Edge of Battle

CHAPTER 8

THE SITUATION ROOM, THE WHITE HOUSE,

WASHINGTON, D.C.

A SHORT TIME LATER

The past hour had been a complete whirlwind of confusion, reminiscent of the Consortium attacks last year. The President would have thought that his government and the first responders would be accustomed to leaping into action after another terrorist event, but it was every bit the same semicontrolled madhouse they had experienced before.

When the news of the shoot-down near El Centro came in, President Samuel Conrad had been immediately whisked away from a breakfast meeting, tour, and speech at the National Cancer Institute at Fort Detrick, near Frederick, Maryland, and quickly escorted to his waiting helicopter at the Army base for the short flight back to Washington. Initial reports indicated it might be another Consortium terror attack, so the government had been sent into crisis mode, with the vice president and other key members of the administration and Congress sent to alternate emergency command centers. The alert had been canceled quickly, but like a locomotive or aircraft carrier going at full speed, it was hard to stop the government crisis juggernaut once it got going.

Things were fairly quiet and relatively calm back at the White House. The President strode quickly into the White House Situation Room. “Seats,” he said as soon as he stepped to his chair at the head of the conference table. His advisers shuffled to their chairs. “Okay, let’s get started. Tom?”

“The vice president is in Washington State this morning, and is now airborne and on his way to the western alternate command center in St. George, Utah,” the Chief of Staff said. He ran down the locations and status of all the other cabinet officers, the leadership of Congress, and the members of the Supreme Court. “The Homeland Security Threat Assessment team met a short time ago. As you know, sir, following the incident in Arizona and the other attacks on Border Patrol personnel, the Homeland Security Threat Advisory level was already at ‘orange,’ or ‘High.’ Following the attack on the Marine Corps and CHP helicopters near El Centro, the assessment team recommends raising the threat level to ‘red,’ or ‘Extreme.’ They gave me a call and I told them I’d ask your advice.”

“Sergeant Major?”

“I recommend going ahead and raising the threat level to ‘red,’ sir,” National Security Adviser Ray Jefferson replied immediately.

President Conrad sat back in his seat, physically and emotionally drained and exhausted. This would be the first time since the Consortium attacks that the nation had been back on “Extreme,” something that he had dearly hoped to avoid. The Homeland Security Threat Assessment Team, composed of the Attorney General, the President’s Homeland Security Adviser, the Director of National Intelligence, and the commander of U.S. Northern Command, were in charge of setting the Homeland Security Threat Advisory level and determined the recommended “Protective Measure” response, which varied by agency and state depending on the location, severity, and gravity of the threat. It was not required by law, but before publicly announcing their decision, the Threat Assessment Team always made a courtesy call to the White House to advise the President of their recommended response.

“Sergeant Major, I think the American people are exhausted,” the President said, “and if we raise the threat level to ‘red’ again, they’re not going to react at all when we really need them to do so. Is the Threat Assessment Team absolutely sure that this incident rises to the level of a terrorist action against the United States? In my mind, it does not. It could have been an accident.”

“We’re suspicious about the tasking of those Mexican Air Force jets, sir,” Air Force General Gordon Joelson, commander of U.S. Northern Command, the unified military command in charge of the defense of the continental United States, interjected. “We’re trying to precisely nail down the timeline, but it appears that those jets launched from their base near Mexico City moments after the battle with Task Force TALON farther north.”

“I’m in the dark,” the President said. He looked perturbedly at Jefferson. “What battle? TALON was in a battle?”

“Yes, sir, about ninety minutes ago,” Jefferson said. “FBI Director DeLaine’s joint task force group, sent out to track down the survivor of the first terrorist attack near Blythe, had a shootout with terrorists, one of whom was identified by Major Richter as Yegor Zakharov.”

“Oh, shit…!”

“Zakharov had several heavy weapons with him and was obviously expecting an encounter with the CID robots,” Jefferson went on. “He escaped, after killing several civilians, injuring a Border Patrol agent, and…and capturing the CID unit and Major Richter.”

“He what?” the President shouted. The room exploded in sheer pandemonium. “Zakharov has Richter and one of the robots?”

“I’m afraid so, sir,” Jefferson said. “We’re tracking Zakharov down as we speak. TALON’s reconnaissance airship detected several encrypted satellite phone transmissions from the area, which we believe Zakharov made himself—they could not unscramble the message, but the transmissions came from a vehicle that turned out to be stolen, heading for the Mexico border at high speed. Minutes after the first few calls, the jets launched.”

“That could be a coincidence.”

“It would have been, sir, if the jets went on a normal patrol or went to a practice area,” Joelson said. “But we tracked the planes using OTH-B radar almost from liftoff, and it does not appear to have been a normal flight profile at all.” OTH-B, or over-the-horizon-backscatter, was an ultralong-range radar system that bounced radar energy off the ionosphere, allowing radar operators to detect and track aircraft as far as five thousand miles away. The system, based in Maine and originally designed to detect attacking Soviet bombers from the north, had been steered to look south to detect drug smugglers flying from South America. “Those F-5s made a beeline toward El Centro, even flying supersonic for a short period of time. My guess is that they were summoned to respond to the area that Zakharov was going to use for his escape route.”

“You actually think Yegor Zakharov or the Consortium has allies so deep and so high up in the Mexican government that he can order fighter jets to launch on a moment’s notice like that?” the President asked, although he didn’t dare believe it was so crazy as to totally discount it.

