Trial by Fire

2

The small delegation that awaited the arrival of the president of the Republic of Mexico was exhausted from days of dealing with a crisis that seemed to come from nowhere. The problem had no apparent beginning or goals, only chaos, disruption of the daily routine of the state, and now, violence. For seven days oil field workers had disrupted, then stopped work in most of the oil fields throughout the state of Tamaulipas. At first it was thought that the troubles were nothing more than an extension of the labor unrest that had been bubbling up throughout the industrial cities of the republic. On several occasions the oil field workers had more than made it known that their sympathies were with their brothers and sisters who worked in the cities. It came, therefore, as no great surprise, to those who chose to pay attention at least, that the rash of strikes should spread to the oil fields.

While his assistants and advisors sat and waited or held hushed conversations, the governor of Tamaulipas paced the length of the small VIP lounge as he awaited the arrival of the president and his party. Every now and then he would glance out the window to the spot where several Air Force personnel waited in the late afternoon heat for the president's plane. It had been decided, at the recommendation of military zone commander Colonel Alfredo Guajardo, that the meeting between the president and governor be kept short and secret. Guajardo, who was now seated against the far wall of the room, had explained to the governor that a simple meeting at the airport would make security easy and would not put the governor in political jeopardy. "After all," Guajardo told the governor, "how would it look to the people of Tamaulipas if the president had to be called every time you had a minor problem with the workers. Besides, el presidente is growing tired of his vacation and family. He will be glad to use an excuse to fly here and then return to Mexico City and his mistress."

Although the governor did not consider the problem minor, he had agreed. After all, the president, and whomever he designated to succeed him, would have to be lived with for a long time. It would not be in the governor's best interest to be too much in the young president's debt publicly, or to have the president's role in solving the problem inflated at the governor's expense. By keeping the meeting secret, the governor could deny that it had ever happened, even though it had and everyone knew it. With his mind wrapped up in such concerns, the governor had never thought to ask Guajardo how he knew about the president's mistress or what the president might or might not want to do. Not that it mattered, for the governor also favored spending a single night with his mistress over an entire week with his own family.

When the door of the room opened, all movement stopped as every face turned to see who was entering. The young Air Force lieutenant who had opened the door froze in midstride when he saw the roomful of solemn faces staring at him. Unsure what to do, the lieutenant looked to Guajardo.

For a moment, he stared into Guajardo's eyes, eyes that were as cold and expressionless as his face. Guajardo said nothing, jerking his head to indicate that he wanted the lieutenant to come over to him.

Moving around the room, and keeping as far as possible from where the "governor had resumed his pacing, the lieutenant came up next to Guajardo, bent over, and whispered into his ear. There was no change in Guajardo's expression, not even a nod. Instead, when the lieutenant had finished and straightened up, Guajardo stood, straightening the blouse of his uniform as he did so. Turning to face the lieutenant, Guajardo issued several orders to him in a low voice. The governor neared that end of the room in time to hear Guajardo emphasize that the lieutenant was to personally see that the president's plane was taken care of, as arranged.

The lieutenant's response was a simple, almost curt, and solemn, "It will be done." With that, the lieutenant left the room.

Turning to the governor, Guajardo quietly announced that the presi dent's plane would be on the ground in five minutes. The governor paused. For a moment, there was a pained expression on his face. Only after it cleared did he acknowledge the news of the president's arrival with an absentminded nod. He resumed pacing, stopping only when the Mexican Air Force Boeing 727 finally came into sight. With a sigh, the governor nervously tugged at his tie in a failed effort to straighten it.

Ready, he headed for the door. Behind him his aides and advisors, save Guajardo, scurried to follow.

The governor emerged from the terminal just as the 727 rolled to a stop. From nowhere a throng of security men, some in uniform, others in short-sleeved white shirts, flooded onto the field and formed up around the aircraft. Behind them a truck-mounted stairway was moved into place while a fuel tanker lumbered up on the far side of the plane. When the president emerged from the 727, he paused briefly at the top of the stairs while his eyes adjusted to the bright afternoon sun. When he was able to see, the president looked about for the governor, beaming a broad smile to him when their eyes locked, a smile that belied the deep concerns he had.

Carlos Montalvo's pace as he bounced down the stairs wasn't quite as spry as it had been when he had been campaigning for the office of president six months ago. In those days, anything and everything had been possible. He had, or so he thought, plans and programs that, when in place, would see Mexico and its people through the social and economic problems they faced. Repayment of a staggering debt, reversal of a population explosion, halting of inflation that set new records almost daily, and, most importantly, resurrection of the people's faith in the ruling political party, all had appeared to be within his grasp. His party, the Partido Revolucionario Institucional, or PRI, had been losing ground for years to both the left, represented by the Partido Socialista Unificado de Mexico, or PSUM, and to the right in the form of the Partido de Action Nacional, or PAN. The last election, won by the narrowest of margins, had been won only through sheer determination, willpower, and the loss of many ballot boxes in districts where the power of the PRI was questionable. As he walked down the stairs, Montalvo doubted that he had the strength, political or physical, to defeat a challenge from either the PSUM or the PAN again.

