Fitzduane watched the action through a thermal viewer while listening intently to a radio commentary coming through his earphones. The whole action, including all the resultant maneuvers, took no more than a minute.
He winced. "Best estimate by the observers, the helicopters got one of us and we got both of them. Helicopter gunships are our worst nightmare. When they come in fast and low like that, there is very little warning. On the other hand, what we are going to be up against in Tecuno is not so sophisticated and unlikely to be as well trained. And I have got to say, thermal is one hell of an edge. We can see through the smoke, and the combination of the Mag thermal sight on the Stinger makes for real fast acquisition. But we've got to do better."
"Did you factor in your .50s?" said Kilmara.
"No," said Fitzduane. "They have not come yet, so the team are working with what they've got. The GECALs are due in a couple of days. I'm kind of curious to see them in action."
"Puff the Magic Dragon, only in a heavier caliber," said Kilmara. "But the heavier round makes quite a difference. The way things are shaping up, you are going to be glad to have them. There is going to be rather more on your shopping list of objectives than you know."
Fitzduane looked at him. "So this is not quite a social call, General."
Kilmara shook his head. "Not quite. Let's head back to base. Jaeger's turned up again and Lamar's been stirring the pot. They want to ask you a small favor, seeing as how you'll be in the Tecuno neighborhood."
"We're going into Tecuno very, very hard and we're coming out with Kathleen," said Fitzduane. "And we are not going to fuck around in the middle. That makes for a nice, clean, simple mission. That's a hard thing to find in these political days, but that's the way it's going to be."
"Let's go and talk," said Kilmara wearily. "Unfortunately, life is rarely simple."
* * * * *
Kathleen was taken aback at who affected she was when he returned.
The civilian footsteps, the brief exchange with the guard, the noisy opening of the cell door by the guard, and hen its gentle closure by Rheiman. The sound of his breathing. He was not a fit man. The squeak of the chair frame against the concrete as he sat down.
"Edgar," she said quietly, "I'm glad you came back."
"You can tell?" he said, sounding pleased. "I — I missed you, Kathleen."
This time Kathleen said nothing. She was working on instinct, nothing more.
Rheiman had to make a move. He had to work to earn her favor without being aware of what he was doing. Eventually, he would not care. But that would be in the future. Right now it was a matter of pulling in a little but not too hard. Keep up the tension on the line. Give him enough room to swim away a little but not get free.
She smiled. Again she was reminded of Fitzduane and the lake by the castle where they had fished. He had said the worst thing about fishing was catching the things. The peace, the lapping of the water, the beauty of the scenery, the lure of the hunt. Those were the aspects he enjoyed. Bu the fished well like all his class. They were reared to such things. Kathleen's family had not been so privileged. Her life had not been so preordained. There were things she had to find out for herself.
"It's good to see you smile again," he said. "This time we must really talk and get to know each other. So you ask the questions. There must be a great deal you want to know, and I do so want to help."
"I don't want to upset you, Edgar," said Kathleen. "Last time you were upset, and I don't want that to happen again." She laughed slightly. "So you must warn me, Edgar, if I'm touching on difficult issues."
Rheiman breathed in as if steeling himself. "Go ahead. Ask whatever you like."
"Where am I, Edgar?"
Rheiman told her.
She tried to visualize his words and imagine a map of Mexico. Christ! She was in the middle of nowhere, and there were even rumors of trouble between Tecuno and the central government. The notion of rescue from the outside vanished. She was just too inaccessible, even if anyone did find out where she was.
She was on her own. This is where she would die unless she could change her own fate. No one else was going to help. No one!
She felt wave after wave of panic, but fought not to show it. I am strong and I know! But she did not know enough. She had to get Rheiman talking seriously. God knows, he wanted to.
"Why was I taken?" she said. "Why me? How did it happen?"
"There are eight million people in New York," said Rheiman. "You go to New York knowing no one and suddenly you meet someone on
Fifth Avenue
whom you were at school with. That's the way it works. I don't know why or how. I guess we're all connected in some weird way we can't comprehend as yet."