“I don’t know, sir,” Joelson said. “It doesn’t seem likely—the Mexican government is corrupt, but they’d be stone-cold insane to make any kind of deal with Yegor Zakharov so soon after the Consortium attacks against the United States. But there’s no doubt in my mind that those jets headed directly for the exact location where Zakharov was heading. I believe they were dispatched.”

“What about those helicopters?” the President asked. “Where did they come from, and where did they go?”

“OTH-B can’t see close to the U.S. border, and civil or military radars didn’t pick up anything until the incident was over because they flew so low, but we think the three helicopters involved in the incident came from Rodolfo Sanchez Taboada Airport near Mexicali, which also has air force and Ministry of Internal Affairs aircraft based there as well,” Joelson said. “Based on the range of those helicopters, they could have flown as far south as Hermosillo. The jets didn’t fly all the way back to Mexico City, so they probably landed and refueled nearby, possibly at Hermosillo as well.”

“My God, they got away with kidnapping and murder—and now Zakharov has a robot,” the President muttered. “Jesus, Jefferson, this is a massive screw-up.”

“The CID unit has several telemetry and tracking systems on-board,” Jefferson said. “If Zakharov tried to activate it, we’ll have it pinpointed in seconds. We’ll get it back. Zakharov will never get a chance to use it. But we need Mexico’s cooperation to track down Zakharov and get Richter and the robot back.”

“Maravilloso will never cooperate,” the President said. “Zakharov will either bribe or threaten her enough to convince her to stonewall us until he has a chance to figure out how to use the robot. What in hell are we supposed to do?”

“Mr. President, our path is clear,” Ray Jefferson said. “By executive order, Task Force TALON has the authority to pursue Yegor Zakharov and the Consortium anywhere on the planet—and that includes Mexico. We should reactivate them immediately.”

“I strongly disagree with the sergeant major, sir,” Kinsly said. “My opinion at this moment is that this incident was horrendous and ill-timed but an unfortunate accident.”

“Hold it, everyone, just hold it,” the President said. “I’m not going to send anyone until I find out what happened from Maravilloso herself.” He picked up the phone by his right elbow and waited until after the familiar “Yes, Mr. President?” query from the operator. “Get me the president of Mexico, immediately,” Conrad ordered. “Tell her it’s urgent.”

PALACIAO NACIONAL, MEXICO CITY, MEXICO

THAT SAME TIME

“Where in hell is Díaz?” United Mexican States President Carmen Maravilloso shouted. “I called for him almost an hour ago!”

“He is on his way, Madam President,” her assistant said. “He phoned and said his helicopter was damaged, so he must travel by car. He may not be here for another thirty minutes at best.”

“¡Hideputa!” Maravilloso swore. “The President of the United States is going to call me any minute now, and the only explanation I have is this sorry-assed fairy tale! I want to talk with Díaz on a secure line, and I want it now!”

“Madam President, this is an absolute outrage,” Minister of Defense Alberto Rojas said hotly. “I never authorized those jets to fly near the border! Never! We have very specific rules about military flights near the border, and they all require…”

“I heard you the first time, General, I heard you,” Maravilloso said. “I am going to get to the bottom of this. Pedro!” At that moment her assistant walked in. “Get Díaz in here in the next two minutes or I’ll…!”

“The President of the United States is calling, Madam,” her assistant said.

Maravilloso stopped, took a deep breath, and nodded. “Get Díaz in here…”

“He will be here within minutes, Madam President,” Pedro said, and quickly retreated.

Maravilloso took another deep breath, resignedly shook her head, and picked up the phone. “This is the president. Go ahead.”

“Madame President, this is Samuel Conrad.”

“Yes, Mr. President, thank you for the call,” she said. “I send my sincerest condolences to you and your citizens for this tragedy.”

“Can you tell me what happened, Madam President?”

“A tragic but completely innocent error.” She made a quick report of what she had been told about the incident. “Our investigation is under way, but I can assure you, this will be scrupulously examined. I deeply and sincerely apologize for the tragic loss of life, but it was nothing more than an unfortunate accident. The military received a request for support from the Minister of Internal Affairs and the Attorney General, stating that rival drug gangs from Mexicali, who had been involved in several murders, kidnappings, and bank robberies, were attempting to flee justice. Military jets and helicopters were immediately dispatched to assist local police and Internal Affairs investigators…”

“Jets? Do you regularly dispatch armed jet fighters to chase down drug smugglers?”

“We had heard that the gang members had heavy military weapons, including rocket-propelled grenades, which as you know they did indeed have such weapons. We decided to take no chances—better to bring too much firepower than not enough. They found the gang members in a very short period of time. The criminals fired what appeared to be a shoulder-fired missile, so our aircraft returned fire in self-defense…”

“So are you trying to say that your jets fired a missile and it strayed off course and accidentally hit the helicopter?”

“I am telling you what has happened, Mr. Conrad—I have no explanations yet,” Maravilloso said. “I am told that the attacks on the criminals were initiated over Mexican territory, not American airspace. It was only after the attack commenced that they realized they had overflown U.S. airspace, and they immediately withdrew without firing any more shots.”

