Goodbye Mexico

by Phillip Jennings

  Gearheardt grinned and bowed. “Para usted, Señorita,” he said, holding out the bouquet.

  The woman smiled and murmured “gracias.” The baby grabbed a flower and began eating it.

  Gearheardt rejoined me. “Let’s find that little shit.” He stopped and pointed. “There he is! Damn it, he’s bolting. Jack, go that way and head him off. I’ll drive him toward the fence.”

  I caught a glimpse of a small man in a white vendor’s coat who quickly disappeared into a crowd of strolling Mexican families. Gum and cigarettes flew from his wooden tray and the children dove for them like they were treasure from a piñata.

  “Jack, stay here. I’ll drive him back this way. There’s no way out of the park the direction he’s running. The little jackass.” Gearheardt took off.

  I watched the sidewalk intently for a few minutes. After a while I began looking around, trying to catch sight of Gearheardt. Finally I sat down on a bench, beginning to feel like a freshman on a snipe hunt. For some reason, I didn’t expect Gearheardt to return.

  Just as I rose to find a taxi to take me to the University campus where Rodrigo needed my help, Gearheardt returned. He was breathing heavily and his shirt was dripping wet with sweat.

  “He got away,” he said, dropping on the bench. “I had him for a minute, but he slipped out of this,” he held up the white cloth jacket, “and took off like a greased pig.”

  “Or a greased pygmy.” I wasn’t sure Gearheardt really wanted me to meet the Pygmy.

  “You sound skeptical, Jack. He got away. But I told him that if he tried to shoot you, he would have me to deal with. He got the message.”

  “Thanks. You going with me to help Rodrigo?”

  Gearheardt looked up. “I’m going to help you. But I’m not going with you. Rodrigo is not in my mission statement. I need to find out what’s spooking the Pygmy.”

  “So how will you help?”

  “The Halcones can get his kid back. I’ll head over there and brief them. If it can be done, they’ll do it. And they owe me a favor.”

  Far down the sidewalk, behind Gearheardt, I saw a young boy who appeared to be crying. A number of street vendors, in white jackets and hats, were consoling him. The boy had a white hat, but no jacket. And it was definitely a young boy, not a pygmy.

  “Gearheardt—”

  “Gotta run, Jack. I have the address where you’re meeting Rodrigo. Some people will show up. Use them.”

  “Why do the Halcones owe you a favor?”

  “Not exactly a favor. I’m blackmailing them.” He stood up. “Jack, the thing is that I’m afraid the Pygmy is double-crossing me.”

  It was pretty difficult to follow Gearheardt’s stream of consciousness. As usual.

  “We were talking about the Halcones.”

  “He’s in cahoots with them. That’s why I’m headed over there. He wants my network and he’s willing to—”

  “You mean the International Sisterhood of Prostitutes?”

  “The only network I have.” Gearheardt was glancing around how. Anxious to leave.

  “What actual evidence do you have that the Pygmy is in cahoots with the Halcones?”

  “None whatsoever. These guys are smarter than you think, Jack.” He took my arm. “Let’s head for the taxis.”

  Inside my head little tornados of thoughts were forming. I tried to grab something as it spun by.

  “Wasn’t this supposed to be the Pygmy’s operation?”

  “Yes.”

  “The Halcones are not in favor of attempting to fake the assassination of their president, right?”

  “Right.”

  “So why would the Pygmy be—”

  “The Pygmy is probably just trying to make sure I screw this operation up. He knows his insurance scheme is history. The Agency has a five-year program going that will shift all blame outside of the Agency. No need for fall guys if the fucking congress or the administration is going to take all the heat. The Pygmy wants me out of the picture.”

  “To gain what? What does Cuba have to do with your network?”

  “I’ve promised the boys in Langley that my network is foolproof. If I fail, it’s like I can’t manage whores. The Agency doesn’t like guys that can’t handle their women.”

  “How will the Agency manage to shift all blame to congress?”

