David Morrell - Assumed Identity

The door was opened, a stern bodyguard admitting a slightly short, balding, uncomfortable-looking man who was in his late forties and wore a modest, rumpled business suit. He carried a well-used briefcase, adjusted his spectacles, and looked even more uncomfortable as the bodyguard shut the door behind him.

“Professor Guerrero, I’m so pleased that you could join me.” Delgado crossed the room and shook hands with him. “Welcome. How was the flight from the capital?”

“Uneventful, thank heavens.” The professor wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. “I’ve never been comfortable flying. At least I managed to distract myself by catching up on some paperwork.”

“You work too hard. Let me offer you a drink.”

“Thank you, Minister, but no. I’m not used to drinking this early in the afternoon. I’m afraid I. .”

“Nonsense. What would you like? Tequila? Beer? Rum? I have some excellent rum.”

Professor Guerrero studied Delgado and relented, swayed by the power of the man who had summoned him. Delgado’s official title was Minister of the Interior, but that influential position on the president’s cabinet didn’t indicate his even greater influence as the president’s closest friend and adviser. Delgado and the president had grown up together in Mexico City. They’d both been classmates in law school at Mexico’s National University. Delgado had directed the president’s election campaign, and it was widely understood that the president had chosen Delgado to he his successor.

But all of that-and especially the chance to acquire the fortune in bribes and kickbacks that was the president’s due-would be snatched from him, Delgado knew, if he didn’t do what he was ordered, for in that case his blackmailer would reveal Delgado’s secret and destroy him. At all costs, that had to be prevented.

“Very well,” Professor Guerrero said. “If you insist. Rum with Coke.”

“I believe I’ll join you.” As Delgado mixed the drinks, making a show of what a man of the people he was by not sending for a servant, he nodded toward the music and laughter drifting up from the poolside party on the terrace below. “Later, we can join the festivities. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind getting out of your business clothes and into a bathing suit. And I’m very sure that you wouldn’t object to meeting some beautiful women.”

Professor Guerrero glanced self-consciously toward his wedding ring. “Actually, I’ve never been much for parties.”

“You need to relax.” Delgado set the moisture-beaded drinks on a glass-and-chrome table, then gestured for Guerrero to sit in a plush chair across from him. “You work too much.”

The professor sat stiffly. “Unfortunately, our funding isn’t large enough to allow me to hire more staff and reduce my responsibilities.” He didn’t need to explain that he was the director of Mexico’s National Institute of Archaeology and History.

“Then perhaps additional funding can be arranged. I notice you haven’t touched your drink.”

Reluctant, Guerrero took a sip.

“Good. Salud. ” Delgado sipped from his own. At once, his expression became somber. “I was troubled by your letter. Why didn’t you simply pick up the telephone and call me about the matter? It’s more efficient, more personal.” He silently added, And less official. Bureaucratic letters, not to mention the inevitable file copies made from them, were part of the public record, and Delgado preferred that as few of his concerns as possible be part of the public record.

“I tried several times to talk to you about it,” Guerrero insisted. “You weren’t in your office. I left messages. You didn’t return them.”

Delgado looked disapproving. “I had several urgent problems that demanded immediate attention. At the first opportunity. I intended to return your calls. You need to be patient.”

“I’ve tried to be patient.” The professor wiped his forehead, agitated. “But what’s happening at the new find in the Yucatan is inexcusable. It has to be stopped. ”

“Professor Drummond assures me-”

“He is not a professor. His doctoral degree is honorary, and he has never taught at a university,” Guerrero objected. “Even if he did have proper credentials, I don’t understand why you have permitted an archaeological find of this importance to be investigated exclusively by Americans. This is our heritage, not theirs! And I don’t understand the secrecy. Two of my researchers tried to visit but weren’t allowed to enter the area. It’s been sealed.”

Delgado leaned forward, his expression harsh. “Professor Drummond has spared no expense to hire the best archaeologists available.”

“The best experts in Mayan culture are citizens of this country and work in my institute.”

“But you yourself admitted that your funds aren’t as ample as you would like,” Delgado said, an edge in his voice. “Think of Professor Drummond’s generous financial contribution as a way of making your own funds go further. Your researchers were denied permission to enter the site because the staff there is working so hard that they don’t have time to be distracted by social obligations to visitors. And the area has been sealed off to guarantee that the site isn’t plundered by the usual thieves who steal irreplaceable artifacts from newly discovered ruins. It’s all easily explainable. There’s no secrecy.”

Guerrero became more agitated. “My institute-”

Delgado held up a hand. “‘Your’ institute?”

Guerrero quickly corrected himself. “The National Institute of Archaeology and History,” he said breathlessly, “should have the sole right to determine how the site should be excavated and who should be permitted to do it. I do not understand why regulations and procedure have been violated. ”

“Professor, your innocence troubles me.”

“What?”

“Alistair Drummond has been a generous patron of our country’s arts. He has contributed millions of dollars to constructing museums and providing scholarships for aspiring artists. Need I remind you that Drummond Enterprises sponsored the recent worldwide tour of the most extensive collection of Mexican art ever assembled? Need I also remind you the international respect that collection received has been an incalculable boost to our public relations? Tourists are now arriving in ever greater numbers, not just to visit our resorts but to appreciate our heritage. When Professor Drummond offered his financial and technical assistance to excavate the ruins, he added that he would consider it a favor if his offer was accepted. It was politically expedient to give him that favor because the favor was in our favor. Financially, we come out ahead. I strongly suspect that his team will finish the job long before your own understaffed group would have. As a consequence, tourists can begin going there sooner. Tourists,” Delgado repeated. “Revenue. Jobs for the natives. The development of an otherwise useless section of the Yucatan.”

“Revenue?” Professor Guerrero bristled. “Is that all our heritage means to you? Tourists? Money?”

Delgado sighed. “Please. It’s too pleasant an afternoon to argue. I came here to relax and thought that you might appreciate the chance to relax, as well. I have a few telephone calls to make. Why don’t you go out by the pool, enjoy the view, perhaps introduce yourself to some young ladies-or not, whatever you prefer-and then later we can renew this conversation over dinner, when we’ve had the chance to calm ourselves.”

“I don’t see how admiring the view is going to make me change my mind about-”

Delgado interrupted. “We can continue this conversation later.” He motioned for Guerrero to stand, guided him toward the door, opened it, and told one of his bodyguards, “Escort Professor Guerrero around the property. Show him the gardens. Take him to the reception at the pool. Make sure all his needs are satisfied. Professor”-Delgado shook hands with him-“I’ll join you in an hour.”