“Why didn’t you notify any U.S. agencies that you were flying military aircraft in the vicinity of the border?” the President asked. “The danger of high-speed jets flying so close to civilian and military airfields without prior notification is obvious…”

“Our pilots never had authorization to fly into U.S, airspace, sir—it was a mistake, one for which they will be punished, following our own military investigation,” Maravilloso said. “The commanders on the scene did not believe any danger existed. Obviously they did not anticipate the accidental overflight and what might happen if innocent American aircraft were in the same area. Unfortunately the worst happened…”

“A courtesy call still would have been appropriate.”

“Oh? I do not recall getting a ‘courtesy call’ when you set up Rampart One, or when you moved National Guard troops to the border, sir,” Maravilloso said. “Courtesy works both ways, Mr. Conrad, does it not?”

“The difference is, Madam President, that our forces were merely guarding our own borders and did not run the danger of crossing Mexico’s border…”

“Oh, really? I think the danger was very clear.”

“…and there is no duty to inform you of actions we take that affect only our territory,” Conrad said. “If you thought the gang members might try to cross the border, on the other hand, a call to American state and federal law enforcement agencies, for proper notification or assistance, would have been desirable and appropriate.”

“Do not lecture me on what is ‘appropriate,’ Mr. Conrad, after what the United States has done over the past few days!” Maravilloso snapped. “You are certainly in no such position!”

“Madam President, we have information that one of our Cybernetic Infantry Devices—the man-piloted robot—and the commander of Task Force TALON, Jason Richter, were taken at the same time,” the President said. “Obviously the danger in having one of those robots in the hands of a terrorist mastermind like Yegor Zakharov is clear. We request…”

“Zakharov? Yegor Zakharov?” Maravilloso looked in shock at the others in her office. “I know nothing of Zakharov being involved in this! This is…this is not possible…!”

“Madam President, there’s no time to waste,” the President said. “We request immediate assistance from the Mexican government and military to recover Major Richter and the CID unit, and to help bring the terrorists involved to justice.”

Minister of Internal Affairs Felix Díaz entered the president’s office and stood before her desk, his hands calmly folded in front of him, smiling slightly—a smile which completely enraged her. She took a deep breath, paused, then went on: “I agree, our commanders should have foreseen this and made the proper notifications. At this time, Mr. President, I can offer nothing more than my sincerest apologies and my offer to do whatever I must to discover the truth.”

“In light of our recent terrorist attacks and the continued threat posed to military and civil locations, the United States requests that the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the Navy Judge Advocate General take the lead in this investigation,” President Conrad said. “We are ready to provide the best forensic and investigative tools available to assist your investigators.”

“Very well, Mr. President,” Maravilloso said after a slight pause. She looked at the faces of her advisers in the office with her. “Mexico stands ready to receive your investigation teams, and we will cooperate to the fullest extent possible. Again, sir, I deeply apologize for this terrible incident.”

She hung up the phone, then pulled a cigar from a humidor on her desk but tossed it back impatiently—she wasn’t going to waste a good cigar now. “All right,” she said finally to the advisers with her in her office after rubbing her eyes and temples wearily, “someone explain to me what in hell really happened this morning!”

“It was as I already reported, Madam President,” Alberto Rojas said. “I received an urgent request from Minister Díaz to help locate and interdict a group of warring drug gang members who were driving eastbound on Federal Highway 2 from Mexicali. He said they had sophisticated military weapons with them and requested counterinsurgency aircraft, including jet fighters.”

“Jet fighters—against drug smugglers, Minister Díaz?”

“I admit I may have reacted instinctively, as a former Air Force officer, Madam President,” Minister of Internal Affairs Felix Díaz said, “but I felt time was of the essence, and I believed a strong show of force might take the fight out of the gangsters. The helicopters might have been sufficient, and certainly should have avoided overflying U.S. territory, but I made a judgment call. It turns out the jets were needed—the gangsters did indeed have antiaircraft weapons and were lying in wait for whoever might pursue them.”

“I want it made perfectly clear that the Ministry of National Defense bears no responsibility for this incident,” Rojas said hotly. “On his urgent request, and against my better judgment, I made the decision to turn over tactical control of the engagement to Minister Díaz, and he accepted.”

“Minister?”

“It is true, Madam President,” Díaz said, “and I accept full responsibility for what has occurred. The downing of that Marine Corps helicopter was an unfortunate error, an accident. In retrospect, the Ministry of Internal Affairs’ helicopters from Mexicali probably would have been sufficient for the job, but it was unsure if they could have arrived on time to catch the gangsters before they escaped, or withstand their attack if they did. I made a decision, and I stand by it.”

“You were afraid that helicopters just a few miles away wouldn’t have arrived in time,” Rojas pointed out in confusion, “so you requested help from fighter jets based almost five hundred miles away? That doesn’t make sense!”

“Thank you for taking advantage of twenty-twenty hindsight and criticizing a last-second decision I made to safeguard lives and property, General,” Díaz shot back. “My staff discussed all options for dealing with these criminals and decided to call on the jets from Mexico City. I never thought we would actually use them. But when the helicopters failed to respond in time, we had no choice but to use the first assets available. If I had tanks and armored vehicles, I would have used them too.”

Maravilloso studied Díaz’s face for a moment, nodded, then glanced at Sotelo and then at Alberto Rojas. “Are you satisfied, General Rojas?” He nodded, glaring at Díaz, who ignored him. “Very well then. I assure you that the Ministry of National Defense will be absolved of any responsibility in this matter. Please stay for a moment, General Rojas. I would like your advice.”

“Gladly, Madam President.”