  “Jesus, Jack. We’ve created havoc and chaos in damn near every country in the world at one time or another. You don’t think we can manage a campaign in our own backyard?” He waved at a taxi. “The program is called ‘Change Truth.’ I know you’re thinking something horrible is happening, Jack. It’s really just a budget issue. We simply cannot afford to find actual truth anymore. But if we can manufacture data out of rumors and innuendos, the politicians are given the raw materials of truth and they can use it however it suits them or the country, whichever is more important at the moment. We’ll need a lot fewer folks, and a few more computers. Computers just give us the best guess at truth without a lot of hand-wringing. Saves tons.”

  He slapped my shoulder. “So you can imagine the value of the only real surviving intelligence network.”

  “You never intended to help me save Rodrigo’s son.”

  “Jack, I’m a big picture guy. We have a mission that will affect thousands of lives. We can’t save everyone.”

  “But this kid is where he is because his dad tried to help us, Gearheardt. How do you just walk away from that?”

  “In Mexico City, I use taxis.” The taxi pulled to the curb. “Remember what LBJ said, ‘If I had to worry about ever sonofabitch who got killed in Veetnam, I couldn’t get my presidenting chores done ‘til midnight.’”

  I stood on the curb, watching him get in the taxi, feeling depressed.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be trying to save a kid’s life or something, Jack?”

  Probably because I had managed to find the only taxi driver in Mexico who actually feared death, Rodrigo was already arguing with four black-suited, sun-glassed Halcones when I reached the meeting place near the University.

  “Jack,” Rodrigo said as he saw me exit the taxi, “these men are no help. They will get my son killed.”

  “They were sent by Gearheardt?”

  “Yes. But they—”

  “Let me talk to them.” I walked to where the four expressionless men were standing. “Habla Inglais?”

  No one answered, but one man pointed his chin at me and nodded his head once quickly.

  “You know why we are here? We have Colombians holding this man’s son hostage.”

  The same man shrugged. “Tell us where they are and we will kill them. This is not surgery for the brain.” One of the other Halcones smiled.

  “We don’t care what you do with the Colombians. But we want to get Rodrigo’s son alive. Sabe?”

  “Ohh, Señor. I thought that you did not speak the Spanish. Sabe? You are from Madrid, Si?” All of the Halcones laughed and then the leader grew solemn. “We are not the firemen to rescue the kitten, or the diplomat to bullshit. If you want us to help, we will help. If you want us to go, we will go.”

  I looked at Rodrigo. His oldest son, Manuel, had joined him. They looked warily at the four secret policemen.

  “We’ll handle it,” I said. I held out my hand and after a moment it was shaken by the Halcone who had spoken and then each of the others.

  From a breast pocket the evident leader withdrew a pen and a business card. It was one of Gearheardt’s. The pen had a clear plastic top which revealed a naked woman when pointed down. Gearheardt Group was embossed on the side. “You will initial the back, please. We must show Señor Gearheardt that we were here to help you.”

  I grabbed the card and extended pen and scribbled ‘thanks, asshole’ on the back.

  The Halcone frowned and then smiled at me. “Para su amigo, si?”

  After the Halcones left, Rodrigo, Manuel and I ducked into a cantina and sat down at a small table.

  “Tell me everything you know, Rodrig
o,” I said to the clearly worried and impatient man. “It is important that we—”

  “I know, Jack. But the Colombianos cannot be allowed to leave. My son is surely dead then.” He nodded at Manuel. “They have been dishonored by our success. To gain their face in Colombia, they must hurt us.”

  “There are three Colombians, Señor,” the boy said in nearly perfect English. “They are not large, but they are all armed. When they took Pablo, my brother, they all had pistols. Now they are in the Colombian house across the street, apartamento two-two at the top of the stairs. In the apartamento are two rooms. One for sleeping and one for the kitchen and eating.”

  “There’s no bathroom?”

  “Down the hall, Señor. When you walk in the door you will be in the eating room, the bedroom is to the left.”

  “You’ve been in the room, I take it?” Why would Rodrigo’s son know the layout of the Colombian’s safe house?

