“I investigated the incident—” Pena began.
“Incident?” Danton blurted. “A massacre is what you just described.”
“… at KM 125.5,” Pena went on ignoring him. “And I turned in my report to the procurador general de la república, who is something like the attorney general in the United States. My report stated that the murders had been committed by parties unknown, most probably in connection with the drug trade. I further stated that since my investigation had turned up no suspects, the crime would most probably go unsolved.
“Shortly afterward, Señor Pedro Dagada, an attorney who has several times represented members of both the Zambada and Sinaloa cartels in their brushes with the law, happened upon me while I was having lunch in the Diamond.”
He paused and then went on, “For your general edification, Señor Danton, ‘the Diamond’ is what we call the five-star Camino Real Acapulco Diamante hotel in Acapulco. In English, that’s the Royal Road Acapulco Diamond. Got it?”
Roscoe nodded uncomfortably.
“As I was saying, there I was in the Diamond, having lunch, when Señor Dagada appeared, greeted me warmly — which I found a little surprising, as I have sent a number of his clients to prison — and insisted on buying me a drink.
“Thirty minutes and three drinks later, Señor Dagada asked me, just between old pals, not to go any further, if I had any ideas about what had happened at KM 125.5 that I had not put in my report to the procurador general. He also confided in me that the procurador general, an old pal, had shown him my report.
“So I said, ‘Pedro, I wouldn’t tell even you this, old pal, if you hadn’t told me the procurador general had shown you my report. Just between us, the procurador general knows as well as I do what really happened out there at KM 125.5.’
“To which he replied, ‘Well, what was that?’
“To which I replied, ‘The Americans sent us a message. Don’t kidnap our diplomats who are also Special Forces. Special Forces doesn’t like that, and we can’t control our Special Forces any more than you can control your cartels. They got their guy back and left the bodies on the road at KM 125.5 as a polite suggestion not to kidnap anybody from Special Forces again.’
“And then Pedro asked, ‘You got a name?’
“And I said, ‘Well, there was a guy named Costello down here.’
“And then Pedro asked, ‘Costello or Castillo?’
“And I said I didn’t know for sure, but there was a guy down here named one or the other and I heard he was Special Forces looking for Ferris. He disappeared just about the time what happened at KM 125.5 happened — as did Ferris. ‘So draw your own conclusions, Pedro.’”
“You gave him Charley’s name?” Roscoe asked, horrified.
“You’re not listening. He already had Charley’s name. And I suspect he knew a good deal about Charley,” Pena said drily. He turned to Castillo. “So, what’s on your agenda now, John Wayne, in whatever little time you have left before they cut off — among other parts — your head?”
“I thought I’d take Roscoe here to Drug Cartel International Airport and let him take some pictures to show the President how hard we’re working.”
“I’ve already seen Drug Cartel International, thank you just the same,” Danton said.
“But the President, Roscoe, knows very little about it,” Castillo said. “And we want to keep him abreast of things, don’t we?” He turned to Juan Carlos Pena. “Keep in mind the idea is to stall the President until he tires of this nutty idea and moves on to another. So, what we’re going to do is take Roscoe with us to Drug Cartel International and then let him write his news story, together with pictures of the Outlaws suitably garbed and heavily armed, putting their lives on the line going about the President’s business by going, so to speak, literally into the mouth of the Drug Cartel dragon.
“We will send Roscoe’s story to the President with my report. My report won’t say much except that we are gathering intelligence, and are about to go to Budapest, from where I will report again.”
“What are you going to do in Budapest?” Juan Carlos asked.
“I haven’t figured that out yet, but whatever it is, it will be something that will keep the Commander in Chief thinking I’m really working hard for him. Getting the picture?”
“Yeah,” Pena said thoughtfully. “So, what do you want from me?”
“Can you cover my back when we go to Drug Cartel International?”
Pena visibly collected his thoughts before he replied.
“If you go there, the cartels will know about it within an hour.” He paused to let that sink in, then went on: “I can cover your back. But I won’t, Carlito, unless I have your word that you and Sweaty get on your airplane the minute we get back and get the hell out of here.”
As visibly as Pena had, Castillo visibly framed his answer. Pena saw this and took advantage of it.
“I don’t want to see your heads hanging side by side from that bridge I mentioned, Carlito.”
“It’s that bad, huh?” Castillo asked.
Pena nodded.
“My God!” Roscoe said.
“Your head hanging from the bridge, Roscoe, I could live with,” Pena said. “But I have a soft spot in my heart for Romeo and Juliet.”
“Okay,” Castillo said.
“That’s your word of honor, Carlito, right?”
Castillo nodded.
“Say it.”
“Word of honor,” Castillo said.
“Okay.”
“Is there time to drive there and back today? I don’t think flying in would be too smart.”
“That would depend on what you were flying,” Pena said. “If you had a Black Hawk helicopter, you could make it to Drug Cartel International and back before supper.”
“Sorry, Juan Carlos, I don’t even know where mine is. It’s not where I left it after we grabbed Ferris, and the CIA’s satellites can’t find it.”
“The CIA’s satellites?” Danton and Pena repeated just about simultaneously.
“Natalie Cohen was afraid it would wind up in the wrong hands and asked Frank Lammelle, the DCI, to find it for her.”
“It didn’t wind up in the wrong hands, Carlito,” Pena said. “You should listen to Sweaty and stop underestimating people.”
“You’ve got it?” Castillo asked.
Pena nodded.
“I can have it on the roof here in fifteen minutes,” Pena said. “Then we will go to Drug Cartel International, Roscoe can take your picture, and then we will come back here. Where, your luggage having been packed while you were gone, and loaded aboard your airplane, you can immediately take off for… Where did you say you were going? Budapest? Agreed?”
Castillo, after a moment, nodded.
“Only one thing I can think of,” he said. He turned to the Sienos.
“Where do you want us to drop you off?” he asked.
“What?” Paul Sieno asked.
“You know, Miami? Tampa? Palm Beach?”
“What are we going to do in Palm Beach?” Susanna Sieno asked.
“Susanna, you heard what the man said about these people. Stalling Clendennen in Mexico is not going to be a vacation on the CIA’s dime. They’d cut off your head, and Paul’s, as quickly as they’d cut off mine.”
“I was thinking about that,” she said.
“Good,” Juan Carlos said.
“Juan Carlos, could you pass off Paul and me as your cousins from, say, Colombia? Better yet, Havana?” she asked.
“What the hell, Charley,” Paul chimed in. “Maybe we could learn something about these people that somebody on top could use.”
“You understand,” Juan Carlos said, “that if these people find out who you are—”
“We spent five years in Cuba,” she said. “Brother Raúl is a lot smarter than these cartel people, and he and his DGI never got close to us.”