I put it politely - very hard men. Very wealthy, yes, but also very brutal when they see the need. Am I making myself clear to you, James?”
“Manuel, stop this!” The force of Whitmore’s voice increased. “You have no justification to threaten me. I take great exception at your words. I have told you that Mr. Winnfield has been in the hospital and I was in Miami. That should be evidence enough for you and your clients. You cannot frighten me with these threats to admit something I did not do!”
The Grid Page 21