Edge of Battle aow-2

by Dale Brown

  “Soon, the authorities will be unable to handle the sheer vastness of your numbers. They will not be able to merely pile you into a bus and drive you across the border; you will not be inhumanely ‘processed’ as before because there will be too many for them to handle. But more important, they will soon learn that their economy, their industry, and their way of life cannot continue without you. They will soon realize that the best way to deal with the loss of your valuable labor is to formulate a fair foreign worker policy that guarantees you all legal rights, a fair wage, education and health care for your children, and eventually citizenship for those who desire it. Not only will they be unable to stop you—they will be unable to deal with you, except as the valuable, indispensable, vital human beings you are. They will quickly realize that their only recourse will be to offer you more than what you receive now. It will certainly not be more than you deserve.

  “I promise you, the Mexican government will do everything it can possibly do to guarantee your safety while you are in the United States, and will make you as secure and comfortable as possible upon your return to Mexico. I ask that you report to the nearest futbol stadium upon your return to Mexico. There, the Ministry of Internal Affairs will take down your personal information, conduct a medical examination, arrange for temporary shelter for transportation home.

  “My friends and fellow Mexicans, I know you chose to leave your homeland to try to find a better life for yourselves and your family—that is the way of all hardworking Mexicans,” Fuerza said. “But after over a hundred years of hard work and struggle, is your life any better now than it was for your father or grandfather? Hispanics make up the majority of residents in California, but do we have any more rights than we did as mere aliens, migrants, or Chicanos? Our lives have not changed because we are treated the same as our forefathers were treated decades ago: at best as underpaid workers who should feel privileged to be allowed to work like virtual slaves; at worst as criminal trespassers who should be rounded up like cattle and dumped back across the border, no matter how hard we work.

  “My brothers and sisters, I do not know what will happen to us when you leave your place of work and try to make your way back to Mexico,” Fuerza concluded. “But what I do know is that if we do nothing as a people to correct the injustices against us, our lot in life will never change. I want something better for my children and my future than to live in perpetual servitude to an ungrateful, uncaring, and increasingly hostile nation such as the United States of America has become. We cannot wait any longer for the Anglo politicians to act. We have the power to do something; we always have had it. Our labor has value, real value, not what the greedy slave labor capitalists give us. It is time the people of the United States of America realize this.

  “I will continue to monitor both our government and the American government and media and report to you the progress we make during this historic movement, and I will do everything I can to make this transition as safe and as hopeful as possible. There will be sacrifice, let there be no doubt. But your sacrifice will be rewarded with a better life for you and a better future for your children. God bless the people, and God bless the United Mexican States.”

  A few minutes after checking that the message had been successfully uplinked to TV Azteca studios in Mexico City, Fuerza sat silently, cueing up the digital recording of his message almost to the beginning. As he did so, he heard a commotion outside, and he unfastened the holster’s safety catch, but did not get up. Moments later a security guard opened the door to the office…

  …and behind him walked the president of Mexico, Carmen Maravilloso. The president stopped dead in her tracks, shocked and surprised at what she saw—so shocked that she did not even notice Ministry of Internal Affairs deputy minister José Elvarez and two of his men already inside the room, all carrying small submachine guns under their suit jackets, along with a tall, large, imposing man in a long black leather overcoat, boots, and sunglasses seated in a corner of the office. Once inside, two agents departed while Elvarez stayed inside the office and guarded the door.

  “You!” she exclaimed. She was so shocked at seeing the infamous Comandante Veracruz before her that she hardly noticed herself being led into the room, the door closed and locked behind her. Her voice was not angry or upset, just surprised—in fact, rather pleasantly surprised. She heard herself say, “I have wanted to meet you for some time, señor, but it is not yet safe for you. What are you doing here?”

  “Issuing more instructions to the faithful patriots of Mexico, Madam President,” Fuerza said. He started the recording and let her listen to it; when he saw that she was getting ready to explode with indignation and anger, he stopped the tape. “You agree with my sentiments, do you not, Madam President?”