  Manuel looked at his father before answering. “Si. At one time we were in the apartment. My friend, Carlos, is watching the building now. We have locked the back door to the building. But I don’t think that the Colombians will come out of the building before night time.” He paused and looked at Rodrigo. “My father said that you will have a plan.”

  “Jack,” Rodrigo started, laying his hand on my arm, “in the past there have been times we must meet the Colombians. Before the drug business and the—”

  “We can talk about that later, Rodrigo.” I knew we never would. Everybody dealt with everybody else at some time or another in this business.

  I leaned back in my chair to think. Three armed men in two rooms, with a hostage. Firing inside the room would be dangerous. If we waited until one of the men left the room to go down the hall, that might give us a chance for something, but if they didn’t come out until they were ready to leave the country, then Rodrigo’s son would be with them and a lot of shooting would—

  “A drink for Conchita, Señor?” It was a woman’s voice, close. I hadn’t notice any bar girls working when we had entered but the mostly exposed breasts in my face demanding a drink caught my attention. I had a fleeting flash of resentment that a woman was interfering with man’s work again. Then felt bad. After all, this was her place of business.

  “No, gracias,” I said, gently pushing her away.

  She ruffled my hair, which I didn’t like. “So serious, Señor. Who are you planning to keel?”

  Her cohort, who had attacked Rodrigo with the same directness, laughed. “Hey, gringo, who you planning to keel?”

  Rodrigo had been less effective in repulsing the attack, and the woman was now on his lap. His son looked uncomfortable.

  “Ladies, ladies,” I said, “here is plenty of money for drinks, but you need to go back to the bar.” I took five hundred pesos from my wallet and, when she wouldn’t extend her hand, stuffed it between the breasts of my potential paramour. She pulled herself away and gave me a look of disgust. She was a lovely girl, with a trim waste below a substantial bosom, and surprisingly little makeup. In fact she looked more like Miss Sanchez than a bar girl. She jerked her head at her companion and they walked away and seated themselves at the bar not far from us.

  “So what do we do, Señor?” Manuel said.

  I was gazing at the two small butts perched atop the bar stools. A course of action and perfect cheeks were wrestling in earnest for attention. It hit me that I needed to use them and it was this hesitation to do so that made me sometimes question my career in the Company. Not my ability, but my halting willingness to follow a basic Agency rule—use everyone to accomplish the mission, everyone it takes. When I was going through training, an instructor at the Farm once told me “You think of them as bystanders or friends. To me they’re just assets. Everyone pays the same price to get in, Jack. Why should some get in free?” I think I knew what he meant.

  The one thing I did know for sure was that a decision needed to be made. We needed to get on top of the situation quickly.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said. I rose, walked to the bar and sat down next to Conchita. “May I buy you that drink?”

  Conchita smiled into the mirror behind the bar. “You must buy a drink for my friend also,” she said.

  Conchita and her friend both ordered rum and Coca Cola. When I withdrew my wallet, she pushed it away.

  “You have paid for the drinks, Señor.”

  I held up my beer in a toast. “To the beautiful women.”

  The women took small sips.

  “Yes, well, here’s the thing, Conchita. My friends,” I nodded at the table, “have some … business with some men in the building across the street. We believe it would be … helpful to perhaps have you and your friend accompany us to visit them.”

  Conchita turned her upper body toward me and stared into my face. “You want us to accompany you to see your friends?” She looked over my shoulder at Rodrigo and Manuel, then back at me. “And we would do what when we accompany you across the street to see your business friends?”

  My mind had wandered while I was looking into Conchita’s eyes. I had flashbacks that were both unpredictable and troubling. I was briefing a Vietnamese lieutenant and his four men about the procedure for picking them up from the jungle. We were heli-lifting them into the vicinity of a known North Vietnamese encampment. They were to spend three days gathering information and radioing it back. Then we were to pick them up. The lieutenant did not believe he could last three days in the area. I thought he was right and didn’t believe that we would ever pick them up. But we had no Marine recon teams available and we needed the information. It turned out that his team was wiped out within an hour of being dropped off. It wasn’t the fear in his eyes that had haunted me later. It was the effort that he was making to keep me from seeing it.

