Goodbye Mexico

by Phillip Jennings

  Given the hour, there were limited cars for Gearheardt to run off the road on the way back into Mexico City, so the trip was calm. The streets were dark until we got into the main part of the city. The only people we saw were street cleaners and Gearheardt made it a point to wave at every one of them. Marta slept and Gearheardt and I talked mostly about old times, Vietnam and Laos. I tried to pump him about the time between when I’d thought he was killed in Laos and when he showed up at my office at the embassy. He didn’t offer much information besides accounts of the usual Gearheardt romances.

  I sensed there was a story he wasn’t telling me. Once he started a lurid tale about a nurse, then quickly retreated, saying “Oh I guess that was when I was still in Air America.” But I knew all about his time in Air America, and that story wasn’t in it. And once, the scariest time of our drive back to his palace, Gearheardt didn’t talk at all. He looked straight ahead over the steering wheel, his eyes unfocused, both hands gripping the wheel. I felt very strongly that he was someplace else. Finally I heard him let out a low breath.

  “You’re a good guy, Jack,” he said.

  “You too, Gearheardt.”

  “No, I mean it. I can count on you, Jack. How many people can you say that about? It means a lot to me.”

  “You’re not about to propose to me are you, Gearheardt?” I asked.

  He grunted. “Just remember that when …” He stopped.

  “When what?”

  “When … those fucking cows decide how to eat the cabbage.” He slapped the steering wheel and clamped his jaws tight. We drove in silence a few blocks.

  Then he was Gearheardt again. As we approached a major glorieta, a large statue in the center, he said, “Hold on, Jack.”

  He sped up into the circle accelerating until the Mercedes was in a power slide, almost sideways, all the way around the circle.

  “Holy shit, Gearheardt. Give me some warning next time.” I looked back at Marta. She was still asleep on the back seat.

  “It’s a lot dicier at noon when there are people and cars all over the place,” he said, straightening out the car onto Reforma Boulevard and grinning like a possum. “Damn people running everywhere. And boy, are they pissed.”

  “I can imagine.” I noticed he was not turning to Chapultepec Castle, his new manor. “Where are you heading?”

  “Look up on the hill. The palace is lit up like a Bangkok whorehouse. We didn’t leave it that way. I’m thinking I need a new H.Q. I’ll drop you off at your apartment, Jack. Once you’re in, I think you’re safe. Then I need to do some checking on my network. See where we are.” He stopped in front of my building. No one was in sight.

  Before I got out of the car, I nodded back at the sleeping Marta. “What about her? I think maybe we just ask her what the hell she’s up to.” My voice was just above a whisper.

  Gearheardt thought for a moment. “I don’t think so, Jack. Let’s see what she does. She’s supposed to be helping you with the plans to get Victor to kill El Presidente. She may be a lot more valuable to us if she doesn’t suspect we suspect her.”

  “I need to talk to you about all that. The Cubans obviously know something is up.”

  “Think about it, Jack. I ask you to kill the president. Crenshaw asks you to protect him. The Cubans want him dead for their own purposes. The pygmy comes down from Langley to hit you. But it was his plan in the first place.”

  “His plan?”

  “The idea of setting up the Cubans so that we have an excuse to take out Castro.” He glanced back at Marta. “Step outside a minute, Jack.”

  Outside the car he lit a cigarette and leaned on the front fender. He was biting his lower lip. Thinking.

  “So what’s the point of your deliberation?” I asked him.

  “I just wanted to smoke a cigarette. The guy I borrowed the car from doesn’t like people to smoke in it.”

  I looked at the Mercedes. It had no wheel covers, the hood ornament was missing, the trunk was scratched and bent where someone had tried to pry it open. “He might not notice the smoke smell, Gearheardt. But why the evasion all of a sudden? You were about to speculate as to what the hell is going on.”

  “Let me noodle a while on it, Jack. I don’t want you to worry unnecessarily. Something’s rotten in Bismark.”

  “Denmark.”

  “Who?”

  I was going to get no more information out of Gearheardt at the moment.

  “Wake up Marta and get upstairs. At least you don’t have to worry about getting her out of her clothes. She is one hell of a date.”