  “You have no right to speak for the government, señor,” Maravilloso said worriedly. “What kind of plan is this? Tell our people to just leave? Thousands, perhaps millions of people will be homeless and penniless. They will be targets of racists and xenophobes, not to mention the American immigration authorities, who will round up and detain everyone heading south.”

  “I am hoping that is exactly what they try to do,” Fuerza said. “They will quickly be overwhelmed and will commence mass deportations…”

  “Which we will then have to absorb,” Maravilloso said. “Once they are no longer America’s problem, the issue will evaporate.”

  “Except for the thousands of American employers, farmers, and households who will be screaming for the return of their cheap laborers,” Fuerza said. “Trust me, Madam President: the American government will be calling you in no time, wishing to issue a joint statement promising immigration simplification, a relaxation of immigrant worker rules, greatly increased allocations of work visas, better pay for immigrant workers, and a host of other reforms.”

  “You sound very well informed and very sure of yourself—for a drug and weapon smuggler,” Maravilloso said. She stepped closer to Fuerza, studying him carefully. “Who are you really, señor?” she asked. “Obviously you wear a disguise, and I would even guess that you are not injured and your bandages are part of your disguise.”

  Fuerza stood and approached the president. She did not want to show any fear, but she glanced over to be sure the men of the Political Police were nearby and ready to protect her. “You are indeed a very beautiful woman, Madam President,” he said.

  “Gracias, Comandante,” she responded. She looked deeply into Fuerza’s uncovered eye, shaking from both fear and delight at the same time. “I…I think you are a great man, a true inspiration to the people of Mexico. But your words are dangerous, señor. Won’t you consider changing that recording?”

  “I can deny you nothing, Madam President…”

  “Carmen. Please call me Carmen, señor.”

  “Carmen. Your name is as beautiful and as powerful as the woman herself.” He stepped closer. His first touch was electrifying, but his kiss was a million-volt charge running up and down her spine. The fear was still there, but his passion, his fire, was like a narcotic, rushing through her…

  And then she froze, opened her eyes, and saw Fuerza smiling at her, and he saw the realization dawn in her eyes—she knew that she had willingly fallen into a trap she had suspected was there all along. Her lips curled into a snarl, her eyes blazed with white-hot anger, and her fingers became claws, tearing away at the bandages covering his face.

  “This is why I love you so much, Carmen,” Minister of Internal Affairs Felix Díaz said, grasping her wrists. “You are so fiery, so passionate—and so damned predictable.” He pushed her away roughly, right into the arms of two Political Police Sombras agents behind her, who held her arms tightly. Díaz removed his bandanna and started to undo the bandages on his face. “You made it so easy for me to execute my plan.”

  “I knew it, Díaz,” she snapped, struggling to regain her composure and regain the upper hand here. “I always knew it! You were too nice to be a politician, and I was too blind or too stupi
d to notice.”

  “You were too busy posing for Paris Match and People magazine and screwing me on your desk, Carmen.”

  “Bastard!” She jerked her arms free of the agents holding her, then reached down to her wristwatch and pressed the hidden alert button on the back.

  “The alarm works, Carmen,” Díaz said casually, “but only my men are stationed outside—and do not forget that it is my men that protect the Federal District. No one will respond here unless I authorize it.”

  “Puto!” Maravilloso screamed. “I suspected from the day we first met that you were not just some milquetoast rich boy with delusions of grandeur. I should have seen through the disguise long ago.” She looked around the room, hoping that one of the agents would come to her rescue, but knowing that was never going to happen. Her attention was drawn to a man in a seat in the corner, watching all that transpired with an amused smile on his face. “Who is that man?”

  “Perdón mis maneras pobres, Madam Presidente,” the man said, standing and bowing slightly. “Mi nombre es Coronel Yegor Viktorvich Zakharov.”