"I don't understand, Edgar," said Kathleen.
"Reiko Oshima heads up security here in the Devil's Footprint," said Rheiman. "I run the scientific side of the project. General Luis Barragan heads up the whole complex, including the nearby military base, and he reports to his cousin, Governor Diego Quintana.
"Essentially, Quintana is the dictator of a new country. Officially, Tecuno is still part of Mexico, but that is all smoke and mirrors. The reality is that Mexico City's writ stops at the Tecuno border. You're in at the beginning of Tecuno's independence, Kathleen, and it may not be the only part of Mexico to break away. Chiapas is not looking so healthy, and there are other states with notions. But Tecuno has oil, and that is buying what is needed to make the move. Weaponry, mercenaries, technology, political influence in the right places. It's all there and it's all coming together."
"Why was I kidnapped?" repeated Kathleen.
"Oshima won't speak to me, but she sleeps with General Luis Barragan and Luis and I get on fine. What I'm telling you is filtered through Luis — but he is not as savvy as Oshima, so put your own gloss on it."
"Why?" said Kathleen, just a hint of desperation in her voice.
"Governor Quintana wanted my project buttoned up real tight, and he did not think the locals were capable of doing it. Or maybe he just wanted to give them some competition. Anyway, Reiko Oshima was brought in and she, in turn, brought in quite a few of her old gang, Yaibo, and a number of other odds and sods she had picked up in the Middle East — about fifty in all. They are the Praetorian Guard of this little setup. They guard the center. And I run it.
"Reiko Oshima is a hard-core terrorist. It is no longer important why. That's history. Now she hates the world in general, and she hates Hugo Fitzduane in particular. Apparently, some years ago she had a boyfriend called the Hangman. Fitzduane tracked down the Hangman and killed him — and Reiko was down one lover. She is not the kind of person who forgets. You were involved with Fitzduane at the time, so your picture went up on her shit list. You're not at the top, but you are there."
"I'm not entirely with you," said Kathleen.
Rheiman leaned forward. Kathleen could feel his breath. She could imagine his gestures as he strove to make his point. "Reiko Oshima survives because she is an immensely capable woman who has the ability to turn on just enough people to give her the tools she needs. When I say capable, I don't mean she is just daring. That is a given. No, I am now talking about basic management skills. This woman is organized, structured, disciplined. She knows logistics. She knows administration. She knows motivation.
"When I said your picture was up on her shit list, I was not using a figure of speech, Kathleen. Your actual photograph is up there for all the Yaibo trainees to target on and slobber over. In fact, that is where I first saw you. You were up there — a target.
"The next thing is that Oshima fucks the brains out of a new Yaibo recruit called Jin Endo, and he goes up to Washington on a scouting assignment, motivated to do anything to please his scar-faced lover. Oshima's ten most wanted are imprinted on his mind. And lo and behold, you are in Washington too. I guess it was just fate or you were plain unlucky. But from the time he caught sight of you, young Jin Endo was determined to get you. He wanted to prove himself. No one
down here thought he would do so well, but to everyone's surprise, he did good. Real good. That, it turns out, is one very dangerous young man. He racked up quite a score when he was up north."
Oshima was very pleased and is nursing him back to health in the only way she knows how. That means General Luis Barragan is not getting as much as he wants, so he comes and gets drunk with me. That's the trouble with this fucking place. There is nothing to do except work. Barragan's troops have TV and radio, but Oshima's people are not allowed to watch or listen. Apparently, they might get contaminated by capitalist filth. So they have to make do with propaganda sessions and a few whores. Once in, the whores are not allowed out. They don't last too long. There are some very warped people up here. A ritual execution is their substitute for the Movie of the Week."