  I opened the door to the backseat.

  “And Jack, let’s just keep on the plan for now. You get Victor lined up. I’ve got my good Cubans coming in. You make sure Victor doesn’t shoot anybody.”

  He sat back down in the driver’s seat. “I got to check with the whores.”

  I raised back up quickly from where I was leaning in to raise Marta. I bumped my head and it hurt like hell. “The who?”

  Gearheardt started the Mercedes. “Crap,” he said. “I didn’t mean for you to hear that. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”

  Marta was awake and climbing out onto the street.

  “It’s just the financing source for the operation, Jack. The International Sisterhood of Hookers is financing this for the Agency.”

  Inside my apartment, Marta took off her clothes and went into the bathroom. I stepped onto the small balcony and signaled to Gearheardt that we were safely inside. The Mercedes burned away from the curb. As it turned the corner, I noticed for the first time that it had diplomatic license plates.

  “Jack,” Marta said behind me, “I am going into your bed. I cannot sleep on the sofa tonight. I hope you will not mind.” She disappeared into the bedroom.

  I got a glass of wine and sat down on the sofa, resting my head against the back. Marta was either drugged, or using fatigue to avoid talking to me. But she was in my bed. A sense of mission told me that it would not be a good idea to join her.

  Touching base with the embassy did seem like a good idea. Fortunately the night duty officer was my pal Eric. When he came to the phone, he was out of breath.

  “Geez, Jack, the kid had to come down and get me out of the com room. Sorry it took so long. You okay?”

  “I’m fine, Eric. I just wanted to find out what’s happening around the shop. Any news, rumors, death threats against me?”

  “Nothing quite that drastic, but you are in deep shit with the Ambassador.”

  “Do you have any idea what’s that all about?” I wondered how much the Ambassador knew about Crenshaw’s ‘mission,’ the Pygmy, and all the related issues.

  “I know exactly what it’s about. He told your secretary to bring your files to his office. She checked with me, luckily, and just took him the non-classified crap.”

  “And that pissed him off?”

  “No. But just before he left the office tonight, he evidently opened a box that had some kind of animal tail in it. Stunk to high heaven and the flies were swarming in his office. Do you know why she took a donkey tail to the Ambassador?”

  “Burro.”

  “Okay, you do know.”

  “Heard anything about Crenshaw?”

  “I was hoping you knew something. The guys around the shop are not sure whether to be worried or not. He’s kind of a loose canon.”

  “Tell ’em not to worry right now. I talked to him. We may need your help, but at the moment we’re trying to straighten out a mission that is kind of screwed up.”

  “We?”

  “Gearheardt.”

  “Say no more. That SOB comes up in every conversation around here. Did you know he was reportedly living in Chapultepec Palace?”

  “Why not? The Marines took it a few years back, you know. Anyway, Eric, do a couple of things for me. First, try to get a couple of guys out to my neighborhood. I want to make sure no one comes into my apartment building unexpectedly, if you get my drift. Second, can you find out
if there is such a thing as the International Sisterhood of Prostitutes?”

  “The ISP? What do you know about that, Jack?” Eric’s voice had changed.

  “I can’t talk about it right now. Jesus, I can’t believe Crenshaw would talk to you about it.”

  “Why? It may be important, Eric. You know you can trust me.”

  “Let me just pass on the rumor, okay? The rumor is that the CIA has been recruiting prostitutes for years. Now the organization has gotten bigger than the CIA itself. And, this is just a rumor, Jack, they’re starting to influence the Agency policies.”

  “Whores are running the CIA?”

  “You said it, Jack. Not me. But don’t tell me you didn’t know anything about it. It’s your pal who started the whole thing.”

  I certainly didn’t have to ask who he meant by ‘my pal.’

  “Anything else you can tell me?”

  “About ISP? Not much. I know they pretty well run Hong Kong and Bangkok. At least that’s what I’ve heard. But I’m telling you more than I really know. I’ve just heard things.”

  “Eric, one last thing. Would you tell Juanita to meet me tomorrow? Say, ten o’clock at the Natural History Museum. Have her bring any traffic that I should see.”