Maravilloso stood behind her desk and affixed an angry gaze at Díaz. “This had better be good, Felix,” she said seriously, “because you have just made up for everything the Americans have done to us over the past several days, and much more. It looks like a retaliation, plain and simple, and now the Ministry of Internal Affairs has taken full responsibility for it. What is the real reason for the overflight? What in hell is going on?”

“Are you sure you want to know, Carmen?” Díaz asked.

“What do you mean, Felix?” she demanded. That was the first time, Maravilloso thought, that anything Felix Díaz said ever scared her. She had always assumed that this handsome, wealthy, and very powerful man had his own personal, business, and political agendas, but he had never before given any indication of what they were, or that they might be contrary to hers. For the first time, she felt a shiver of vulnerability in her own office. Even Rojas’s face fell in surprise at Díaz’s simple question. “What is going on here?” Díaz hesitated again. “Tell me, Felix. ¡Ahora!”

Díaz glanced once at Rojas, silently asking Maravilloso if she was sure she wanted the Minister of Defense to hear what he was about to say; when she remained silent, he said, “We found out that Task Force TALON had found Ernesto Fuerza—‘Comandante Veracruz.’”

“¡Mi Díos!” Maravilloso gasped. “Fuerza was in the United States?”

“He was organizing workers up in the Imperial Valley of California—building a resistance force, raising money, recruiting supporters, even gathering weapons,” Díaz said. “TALON was going to capture him at any moment, and I seriously doubt if the Americans would have notified us of the capture for a long time. I made a decision to snatch him before TALON could close in on him, and I dispatched the Sombras…”

“The Sombras…inside the United States…?” Rojas gasped.

“The Sombras have operated many times inside the United States on officially sanctioned clandestine missions, Alberto—you know it as well as I,” Díaz said. To Maravilloso, he continued: “When I found out that TALON was involved, and they had called in U.S. Marines from El Centro Naval Air Facility to assist, I called in the jets.”

“You requested our fighter jets to attack U.S. military aircraft to rescue a drug smuggler? Why?”

“I was hoping the jets would create enough confusion and allow helicopters to come in and snatch Fuerza,” Díaz said. “Fuerza himself destroyed two helicopters, but that only succeeded in bringing more and better-armed helicopters—they weren’t going to be chased away. I ordered the pilots to attack.”

“This is incredible!” Maravilloso retorted. “This is a disaster!” She sank into her chair behind her desk as if all of her muscles had gone weak at once. “My God, Felix, what have you done?” she muttered, shaking her head. “At the very least, that’s an international incident of the most serious order—at worst, it is an act of war. And Conrad says that Yegor Zakharov was somehow involved, and that Zakharov has one of Task Force TALON’s robots and its commander captive.”

“I know nothing of any of this,” Díaz snapped. “It sounds to me as if Conrad is threatening to enflame American and world public opinion against us by yet again mentioning Zakharov’s involvement. This is nothing but a fairy tale. I have Fuerza—that’s all.”

Maravilloso remained silent…but only for a moment before finally asking, “So, is he…?”

“Vivo,” Díaz said proudly. “He is in a safe house in Hermosillo getting medical treatment, and then I will bring him here to meet with you.”

“Is he…is he badly hurt?”

“It appears TALON and the Border Patrol tried to torture him to reveal information,” Díaz said. “He is injured, but he will make a full recovery.”

Carmen Maravilloso momentarily forgot about the border incursion and attack, thinking only of meeting Fuerza. “It was even better that TALON and the Border Patrol were involved, since they are the spearhead of this new anti-immigrant pogrom.” She looked at Díaz seriously. “But there is the question of explaining the initial story about the incident, especially to the Council of Government…”

“Just tell the council exactly what I have already told you, Carmen,” Díaz said. “We can show plenty of pictures of dangerous drug dealers and explain how we are doing everything in our power to stop them, even if it means crossing the border. Let me get together with the Ministry of Information and present you with a plan on how we should deal with the press.”

Rojas looked at Díaz suspiciously, but nodded. “You may have to submit to questioning by the Supreme Court, perhaps even resign your post,” Rojas said.

“I will not resign my post, General Rojas,” Díaz said. “I was acting in my capacity as Minister of Internal Affairs and as chief border security and anti-drug officer of the Mexican government. The president expressed her desire to meet with Fuerza, which would have been impossible if he was captured or killed. Need I remind you that the man is wanted in Mexico for drug dealing and gun smuggling as well?”

“The American government will want to question you,” Rojas said, “and they will not like it if we refuse.”

“I’ve got plenty of bodies of dead drug smugglers to show the Americans—and if I don’t have enough, I’ll get some more,” Diaz said. “I can handle the Americans. They like Mexicans who are tough on crime and drugs. If necessary, I will apologize profusely and offer my resignation.” He looked at Maravilloso and added, “It will be refused, of course.”

“Of course it will, Felix,” Maravilloso said. “But what about Fuerza? What should we do with him? After what has just happened, can he help us convince the American Congress to address the immigration problem without causing a deluge of refugees back to Mexico?”

