Mike Maden - Drone

“Yes.” Castillo detailed what he wanted the president to do for him. But Castillo didn’t explain what his own course of action would be or that his Iranian security chief had concocted the scheme.

“Very well. Consider it done,” Hernán said.

“When?”

“Starting tomorrow. You have my word.” Hernán clicked off the phone, then opened the cell-phone case, extracting the SIM card and shredding it in his high-security shredder. He didn’t want that psychopath calling him directly ever again.

He then crossed over to his desk and picked up a landline. He called his brother.

“At this hour?” the president asked. “Can’t it wait?”

“I just had a call from our friend, the Farmer.”

“What did he want?”

Hernán described Castillo’s request.

“That’s all?” the president asked. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“There is one more thing. We need the Federal Police and other drug enforcement agencies to back off of him for a while. He needs ‘room to maneuver.’ His words, not mine.”

“Is that a good idea?”

“Yes. I have a feeling that Castillo’s reach is about to exceed his grasp.” Hernán grinned. “Our friend could stand a dose of humility.”

The Oval Office, the White House

Dr. Strasburg was on the couch, perched in his usual spot. He held a cup and saucer in his slightly trembling hands, a symptom of the Parkinson’s that he had recently developed. The cup was brimming with freshly brewed coffee, despite doctor’s orders. They had been discussing Russia’s recent diplomatic offensive in the Caucasus when Myers received the urgent message that a call was coming through. He nodded reassuringly at her to take it.

President Myers took her seat behind the famous desk. She picked up her phone. “Put him through, Maggie.”

The receiver clicked as the call was rerouted. Myers pressed another button and put the call on speakerphone so that Strasburg could hear it as well. A familiar voice came on the line.

“Madame President. Thank you for taking my call.” It was President Barraza on the other end. His tone was icy.

“I understand it is a matter of some urgency, Mr. President. By the way, Dr. Karl Strasburg is in the room with me. I hope that’s not a problem.”

“No. In fact, I prefer it. Dr. Strasburg is a wise man. I hope he will give us both good counsel.”

“How may I be of assistance to you today?” Myers asked.

“It has come to my attention that the United States has engaged in covert military action against one of our sovereign citizens while in Mexican territorial waters. Is this true?”

Myers blanched. How could Barraza possibly know about Pearce and his operation?

“To whom are you referring, Mr. President?” Myers stalled for time.

“Aquiles Castillo, of course. He died of a massive hemorrhage in the brain.”

“I’m sorry. Who?”

“One of the sons of César Castillo. I’m sure you’re familiar with his name,” Barraza sniffed.

“A parent’s worst nightmare. I understand his grief.”

“We believe that some form of covert action was taken by your government against him that caused the brain hemorrhage.”

Myers glanced at Strasburg.

“That’s quite an accusation, Mr. President. It seems a little far-fetched, if you don’t mind my saying so,” Myers said.

“Dr. Strasburg?”

“Yes, Mr. President?”

“Please remind President Myers of America’s long history of ‘far-fetched’ covert operations. For example, the CIA’s attempt to assassinate Castro with exploding poisonous cigars.”

Strasburg set his coffee down. “We’re all well aware of those attempts, Mr. President, along with Mr. Castro’s long record of torturing and killing his political opponents. We also know that the CIA is currently prohibited by law from assassinating governmental leaders. The fact that Fidel Castro is alive and well suggests that the CIA’s capabilities in that area were never terribly effective anyway, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Madame President, let me ask you directly. Did you authorize a covert mission to kill Aquiles Castillo?”

“No. And I resent the fact that you would even consider me capable of such action.”

“Then perhaps the CIA has a rogue operative, or there are other elements at work in your government that you are not aware of. Since you are not able to take responsibility for this crime, then I must. I am informing you that Mexico will take whatever action is necessary to prevent further incursions over our border and to protect Mexican national sovereignty. In addition to mobilizing additional troops, I am placing our military and police units on the border on high alert, and I am authorizing them to fire on any unauthorized persons found on Mexican territory or in territorial waters or airspace. Is that perfectly clear, Madame President?”

“Frankly, I’m stunned. I don’t know what to say.”

“Mr. President, I respectfully suggest that a summit be arranged immediately so that these matters can be discussed further,” Strasburg said. “May we instruct Ambassador Romero to contact your Foreign Office and begin to make arrangements?”

There was silence on the line for a moment. “You may instruct him to do so, but I have no interest in anything less than a frank and substantive discussion of the matter.”

“I would expect nothing less from either party,” Myers said. “We’ll see to the arrangements.”

“Until the summit concludes, the new heightened security measures will remain in place. Good day to you both.” Barraza hung up.

Myers stared at Strasburg. “What was that all about?”

“He’s afraid.”

“Of whom? Us?”

“More likely Castillo. He must have contacted Barraza.”

“So they are in collusion,” Myers said.

“Not necessarily. Castillo is a citizen of Mexico. It is not unreasonable for him to seek out his government’s assistance regarding the death of his son.”

“How many Mexican citizens can dial 911 and get President Barraza on the line?” Myers asked.

“Not many, I’ll grant you. But who else could Castillo call to get protection from us?”

“That’s a good sign. If Castillo’s calling President Barraza for help, that means he thinks he has no way of retaliating against us, right?”

Strasburg shrugged. “That is my sincere hope, Madame President.”

Dallas, Texas

Parkland Memorial was the hospital they rushed JFK to when he was shot and it’s the hospital where they pronounced him dead. As Dallas County’s public hospital, it processed over 140,000 cases through its emergency room every year—many of them indigents—making the Parkland ER one of the busiest in the nation. They handled gunshots, stab wounds, car wrecks, and heart attacks on a daily basis, but the last two weeks had been a real horror show.

The ambulance cut its sirens as it swung into the Parkland ER parking lot, screeching to a halt beneath a portico already jammed with three other trucks desperately unloading their dying patients.

The driver bolted out of his door and dashed for the rear. The EMT inside the vehicle threw the back doors open and leaped out. They grabbed the stretcher on a fast three-count and lifted it out, lowering it to the ground on the spring-loaded undercarriage. The girl on the stretcher, “Hispanic, teenage, female, no name,” convulsed beneath the restraining straps like a demoniac, her tiny fists clenched against the agony raging in her skull.

A weeping older couple stumbled outside through the sliding glass doors, numb to the world when the EMTs shouted, “Coming through!” as they raced the stretcher through the doors. The ambulance driver’s hip crashed into the elderly man, nearly knocking him over.