Destiny

by David Wood

  Sievers set a slow pace, allowing Avery’s impromptu lecture to calm all their nerves. “So what changed? Why did President Wilson think he could reclaim those territories?”

  “Two things. First, in the 1860s, the French invaded Mexico and installed Maximillian as emperor of Mexico. This was in direct opposition to the Monroe Doctrine, which held that the Americas should be kept free of European influence, but because of the Civil War, there wasn’t much that could be done. By 1867, the Mexicans managed to overthrow Maximillian. The Cinco de Mayo holiday celebrates the Battle of Puebla, which was sort of the opening shot in their war to kick the French out.

  “The second development was the Mexican Revolution of 1910. Not only was there the possibility that the unrest would spill across the border—which did happen in 1916—there was also a very real chance that European powers might again try to regain a foothold in the Western Hemisphere. Wilson saw a chance to permanently end that threat and stop any future violence by negotiating with both rebel leaders and the governors of the northern states. My guess is that, when Bierce vanished with the treaty, Wilson shelved the idea. World War I came along and pretty much put an end to European imperialism.”

  “Did the Mexicans want to join the U.S.?”

  “At the time, most of the political power in Mexico was in the hands of wealthy property owners. If you were a rural farmer, you lived at the whim of whoever owned the land you worked.” Avery shrugged. “It’s not much different today I suppose. America is still the land of opportunity, right? If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t have such a problem with illegal immigration.”

  Sievers gave a noncommittal grunt. They had reached the end of the tunnel and were once more confronted with the settling dust cloud from the cave-in.

  Kasey felt some of her panic rising again, so she forced herself to stay with the conversation. “Back up a second. You said something about Manifest Destiny.”

  Avery’s eyes went wide. “Of course. How could I be so stupid? I was so fixated on the Spear of Destiny… It all makes sense. The Dominion wants to create an American empire to dominate the hemisphere. Their version of Manifest Destiny.”

  “I thought the Dominion wanted to overthrow America,” Sievers said. “Not make it bigger.” He shone his light into the dust cloud. “If those guys made it out before the roof fell in, it might be something we need to worry about.”

  Kasey thought Sievers was right on both counts. Something about Avery’s explanation did not quite mesh with the facts, particularly with the Russians being involved. Still, it was the start of a working theory. “The Dominion has known about the treaty for a while. They knew it was out here somewhere, and what it said. My guess is that their plan is to go ahead with Destiny…whether they have the treaty or not.”

  “Which is one more reason we need to get our butts out of here,” Sievers said. He took a tentative step into the haze. “Better stay close. And you might want to avoid breathing this crap.”

  Kasey tugged her shirt collar up in a futile effort to cover her mouth and started forward, just a step behind Sievers. The gloom enfolded him, almost completely eclipsing the rays from his flashlight, and Kasey’s claustrophobia returned with a vengeance, not mere discomfort, but a panic so complete that it overwhelmed her voluntary nervous system. Without conscious thought, she drew back, letting go of Avery’s hand and bolting for the relative safety of the tunnel, but just two steps out into the pervasive cloud had left her completely disoriented. She crashed into the wall, gasped and breathed in a mouthful of dust. She began to claw at the wall, desperate to find the mouth of the tunnel, if only to be free of the choking dust, then felt a hand close around her wrist and pull her forward.

  Kasey screamed.

  CHAPTER 27

  Mexico City, Mexico

  An unnatural silence reigned in the assembly hall as Esperanza took his seat. How was it possible, he wondered, for so many people, five hundred deputies and God only knew how many aides and journalists, to occupy such a vast space and yet make no noise at all? Were they all, like him, afraid to even breathe?

  He glanced down at the pages spread out on the tabletop before him. The words that he had written, labored over, poured his heart into, seemed alien to him. Dangerous. Once he spoke them, there would be no turning back. Everything would change, and while he sincerely believed the change was vital to the survival of his nation, and perhaps in a very literal sense, his own survival as well, now, standing at the precipice, he could not help but feel doubt.

  He began speaking, reading the words, not daring to look up.

  There were many among the gathered deputies of the congressional union that he counted as friends, many who openly supported what he intended to do, yet he knew that there were also many who would stand against him. Even among those who professed to be on his side, there were some who did so only for cynical motives. Some of the deputies were complicit in the crimes which he was here to enumerate. Directly or indirectly, they were guilty of corruption, of receiving support from the criminal elements which now held Mexico in a stranglehold.

  That was the great lie behind political clichés like the “war on drugs” or being “tough on crime.” The policies and enforcement measures ostensibly created to stem the spread of drug trafficking and human exploitation often served only to make those endeavors more profitable, reinforcing the very problem they were meant to curb and enriching both the criminals and their cronies in positions of power. Even now, he imagined, some of them were considering how they would be able to reap profit from Esperanza’s desperate plan.

