Ted Bell - Spy

“Conch?” Hawke mouthed the word.

“Mmm.”

“Bloody hell, Pippa!” he whispered fiercely.

54

H awke put the phone to his ear. The girl in his bed turned her back to him and yanked the bedcovers up over her head like a small child desirous of a private tantrum. Was she actually pouting? Bloody hell, he’d just have to ignore her.

“Good evening, Conch,” Hawke said, with a good deal more bravado than he’d intended.

It was a full two minutes before Alex Hawke was allowed to insert a single word edgewise.

“Sorry,” he finally managed to wedge in.

“He says he’s bloody sorry!” he heard the girl under the covers cry, thankful the exclamation was somewhat muffled.

Pippa rose from the bed without another word, swaddled in trailing bedclothes, and padded silently across the hardwood floor to the head. She pulled the door firmly closed behind her. Thirty seconds later, she emerged once more in one of the white terry robes that hung in all the guest staterooms. Her hair looked different, and Hawke realized she must have used his silver military brushes. The robe, which was obviously what she’d worn when she’d crept below to his stateroom, was belted tightly about her waist.

She crossed his cabin without even a backward glance and, on her way out, banged his stateroom door shut just hard enough to avoid splintering it.

“Conch, this is not at all what it seems,” Hawke said, wincing at the sound of the slamming door, easily loud enough to be heard over the phone, “Can we just move on?”

“Alex, relax. Your personal life long ago ceased to have any fascination for me. And I would happily let you go back to whoever you were doing except for one thing. I’ve just gotten off the phone with the president. He is in full crisis mode. And, he specifically asked me to call you.”

“Conch,” Hawke said, sitting up in bed, coming full awake. He was vastly relieved to be talking business. “How can I help?”

“In the last six hours, all hell has broken loose along the Mexican border. It’s not exactly war, but it’s close enough. We’ve had reports of multiple incursions by Mexican Army units in three different states. Border Patrol agents are being openly attacked, shot at without provocation by illegals with AK-47s. A few small border towns in Texas and New Mexico are under siege by rampaging drug gangs on motorcycles. There has been widespread burning and looting of remote farms and ranches. A few small border towns have reported fires raging out of control. Arson.”

“God.”

“Now, we’re getting reports of American vigilantes raiding Mexican border towns in reprisal. Anti-American demonstrations in Mexico City and the countryside are turning violent. This thing is spiraling out of control, Alex. It’s insane. The administration is all caught up in planning for the Inauguration and we’re on the verge of a full-fledged border war.”

“An invasion,” Hawke said, “That’s just how the American people will see this. That the bloody Mexicans have invaded their country.”

“Well, for Christ’s sake, how else could they see it? It’s what’s been happening, Alex. You know the numbers. Ten thousand a day coming across. Twelve to twenty million illegals already over. And now, just what we need, Mexican Army units crossing the border.”

“You have any proof of that?”

“No. Unfortunately, we don’t.”

“Uniformed troops takes this to a new level. Has anyone spoken directly to the president of Mexico about this?”

“Of course. That was the first call the president made. Mexican President Fox disclaims any knowledge of his army moving north across our border. Only he could give that order. He says he has not. But, he also says, if these vigilante reprisals against innocent Mexican civilians continue, he will declare Mexico in a state of war with the United States and move four divisions north. He will also immediately stop all oil flow to the U.S. through Mexico.”

“What’s the president’s response?” “He’s going to pull every single National Guard Unit from the interior of the country and disperse them along that two thousand-mile-long border.”

“That sounds a lot like war. How long will that take?”

“To organize and mobilize something like that? A week. Less.”

“That may not be enough time.”

“To do what, Alex?”

“Conch, the whole time I was in hospital I was thinking about Top. I ordered a new boat to navigate the Amazon and its tributaries. I can have a crew ready to go in less than twelve hours. For reasons I’m not sure you’ll understand, I’m going back.”

“I understand all right, Alex. It’s commonly called revenge.”

“THERE’S A powerful political angle to this, Alex. Border state governors and local law enforcement are besieging the president to do something immediately. In the meantime, the Minutemen are raising public funds to erect a border wall and money is flooding in. You saw the demonstration in L.A. last year. People waving Mexican flags, chanting, ‘Viva la Reconquista!’ The Mexicans are taking back the southwest without a shot being fired.”

“With the help of the jihadistas I saw in the jungle.”

“You think the Mexicans are innocent?”

“Hell, no. Ambrose and I interrogated a German diplomat named Zimmermann. Formerly the liaison between the Mexican government and the Brazilian terror army. He’s dead now. I think the Mexicans are in this at some level. Maybe not all the way to the President, but someone.”

“Alex, look. The president was just narrowly re-elected, primarily because those southwestern states supported him. Believed he was going to stand up for this country and that our borders still meant something. If he doesn’t put a stop to this borderline wildfire and fast, he’s going to be country fried chicken right out of the box.”

“Pulling the Guard away from all those major cities is a bad idea right now, Conch. A very dangerous idea.”

“Right. We see thousands of internet threats every day. We must have missed this one.”

“I saw this threat with my own eyes, Conch.”

“What do you want me to do? Invade Brazil? Argentina? We’re stretched so goddamn thin right now—caught between Iraq and a hard place, isn’t that what you said? Send what few troops we do have, and they’ll only be concentrated and vulnerable along a broken border.”

“That’s only half of it. Send the balance of the Guard to the border and you leave major cities wide open.”

“I know.”

“Conch, the president doesn’t really think the root of this problem is Mexico, does he? That’s his dilemma. He can’t say what he really believes publicly. He thinks I might be right. Tell me the truth.”

“He’s not sure, Alex. Nobody in Washington can figure out what the hell the Mexicans are up to, much less the rest of the Latan leaders. But, every day, there are more attacks on our border agents. Six were shot in the last week. You’ve got el Presidente down there, somewhat believably disavowing any knowledge of armed troop incursions.”

“And that may prove true.”

“Privately, he has assured us he means us no harm. But he encourages an invasion of our country by millions of his citizens. And then says he’s very pissed off at American reprisals against his people.”

“Resulting in the current confusion at the White House and up on the Hill,” Hawke said.

“With the Mexicans rubbing our faces in it on CNN. I’m just waiting for the mainstream backlash.”

“A situation ripe for any third party trying to foment a U.S. border war, isn’t it, Conch? Think about it.”

“I see where you’re going. But to what end, Alex?”

“The oldest trick in the book. Lure the enemy defenses away from your true military objectives. Spread the enemy along the perimeter. Then, attack at the center with overwhelming force.”