Roddy consulted his navigation chart, then glanced back at Janney's map. They were near the town of Tequila, home of the famous brew. "Here's where we part company with Highway 15."
He swung the helicopter onto a northerly heading that would take them directly to the valley marked by the "X" on Janney's map. The terrain below became more rugged as they climbed to maintain their clearance above the ground. It was covered with dense woods that made it resemble a speckled green carpet.
As they approached the target area, Roddy put the chopper into a gentle climb until he spotted the canyon with its precipitous sides, what was known in Mexico as a barranca. It was accessed by a primitive dirt road at one end. A large cabin and two smaller outbuildings were nestled in a clearing along a stream in the center of the secluded valley, which was wooded over most of its length. Both men scrutinized the layout as they flew across the end where the road entered.
"I don't see any activity," Roddy said, swinging his head from side to side. There were no people in sight. No vehicles. No animals.
"Neither do I," Janney agreed. "Let's make another pass. Take her down for a closer look this time."
Roddy turned the chopper and sent it into a sharp descent as he began a sweep that took them the length of the canyon just above the treetops. The gorge plunged about 150 meters from the rim and was around 800 meters long. Now they could see fresh tire tracks pointing at the cabin, parallel lines scribed in dirt that had been softened by an evening shower. Roddy slowed to a near hover and dropped until the rotor's downwash began to kick up reddish volcanic dust. Janney pointed to the rear of the house.
"Looks like fresh piles of horse shit, and hoof prints." He was swinging his head around excitedly. "Somebody has definitely been here not long ago."
"I don't see anything to indicate what they might have been doing. Do you?"
Janney frowned. "No. Maybe we're too early. Give him a little time. Might be a good idea to try again tomorrow or the next day."
"Seen enough for now?"
He nodded. "Let's get back to Guadalajara."
28
It was late afternoon when they landed at Miguel Hidalgo Airport. Roddy jokingly complained that he had missed his siesta. In fact, he had planned a trip into Guadalajara to pick up a few items at the sprawling Mercado Libertad, a four-story complex of market stalls where you could haggle over everything from dried iguanas to jewelry to fancy saddles. He offered Bryan Janney a lift to his hotel, which was located on the fringes of the historic district not far from the market.
Traffic was heavy along Avenida 16 de Septiembre, which reminded Roddy why he normally chose mid-morning for his junkets into the city center. Guadalajara was called the most Mexican of Mexican towns, but its explosive growth as the country's second largest city made it appear as two cities in one, the crowded, sprawling suburbs and the colorful historic center, a collection of traditional Spanish colonial buildings of weathered beige sandstone.
Janney's hotel was not one of the top-rated lodgings, but it offered comfortable, reasonably-priced rooms, accompanied by a decent restaurant and bar. Located on a quiet side street, it presented some of the classic charm of old Mexico. Roddy parked near the entrance and turned to his passenger.
"Give me a call when you're ready to take another look at that barranca."
"Maybe tomorrow. Enjoyed the ride. How about coming in, let me buy you a beer?"
"Thanks. I'd better get on to the market. I need to head back shortly."
"I promised you a full rundown on the Roundtable," Janney recalled. "I'll print out some of my golden prose and bring it along next time. I always carry my laptop with me. Have a small dot matrix printer in the room, too, and a box of floppy disks with untold hours of research. Everything I've written on the book so far."
Roddy nodded. "Fine. I'd like to read it. From what you've told me, sounds like you may be onto something big."
"Biggest damned conspiracy I've ever… " Janney lapsed into silence, then spoke in a half whisper. "See the guy who just came out the front door? That's Adam Stern. I didn't tell you he's former CIA. He traveled down here under the name of 'Baker Thomas.' One dangerous sonofabitch. I assure you it isn't healthy to be on his list. I've heard some of the FAR leaders call him 'the enforcer.'"
As they watched, a charcoal gray Ford pulled up to the hotel and Stern, a sober-faced, casually-dressed man of medium height, climbed into the front seat.
"It's a rental car," Janney mused, noting the sticker on the rear bumper. He jotted down the license number in a small notebook. "Wonder who he's meeting?"
"Must not be from around here," Roddy said.
"Probably another foreigner." He looked at Roddy as the Ford started to pull away. "You're an old special operations hand. Had any experience following people?"
Roddy gave him a skeptical grin. "Following… as in 'tail that man?' Sorry, I just drive helicopters."
"How about giving it a try?"
"What's so important about this?"
Janney's eyes were now glued to the Ford. "I've got a feeling it could damned well be a crucial development, Colonel. Don't let them get out of sight."
What the hell, Roddy thought. He didn't have anything better to do. If Janney wanted to play secret agent, he would humor him for a little while. He angled away from the curb and started trailing the charcoal gray car, which was now approaching an intersection at the end of the block.
Fortunately, the task was simplified when the Ford pulled over and parked at a restaurant and bar a short distance away. The driver, a dark-haired man wearing jeans and a long-sleeve blue shirt — he might have been a rancher, but he didn't look Mexican — got out and walked in with Stern. Roddy drove on past as the men entered.
"Turn around and double back," Janney said. "We'll park and go in. I want a closer look at his buddy."
"You sure that's a good idea? Would Stern recognize you?"
"It's possible he knows of me, that I'm doing research on the Roundtable. I doubt I've made enough waves yet for him to be on the alert for me. He probably doesn't know what I look like, or give a damn. We'll just stay a few minutes."
Roddy didn't relish the idea of being an innocent bystander gobbled up in some fanciful game played by this beefy journalist. If it got any more involved than this, he would bow out. But he turned the Toyota around and drove back to the restaurant.
Inside, the place was decorated with bullfight posters and large tropical plants. The dining room was virtually empty, but the lounge appeared an oasis for the thirsty. Two burly ranchers with dusty boots, their big hats covering the chairs beside them, occupied the table next to Roddy and Janney. An empty table sat between the ranchers and the one where Adam Stern huddled with his bland-faced companion.
Janney ordered two beers, then reached into a pocket and took out something that startled Roddy. It was a camera. Very small, but quite obviously a camera. He held it in both hands, leaning across the table on his elbows. The camera was hidden by his plump fingers, but he was unquestionably pointing it toward the nearby table.
"What the hell are you doing?" Roddy asked.
"It's a Minox with high speed film," Janney replied, exhibiting a bit of irritation that anyone should question his actions. "They can't see the damn thing."
Roddy wasn't so sure. He cast a surreptitious glance toward Stern's table, but one of the ranchers blocked his view. He saw Janney separate his fingers to clear the lens and fire a couple of quick shots.
The waiter brought their beers and Janney kept his eyes focused on the other table as he gulped his down. It wasn't Roddy's idea of the way a surveillance operation should be run. But he wasn't an investigative reporter. Maybe they did things differently from cops and professional spooks.