  “Why don’t you come in yourself? As far as I know you’re not persona non-grata around here. The Ambassador just wants to ask you a few questions.”

  “And I would not have answers. What about the preparations for Cinco de Mayo? Any word there?”

  “Glad you asked. I had almost forgotten. Davis has everybody assigned that day. None of us are anywhere near the reviewing stand. Except you’re not on the list.”

  “And Davis is who?”

  “Just came in from Langley. Sits in Crenshaw’s office and gives orders. We assume that he’s in charge while Crenshaw is wherever he is. Not a bad guy, really. Runs around with a midget, but we all have our quirks. Jack, I gotta go. I’m looking through the traffic and I’ve left the com room open. Your jacket’s ready by the way.”

  “Thanks, Eric. Any luck with finding the Catholic Cubans?”

  The agent laughed. “I haven’t been able to get to a church yet. Good luck.” He hung up.

  I needed to think, but I needed sleep even more. I lay down and pulled the serape over me. The faint smell of Marta’s perfume was still on it. I fought the urge to go into my bedroom.

  I dreamed that naked women were running in the halls of CIA headquarters and Latin dictators and U.S. congressmen were being whipped and humiliated by Amazon like creatures. It frustrated me that I couldn’t find Gearheardt. But I could hear his maniacal laughter. In the DCI’s office Marta sat behind the desk in a tailored business suit. She was incredibly sexy.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  GEARHEARDT THE HUMANITARIAN

  Atimid knock on my door brought me to a level just above sleeping. Another knock, louder this time, got me awake. I found my pistol, checked to see if it was loaded. It was six o’clock in the morning according to my entry hall clock.

  “Que es?” I asked through the door.

  “Rodrigo, Señor.”

  I let him inside, shaking his hand, and looked out into the hall before I closed the door behind him.

  “I am sorry to bother you at this hour, Jack. But I have information that you should have.”

  “Sure, sit down, Rodrigo. I’ll make some coffee.”

  “I’ll make it, Jack. Buenos dias, Señor.” It was Marta. I caught a glimpse of her as she went through the kitchen door.

  Rodrigo was smiling big teeth. “She has no clothes?”

  “A long story, Rodrigo. Let’s talk about that later.” We moved into the living room and sat down. I snapped on a lamp and saw Rodrigo looking at my ‘nest’ of couch pillow and the serape. “Marta,” I yelled out, “remember the pajama top agreement.”

  She answered as she entered the room with two glasses of orange juice. “Of course I remember, Jack. But we have the guest.”

  If Rodrigo didn’t have a heart attack now, he was missing a good chance. Marta was leaning toward him, her luscious breasts swinging precariously near the brimming glass of juice she was offering.

  “Muchas gracias,” Rodrigo managed to get out. “I am Rodrigo.”

  “I am Marta, Jack’s friend.”

  I thought the last was superfluous.

  “Marta, Rodrigo and I need to talk for a few minutes. Maybe you would like a shower.”

  Rodrigo sat immobile. I think he could not bring himself, or perhaps trust himself, to reach a hand toward Marta’s breasts to get the orange juice. His molars were still exposed. I grabbed the juice and sat both of the glasses on the coffee table.

  “Thank you, Marta. We won’t be long.”

  She smiled and left the room.

  “The coffee will be ready soon, Jack.” She seemed her old self and I wondered abut that.

  Rodrigo was shaken but had not stirred. I prompted him. “So you have some important information, Rodrigo.”

  “There is nothing like the beautiful woman to stop the mind. Don’t you think so, Señor Jack?”

  “It starts you thinking with another part of your brain, yes. But you didn’t come here to discuss beautiful women, Rodrigo. Are you in danger? Are the Colombians after you?”

  “Not to worry, Señor. My friends in Mexico are far greater than the Colombians. Yes, I am careful for my family. But we keep the eye on the Colombians.” He finally picked up his juice and drained the glass in one swallow. He might have been hoping for another serving. “And this is what I tell you we have found.”