“He is a complete unknown, Carmen,” Rojas said. “We know of him only by rumor and legend, and most of the legend is not favorable. A drug smuggler turned so-called nationalist and self-proclaimed ‘patriotic freedom-fighter’ is still a drug smuggler. He is damaged goods, Carmen. If he is wanted in Mexico for any crimes, he should stand trial for them. Otherwise, he should be sent to a remote part of the country and placed under close scrutiny, perhaps even house arrest, to be sure he doesn’t make any more of those ridiculous videotapes and stir up the people…”

“The people listen to him, Alberto,” Maravilloso said. “They like him. He is dashing, energetic, inspirational—”

“You are too obsessed with the media image, Carmen—that may not be the real man at all,” Rojas said. “You are a much more influential person than he. Do not be sucked in by his cult of personality. Send him to a prison in Durango or San Luis Potosí state and make sure he never leaves.” Maravilloso fell silent, trying but failing to come up with a better argument than her most trusted adviser’s.

“Fuerza’s power lies in his popularity,” Díaz interjected in the silence. “His message has attracted the attention of many progressives around the world.” He noticed Rojas’s warning expression and said: “If the people of the world are attracted to Fuerza, perhaps we should take advantage of that.” He looked at the president of Mexico carefully. “You two, together—you form a very powerful, very direct, and—to use your own emphasis—very photogenic duo.”

The Minister of National Defense looked at Díaz as if he was going to tell him that he had no right to speak. “The president of Mexico will not appear in the electronic media with this man, this…this criminal!” Rojas retorted.

“We do not know who he is, Alberto—we know only what the media says about him,” Maravilloso said.

“That is very often enough—you have said so yourself many times, Carmen,” Rojas pointed out. “The people know what the media tell them, is it not so?”

“I want to meet him,” Maravilloso insisted. “I want to see if this man can provide the spark to ignite a revolution in border and émigré matters between our country and the United States.”

“Carmen, I think it would be a grave mistake,” Rojas said. “If you align yourself with such a man, you may never be taken seriously again by any nation. It could ruin relations with the United States for a generation…”

“Relations have already been ruined, Alberto, but not by me,” Maravilloso said. “I will not allow the immigration debate to be steered by men like Bob O’Rourke. My position as president of Mexico prohibits me from doing much to stir the debate…but this Comandante Veracruz may be able to do what I cannot.”

She turned to Díaz. “Felix, do not worry: I will keep to your initial story—be sure you do everything you need to do to procure as much evidence as you can to back your story up. Mexico will shield you from prosecution for abuse of power…this time. Next time, inform this office before you pull such stunts again, or I can guarantee you no such protection.” Maravilloso thought Díaz was going to argue with her—she saw a brief flare of defiance and untold strength in his features—but instead he lowered his eyes and nodded. “And I want to meet with this Ernesto Fuerza. Set it up right away. You are dismissed.”

As Díaz headed to the door, Alberto Rojas held up a hand to stop him. “You did not mention, Minister Díaz, how you discovered Ernesto Fuerza was in the United States, where he was headed, and how you managed to steer three military aircraft so precisely in his vicinity that they could effect a rescue.”

“It is my job to know these things, General,” Díaz replied.

Rojas nodded. “I see. So you knew where Fuerza was all the time, and your Sombras could have scooped him up any time you wished, eh? Strange you waited until he was being chased by Task Force TALON before doing so.” Díaz said nothing, but turned and walked away.

After Díaz departed, Rojas said, “You may still have to fire Díaz, Carmen, even if you give him blanket immunity. And forget this insane idea to meet with Fuerza. He can do nothing but hurt you.”

“You still do not understand, do you, Alberto?” Maravilloso asked. “Are you blind, or have you been in the Federal District too long? Do you not have any notion of what the American people will do once details of this incident are released in the press? There will be a tremendous backlash of anger against all Mexicans that will set relations between our countries and the hopes for a peaceful solution to our immigration issues back a generation.”

“I do indeed fear this, Madam,” Rojas said, “but I do not understand how this ‘Comandante Veracruz’ can help. What magic do you expect him to perform for you?”

“I do not know, Alberto—that is why I need to meet with him,” Maravilloso said. “But we need to find some message to tell the world that Mexico is the aggrieved party in this conflict, not the United States. I am hoping Fuerza has this message. If he does, we could possibly come to terms with the Americans and end this feud. If he does not, we will be struggling with the Americans—and perhaps even our own people—for years and years to come.”

“The Council of Government will not support you,” Rojas said.

“You mean, you will not support me.”

“Carmen, forget this insane idea,” Rojas pleaded. “I know it is your nature to be unconventional and bold, but I do not believe this is the time.” He paused, then said, “You must issue the statement about Díaz’s involvement immediately to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and have the message sent out to all foreign embassies immediately—starting with the American embassy, of course.”

“Do you think Díaz is telling the truth, Alberto?”

“I do not know, Carmen,” Rojas said. “This I do know: we are involved in some sort of game in which we do not know all the rules or the players. We must play along for now because we have no other choice. But we must find a way to take control of this situation, or we will quickly find ourselves rendered…inconsequential.”

THE SITUATION ROOM, THE WHITE HOUSE,

WASHINGTON, D.C.

THAT SAME TIME

“I’m surprised, Mr. President,” Attorney General George Wentworth said as the President hung up the dead telephone. “I never would have expected her to agree to assist us.”

“But she did—that’s the best news I’ve heard in weeks,” the President said. He turned to the Secretary of State. “Chris, you and George will be leading the investigation team—push this thing for all it’s worth. We need to take advantage of this sudden largesse when we can. Get down to Mexico City right away and interview as many of their military commanders, the Interior Ministry higher-ups—everyone we can get our hands on.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“A flash message coming over the wire services, Mr. President,” the Chief of Staff, reading from his computer monitor, said. “They’re reporting that Bob O’Rourke on his morning radio show called for Americans to take up arms in defense of their neighborhoods and to report all illegal aliens to the government.”

