Ted Bell - Spy

“Listen, I don’t want to take too much of your time. But, it will come as no surprise to learn that people in my country are very unhappy about this security public relations meeting. Feelings in my country are running very high. Still, some responsible journalists, like myself, we are trying to present this American conference to our readers in a fair and balanced way. Our readers would be very interested to hear the personal view of the situation from a Texas sheriff who sees it up close.”

“Which struggle is that?”

“The struggle against injustice, señor! The struggle for a humane solution to the pain and suffering. An end to our poor honest people risking death just to find a minimum-wage job to support their families.”

“I’m not a politician, Mr. Zamora. I’m a lawman. Your citizens are breaking the law. Day in, day out. And your government is encouraging them to do it. Tell your readers to fix their country instead of breaking mine.”

“But this is not true! My government would never—”

Dixon stared at the man until he looked away.

“A borderline ain’t nothin’ but a law drawn in the sand,” Dixon said. “I’m sworn to uphold that law, however fragile it may be. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think my supper’s about ready.”

The man in the white suit made no move to get up.

“Yes, yes, of course. But, Sheriff, there are stories circulating here in Key West that you plan to show a video shot on the Rio Grande. A very explosive video. Any truth to that?”

“What did you say?”

“A video? Shot recently along the border?”

Franklin just looked at him. There were only two possibilities. One, June had told a lot of folks what she’d seen before she’d called him. Or, two, this hombre had a friend working the Green Pelican switchboard. He favored the latter.

“How’d you hear about that?”

“I have a job to do, too, señor.”

“Get up bright and early and see for yourself.”

“Your speech is not until the afternoon.”

I might move it up some.”

“Señor. I am here to offer a very substantial sum of money for this video. My paper has authorized me to offer you fifty thousand U.S. dollars for the film. I have the money. Here. Waiting for you in a safe deposit box at the Key West Bank on Whitehead Street.”

“Who do you really work for, Mr. Zamora?”

“I told you this already. Los Reformos.”

“You’ve got the wrong man. Mr. Zamora. I’m sure you fellas are pretty much used to buying whatever it is you want. But attempting to bribe a law enforcement officer is a serious crime in this country. I think you ought to stand up and walk out now and let me eat my supper in peace.”

Savannah had arrived with his food. She put it down in front of him and Franklin began to eat immediately. He was hungry. “Uno mas Papa Dobles?” Savannah asked the Mexican.

“He’s not staying,” Dixon said.

“Si, uno mas,” Zamora said, with a big smile at the waitress. Savannah looked at the sheriff and he nodded, okay, bring him another. It’d be nice to end this without a fuss.

“Listen to me, Mr. Zamora,” Dixon said, trying to keep his voice low. “My cheeseburger’s getting cold. Now, I don’t know who you people are or what you think you’re doing. But I want you to know one thing. I’m not for sale. At any price.”

“Sheriff, there’s no need to get excited. We’re both businessmen. I can see you were disappointed with my original number. Perhaps it was a bit underwhelming. Let me make my offer more realistic. I am prepared to pay a hundred thousand dollars for this video. Okay? Cash.”

“You got something in your ears?”

“I’m sorry. Still no good, huh? Maybe you have decided to sleep on this offer. Good. I have written my mobile number on the back of the card. If you change your mind before the conference, please give me a call. I wish you good night. Buenas noches, señor.”

“Mr. Zamora,” Franklin said, dismissing him without looking up. He picked up his burger and took a bite. It was good.

The man stood up and pushed his chair back from the table. He tilted his head back and drained his cocktail. Even though there was no one within earshot he leaned forward and put both hands on the table, speaking very softly.

“Sheriff, I must ask you a personal question. It must be hard to go away on business and leave your poor wife all alone in a small house so far from town. Is it not?”

“Say that again?” Franklin leaned forward and put his nose inches from the man’s own.

“Sorry. I am just saying it must be difficult. For your wife. She must get frightened sometimes, without her brave husband to protect her.”

“My wife.”

“Yes. Her name is Daisy, is it not? Such a pretty name. You must tell her to be careful. The desert is full of coyotes, eh? Especially at night. A woman alone.”

Franklin’s right hand shot out and clamped around the man’s left wrist. He didn’t break any small bones, but he came close.

“If you people ever get anywhere near my wife…if she even hears a voice she doesn’t like on the phone…if you or any of your kind ever cause any harm to come to my wife, I will take off this badge and hunt you down like the worthless piece of filth that you are. I will kill you, Mr. Zamora. Do I make myself clear?”

He let go of the wrist and the man in the white suit was gone out the door and disappearing into the throng outside.

Franklin threw some money down. He got up and left his uneaten hamburger on the table. Then he, too, disappeared into the crowded carnival that was called Duval Street.

HE PUSHED UPSTREAM, bucking the tide of boisterous humanity. He was six blocks from the hotel. He could already see the big animated bird up ahead, all lit up in the misty night sky.

He looked at his watch. It was an hour earlier in Texas. Daisy would be finished with her supper. She’d be standing at the kitchen window, washing up the dishes. It would be getting dark pretty soon. The coyotes would be fixing to start singing.

At that instant, he would have about killed somebody for a cellular telephone, even though he hated the damn things.

“Excuse me,” he said to the large woman. She was standing on the corner with her right hand pressed to her ear, the way people do these days.

“What? Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing, mister? Give me back my cell phone!”

“I’m sorry. Official police business, ma’am. I won’t be long.”

He flashed his badge and turned away from her.

“How does this thing work?” he asked her, stabbing at buttons with his index finger.

46

H awke stared into the coal fire still burning merrily in the basket grate. He and Ambrose had retired to the ship’s small book-lined library immediately following dinner. Congreve had suggested a brandy. The detective was feeling a bit homesick, Hawke thought. Missing his beloved Diana Mars and snowy walks by her side in the country. He was anxious to be home.

The conference, Hawke’s part of it anyway, was over. Next morning, Ambrose and Pippa were scheduled to fly back to Britain. Hawke himself was headed for points south. He’d given Langley and the State Department what information C had allowed him to share. What Conch and Washington chose to do with the intel he had provided was out of his hands. He was now operating on his own. He was mentally clearing his decks, well on the verge of taking the fight to the enemy.

He was sufficiently motivated. Revenge, in Hawke’s mind anyway, was a highly underrated and overly maligned emotion. He personally had found it to be vastly energizing.

On this cold and rainy Saturday night in Key West, only Pippa had elected to go ashore. One last night on the town, she’d said. The two men remained aboard to work on the Code, even though it meant foregoing a spot Hawke had chosen for its name, the Hot Tin Roof.