  In an almost mechanical tone, he recited the dire litany of crimes which stretched like creeper vines through the infrastructure of the Mexican political system. Tens of thousands dead—some estimates placed the number as high as 120,000—thousands more missing, either dead and buried in secret, or worse, sold into slavery and prostitution abroad. Billions spent, wasted really. And perhaps worst of all, the complete loss of faith in the government to protect its citizens. The military and police—those that were not already bought and paid for—were impotent in the face of the cartels. The rural farmers, in desperation, had formed their own vigilante militias to fight the oppressors, and many such were already organizing into revolutionary armies, ready to take the fight to the men they saw as truly responsible. Others, numbering into the hundreds of thousands, had simply given up on the country of their birth, fleeing to the United States of America, where even the endless ridicule, persecution, and exploitation were preferable to the hopelessness of remaining in Mexico.

  Lavelle had been right about one thing. The situation was beyond fixing. Yet, could he now bring himself to utter the terminal diagnosis? To admit that the fight to save Mexico from itself was lost beyond all hope?

  He paused as he reached the closing paragraph, not for dramatic effect as some would probably believe, but rather because he had reached the precipice. The words on the paper seemed to burn his eyes.

  President Mendoza has failed Mexico. His inability to halt the spread of violence and his toleration of corruption in the military and police constitutes an act of treason against our nation. I call upon this body to indict President Mendoza for his crimes, to place him on trial before the Senate, and to remove him from office.

  He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. The words felt like lead in his chest. If he spoke them aloud, it would breathe life into a creature over which he would have no control.

  This will mean the end of Mexico, he thought. Can I destroy my country in order to save it?

  In that instant, he knew that the decision was not his to make.

  He folded the paper over, slid it into a pocket, and raised his eyes to the president of the chamber of deputies. “There are some here who believe as I do, that we have reached a critical moment in our history. We cannot succeed if we do not acknowledge how we have failed. Nor can we save our world without being prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice.”

  The words tumbled
from his mouth, from his heart, sounding incoherent in his ears, but he pressed on.

  “The sacrifice that I speak of is something that I have only recently learned about. It is something both wonderful and terrible that will change our world. But it is not my place to tell you of it. I have not been elected to lead, to serve. I do not have the right to make this decision for our nation. President Mendoza has that honor, and it is to him alone that I will reveal what I have learned.

  “I call upon you, Señor Presidente, to meet with me here, to listen to what I have to say and to lead Mexico into the future.”

  A numb sensation spread throughout his body as the words echoed through the chamber. The deputies stared at him in stunned disbelief. This was not at all what was supposed to happen. The cheers, or in some cases jeers, with which they had intended to reply to the expected call for Mendoza’s impeachment, fizzled like wet gunpowder. Esperanza himself was unsure of what to do next, but there was nothing more to say, so he stood up, fumbled with his chair, and then strode from the hall.

  A rustling noise grew in the air behind him, but it wasn’t until he reached the exit that he realized the sound had been applause. Only then did he know that he had made the right decision.

  Roger Lavelle was waiting for him just outside the door. The Texan’s arms were folded across his chest, and his face was a grim mask of barely contained ire. “You went off script, Guillermo,” he said in a cold, accusatory tone.

  Strangely, Esperanza felt no need to defend his decision. “You would not understand. You are not Mexican.”

  “And I thank God for that,” Lavelle said, but then his scowl softened. “Fortunately, you haven’t screwed things up too badly.”

  The comment took some of the wind from Esperanza’s sails. “This will be something for Mexico to decide, Roger. It’s not up to me or you, no matter what this treaty of yours says.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that, but don’t you worry. If Mendoza takes you up on your offer, and I’ve every reason to believe he will, then we might be able to pull this off after all.”

  He clapped Esperanza on the shoulder and then turned on his heel and walked away. As Esperanza watched the Texan’s retreating form, he felt the numbness return. What kind of game was Lavelle playing?

  CHAPTER 28

  Cuarenta Casas, Mexico

  Stone pulled the shrieking figure close and hugged her tight. “Kasey! It’s okay. It’s me.”

  The screaming stopped, but he could feel her shaking against him and knew that his reassurance was a temporary fix at best. “I found a way out,” he continued. “The others? Are they okay?”

  Her reply was a faint tremor that might have been a nod.

  “Avery! Sievers!”

  A faint glow appeared in the haze of dust, growing brighter until Stone could make out two human forms. “Stone!” Sievers shouted. “Damn, if I’m not actually glad to see you.”

  “Likewise, on all counts.”

  “We ain’t getting out the way we came in,” Sievers said. “It’s totally blocked. I did find one of those guys. Not sure if it was a bullet that got him or the rock that caved his head in, but either way, he’s toast. Don’t know about the others.”

  “That’s all right. There’s another exit.” He motioned for them to follow and led the way into the other tunnel which branched off the main chamber. As they moved away from the site of the cave-in, Kasey calmed down a little, but Stone knew she was at her threshold.