“He did what?” the President moaned. “For God’s sake, he’s going to create a damned panic!”

“The word’s gotten out already,” Attorney General George Wentworth said. “We should notify every state and local law enforcement agency in the country to expect trouble. Every Hispanic in the U.S. could become a target.”

“Do it, George,” the President said. To his Chief of Staff, he ordered, “Tom, set up a press conference at noon so I can respond to this. And get O’Rourke on the phone. Tell him to tone down the rhetoric or the FCC will pull the plug on him.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Kinsly said. As Kinsly picked up the phone to call his staff, his computer terminal beeped again. “A flash message from the embassy in Mexico City, Mr. President: President Maravilloso has assumed full responsibility for the accidental downing of the American aircraft, and sincerely apologizes to the people and government of the United States.” He turned, a satisfied expression on his face. “There we have it. She’s coming clean.”

“No mention of Zakharov or the captured CID unit, though,” Jefferson pointed out.

“We have no evidence that these incidents were connected,” Kinsly said. To the President, he said, “I think we may want to make a statement or gesture to show that we acknowledge Maravilloso’s effort to reveal those involved in this incident, sir. Perhaps removing a few more military units away from the border?”

“I was thinking the same thing, Tom,” the President said. To Ray Jefferson, he ordered, “Tell General Lopez to pull a few Guard units back, stop the deployment of any more Guard units to the border, and accelerate the removal of those antitank weapons.” He shook his head. “Hell, if worse comes to worse, the states might need their Guard units to keep the peace on the streets if citizens start targeting Mexicans.”

“I request permission for Task Force TALON to deploy wherever necessary to follow any leads on the whereabouts of Major Richter and the stolen CID unit,” Jefferson said.

“We don’t want TALON in Mexico before the FBI,” Kinsly said immediately. “Maravilloso gave us excellent access and we shouldn’t screw up this opportunity. Those robots have killed Mexican citizens…”

“One of our men is missing and a CID unit might be in the hands of the world’s most notorious terrorist,” Jefferson said. “We need to move quickly or we’ll lose the trail…”

“Disapproved…for now,” the President said. “I want the staff and the FBI briefed on CID’s capabilities and potential threats to American targets, and the possibility of Zakharov being able to figure out how to utilize that thing. But no TALON units go outside the U.S. for now.”

Jefferson’s eyes blazed, but he held himself in check—barely. “Yes, sir,” he growled, glaring at Kinsly. He knew the Chief of Staff wasn’t completely to blame: the President looked and sounded exhausted, and he was clinging to any possible relief.

“George, I’d like twice-daily briefings on the investigation into the incident near El Centro,” the President said. “Russ, let Tom know when the memorials will be for the pilots killed out there. I want to be there.” Both advisers, obviously anxious to move on as well, responded immediately and affirmatively. The President shook his head wearily. “I really want things to start returning to normal, folks,” he said. “No more surprises.”

“Sir, any comment on the Homeland Security Advisory threat level?” Jefferson reminded the President.

“Yes—ask them to reconsider leaving it at orange,” the President replied. “I’ll defer to their judgment, but if at all possible, I’d like to keep it where it is right now.”

“In light of the loss of the CID unit, sir, perhaps we should consider…”

“I’d like to keep that quiet for now, Sergeant Major,” the President said. “I realize how powerful those things are, but I don’t think just one poses a serious threat to this country. Work with the FBI to find that thing right away.”

“Sir, I strongly suggest…”

“That’s all for now, Sergeant Major,” the President insisted. “If you have any more concrete evidence that Zakharov has the robot and that it poses a significant threat, advise me immediately. Otherwise, I want the border situation to calm the hell down before anyone else gets killed—‘accidentally’ or otherwise.” He stood, and everyone else got to their feet. “Thanks, everyone,” he said brusquely as he strode out of the Situation Room, followed closely by the Chief of Staff. The rest of the National Security Staff departed right behind them.

Alone in the Situation Room, Ray Jefferson sat and thought about the meeting for a few minutes, then picked up a secure phone and dialed a number. “Yes, Sergeant Major?” Brigadier General Lopez responded a few moments later.

“Any news on your end since the incident in El Centro this morning, sir?”

“No, Sergeant Major, everything is quiet for the time being. My units have made a few dozen illegal immigrant intercepts over the past forty-eight hours, down slightly from normal. No trouble. We have a few volunteer border watch groups out east of Rampart One on private land, maybe three camps with a couple dozen folks, mostly elderly local ranchers. We’re keeping an eye on them.”

“The president of Mexico has assumed responsibility for the El Centro attack, sir,” Jefferson said. “She claims she authorized the aircraft to fly across the border but denies giving any orders for the jets to attack American aircraft.”

“You buy that, Sergeant Major?”

“No, sir, but the President does, and he wants to drop Maravilloso a kudo. He wants to remove the TOW missiles from the border immediately, stop all further Guard deployments, and pull some Guard units off the border.”

“No problem. The guys don’t like being out there, I can tell you.”

“Sir?”

