John Gilstrap - Damage Control

“Did you go down to check out the scene?” Almanza asked.

Palma gave him a harsh look. “Leave us, Corporal,” Palma said.

The policeman looked stunned.

Palma glared, waiting for Almanza to comply with his order. When he’d slunk away, Palma returned his attention to Madrigal. “You were saying?”

“Well, I was shocked. Not able to help-I am not a man who climbs steep slopes, if you know what I mean-I went back to my truck and I called the police.”

Palma studied the man. “I heard a report that you then drove away. Is that correct?”

His posture spoke of fear. “I won’t lie to you, Captain. I was very frightened. I saw buzzards starting to circle overhead. My heart is not as strong as it once was. Once I’d made the phone call to alert the police, I wanted to get away from here. Then within a few minutes, my dispatcher called and told me to come back here to wait for the police.”

Palma had a proven record of correctly judging people’s character during interrogations. Emilio Madrigal impressed him as a hard worker who had stumbled into a frightening scene.

“Did you give someone from the police your name and contact information?” Palma asked.

Madrigal nodded enthusiastically. He seemed to sense that he was about to be released. “Yes, sir. Three times, in fact.”

“Are you planning to travel in the next week or so?”

“Only within my territory for work. Driving range.”

Palma saw no reason to make him stay any longer. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Madrigal. You may go.”

The man looked like he might cry. “Thank you, Captain. Thank you very much.”

Palma started to return to the bodies when a new thought occurred to him. “Mr. Madrigal!” he called.

Madrigal turned.

“If you need to speak to me about this further, please give me a call.” He pulled a business card from his wallet and a pen from the pocket of his uniform blouse. He circled a number on the card. “This is my cell phone,” he said.

Madrigal took the card, but hesitantly. “Did I forget to tell you something, Captain?”

Palma offered a cold smile. “I hope not,” he said. “But only you can answer that question honestly.” He meant his words to be chilling, and it was obvious they’d had the desired effect.

“Certainly,” Madrigal said. He hesitated, looked back, and then returned to his red pickup truck.

As soon as Madrigal walked away, Almanza reappeared to fill the vacuum. He seemed at once excited and disappointed. “Alas, Captain, perhaps I was wrong.” He displayed a shell casing in his open palm. “The reports said that the missionaries were using five-five-six and seven-six-two millimeter ammunition. This casing is much smaller. In fact, I’ve never seen so small a bullet.”

Palma’s stomach twisted as he took the casing from the corporal and examined it more closely. This was the 4.6-millimeter ammunition that was the new favorite of the American Special Forces. What did that mean? What it could mean was that he-as well as Felix Hernandez-had been lied to. They’d both received specific assurances that the American government would not interfere.

“An interesting piece of evidence,” Palma said. “But it does not rule out the American missionaries.”

“So you believe they have many weapons?”

Palma nodded to the section of the jungle where the bodies were being cared for by Sergeant Nazario. “They have at least six rifles and six sidearms that they did not have before this incident happened.”

Almanza let that sink in silently. Something changed behind his eyes as it seemed to dawn on him for the first time that Palma knew more than he was sharing. “Do you know where these men came from?” he asked.

“They worked for me, Corporal. Of course I know.”

“I need to know as well,” Almanza said. “I need to know anything that will help in the investigation.”

Palma pursed his lips and made himself taller. “Actually, Corporal, you need to know what I decide to share with you. Nothing more.”

Almanza’s face reddened. “It is my job, not yours, to investigate crimes. I understand that these murdered men were in the Army-”

“You think too much of yourself, Corporal Almanza,” Palma interrupted. “Or perhaps you believe that I think too much of you. We both know that your job is to pretend to enforce laws, much as I pretend to serve our commander in chief. In reality, we all serve Felix Hernandez.”

The corporal’s face darkened still more. “That is not so!”

“It is so. I know it is so because you are still alive. Such cannot be said of so many men with badges who chose to fight the inevitable. You live to pretend, and you pretend so that you can live. We can say this out loud because there are no reporters here. The president himself pretends because he, too, has children and parents and siblings. He knows that one day he will no longer be president, and when he no longer has his security detail, he does not wish to be spirited off in the night to have his joints crushed and his private parts shredded.”

As Almanza listened, he lurched his head from side to side, worried that his men might hear.

“Do you think they are different, Corporal?” Palma went on. “Do you believe that anyone on any police force in Mexico wishes to see their families killed? These games of pretend in which we engage are the worst kept secrets in the whole country. We do it to allow the population to believe that the government is in control, but in their quiet moments, I’m sure that every citizen understands the reality.”

“I do not appreciate being lectured to like a schoolboy,” Almanza said.

“I’m sure that no one would. That’s why I’m urging you not to be as naive as a schoolboy.” Palma said this in a way that he hoped would not sound patronizing. It made no sense to anger the man. “I will ask you this as a favor, then. Would you please be so kind as to allow me to conduct this investigation, and to stay out of my way while I do it?”

“What will I tell my superiors?”

Palma placed a hand on the corporal’s shoulder. “Tell them that you are acting at the request of Captain Ernesto Palma, and that Captain Ernesto Palma is working very closely with Felix Hernandez.” He gave Almanza a few seconds to absorb the full meaning of his words. “Once your superiors hear that, I think they will understand. Don’t you?”

Once the bodies of his men were properly bagged, Palma left them in the custody of Corporal Almanza, with very specific instructions to have them delivered to military authorities who would manage the details of notifying families. On the one hand, it felt like a waste of precious time to go through all the ceremonial rigmarole, but on the other, he understood the importance of such things to his men. Soldiers made many sacrifices in service to their country. Often, the only true respect they ever saw was that which came in death. Palma did not consider himself to be a sentimental man, but even he could understand the need for dignity.

Besides, so much time had already elapsed that an extra forty-five minutes would likely make no difference. Now that it was done, he and his soldiers were driving north. He didn’t yet know what the Americans’ plan was, but logic dictated that it included return to their country, and the only way to get there was to head north. By his estimation, the Americans had at most a five-hour head start.

Palma had alerted his forces along the coast to keep an eye on the marinas and the ports, but his instincts told him that the Americans would stay to the interior. That’s what he would do if he were in their position. Traveling by land left near infinite options for evasion. Once on the water, they would be exposed to too many interdiction assets, not the least of which would be the ones designed to keep them out of their own country, now that they were the subject of an international warrant.