The problems faced by the republic were difficult but manageable. Or so the young president had thought when he took office in December of the previous year. The reality of the social and economic collapse that threatened Mexico had been a rude shock even to someone with as much political savvy as Montalvo. "Truth," he had found, changed dramatically when he was handed the red, white, and green sash that represented the office and responsibility of the president of Mexico.

So too did the political landscape. Seemingly overnight the scattered and quarreling parties on the political left had found new unity and popularity. While the PRI still held a majority of the Chamber of Deputies, four hundred seats, more than ever before, had been lost to nonPRI candidates, mostly to the PAN who cried for a return to the "true Revolution."

The once orderly and safe processes of legislation were disrupted and endangered. The non-PRI deputies, taking advantage of the disenchantment with the PRI that had so nearly defeated Montalvo in his race for president, were unwilling to rubber-stamp legislation proposed by him — legislation that was necessary to make his dreams a reality. The debates that raged on every issue, both on the floor of the chamber and in the news, stalled all effective actiqn and brought to the surface again and again the corruption, fraud, and indifference to the suffering of the Mexican people that had become the grim legacy of the PRI's rule.

In these troubled times, the parties of both the left and right found new popularity and support from all facets of the population that traditional PRI methods could not discourage or beat back into line using the ' 'usual'' methods. The left and the right seemingly took turns twisting Montalvo's programs into inflammatory issues that divided, rather than united, the people. The church, through an unnatural coalition with the socialist PSUM, saw Montalvo's programs aimed at population control as a threat to its dogma. Students were finally convinced that the continuation of PRI dominance would favor the well connected, not the best and the brightest.

And the workers were shown that they, not the elite, would pay the bill for retiring the massive debt accumulated in the days of brighter hopes and foolish investments. Instead of being able to lead the country down the road to a brighter future, President Montalvo found himself struggling to maintain control as barriers to prevent his programs from going into effect were erected, both in and out of the government.

It did not take long for the specter of a socialist, or even worse, a communist revolt, to appear. Though no hint of preparations for insurgency or threat of violent overthrow of the government by the PSUM could be uncovered by the Mexican intelligence community or special security forces controlled by the PRI, the Army insisted that those threats were real. Caches of weapons, presumably smuggled across the border from Texas into Tamaulipas, had been seized by Colonel Guajardo's soldiers in surprise sweeps along the border. Together with the rhetoric of the PSUM, which reeked of the classic communist manipulation of the people and the situation, the regional Army commanders began to increase their vigilance and the state of readiness of their troops. As a result, security was tightened as intelligence and security forces redoubled their efforts to discover the threat that the Army claimed was everywhere and was responsible for the growing unrest that was beginning to sweep the country.

The Army, long excluded from the inner circles of policy-making and decisions, remained silent and aloof from the growing political unrest and debates, turning their attention instead to preparations designed to deal with the dangers that only they saw so clearly. The only comment senior staff officers would volunteer in public were pledges to "uphold the traditions of the Revolution and the honor of Mexico" and defend the people and the Revolution from all threats, both internal and foreign. Had any of the president's advisors paused and carefully analyzed what the colonels were actually saying, the true danger would have been appreciated.

So the president and the governor greeted each other with minds clouded with many concerns and problems. Though Montalvo wore the stress better than the governor did, each man knew that the other was desperately searching for solutions to his own problems. The president's concern over the problems that threatened their way of life and the political system that had ruled Mexico since 1928 was no less real than the governor's concern over political survival. Their greetings, and the introduction to each other's staff, were, therefore, perfunctory. As President Montalvo and the governor walked into the terminal, questions immediately turned to the matter at hand. Had there been any new outbreaks of violence? Were the police able to contain the oil workers? Had there been any acts of sabotage?

From the lounge, Colonel Guajardo watched with detached interest as the presidential party and the attending cluster of lackeys and functionaries moved to the terminal door behind a screen of security men. He was not really interested in the president's party. Instead, he watched the crew of the fuel truck go about their task under the scrutiny of the security personnel. The Air Force lieutenant who had informed him that the president's plane was inbound was nowhere to be seen. The colonel, however, had no doubt that everything was in hand. With nothing more to do, he turned away from the window and left the lounge for the conference room to listen to the discussions that would last well into the night.

The flight back to Mexico City was quiet. President Montalvo had started to work on a speech he was scheduled to give to the Chamber of Deputies in two days, but he was unable to concentrate. The secretary of finance, the secretary of national defense, the secretary of programming and budget, and the comptroller general, all of whom had accompanied the president on this trip for the express purpose of working on the speech, were already asleep, as was almost everyone else. Even the ever-watchful chief of his security detachment, seated in the aisle seat of the last row of the cabin, was nodding between consciousness and sleep. It seemed that President Montalvo alone, though tired, could not sleep. His mind was a tumble of thoughts and feelings, most of them negative.