  “And we would do what, Señor?”

  “It could be dangerous. But we will pay you well. That man,” I pointed to Rodrigo, “believes his son is being held in an apartment across the street. I would like for you to get into the room, find out if this is true, and then remember where each of the men are in the room. You come out of the room, maybe to use the bañyo, and that is all you have to do.”

  Conchita looked at her companion to see if she had heard. The young lady nodded.

  “The plan is okay. We will do it.”

  “Both of you?”

  “Sometimes things do not go as we hope. We might need my friend. Her name is Isabella.”

  I didn’t hesitate now. “Very good. Hello Isabella.” She extended her hand and I shook it. “Again, you get in the room. Maybe you knock on the door and ask for Pedro or someone. Then I will leave it up to you.”

  “They will invite me in the room, Señor. I can promise you that.”

  “Remember. Just find out where Rodrigo’s son is. And where the three men are. Then you come out of the room. Comprende?”

  She shrugged, seeming terribly calm. But prostitutes must get used to strange requests, I reasoned as I returned to Rodrigo and Manuel to brief them.

  “When we know where Pablo is, Manuel, your job will be to make sure he is out of the way if shooting starts. I’ll take the guy who opens the door. Rodrigo, you go left and I will go right. If we’re lucky, we’ll have the drop on them and we just clear them and get out with Pablo. If not, we do what we have to do. Manuel, if shooting starts get Pablo on the floor. Then, as soon as you see your chance, get him out of the room. Don’t worry about your father and me. You have that?”

  Manuel again looked to his father before turning back to me. “Si, Señor. But what if Pablo is being held in the other room? The sleeping room. Then … ”

  “We will find out when the woman comes out of the room. Maybe she can convince the Colombians that they need to have the bedroom for other things.”

  Rodrigo was silent, staring at the table top.

  “Señor Jack, this seems to be a dangerous plan.”

  “Rodrigo, you’ve got about three minutes to come up with a better p
lan. I’m going to talk to Conchita and her friend and then we had better go. I want them to make a lot of noise coming up the stairs to cover for the three of us. And we need to find a place to stay out of sight when she knocks on the door. If you can think of a better way to get into the room, I’ll listen.” I paused. “Or we could just wait and see what happens when they leave the room to go to the airport or train station.”

  Ten minutes later, Rodrigo, Manuel and I crouched out of sight of the door to apartment twenty-two. I had chambered a round in my 9-mm pistol and Rodrigo had repeatedly assured himself that his large revolver held six shots. Manuel was not armed. He had to focus on getting to Pablo and helping him out of the room.

  Conchita and Isabella were in the hallway bathroom. As they came out and proceeded by us, Isabella stopped and crouched behind Manuel. I saw him smile briefly at her. Conchita continued around the corner and I heard her knock loudly on the door.

  “Pedro!” she shouted as she knocked. “Pedro, abierto!”

  After a moment, I heard the door open. A rapid Spanish exchange began. I heard the door close and then Conchita yelling again. She had not gotten in.

  “Pedro!” Then a long rant which had the word bastardo used more than once. The door opened and I heard a man’s voice, at first angry and then jocular. The door closed and the sounds were muffled and then quiet. When I peeked around the corner, Conchita was gone.

  As we waited, I wondered briefly about Gearheardt and his scheme. I was angry at him for not being more helpful with Rodrigo’s son, but somewhat chagrined that I was here on a private errand of mercy, probably illegal for an agent of the U.S., and having little to do with the mission of the Agency. Was foreign policy a mass effort or the result of our own individual actions? I smelled Isabella’s perfume and felt her thigh against mine.

  The door opened and closed and I heard a woman’s steps coming toward us down the hall.

  “Esta bien,” Conchita said to Rodrigo. “Your son is fine.” She turned to me. “I do not have much time. Yes, there are three men. One is sleeping in bedroom. One is fixing food and one who answers the door is in chair, watching the boy.”