Mike Maden - Drone

“Colonel, let me speak directly. We need your help. We have reason to believe that the Iranians have partnered with one or more of the drug cartels and that this alliance poses a strategic threat to both the United States and Mexico.”

Cruzalta shook his head. “There have always been such rumors. Where is the evidence?”

Pearce clicked a button on a remote. A new image appeared. It had the point of view of a hidden handheld video camera. It was tracking Cruzalta’s doomed convoy heading for the tunnel on the way to pick up the Castillo boys. As the vehicles raced down the highway, the image came in and out of focus as the automatic focus feature engaged.

The blood drained out of Cruzalta’s face.

The camera swung up into the air to catch Cruzalta’s helicopter. One of the camera operators chattered in Farsi.

Pearce translated. “He just said, ‘Keep the camera on the convoy. It’s coming to the tunnel.’”

“An Iranian?” Cruzalta asked.

Pearce nodded.

The camera swung back down shakily just in time to catch the convoy dash into the tunnel. The Iranian voice whispered loudly.

Pearce translated again. “He’s saying, ‘Wait for it… wait for it…’”

BOOM! An explosion in the tunnel. Napalm-fueled fire jetted out of the tunnel entrance.

The two Iranian camera operators roared with laughter. No translation was needed.

“Turn it off,” Cruzalta demanded.
Pearce did.

Myers reappeared. “I’m sorry to have upset you, Colonel. But you asked for evidence. We now suspect that the Iranians may be working with the Bravos.”

“Why? What would the Iranians get from an alliance with Victor Bravo?”

“The Iranians have weapons and training. The Bravos have smuggling routes and safe houses throughout North America.”

“Perhaps the Iranians were always working with the Bravos,” Cruzalta suggested.

“Why would you say that?” Pearce asked.

“Bravo and Castillo have been trying to wipe each other out for years—a true ‘Mexican standoff.’ Neither could prevail. And yet, one did—arguably the weaker one. How?”

“We took out the Castillos,” Myers said.

“Yes, of course. But why?”

“Because of the cross-border violence,” Myers said. “Including my own son.”

“But what changed? Why would the Castillos attack El Paso?”

“Stupidity? Accident? Misjudgment?” Myers offered.

“Perhaps. But look at the result. Now the Bravos and the Iranians are in control. The attack could have been made by accident or stupidity—”

“Or by design,” Pearce concluded.

“That seems more reasonable to me,” Cruzalta said.

“If true, that means the Iranians have been playing a very sophisticated game,” Myers said. “And playing me like a banjo.”

“We must inform my government immediately,” Cruzalta said.

“Unfortunately, there’s more to our story,” Myers said.

Pearce pulled out a digital recorder and played an intercepted call between Victor Bravo and Hernán Barraza in which Bravo assures Hernán that he had nothing to do with the Houston attack and Hernán, in turn, assures Victor that their alliance is still intact .

“How did you get this?” Cruzalta asked, incredulous.

“Once the Bravos were identified in the Houston attack, we turned our attention to Victor Bravo. Exactly how we intercepted the call I’m not at liberty to discuss,” Myers said.

Cruzalta shook his head in disbelief. “This means the Bravos will be able to create the first true narcostate in the Western Hemisphere in cooperation with the Barrazas.”

Pearce took another sip of beer. “And the Iranians would have a government friendly to their cause and a base of operations that gives them a two-thousand-mile contiguous border with the Great Satan. What the Soviets could only dream of with communist Cuba, the Iranians would actually have with Hernán Barraza’s Narco-Mexico.”

“Are the Barrazas working with the Iranians as well? Or just Bravo?”

“All we know for sure is that Hernán and Victor Bravo have been talking. It would be smart for Bravo to keep his relationship with the Iranians hidden from the Barrazas. Otherwise, it might appear to be a threat to them, especially if we found out about it,” Pearce said.

“And now we have,” Myers said.

Cruzalta stood back up and began pacing, trying to process the massive data dump.

“Why have you told me all of these things? I’m a retired soldier. There’s nothing I can do.”

Myers smiled. “I have told you all of these things because I know that you are a patriot and love your country as much as I love mine. You have fought bravely against your nation’s enemies, and your reputation is beyond reproach.” Myers let that sink in for a moment then added, “That’s why I want you to be the next president of Mexico.”

Cruzalta laughed.

“And how would you accomplish that? An invasion? A CIA coup? No, thank you. The last thing Latin America needs is another government installed by the U.S. security services.”

“It’s not possible to change a country from the outside. Mexico itself must change. It needs new leadership that will create a real democracy.”

“Do you think this is your original idea? There are many of us in Mexico who have dreamed of such a thing. But the ruling parties have a stranglehold on power.”

“And that power has been based on the narcotraficantes for the last twenty years. If I help you eliminate them, then legitimate power can rule again. Under your leadership.”

“No. I am not the man. But I know the one who is. And a dozen governors who would back him if they knew that a Bravo sicario wouldn’t blow their heads off the next day.”

“The fact that you don’t want to be president makes you the perfect candidate, Colonel Cruzalta,” Myers lamented. “But you know yourself better than anyone else does. And we need your guidance on this matter. I have no desire to do any nation building or remake Mexico in our image. I just want a free, prosperous, and democratic Mexico that no longer poses a strategic threat to my country.”

“Then you would find many willing hands to help you, I assure you,” Cruzalta said.

“We’ve already begun preparation for an operation to eliminate the Bravos. How long before you can contact your candidate and work out some sort of a schedule?” Pearce asked.

Cruzalta shook his head, incredulous. “You are presuming I am agreeing with this madness. As attractive as it sounds, I hope you will both understand that I have a hard time believing any of it is true. Americans always do what is best for Americans. ‘¡Pobre México! ¡Tan lejos de Dios y tan cerca de los Estados Unidos!’”

“I cannot undo the past. Our countries have a shared history and not all of it is good. But together we can create a new future. But I also understand that trust must be earned, so let me propose this: we have located the Castillo killers responsible for the deaths of your men in the tunnel. They are currently residing in California. You are free to choose a team of your best men and take them down.”

“Arrest them? Or kill them?”

“Whichever you prefer. Mr. Pearce?”

Pearce pulled a paper out of his pocket and handed it to Cruzalta.

Myers continued. “That is my executive order declaring the Castillo killers listed as enemy combatants and terrorists. I have the legal authority to name them as such. They are on American soil. I am now deputizing you to carry out the order to eliminate them as a threat. Mr. Pearce is a witness.”

Cruzalta stared at the paper. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “If I were to release this to the newspapers, it would destroy your presidency.”