Kathleen collected her thoughts. Fitzduane had called the world of terrorism and counterterrorism the only unending war. It only ended when all your enemies were dead. There could be lulls and truces and peace talks, but there was always some element that refused to forget and might strike back for some real or imagined causes years later. It was frightening.
"How did you end up here, Edgar?" she said. "This is not your world. This is no place for you."
"It is now," said Rheiman grimly. "I did something from which there was no turning back, and from that one act followed everything. I had to survive, so I did what was necessary and traded what I was good at."
"But you're a kind, gentle man," said Kathleen with as much conviction as she could muster. "How could you contemplate working with these animals?"
"I'm not so gentle," said Rheiman flatly.
Kathleen suddenly felt his hands tight around her neck. He was squeezing.
"Put your hands on mine," he said.
"E-Edgar!" she gasped, terrified.
"Do it!" he shouted. "DO IT!"
She put her hands on his. Rheiman's hands were large and strong, and she could feel scar tissue on the backs, as if they had been cut doing something physical. This was a man who worked with his brain but with his hands too. In a workshop or a laboratory? Somewhere like that.
Her neck was held tightly, but he was not increasing the pressure.
She could hear him breathing rapidly, as if under great strain. But nothing happened. This was not an attack on her. This was some memory being relived. Her fear diminished.
He took his hands away. He was very close to her, his face just above her. She felt drops on her face, a warm wet liquid like blood. He was sweating!
"That is how it started," he said unsteadily, "one simple killing with these very hands. A crime of passion, they would call it in France, and it would get a nominal jail sentence."
"Where I lived in the States, I faced execution. I ran. But it meant I could never go back. I had to find some place where there was no extradition and they could use my services.
"I drifted and ended up in Libya. And that is where I met up with Oshima. We were both on the run, so we got on well enough at first. She was interested in what I could do and brokered the deal with Luis Barragan. I would get to do what George Bull would not let me do — build a hydrogen-powered supergun. Quintana and Barragan would get a deterrent weapon which would allow them to break away from Mexico without the fear that one day the Mexican Army would turn up and rain on their parade.
"Now, I think there is more to it. The way things are going, I don't think this is being planned as a deterrent at all. I don't know about Barragan, but I think Oshima is going to use it and I think Quintana is involved."
"So stop the work, Edgar," said Kathleen. "Or delay it in some other way they won't understand."
Rheiman stood up and paced the cell without speaking. He was clearly upset. Kathleen thought of saying something, but it seemed better to let whatever it was burn itself out. She had no sense that he was annoyed with her. This was some inner turmoil that only he could deal with.
"God, between Reiko Oshima and Edgar Rheiman she was certainly keeping interesting company. And the smaller fry like Jin Endo sounded like no day at the beach either. Curiously, she was not afraid as she contemplated the situation. She should be in despair, but somehow she was not. A rural Irish upbringing must be a more solid foundation than she had thought.
Rheiman sat down again and leaned toward her. "Kathleen, in the past — when I worked for Bull and on other occasions — I argued and I argued and I argued for my ideas and no one would listen. Here, they are doing more than listening. They are putting up the funds and other resources to make my life's work possible. Every scientist of serious caliber has a dream they want fulfilled, and it rarely happens. Other people don't have the vision. Here, in this godforsaken spot and for the worst of motives, my vision is going to happen. I'm so close I can touch it. I can't stop it now!"
"And when it's done?" said Kathleen/
"Nothing will matter very much," said Rheiman calmly.
* * * * *
Dr. John Jaeger was in the operations room at Lamar's when Fitzduane arrived.
"Dr. Death," said Fitzduane, agreeably, to the Livermore scientist. He regretted the words as soon as they passed his lips.
"I'm sorry, John," he said, "I'm getting a little frayed. That was a cheap shot."
Jaeger had been examining the STR shield. He turned as Fitzduane spoke, and smiled. "Forget it," he said. "I've been called much worse. The Lawrence Livermore Lab tends to provoke strong reactions."
"I know practically nothing about the place," confessed Fitzduane.