“No official reports from any units out there, Sergeant Major, just the buzz I’m picking up—it may sound like typical soldier bellyaching, but I’m picking up a definite read on these guys out there, and it’s not favorable,” Lopez said uneasily. “They’re staying pretty busy despite the tension and the presence of troops on both sides. Weather conditions are uncomfortable, very much like Iraq…”

“I would’ve thought the southwestern Guard guys are used to working in the heat.”

“Again, Sergeant Major, I categorize a lot of this as typical soldier moaning and groaning,” Lopez said, “but there is an undercurrent of uneasiness. Hours and hours sweating away in the heat or freezing at night, and all they come up with is a handful of thirsty, starving, desperate Mexicans who just want to go to work. The units that find dead migrants are especially hard-hit—dying of thirst is a tough way to go, and a lot of the guys aren’t accustomed to seeing death like that. They’ve found…I believe over sixty-five dead migrants during their patrols, including children. It hits them hard.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s tough on them, that’s all,” Lopez said. Jefferson detected a hint of frustration in the general’s voice, as if he expected a bit more empathy from the National Security Adviser and was disappointed he didn’t get it. “Which units do you want gone, specifically, Sergeant Major?” he asked perturbedly.

“Choose TOW missile units, units in high-visibility locations with lots of press around, and units that have been in the field the longest, in that order, sir,” Jefferson said. “I want it to look like a reduction but I don’t want it to be an open invitation for smugglers to resume travel through those areas. Limit the reductions to around ten percent until we get further guidance. I’ll send a written copy of the order to your headquarters.”

“Okay, Sergeant Major.”

“Thank you, sir. Jefferson out.” His next phone call was to Ariadna Vega and FBI Director Kelsey DeLaine, teleconferenced in together. “Have you been briefed, Miss Director?” he asked.

“Dr. Vega briefed me moments ago,” Kelsey replied, “and the Attorney General just called and scheduled a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

“What’s the word, Sergeant Major?” Ariadna asked impatiently. “Are we going into Mexico with the FBI, or is TALON going in by itself? We’re standing by.”

“Neither, Doctor,” Jefferson replied.

“What? And let Zakharov get away? Are they crazy?”

“The President wants you to stand down until we see what shakes out in Mexico.”

“We’re not even going to ask Mexico to apprehend whoever was in those helicopters so we can question them?” DeLaine asked.

“Your job is to make contact with the Mexican government and demand anything and everything you can think of to do this investigation, Miss Director,” Jefferson said. He paused for a moment; then: “ I’ll brief the Attorney General and get some warrants issued, but I want to operate under the assumption that the FBI will learn information as to the major’s or Zakharov’s whereabouts, but the Mexican government will balk rather than give us carte blanche to go in and get them. Ariadna, I want a plan drawn up to go into Mexico to get the major, the CID unit, and Zakharov, and I want you guys standing by.”

“You got it, Sergeant Major.”

“Work closely with Director DeLaine and get ready to act on whatever intelligence information you receive,” Jefferson said. “I want a plan from you to covertly send TALON to Mexico if we don’t get cooperation, but TALON stays out of the country until I give the word. Miss Director, who is your contact person for TALON now?”

“I’m assigning my deputy assistant director for counterterrorism, Bruno Watts, to head up TALON,” Kelsey replied. “Bruno’s an ex–Navy SEAL, and he’s been pestering me for more info on TALON and to let him go back out into the field, so I just dumped all the TALON files on his desk and now he’s as happy as a pig in shit. His staff has been drawing up some plans if we need to go in on short notice to hunt for Zakharov, and I’ll shoot them over to you after I’ve gotten the briefing. What assets can we count on?”

“For now, anything in the Mexican MOU that we don’t need permission to bring into the country.”

“That’s not much, Sergeant Major,” DeLaine said. “Standard law enforcement equipment, vehicles, and aircraft—no weapons, no armored vehicles, no attack or covert ops aircraft, no unmanned aircraft, no surveillance equipment beyond ordinary cameras and voice recorders. Anything beyond that requires permission, and that takes time and a lot more political juice than I will ever possess.”

“Unless Maravilloso and the Internal Affairs Ministry suddenly has a complete personality makeover, I definitely wouldn’t count on any special consideration here at all,” Jefferson concluded. He paused for a few moments, then: “I believe I read somewhere that the 58th Special Operations Wing at Kirtland Air Force Base near Albuquerque wanted to do some training out at the Pecos East training ranges near TALON’s home base,” he said. “They’re bringing a CV-22 Osprey tilt-rotor, an HC-130 aerial refueler, and maybe an MC-130 Combat Shadow transport to practice some covert insertion procedures, possibly with ground and air enemy pursuing forces.”

“Is that right?” Ari asked inquisitively. “I don’t recall being notified of any special ops guys wanting to use our ranges.”

“I think if you check your recollection, ma’am, that they’ll be out that way later on today,” Jefferson deadpanned. He quickly typed out a message to his assistant on the computer terminal in front of him to get the commander of the 58th SOW on the telephone for him. “That might be a good time to get together with them and plan some joint training exercises with TALON and Director DeLaine’s Hostage Rescue Teams.”

“What a great idea, Sergeant Major,” Ariadna said happily. “In all the confusion, I must’ve missed it in my scheduler. We’ll be waiting for them.”

