Payback

20

General Túcume had little use for the psychological games many of his fellow generals played with the North Americans, such as keeping them waiting for an appointment to demonstrate their power. So he showed up for lunch at the yacht club in Lima’s most exclusive oceanside district precisely on time.

This meant that he had to wait fifteen minutes for the CIA officer to show up. But it was time well spent. Túcume settled details with Captain Chimor on what must be done here in Lima over the next few days.

Túcume also received word from Keros that the action near the restaurant had begun. This time the police would not emerge as heroes, but that was not a problem for their allies on the force, who needed room above to advance.

“General, a pleasure to see you again,” said Greene, not bothering to apologize for his tardiness when he finally arrived. But perhaps he had taken the time to check Túcume’s file: he mentioned Miami University and the basketball team there as soon he sat. Túcume had gone to Miami but had about as much interest in basketball as he did in dressmaking. Still, he knew enough to hold up his end of the conversation for the few minutes until lunch came.

“I’m not often in Lima,” Túcume told Greene as they ate, turning the conversation toward its aim. “There is a great deal going on in the countryside with the rebels. Of course, with Ecuador active as well—”

“You’re worried about Ecuador?”

“A traditional enemy. As is Brazil. Consider, if Brazil were to develop its nuclear weapon.”

“The government renounced the program,” said Greene. “And it’s been discontinued.”

You argue too much to be a good spy, Túcume thought. But this was typical of Yankees.

“I think you’ll find that our neighbors will admit to only a portion of the sins that they actually commit,” the general told the CIA officer.

They continued in that vein for a while longer, Túcume taking care to underline the external dangers his nation faced, Greene doing more to knock them down than listen. As their plates were cleared, the general turned to the real reason for the conversation.

“We face internal threats as well,” he told Greene. “Serious ones.”

“The New Path?”

“Sendero Nuevo.” The words practically spit from Túcume’s mouth. “Communists of the old school. Why would they resurrect ideas that have failed utterly?”

“I guess there are only so many ideas to go around,” said Greene.

“It’s fascism at the core. Fascism is not the future. Democracy is.”

“The military hasn’t always believed that,” said Greene.

“You’ll find the new generals do.”

“The government and the president’s party work very closely together,” said Greene. “The military seems to be aligned with him.”

For once the American was not far off the mark, Túcume thought. The general staff surely wanted Ortez to win.

“There’s no doubt that many of us would prefer the vice president to be elected. I myself intend to vote for him,” lied Túcume. “But I can take orders from any president. And I can back most of the men running for office. Aznar for one. The candidate of the New Peru or Future, whatever he calls his party these days.”

“What about Imberbe?”

Túcume made a face. “I will take orders from him if I must. That is the law. But secretly, he is a communist.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Perhaps I exaggerate.” Túcume shrugged. “I don’t want to talk about the election. I can’t. We have sworn neutrality, every officer in the military. Not a word.”

He reached for his coffee, which had just been poured.

“You were speaking of the rebels,” said Greene.

“Yes. They’re becoming more reckless. The post office in the city was their latest outrage.”

“The police seem to have acted very quickly.”

“A miracle.” Túcume put down his coffee cup. “I’m afraid that these latest rounds of attacks are only an omen of what is to come. We have intelligence from my region of various threats being prepared. Lima itself will be targeted. The specifics have been vague.”

“The post office?”

“No, a much larger target. The rumors I hear are for a very big action. I believe they will aim to shut down the city, or worse.”

Greene was finally listening.

“Some of my colleagues don’t agree with me that we face a serious threat,” Tucume told the American. “My warnings are discounted.”

“Why?”

“My background — my heritage is entirely native. That is a serious handicap in Peru. Worse than being black in your country. And ironic, since we are the majority.”

“You’re a war hero.”

“To some. To other members of the general staff, I’m a vain and ambitious native who found himself in the right place at the right time and made the most of it.” Túcume laughed. “I am probably some of that. I am ambitious — I would not mind being head of the military someday. It would be a great honor, and yes, I believe I would do a good job. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with ambition, do you?”

“It depends.”

“Some of my colleagues are jealous because I have proven myself in battle. I make no apologies for that.”

“I don’t think you should.”

Túcume pulled his sleeve back to look at his watch. The American took the hint.

“Let me ask you, General,” said Greene, folding his napkin. “Who do you think will win the election next week?”

“I’m not good at predictions,” said the general. “But I would assume the vice president. I would think he holds all the cards.”

“His poll numbers are slipping.”

“Are they?” Túcume feigned a moment of concern, then made a show of dismissing it. “I wouldn’t believe those things. In your country, people are used to dealing with surveys. But here in Peru? No.”

“Did you have something specific you wanted to bring to my attention?” asked Greene.

“Keeping allies and friends informed of volatile situations seems a good practice,” Túcume said. “Sharing views with senior partners — this can be mutually beneficial.”

Túcume knew that the CIA officer would think he was just one more general trying to cozy up to the Yankee gringos in hopes of it paying off down the line. But in a few days, after the predictions he had made came true, Greene would think of the meeting differently. He would see the general as a person to be cultivated — and feared.

Babin had warned Túcume that the warhead was bound to be recognized. This was necessary — Túcume wanted there to be no doubt that it should be taken seriously immediately before the election, and if the government had any doubt, the CIA would disabuse them. At the same time, Greene would remember this meeting and consider Túcume a friend, or at least someone he could deal with.

“I hope your information is pessimistic,” said Greene as he got up. “I would hate to see violence in Lima.”

“I would hate that as well,” said Túcume. “And I will do my best to prevent it.”