"Edward Teller, one of the pioneers of the nuclear program, was behind it," said Jaeger. "He reckoned that Los Alamos was not getting results fast enough and that a little competition would be healthy, competition being the American way and all. It was the early fifties and the Soviet threat was very real, so after some hard bureaucratic infighting, he had his way. The old Livermore Naval Air Station near Berkley, California, was where it all started."
"What do you do these days?" said Fitzduane.
"We're a scientific think tank," said Jaeger, "about eight thousand people strong. Roughly a third work on thermonuclear and other weapons research. The rest of us do all kinds of good stuff."
"Such as?" said Fitzduane.
Jaeger shrugged. "It's a long list," he said. "One example is a ‘radar on a chip’ — a miniature radar which can be used for all kinds of civilian applications from wall-stud finders to sudden infant death syndrome monitors. Another project is a ‘biofilter.’ It uses living microorganisms to clean up polluted groundwater. And so it goes. You must come and see us."
"And your project?" said Fitzduane.
"You'll be hearing more about that when the others come in," said Jaeger. "It's all of a piece with what is going on in Tecuno, but our motives and objectives are different. But the science is similar. Science has no loyalties."
"We have it and they have it," said Fitzduane, "and the human factor makes the difference?"
"We have it and we try and make sure they never get it," said Jaeger.
"But if they do — we take it away," said Fitzduane. "All men — countries — are equal, but some are more equal than others."
"Some we trust and some we don't — for very good reasons," said Jaeger. "There is idealism and there is personal survival. I think you know that, Hugo."
Fitzduane nodded. "Would it were otherwise," he said quietly.
* * * * *
Dan Warner, Deputy Chief of Staff of the Congress of the United States of America's Task Force on Terrorism, raised his right hand and made a gesture to the bartender.
Soon afterward another beer appeared on the table. That made four. Up north, he would have felt the effects. Down here, in Mexico, he had the feeling he was sweating it out faster than he could drink it in.
It was HOT! There was no air-conditioning. It was not that the machine was broken. It did not exist.
Nothing seemed to have changed in the last century, if you ignored the large color TV over one end of the bar and the jukebox.
The jukebox, a collector's item beneath the dust, was playing ‘
Down Mexico Way
,’ which had to be half a century old.
"South of the border," Warner hummed, "down Mexico way." He dedummed the rest of the jukebox and punched in the song as a temporary distraction from the endless speeches of Valiente Zarra. The candidate was an inspired speaker, but Warner was suffering from a serious case of overexposure.
There were 756,000 square miles of Mexico, according to Warner's guidebook, and Zarra seemed intent on covering every one. Except Tecuno, of course, where the borders had been quietly sealed, and a few other areas where even Zarra realized he was not welcome. Like Chiapas, where the terrorists had agreed to let him in, but the local landowners had not. But that still left an awful lot of real estate. This was one big country.
Lee Cochrane could be arrogant and was certainly stubborn, but he was also a patriot and a leader with a vision that was not subordinated to the short-termism that tended to pervade politics.
Assigning Warner to Zarra for the duration of the campaign was a typical outcome of that vision. Like it or not, Mexico shared a couple thousand miles of border with Uncle Sam and it was not going to go away. The two countries had to get closer. There was no other practical alternative.
Mexico's proximity also made it a prime haven for terrorists, drug runners, and other groups who did not harbor kindly thoughts toward the U.S. of A. and had not yet been awarded either their green cards or citizenship. The only way —short of direct action — to keep them in line was to have close relations with the movers and shakers in the Mexican government.
Real soon now, the head of that government was going to be Valiente Zarra. The professor was increasing his lead day by day. Even the PRI, experts in every form of election fixing and with a talent for innovation, were going to find it impossible to wish Zarra away. And the Task Force was going to have the ear of the new Presidente and be able to collect on a few favors, not the least of which was dealing with Governor Diego Quintana's power base.
Fitzduane 03 - Devil's Footprint, The Page 24
