An Eye For An Eye

by L. D Beyer

  There were several shouts.

  “However,” the president paused until the room quieted, “we do provide various forms of military assistance including sharing intelligence, providing aerial and satellite reconnaissance capabilities, establishing training programs for police and military personnel on the front lines of this battle, and sharing certain technologies, including certain weapons and surveillance systems to support those efforts.”

  The American president had sidestepped the question again, avoiding any specific mention of the drones. It would be easy, Guerrero thought, to provide dates and specific information about the bombings and the people killed to the press. But would that embarrass the Americans? he wondered. Would it force them to reconsider the use of the drones? Probably not.

  But there was another question that nagged at him. He watched as the conference ended and the American president left the podium and stepped out of the room. A question that had been at the back of his mind for weeks. What was the price for the hundreds of millions of dollars of financial aid that los gringos provided to his country each year? The American drones, flown by American pilots, were taking orders from Washington, no doubt. Was Magaña taking orders from Washington too?

  He stood abruptly. Two minutes later, he found Alberto.

  “Find the Irishman,” he ordered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Richter shook his head. “The last time he was spotted was at the funeral. We’ve been picking up chatter that indicates that both he and his wife may have fled, that they may be in hiding. Nonetheless, we’re maintaining round-the-clock surveillance on his ranch in Tamaulipas.” He passed a group of photos to the president. “However, there’s been no sign of him. Just normal activity: guards, domestic servants, gardeners…” His voice trailed off.

  The president flipped through the photos for a moment. “What about phone calls, that sort of thing?” he asked.

  Richter shook his head again. “None. No phone calls, no emails, no texts, at least nothing that we’ve been able to connect to him.” He paused. “We suspect that he has houses elsewhere in the country, places where he can hide but still maintain control of the drug operation.”

  The president sat back, thinking. “So, what are our options?” he asked after a moment.

  “We keep looking,” Richter responded. “He’s bound to turn up at some point.”

  “And when he does,” the president said with a sigh, “I need to make a decision.”

  Richter shook his head. “I think you need to make the decision now, sir. If we spot him, by the time we get your authorization, we could lose him again.”

  The president held Richter’s gaze for a moment then nodded slowly. He turned to Jennifer Williams and Burt Phillips.

  “What do you think?”

  “I agree with Matthew,” Williams answered immediately. “Give the order now.”

  Burt Phillips nodded. “I agree too.”

  The president was silent for a moment. “I’ll need to speak to Magaña first,” he said more to himself than anyone else.

  After a moment he looked up. “In the meantime, prepare the directive,” he ordered.

  ___

  The sensor watched on the video screen as the two gardeners climbed on their bikes and began to pedal away from the hacienda. Bored, he zoomed in on the riders but was unable to make out their faces below the wide brims of their hats. The bikes were old, the lieutenant saw; both had coaster brakes and only one gear, reminding him of the bicycles his grandfather fondly talked about. The wide tires, he could see, were well suited for the ruts and bumps in the dirt road.

  The two peasants pedaled slowly, taking their time. Ten minutes later, they passed through the first guard booth and then, after another fifteen, they passed through the outer wall. The lieutenant glanced briefly at his watch. It was 1:30 p.m. local time and the two, as was the custom, were likely going home for the midday meal.

  Looks like siesta time, he thought then yawned. A nap right now sounded good. He watched as the two men pedaled slowly down the dirt road toward the small village two miles away. Lucky bastards, he thought again as he moved his joystick, directing the camera back to the hacienda.

  Intelligence now believed that Guerrero had fled. There had been no sightings since his daughter’s funeral. Still, the drones were maintaining round the clock surveillance on the chance that the drug boss would return.

  The sensor sighed as he began another scan of the compound, again searching for signs of something—anything—that would indicate where Guerrero had gone.

  ___

  “Buena suerte, my friend,” Felipe Magaña said.

  “Thank you, Felipe. Good luck to you too.”

  The president hung up the phone and nodded. Richter passed him a folder that bore Top Secret stamps. The president opened the folder and began to read. Two minutes later, he pulled a pen from his pocket. As he signed the Presidential Directive, he knew that he had just signed Pablo Guerrero’s death warrant.

  ___

  As the peasants rode up to the cantina, a young boy stepped out of the shade. The men climbed off their bikes and, after a quiet word with the boy, one of the men stepped into the cantina. The other, his face hidden behind the brim of his hat, waited outside in the shade with the boy. A moment later, the man who had gone inside came back out and nodded.

  The man who had been waiting outside stepped into the building and stopped for a minute, just inside the doorway, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. As the boy and the other man wheeled both bikes around the side of the building, he threaded his way through the tables—all empty despite the hour—and through the doorway to the patio out back. The patio too was empty, except for a lone man sitting at the table next to the ring. The peasant took the chair across from the man and nodded. Then he frowned when he saw the empty bottle.