  The passage was considerably easier to navigate with the aid of artificial light. In total darkness, Stone had been forced to grope his way through the unfamiliar environment, one hand extended to keep from crashing into low hanging obstacles and unexpected turns, the other maintaining constant contact with the wall to his right, while he shuffled his feet forward, testing every step before planting his weight. He had scouted the tunnel alone despite not knowing the fate of the others, in the belief that he could help them best by finding an exit. The gunfire had ceased shortly after the cave in, and he had known at that moment that they were either alive or dead, and their status would not change regardless of whether he turned back to check on them. Fortunately, he had quickly found proof to support his prediction that this tunnel would lead to an exit.

  “How far do we have to go?” Sievers asked.

  “Not sure.”

  “But you did find a way out, right?” There was a desperate quaver in Kasey’s voice. “You said you did.”

  “There’s fresh air coming in from somewhere up ahead,” Stone explained. “I thought I felt it when we found Bierce. It was faint, but it was there.”

  “And you’re just telling us now?”

  He shrugged. “We had more pressing concerns.”

  He decided not to mention that the air might be coming in through a crack too small for a human to fit through. That information would not exactly have a motivational effect. Nor would his admission that he had caused the cave-in intentionally in order to prevent a protracted gun battle with the Dominion men, a battle that they could not have survived unscathed.

  One drawback to the way in which Stone perceived the world around him was that other people did not see what he saw, and often there simply wasn’t time to explain. Sometimes, even after the fact, those explanations did not sit well with others who saw his reliance on the deterministic nature of the universe as a form of gambling, trusting in luck. Nothing was further from the truth, but most people would never get that.

  He had worked all the angles and determined that the others were far enough away from the support post to survive anything short of a catastrophic collapse—something that was unlikely considering that the support beam had not already given way—and made a unilateral decision. The cave-in would also make their enemies, if any survived, believe that they were caught inside, killed or buried alive, which would further increase their chances of escape. The greatest uncertainty lay with the possibility that the ceiling might not give way at all, but there was no better option. The outcome had validated his decision; they were all still alive.

  The mine tunnel wound back and forth through the surrounding rock, sometimes intersecting natural fissures. To fill the silence, Avery speculated aloud about the significance of the treaty which she now referred to as the “Mexico Purchase.” Stone was amused and encouraged by her efforts to unravel the Dominion’s schemes using methods that approximated his own. The problem that she wrestled with, however, was a different matter.

  “The Russians have known about this treaty for a long time,” he said. “They might have learned about it from Patton himself. Maybe he talked about his plans to run for president. That might have tipped them off. There might be other people who know, or who knew in the past, but decided not to come forward with the information.”

  “Why not?” asked Sievers. “I mean it’s just a matter of history, right? A treaty like that can’t possibly be binding, so why make a fuss?”

  “It’s hard to say how the treaty would be received today. I doubt the U.S. would attempt to enforce it, but they might try to use it for political leverage. But I would imagine that in 1945, the Russians would have taken it very seriously. An uncontested expansion of American borders, with a trove of natural resources and manpower, led by a president who made no secret of his desire to go to war with the Soviet Union—they couldn’t ignore that.”

  “So why drag it out now?” Avery asked. “What’s changed? No more Soviet Union. Russia is probably even weaker now than it was under Stalin. Why would they risk putting this out in the open? And giving it to the Dominion, of all people?”

  “Figuring that out is the second on my list of things to do,” Stone declared.

  A few minutes later, they reached the first item on that list. It was a fissure in the surrounding rock matrix, about eighteen inches wide that laterally intersected the passage. The original miners had thrown down a bridge of planks to cover the gap and kept tunneling forward in search of ore, but the crack cont
inued in both directions. To the right, it vanished into nothingness, but on the left side, the gap widened and seemed to open out to the surface world, though it was difficult to say for sure since there was no sign of daylight beyond.

  Sievers checked his watch. “Sun might already be down. Not sure what time dusk is down here.”

  “I don’t care,” Kasey said. “I just want out of here.”

  Stone didn’t wait for more prompting. He stepped out into the fissure, wedging his foot against the bottom, and began scooting forward toward the promise of fresh air. He turned his body sideways so that his shoulders would not get stuck, and inched forward until he was completely sandwiched between the vertical slabs of rock.

  He heard Sievers’ voice, muffled by the angles of the stone face. “I wonder why they didn’t enlarge this. Make a second entrance.”

  Stone did not venture a guess. Speculation was irrelevant. The geological circumstances that had led to this seeming coincidence had occurred millions of years before, and were the result of preceding events that went back to the beginning of the universe. It was what it was, as he was fond of saying, because it couldn’t have happened any other way.

  As he crept forward, he caught a whiff of a familiar scent. It took him a moment to recognize it as the smell of wood smoke, not a fresh fire still burning, but the stale smell of old ashes in a long forgotten fireplace. The smell grew stronger, as if his body scraping along the rock was releasing vapors sealed away centuries before. He slid forward a few inches more, and suddenly there was nothing below him.

  He gripped the walls of the slab reflexively and drew back until he felt solid rock beneath him. The fissure opened out into nothingness, but evidently not on the surface. Another mine tunnel? A natural cave?

  He moved forward more cautiously, wishing he had asked Sievers for his light, and felt the edge where the fissure ended. He stared into it, aware now of shapes, barely visible, lit from below by a twilight glow.