SOUTH OF THE U.S.-MEXICO BORDER,

NEAR RAMPART ONE, BOULEVARD, CALIFORNIA

EARLY THE NEXT MORNING

Sergeant Ed Herlihey finished his cup of coffee before it got cold, picked up his binocular night vision device, and carefully scanned the desert landscape to the south from just outside the front passenger seat of his Humvee. He saw nothing but a lone coyote, on the hunt just before bedding down for the day. That chap was safer out here than any other animals prowling the night, he thought.

Things had been fairly quiet lately out on this stretch of desert east of Rampart One, the first dedicated border security base established by the U.S. military. He had seen fewer migrants out this way, although he knew that the National Guard presence had simply forced the migrants farther out into the remote desert sections of Arizona and New Mexico. But if he never ran into another poor migrant out here, half-dead from walking across the scorching desert to make it to his job in the United States, he would be very happy.

“Flatbush Seven, Flatbush,” his radio crackled.

Herlihey turned up the volume again and picked up the microphone. His driver, Private First Class Henry Stargell, briefly awoke but drifted quickly back to sleep. It was almost time for them to move to a different observation point anyway. Although he knew it was against the regs, Herlihey let Stargell nap so he would stay as sharp and alert as possible. This assignment was tough enough without having punchy soldiers driving expensive rigs out in the desert. He keyed the mike button: “Seven, go.”

“The bird has a possible sighting east of your position, heading in your direction.” Herlihey copied down the grid coordinates of the contact as it was read to him. The “bird” referred to their unmanned aerial vehicle, an unarmed Predator drone being used for aerial reconnaissance. “Multiple individuals. No weapons observed.”

“Copy all. On our way.” Herlihey punched in the grid coordinates of the contact into his GPS navigation computer and studied the high-resolution terrain contour map. “Okay, Hank, fire her up.” The young private could wake up and swing into action even faster than he could drop off to sleep, and within moments he had his night vision gear on and was following the navigation prompts. The Humvee was equipped with infrared headlights and an infrared searchlight that could illuminate the terrain for almost a mile but was invisible to anyone not wearing night vision equipment, so driving across the desert was fairly safe and easy.

After about two miles, very close to the target coordinates, they came on a body lying in the desert. “Oh, shit, not another one,” Herhiley moaned. “That’s the second one on this shift alone.”

“I’ll take care of it, Sarge,” Stargell said. “You got the last one.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Herlihey said. “Radio it in and send the bird on its way.”

“Roger. Holler if you need any help.” Stargell picked up the microphone: “Flatbush, Seven, made contact with one individual at the target coordinates, looks like a DOA. Secure the bird and send a wagon.”

“Wilco, Seven,” the company radio operator responded.

Meanwhile, Herlihey went to the back of the Humvee and brought a duffel bag with the necessary items in it, first and foremost of which was a digital camera. Using a regular flashlight, he approached the body, snapping pictures every few paces. Stargell watched him from the cab of the Humvee for a few moments until Herlihey reached the body, then drifted off to sleep.

He wasn’t sure exactly how long it was, but it seemed like only moments later when the radio blared to life again: “Flatbush Seven, Flatbush, how copy?”

Stargell picked up the microphone: “Loud and clear, Flatbush. Go ahead.”

“The Bravo wagon is on its way, ETE five mike.” Bravo was the National Guard’s shorthand for the Border Patrol. “Have you secured the scene yet?”

“Stand by, Flatbush, and I’ll check with the sarge.” He stepped out of the Humvee and started toward where they had found the body. Herlihey was stooped over the body, which appeared to be that of a Hispanic woman. “Hey, Sarge, Control says the wagon is a couple minutes out and they want to…”

Stargell froze in absolute horror. Herlihey was not stooped over the woman—he was on top of her, between her legs, with his BDU pants down around his knees. The woman was struggling to free herself. She had a rock in her left hand. Blood was streaming from the right side of Herlihey’s face, and he appeared to be unconscious. “Sarge!” he shouted. “What in hell did you do?”

“¡Ayúdeme! ¡Este hombre trató de violarme!” the woman shouted when she heard Stargell. “¡Socorro!”

“Jesus Christ!” Stargell exclaimed. He rushed over, grabbed Herlihey, and pulled him off the woman. Her dress was pulled up to her chest, the top of her dress was ripped apart, her panties were ripped off on one side, and her breasts exposed. The woman immediately tried to get to her feet, but she was too weak and scared to get up, so she tried crawling away. Stargell felt for a pulse and found one. “Sarge? Can you hear me? Are you okay?” He heard a moan and felt relieved.

At that moment he saw a set of bouncing headlight beams coming toward them. The Border Patrol unit from Rampart One had arrived, bouncing quickly across the desert. Soon flashlight beams were heading in their direction. “Oh my God,” Stargell heard someone exclaim.

“The sarge was clobbered over the head.”

“What the fuck? Did he rape that woman?”

“No…I mean, I didn’t see anything…”

“God damn, Private, what the hell do you mean, you didn’t see anything?” the Border Patrol agent said angrily. “Your partner is out here in the desert right in front of your face and you didn’t see a thing?” He keyed a microphone clipped to his jacket. “Control, Unit Ten, I need a supervisor out here, and I need one now.”

“What is your situation, Ten?” the duty officer responded.

“I have a code ten-one-oh-six, signal thirty-five. Get a supervisor out here.”

There was a short silence; then: “Say again, Ten? You have a signal thirty-five? Aren’t you foxtrot-one-one with a Rampart unit?”

“Dammit, Control, just get a supervisor out here, right now. And stay off the air until we get this scene cleaned up. Out.”