  “I have a job for you,” Pablo Guerrero said in English, his words meant only for the man sitting across from him. The boy, he knew, spoke only Spanish as did his mother in the kitchen. Even though the boy, his mother, and Alberto were the only other people in the cantina, and even though he trusted all three completely, Guerrero was cautious.

  Terry Fogel nodded but said nothing as the boy suddenly appeared with two plates of food and a basket of tortillas. The mother followed, and Guerrero frowned again as she set another bottle of beer in front of Fogel. She placed a glass of water in front of Guerrero. He nodded once, and the boy and his mother quietly retreated to the kitchen. Then he nodded at Fogel and, as the Irish terrorist began to eat, he explained what he wanted.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  “You’re full of surprises,” Patty said as she leaned into Richter. They walked hand in hand, following the path behind the condo through the woods. Almost midnight, impulsively they had climbed out of bed and set out for a stroll. The night air was relatively warm, and the earthy smells of spring wafted through the air. The sky was bright with the half moon, and they could see the new ferns on the forest floor waving in the mild breeze.

  Richter’s text had surprised her and he had showed up, just as he had promised, at eight o’clock. She had dinner waiting and, after they’d had a pleasant meal and split a bottle of wine, they’d made love. She had fallen asleep immediately afterwards, content to be in his arms. But she had woken an hour later, sensing something was wrong, only to find him staring at the ceiling.

  “How’s the arm?” she asked as they walked around a bend.

  He flexed it, holding it above his head. “Not bad,” he said. “Just slower than I thought it would be.”

  They continued walking in silence. Patty occasionally stole a glance, trying to read his mood.

  “Things are bad?” she asked, knowing she was treading on delicate ground.

  He was silent a moment. The call of an owl floated across the air.

  “Well, for one,” he said, drawing out the suspense, “I missed you.”

  She leaned in, “I missed you too,”
she responded as she wrapped her arms around him.

  “Anything else bothering you?” she asked tentatively.

  He was quiet again for a moment.

  “I think the attack in Mexico is just the beginning,” he finally said as they crossed a small wooden bridge. A stream gurgled below them. Patty nodded but said nothing, her instinct telling her that he needed to talk.

  “We have no credible evidence, but my gut tells me there’s something there.”

  Patty knew he was talking about his sixth sense, something he had told her many cops possessed, an ability to feel the danger that was around the corner. They walked quietly for a minute before he spoke again.

  “I think the next attack is going to be here. Somewhere in the U.S.” He was quiet for another minute before he let out a sigh. “Look, the last thing I want to do is worry you. The reality is we face threats every day—Islamic terrorists, right wing militias, Iran, North Korea—the public just doesn’t know it.” He paused. “And it’s my job to sort through all of those and figure out which ones are real, which ones aren’t, and what we need to do.” They continued walking as a dog barked somewhere off in the distance. “When I was in the Secret Service and even in the FBI, I thought I’d seen it all.” He shook his head. “But now…” his voice trailed off. “And I’m only an advisor. I can only imagine the burden of having to make the decision.”

  Patty knew he was referring to President Kendall. They continued walking in silence.

  Sensing he was done, she pulled on his arm, turning him, and they began walking back towards the condos.

  “Know what I think?” she asked playfully after a moment.

  “What?”

  “I think I should visit you in Washington next weekend.”

  He hesitated. “What if something happens and I get tied up in work? I’d hate for you to come all the way down and me not be there.”

  “I’m sure I can find something to do. Besides, we’ll still have the nights,” Patty answered as she squeezed him. “Right?”

  He grinned. “I sure hope so.”

  ___

  Bobby Fleming glanced at the clock while he waited for the light to change. Was there enough time, he wondered. He could be a few minutes late, maybe fifteen, and no one would say anything. And if anyone asked, he could blame it on traffic. Besides, today was a slow day. He only had one more run scheduled in the afternoon. His mind made up, he pulled out his cell phone and pressed a number, preset to speed dial Tina. She wasn’t his girlfriend, not exactly. But whatever she was, he certainly enjoyed the benefits.

  “Hey, babe. It’s me. You free?”

  He heard a yawn, then, “I thought you had to work today.”

  Her voice was thick with sleep, and quite likely, he suspected, a hangover as well. She’d been out late again last night.

  “I’m working now. I just made a run, but I might have some time to stop by and pay you a visit before I head back to the shop.” He grinned at himself. “You know, just to say hi.”

  She laughed. “Honey, you always want to do a lot more than just say hi.” There was a pause. “How much time do you have?”

  “Forty-five minutes. Maybe an hour.”

  He heard a laugh. “Just enough time for a quickie, huh?”

  He grinned. “Hey. What can I say? I miss you.”

  There was a pause and he heard some rustling, then: “I’ll tell you what. I’m hungry and I need to take a shower. Stop by the deli on the way and grab me a sandwich. You know the one I like, with the cheese?”

  He laughed. “Sure. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Thanks, Bobby,” she purred. “That should give me enough time to get ready. But that doesn’t leave us much time. You better hurry.”