  “Zakharov!” Maravilloso exclaimed. “My God…Díaz, you are working with Colonel Yegor Zakharov, the world’s number one most-wanted criminal? There are a dozen countries that would throw you in prison for twenty years just for being associated with him!” She glared at him in total confusion. “Is he the puppet master, pulling all the strings in this marionette show of yours?”

  “I have my own agenda, Madam President, and I guarantee you, it does not include anything concerning the government of Mexico,” Yegor Zakharov said. “I need ‘Comandante Veracruz’ and the Sombras in order to complete my mission in the United States. Once both our objectives are reached, with all of our mutual assurances, I will be out of your lives forever.” Zakharov stepped closer to Maravilloso and removed his sunglasses, letting her see his empty eye socket for the first time. He ran a hand across her cheek, then down her neck to her breasts and belly. “You truly are beautiful, Madam President.”

  “Screw you, pija,” Maravilloso spat, slapping Zakharov’s hand away. “You don’t scare me with this boogeyman act of yours. I know lots of Mexican grandmothers with more horrifying faces than yours.” She turned to Díaz, hoping—no, praying—that every second she could delay the inevitable meant one more chance for her to survive. “What is the meaning of all this, Felix? Who are you? Are you the lapdog of a Russian terrorist, or are you the true Mexican revolutionary patriot I had always wanted ‘Comandante Veracruz’ to be?”

  “I am the patriot who just heard the president of Mexico agree to kiss the ass of the American president and allow an army of imperialist assassins to come into our country,” Díaz said. “I had hoped the fire still burned in your belly, but it clearly has gone out. It is time to start the insurgency, the real revolution. It is time for the Mexican people to come out of the shadows and take their rightful place in society. It is time for the rights and welfare of hardworking Mexicans to be part of our foreign policy, not work in opposition to it. I hoped that you and I could lead this fight together, but like all the others, you sold out. You never truly believed that the people of Mexico could be anything else but third-rate citizens of a third-rate nation. The revolution means nothing to you.”

  “Then teach me, Felix,” Maravilloso said softly, earnestly. “I am a woman and an entertainer. I do not have your vision. But I love you, and I have always thought you would make a great president. I wished for nothing except to be by your side, as your adviser as well as your lover.” She stepped closer to him, then placed her hands on his chest. “Take me, Felix,” she implored, looking deeply into his eyes, pressing herself against him. “Take my hand, take my heart, take my soul. I am ready to believe you. Tell me your vision for our country, and I will use all my powers to help you achieve it.”

  Felix Díaz nodded, closed his eyes, and placed his hands in hers, holding her closely. “Very well, Carmen. This is my vision, my love.”

  That was the last thing she would ever hear, except for the sudden roaring in her ears and the sound of her own muffled screams as the towel soaked with ketamine, a fast-acting veterinary anesthetic used to euthanize animals, was pressed over her nose and mouth. In seconds Maravilloso lost control of her voluntary muscles, so she was unable to struggle with José Elvarez, her assailant; in less than thirty seconds she was unconscious; and in less than a minute she was dead.

  “Too bad she had to be eliminated—she was an extraordinarily beautiful woman,” Yegor Zakharov said idly as he watched four Sombras carry the body out of the office. “I trust you have a foolproof cover story prepared for her untimely death?”

  “I have been working for months to plant incriminating evidence in her homes, her prior places of employment, her ex-husband’s and parents’ home, and her office,” Diaz said. “An investigation would eventually turn up enough long-standing corroborating evidence to make even General Alberto Rojas believe she did away with herself with a drug overdose. Distraught and under pressure from the disasters on the border, plus her earlier transgressions such as looting the treasury and establishing foreign bank accounts, she overdosed on heroin. Her medical records even hint at a possible heroin addiction when she was on TV. There is evidence of payoffs to a jealous homosexual lover for any really dedicated investigative journalists to discover. The ketamine will dissolve in less than an hour—there will be no trace of it to discover if there is an autopsy.”