His most recurring thought was that he might fail to solve Mexico's problems. The discussions with the governor of Tamaulipas had only served to further befuddle his grsp of the scope and nature of problems facing his administration. Because of this inability to achieve a clear and precise focus, instead of being the savior of his nation, the Revolution, and its people, he now was being portrayed as a Quemando, someone too naive to be trusted. In six months Montalvo had been unable to hack through the bureaucracy that fed on corruption at every level and protected itself from within.

Seeing no changes, the people heeded the call for civil disobedience and strikes, actions that Montalvo saw as a direct challenge to his authority.

Though he instinctively knew it was wrong, Montalvo had, at the urging of his advisors, resorted to harsh repression and the selected suspension of civil liberties. The left seemed to be employing anything and everything to alienate him and his party from the people. Unless something could be done to stop the current trend, he would have no choice but to employ those means of restoring stability to the government and the nation that could also bring about its eventual downfall.

Though his eyes demanded he close them, President Montalvo cleared his head as he shuffled through the papers on his worktable. Forcing himself to concentrate, he carefully underlined selected passages of the speech he would use in an interview with an American journalist that had been arranged for later that morning. The curtailment of his vacation and early return to Mexico City was, in his opinion, an opportunity. By leaking some of the more important items of his new program through the American media in advance of its official presentation, he and his advisors could gauge how it would be received by both the Chamber of Deputies and the public. Everything for the next few weeks would be critical. Nothing could be left to chance. If the opposition's reaction to the information he would leak during the interview was deemed adverse, he could always blame it on misquotes or poor understanding on the part of the American journalist. If the reaction was favorable, he would leave the speech and program intact.

For a moment, President Montalvo paused and allowed himself to think about the interview, now only six hours off. Even though it would be crucial, and he would have to exercise great care in what he said and how he presented himself, he was looking forward to it. The thought of being interviewed by an American woman of Jan Fields's stature and beauty aroused him.

By reputation, he knew that she was as bold as she was beautiful, beguiling, and manipulative, and captivating to the point of being an enchantress. A sudden twitch and pain in his groin broke President Montalvo's train of thought. He shifted in his seat so as to allow his reaction the additional room it demanded. As he did so, President Montalvo sheepishly looked about the cabin to see if anyone was watching.

Had someone noticed, how could he possibly account for getting an erection while reading one of his own speeches?

President Montalvo was pondering this rather unpresidential question when the first engine lost power and died. The cockpit crew, lulled into inattentiveness by the late hour and monotony, stared at the red warning light for a moment, refusing to believe they had a problem. The copilot looked out the window to see if there was a fire in the engine, but saw nothing. The pilot began to struggle with the aircraft, compensating for the loss of the engine while attempting to restart it. The flight engineer hit the fasten seat belt sign and paged the flight attendant, to warn her, and in turn the president, of the problem.

In the passenger cabin the first sign of a problem was a change in the pitch of the engine followed by a series of jerky maneuvers. President Montalvo looked up toward the front of the aircraft, waiting for someone to tell him what was wrong. His aide, who had been asleep, woke with a start and looked about for a moment before getting up to go forward and investigate the nature of the problem. Immediately behind him was the chief of security. Both men were halfway to the crew cabin when the door swung open and the flight attendant, in a near panic, came running out, headed for the president. She was about to explain the problem to the president's aide when the second engine cut out, sending the aircraft into a steep dive and throwing everyone in the aisle sprawling.

President Montalvo grabbed the armrests of his seat and pushed himself back. He watched as those who were not strapped into their seats were hurled forward into the seat backs before them or into the aisles. The plane jerked from side to side as the pilot struggled to gain some degree of control. He failed, however. Without power there was nothing he could do to lessen the angle or speed of descent. In a matter of seconds the plane was almost on its nose and slowly spinning to the right.

Everything not secured, including people, the president's speech, pillows, blankets, and suit jackets went crashing past President Montalvo into a great tumbled heap at.the rear of the cabin. The screams of fear and panic mixed with the cries and moans of the injured. President Montalvo braced himself with his feet on the seat back to his front in order to keep from being wrenched from his seat and into the heap at the rear of the cabin.

The descent seemed to take an eternity. Without having to be told, President Montalvo understood his fate. He knew he was going to die. In his mind, there was no panic, no desire to know why the plane was going down. There was only regret, regret that he would die a failure. The image of him riding into Mexico (Tity on a great white horse to save it and its people would go up in a great ball of fire, just like the aircraft.

The only witnesses to the crash of the aircraft into the side of a mountain in the Sierra Madre Oriental were two F-5 fighters that had been trailing the president's plane at a discreet distance. The pilots of the F-5S watched the president's aircraft collapse upon itself, its wings pitching forward as the sudden impact ripped them from the fuselage and spread fuel over the entire area. The fuel and its fumes ignited and exploded, enveloping the aircraft in a ball of fire. President Montalvo, key members of the cabinet, his personal staff, and the air crew were dead. The contaminated fuel that had caused their death incinerated their bodies beyond recognition and wiped away all traces of Sabotage.