  As he hung up, he heard a honk behind him and realized the light had changed. He eased the van forward as he calculated the quickest way to Tina’s apartment. He glanced in his side view mirror then pulled into the left lane and turned at the next light.

  Sixteen minutes later, he parallel parked in front of Tina’s building. As he hopped out, sandwich in hand, he hit the button on the key fob and heard the chirp as the doors locked. He glanced quickly at the van, at the new logo for Billings Medical Devices on the side. The future of medicine…now, the tagline proclaimed, followed by an artist’s depiction of an atom. He wasn’t sure how much the company had paid some marketing firm for that design, but whatever the price, it had been too much.

  He shook his head. Anyway, he had more important things on his mind at the moment, he thought with a grin, as he pictured Tina waiting for him upstairs. As he mounted the steps to her building, he didn’t notice the white truck pull into the space behind him.

  ___

  “Passport, please.”

  Terry Fogel smiled as he handed his documents to the immigration officer and then watched casually as the woman flipped through the pages, past the numerous entry and exit stamps from around the world. All were expert forgeries, of course, and he was certain they wouldn’t raise any suspicions even to her trained eye.

  The officer studied the photo, and Fogel smiled again when she glanced up to scrutinize his face. She wore the perpetual scowl of someone who sees hundreds of faces each day, never quite trusting a single one. He wasn’t worried. With dark brown hair now, instead of his natural ginger, and wearing a pair of colored contacts, he looked sufficiently different than whatever picture they might have on file.

  “Did you visit any other countries besides Brazil?”

  “No,” he responded with another smile. “Just Brazil on this trip.”

  She grunted as she slid his passport though the bar code reader.

  While he waited, Fogel thought about the day ahead. From the airport, he would catch a cab to the hotel. After checking in, he would take another cab to Walmart, where he would buy several phones—prepaid models that didn’t require that you provide any information. He would pay in cash. Then he would call his contact again. The man, someone he had worked with many times in the past, was confident that by the time Fogel arrived, he would have everything that he needed.

  The officer looked up and Fogel smiled again as she handed his documents back.

  “Welcome home.”

  ___

  Bobby left Tina’s building, humming a tune. He was later than he expected and he knew his supervisor was going to chew him out. Especially since he had ignored the two calls. He could tell by the second message that he was in trouble. Oh well, he sighed. It was worth it.

  As he stepped to the sidewalk, he pulled his keys from his pocket, thumbed the unlock button and climbed in. When he started the van, something in the rearview mirror caught his attention. He glanced in the back at the box. The heavy case that stored the canisters was at a slight angle. He frowned as he climbed between the seats to the back. He stared down at the box. He hadn’t left it like that, had he? Then he noticed the lock. It was broken. Oh, shit!

  CHAPTER FORTY

  As the train pulled into the station, Patty stood up and reached for her bag.

  “Here, let me help you with that.”

  She turned at the voice and smiled back at the handsome man standing next to her.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  The man grinned as he lifted her bag off the storage rack and placed it in the aisle. After he extended the retractable handle, he looked up and nodded once, not quite a bow.

  “And here I thought chivalry was dead,” Patty said with a laugh.

  “Not where I’m from,” he said, holding her gaze.

  Where’s that? she wanted to ask, but caught herself. She didn’t want him to misinterpret her gratitude as flirting. After all, she wasn’t. Was she?

  He grinned and she caught something in his eyes, a look that was intriguing. Let it go, she told herself.

  “Well, thanks again,” she said with a smile as she reached for the handle of her bag.

  “Enjoy your stay in Washington,” he said with another grin as he tur
ned and, pulling his own bag, stepped out onto the platform.

  She followed him off the train. He turned once and smiled at her again then she lost him in the crowd. As she followed the stream of passengers into the main concourse, she realized what it was that she had seen in his eyes: a look that said he found life amusing.

  ___

  Terry Fogel stopped by the coffee shop and ordered a cup of tea. As he was paying, he saw the woman walk by. She was attractive. For a second he thought she had been flirting with him. But then something in her eyes had changed and he realized that the moment was gone. Oh well, he thought as his phone rang. He didn’t have time for that now. As he watched her disappear in the crowd, he answered.

  A minute later, he hung up. He smiled. His contact had what he needed; more than enough really. But it would take some time—perhaps a month—to finalize plans and to assemble the device.

  He thanked the bearded young man behind the counter as he was handed a cup of tea. Now would be a good time to send a message, he thought; something both to warn but also to create a diversion. It was a risky move, but what was life without a little risk?

  He took a sip of tea. Not like home but not bad. But then again, after all of these years, maybe he had just grown used to weak American tea. He took another sip as he watched the crowd streaming by. A woman, in the black full body cloak favored by some Muslims, passed by the coffee shop. Only her face was visible, the rest of her body hidden by the burqa. He watched as she walked past a police officer. The officer turned and followed her with his eyes until she disappeared in the crowd. Perfect, Fogel told himself. He took another sip and smiled. Life was just a game.