  “It seems you have done your homework, Díaz—I hope you know what you’re doing,” Zakharov said. “What about the rest of the Council of Government?”

  “I get reports every half hour on their exact whereabouts,” Díaz said. “I have already targeted a few for elimination, such as General Rojas, if they become troublesome. I am not too concerned with the others. They care about their jobs, pensions, and girlfriends more than who is running the government. They have their escape plans ready.”

  “I congratulate you, sir—it appears to be a fairly well-organized coup,” Zakharov said. “I thank you for rescuing me, but I must depart immediately. I have unfinished business in the United States.”

  “With the robot and the American officer?” Díaz asked. “Have you been able to figure out how the thing works?”

  “It responds to voice commands—that is all I know,” Zakharov admitted. “But there must be a way that a new user can employ the device without extensive training.”

  “So you must convince Richter to reprogram the device to allow anyone to pilot it? Do you think that will be difficult?”

  “Richter is a U.S. Army officer, but he was trained as an engineer, not a field combat officer,” Zakharov said. “My guess is that he will crack fairly easily under interrogation. But I will probably use drugs anyway to speed the process. Once we have control of the robot, he can be eliminated.”

  “The Ministry of Internal Affairs has an extensive medical facility and interrogation centers set up to do exactly as you wish,” Díaz said. “We can transfer him here and begin immediately.”

  “I prefer to do my own interrogation, Díaz.”

  “Of course. But why not enjoy some Mexican hospitality for a while, polkovnik?”

  “My mission is still incomplete.”

  “Your mysterious task in Amarillo, Texas?” Zakharov said nothing, but looked suspiciously at Díaz. “There are not many military-significant targets in that part of Texas, Colonel, so I have taken the liberty of having my operations staff draw up some general plans for an assault on some of the facilities they believe would make useful targets.” Now Zakharov looked plainly worried—he didn’t like outsiders horning in on his operations. “If you tell me your specific objective, I can arrange to have well-trained, well-equipped, and experienced scouts, intelligence agents, workers on the inside, and saboteurs in place well in time for you, your men, and the robot to begin your operation.”

  “I can handle all that myself, Díaz,” Zakharov said. “Our original deal was to get my men and me to
Amarillo. If you can get us there immediately with Richter and the robot, our business will be completed and you can carry on with your plan to take over the government.”

  “But you agreed to help train my men and provide security for…”

  “That deal is terminated, Díaz,” Zakharov said. “You are on the threshold of taking control of the entire Mexican government. You don’t need me anymore.”

  “Alliances and loyalties change at the drop of a hat around here, Colonel. I need someone who will fight for me, not for the highest bidder. And with you in control of the robot, our power will be unquestioned.” Zakharov was unmoved by that argument. “I’ll double your pay and pay double that for use of the robot, plus another one hundred thousand dollars to sign with me for just sixty days.”

  “Not interested, Díaz.”

  “Thirty days, then, and I’ll pay two hundred and fifty thousand dollars as a bonus.”

  “Not interested.”

  A flash of anger flashed across Díaz’s face, and for a moment Zakharov was certain he was going to explode and order his men to try something; instead, Díaz smiled confidently. “Then I have an interesting tidbit of information to pass along in exchange for one more operation by your men inside the United States for me.”

  “I know now why your information is always so accurate, ‘Comandante Minister,’” Zakharov acknowledged. “What this time?”

  “I did some checking on one of your friends, the lovely Dr. Ariadna Vega.”

  “So?”

  “As it so happens, Colonel, she is an illegal émigré from Mexico.”

  “What?”

  “I found her Mexican birth certificate and those of her parents,” Díaz said. “Her father is a university engineering professor in southern California; her mother works in her husband’s office. They are all illegals, overstaying the father’s educational visa obtained over thirty years ago to attend the University of Southern California. She obtained false birth records that allowed her to be accepted into classified government research programs.”