Covert Warriors (Presidential Agent 7)

“I’ll tell you this, General,” the President said. “A submarine will be equipped in time for this operation, or we’ll have a new secretary of Defense, a new secretary of the Navy, and a new chief of naval operations.”

“Yes, sir.”

XI

[ONE]

Hacienda Santa Maria

Oaxaca Province, Mexico

2105 20 April 2007

“With all possible respect, Señor Diputado Procurador General,” Juan Carlos Pena said, with a smile in his voice, “you don’t really want to know what I’m going to do tonight. I’ll meet you in the Diamante at nine, and I promise not to ask what you did tonight.”

He laughed at the deputy attorney general’s response, and then hung up.

“What’s the Diamante?” Castillo asked.

“Will he trace the call here?” Svetlana asked.

“Oh, she is a professional, isn’t she?” Pena observed. “He might, Sweaty, and I will handle that by walking into the restaurant tomorrow morning with a case of Hacienda Santa Maria’s finest grapefruit for him. He will then conclude that I was here checking your security, which means to pick up the envelope.”

“What envelope?” Svetlana asked.

“The envelope containing the small token of Don Armando’s appreciation for my keeping the bad guys away from Hacienda Santa Maria,” Pena said.

Don Armando Medina, the general manager of Hacienda Santa Maria, chuckled.

“Don Armando, you’re actually paying protection money to the Federales?” Castillo demanded.

“Jesus Christ, Carlos!” Pena replied. “I can’t believe you actually asked that.”

“Does that mean we’re paying you or not?” Castillo pursued.

“It means, my naïve old buddy, that it’s important that people such as Manuel José Guzmán, Diputado Procurador General de la República, think you’re paying me. Otherwise, Manuel José might suspect that I’m honest, and we certainly couldn’t have that, could we?”

“Sorry,” Castillo said.

“Carlos, I knew Doña Alicia, called her Tia Alicia, long before I met you.”

“I said I was sorry,” Castillo said. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“That’s a problem for you, isn’t it?”

“Juan Carlos,” Svetlana said. “He said he was sorry. What did this man have to say?”

“Unless I’m wrong—and I very seldom am, that’s why I’m still alive—at nine tomorrow morning in the restaurant of the Diamante—full title Camino Real Acapulco Diamante, one of the better hotels in Acapulco—he will explain to me when and how Félix Abrego will manage to escape from the Oaxaca State Prison. And then, because he knows how ashamed I will be because of Señor Abrego’s escape from my custody, he will give me an envelope to assuage my pain.”

“The deputy attorney general is working for the cartels?” Castillo asked, surprised.

“With, I would say, not for. Abrego has many friends, Carlos, and most of them have lots of money.”

“If nobody has anything more to say,” Castillo said, “I think I will have a little grape before we have dinner. It’s been a busy day, and it’s long past my normal wine time.”

As if on cue, someone had something to say.

Castillo’s Brick buzzed.