  He grew serious and leaned back in the chair. “You and me, amigo, we chase the Colombian bomber. The men, boys more, that smuggle the bombs and turn the Mexican students to terrorists. The American students, also.”

  “And you have done well, Rodrigo. The American government is very grateful. Certainly I am very grateful and I enjoy working with you.”

  “The same, Señor. But what I am to tell you is this, the Colombians do not care about the bombs and the terrorist training. I am thinking to myself ‘why would the Colombians risk anything to hurt Mexico. Or the United States. They are not communists in Colombia. They do not play with the Russians. So why?’”

  “And what did yourself conclude?”

  “It is the drugs. The bombs are nothing. The network is being set up to sell the drugs. In Mexico but mainly in the United States. This is my thinking.”

  I sat forward. Drug trafficking was just becoming an issue in the Agency. Rumors that the CIA had been involved in the drug business in Southeast Asia turned the company upside down for a while. The Church Commission had found no evidence of a program that involved the CIA in drugs, but we were all aware of the growing importance of the traffic. “So the Colombians are getting the students hooked on drugs? To create customers?”

  “The Colombians are getting the students hooked on the drug money, Señor Jack. There is no cure for this addiction.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, Rodrigo. Excuse me, but how do you see this working?”

  “The Colombians can supply a few bombs, some training, some weapons, si? And the students, they are happy and feel like the revolutionary. But then how can they pay for the weapons when the Colombians present the bill? As you say ‘the Colombians are not in the business for their health.’”

  “So they get them to smuggle drugs.”

  “Exactlemente.”

  “I’ll have to think about this, Rodrigo. Drug running is not really my business. But I’m not sure who should handle this at the moment. Can you tell me your sources? How we would get more information?”

  “Unfortunately, I cannot tell you. But it is the good source. My cousin is involved.”

  “Sorry to hear that. But you know the information is reliable, right?”

  “My cousin is a bad man. When I was the policeman, I ran into him many times. I can always find him. And he will tell us more when we talk to him with the battery attached.” He smil
ed.

  “Yes, I imagine he would.”

  It was beginning to get light in the apartment. I needed to get working on a plan to get Crenshaw back. Drug runners might have to wait. I was tempted, but something kept me from asking Rodrigo for help in rescuing Crenshaw. Was it something Gearheardt said?

  “Rodrigo, do you need anything from me right now? I will have to get back to you about the Colombians. Can we meet after Cinco de Mayo? Is there anything urgent?”

  “Nothing urgent, Señor Jack. I have my friends and my sons working on finding all of the Colombians in Mexico City. I have friends at the police who are also helping. They will tell us the drug people in Mexico City also. I do not trust the list, but it will help.”

  “Good. Let’s find out who is involved as much as possible. In the meantime, I will find out who in the U.S. government should be working with us. I think this is important information, Rodrigo. Thanks for coming to see me.”

  I rose from the couch, needing to take a shower and change out of the clothes that Gearheardt had loaned me what seemed days ago.

  Rodrigo didn’t get up. “Señor, you had mentioned about the coffee.”

  If he hadn’t smiled and looked toward the bedroom I might have believed he just really wanted some coffee.

  “I’ll see if it’s ready.”

  “No, I can wait a while longer. Perhaps I can tell you more about the students we found at the library. The ones who the Halcones took.” He looked at the bedroom again.

  I sat back down. I had almost forgotten those poor bastards.

  “What do you know?”

  “They have been taken to the border and made to swim the Rio Grande. They are lucky they were able to swim. Or walk. My friend, Jaime, the Halcone, said they were questioned and knew very little. They wanted to go to Cuba and cut cane with Castro. Their families were wealthy and sent a great deal of money to the Halcones so that their sons could swim the Rio Grande. Little fish, Señor Jack. But the Colombiano, he is still in the cage, singing.”

  Marta appeared from the well-watched bedroom and signaled she would bring coffee. The unbuttoned pajama top she was wearing nicely covered her back and arms. Rodrigo looked back at me and grinned. “We get coffee now,” he said. He leaned toward me and spoke, sotto voce. “Señor Jack, she is wearing pistola here.” He pointed to his inner thigh.