“One of them tried to kill me, the one who was stabbed. Do they know who they were?”
“Listen, García, I brought you in on this investigation to find out what’s really going on, not so you can liquidate anybody who runs afoul of you.”
“I think they’re in on it. Do they know who they are?”
“In on it! The one you stabbed was a Mexican citizen, though, granted, not an upstanding one, but Mexican, in any case. I thought you’d be investigating the Chinese.”
“That’s what I have been doing, Colonel. Do you have a name?”
“Luciano Manrique, a man of many trades. Specialist in armed robberies. Ring a bell, García?”
“I didn’t know him. And the other?”
“Also Mexican. A gunslinger from the north, from Baja. Roque Villegas Vargas or at least that’s the name he used.”
“Not one of my acquaintances, either.”
“Now they’re both dead.”
“So it seems.”
“Whatever you say, I don’t see what connection they could have had with our investigation. Unless you have something concrete?”
“No, Colonel, I don’t. What puzzles me is, you’d just given me this assignment, and I’d only just started talking to the Chinese, and then those two show up and try to knock me out of the game. Maybe the Outer Mongolians plan to hire local talent instead of using imports.”
“Who knows. Maybe they had it in for you for something else. A lot of people have it in for you, García.”
“That’s true, Colonel, but I’m not too keen on coincidences like this.”
“If you’d had a chance to ask them. .”
“Excuse me, Colonel, the gringo’s here. I’ll keep you posted.”
He hung up and turned toward the entrance to Sanborns. A man had approached the cigarette counter and was waiting for the attendant. It was ten sharp. García started walking toward him. This gringo knows his trade. He’s not looking around, not even out of the corner of his eye. Like he’s only buying cigarettes. But I don’t like that he already saw me. Fucking gringo!
The attendant went up to the gringo, a big smile on her face.
“Lucky Strikes, please, Miss.”
García slapped him on the back.
“Hey. . what you doing here, old pal?”
“My friend García.”
They exchanged a big hug, patting each other heartily on the back. These fucking gringos, ever since they found out we hug each other, damn if they don’t overdo it.
“I think I’m being followed,” García said.
The gringo didn’t decrease the width of his smile. The young lady behind the counter spoke to him curtly:
“Your cigarettes, sir.”
Graves extricated himself from the embrace, picked up the cigarettes, and paid. Then he turned to García. He was smiling like a man who’d just run into a very good friend he hadn’t seen in a long time — all enthusiasm and joy. The smile didn’t change one iota when he said, “I know. Me, too.”
“What a pleasure to see you,” García said.
The American was about forty years old, short and strong. This gringo’s got the muscles of a boxer and the face of a sonofabitch. Not a bad combination in a man who knows his trade, and it looks like this one does. And with those little gold-rimmed eyeglasses, that fedora, and his colorful belt, he looks like a travel agent. Fucking gringos! They’re always playing some part. Me, even if I wear that little hat and those glasses, I’d still look like what I am: a stiff factory. Even the cigarette broad was horrified that he was friends with me. She must think he’s a tourist and doesn’t understand these latinos, that he’s got no idea who he’s dealing with. Fucking broad! And she isn’t even much to look at.
The gringo had taken him by the arm and was leading him into the restaurant.
“You’ve already eaten breakfast, García, my friend? Come on, at least have a cup of coffee with me.”
“Love to.”
Few people were eating breakfast at that hour, so they found a table set a little apart and sat down. They were keeping a close eye on each other, the American with his tourist grin not losing his idiotic bliss for a single second. You can tell just by looking at his hands that this gringo does karate. He must know more tricks than an old fox. And with that little smile, I’ll bet he’s one of those guys who kills without even blinking. Has Marta woken up? Has she read my note? For all I know, she’s already gone, her little mission accomplished. She did as she was told and got me where they wanted me. Can’t say the same for the other two. That’s why they’re dead.
Graves’s breakfast came — eggs and ham, toast and orange juice. García had a coffee. Fucking coffee! Tastes like dirty water, but that’s the way gringos like it. And then, they use cream instead of milk; you’d think they were eating chilaquiles.
The American talked between bites, always smiling and pleasant:
“We’ve already done some preliminary investigations, Mr. García, starting with you.”
“And. .”
“No offense. It’s par for the course in our organization.”
“What else have you been investigating?”
“First off, all travelers arriving in Mexico from Asia, either through the United States or through Canada. We’ve already located most of them and eliminated them from the list. In fact, there are only five we haven’t yet located and four of them are suspicious. Two of them arrived together, by Canadian Pacific, directly from Hong Kong, and we’ve lost track of them here in Mexico. But their particulars don’t match those we got from our Russian colleagues. One is Chinese, but a Cuban citizen. The other is from the States, an adventurer who was in China and Indonesia, and was a pilot in the Korean War. One of our pilots, Mr. García.”
“Looks like he outgrew his crate.”
Graves stared at him, his smile fading from his lips.
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s just an expression we use. What I mean is maybe that pilot isn’t so keen on helping you fight Communism anymore.”
“Oh, now I get it. Exactly. We think he’s defected. But he still has his American passport, which makes it easy for him to travel, as long as he doesn’t enter the U.S. The Chinese man is using a Mexican passport, false, according to the authorities. Apparently in Asia he was using a Cuban passport. As you can see, we’ve made some headway in our investigations.”
“Yes.”
“But it’s not enough. Others could have come here via other routes. They could have come through the United States and changed passports there. It’s almost impossible, in such a short time, to have a fix on everybody who’s traveled from Asia to America. They also could have come through Europe. That’s why we reached the conclusion that the real investigation has to be carried out here in Mexico.”
“Really, you don’t say.”
“The American we haven’t located goes by the name of James P. Moran and the Chinaman is Xavier Liu. Maybe, given your contacts in the Chinese community, we’ll be able to find them.”
“Maybe.”
“We understand you were given your orders last night, and you’re only now getting started. Right?”
“Right.”
There was silence. This goddamned gringo already wants to start giving me orders. I don’t think I have to tell him everything. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And if I tell him about Marta, he’s going to want to investigate her, too. Fucking gringo. That’s right: the less said, the better.
“We are supposed to meet our Russian colleague,” Graves said. “Those are the orders.”
“Right.”
“We’re supposed to cooperate with him on everything, but I don’t think that means we have to share everything. Don’t you agree, Mr. García? We can’t trust him completely, not after everything that’s happened.”