Non-Violent Territorial Expansion
Phase 6: The ‘Statehood for Baja’ movement.
Pacifica should not dictate anything to Baja’s new autonomous authority. We should remain hands-off for a substantial period as the conflict with the Mexican government and US forces settles. During this time locals who fought alongside Pacifica Guard soldiers, protecting their homeland, should slowly come to advocating statehood for Baja. The business community will see the potential benefits and lend their support, as will some key leaders of the anti-imperialist movement.
A political party with statehood as a main platform should also offer things the locals desperately want/need. Better sewage/infrastructure, new schools, and more effective water filtration. This party should be reaching the height of its popularity by the next election. In that election it is crucial that the party that favors statehood comes to power.
And that’s where we hit a snag.
Because polling showed that we were going to lose. Apparently many locals took a lot of pride in being Mexicans, and they weren’t in a hurry to become the newest state in the newest country in the world. Unfortunately we couldn’t just rig the election like we did in ’46 because the French, the always helpful French, had agreed to monitor, and they were taking the job very seriously.
This is why I was on the phone to Rebecca Delany. “What you need is real polling,” she said, “the numbers you sent me suck. They tell me nothing except that you’re going to lose. If you want me to come down there and salvage the campaign you’re going to have to bring in Reliant or CalPol. It’s going to be pricey.”
“Money’s no problem.” I said.
“I’ll remember that when we talk about my fee,” she said. “Who’s bankrolling the shindig?”
“People who want to win at any cost, let’s just leave it at that. This is a project we’ve been working on for seven years, it all goes to shit if we lose.”
“May I ask the obvious question?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“What does Pacifica need with Baja anyway? It’s mostly just a big desert, right?”
“Yeah, mostly.” I said. “It’s seen as strategic I guess, in security circles. We can control a new border along the Colorado river basin more easily, and the navy wants the gulf of California. Also it nearly triples our coastline which is good. And that desert? That’s a solar farm that could power Los Angeles. Anyway, just look at a map, it’s a much more visually pleasing shape if Baja is part of Pacifica.”
“Okay,” she said. “If it’ll make Pacifica a more visually pleasing shape, I’ll do it.”
And so the campaign nerds marched south, led by Rebecca, who had single handedly turned around the Dixon campaign. CalPol set up shop in Tijuana and got to work figuring out how people were likely to vote and why. I was in Cabo, trying to locate some new polling screens that had gone missing when Rebecca called. “It’s the abuelitas,” she said. “Women age 62-80. The fastest growing voting demographic in Baja. The male vote is split three ways, the Mexicans, the independent staters, and our voters. It’s not moving. This election will be decided by the abuelitas.”
“So our man has to start courting the aubuelitas?”
“Yeah and it’s not going to be easy,” she said, “he doesn’t poll well in that demo. Our thinking is that he needs a high-profile endorsement from someone who does very well in that demographic. We’re thinking of someone who owns the abuelitas.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Have you ever heard of Michelle Marcos?”
“Talk show host?”
“That’s the one.” She said. “An endorsement from her would lock it up. She’s talked a lot about the election, but she hasn’t made an official endorsement yet. I’ve got Jayme flying to Cabo to meet with her as we speak.”
“I happen to be in Cabo.” I said. “I’ll meet Jayme at the airport.”
“Great, Jayme should be getting there in an hour or so. The Marcos meeting is set for this afternoon.”
I gave up on my missing polling screens and got to the airport. Jayme was a small brunette with lively brown eyes. She was maybe 27 years old and still fresh-looking. She carried only one small overnight bag on wheels. We’d met once before and she was glad to see me. “I thought I’d have to rent a car.” She said.
On the ride we talked a little about the work she’d done on the campaign. She said she was one of the few people who had worked on the Dixon campaign who spoke Spanish, so she’d been promoted to a leadership role for this job. Eventually we found the private road that led to Michelle Marcos’s llama ranch. There were a pack of brown and white llamas blocking our way about a mile up the road. I honked and a couple of llamas blinked at me and wandered off. Eventually the rest had meandered away and Jayme and I made it up to the house.
Marcos’s assistant, a young thin man in a neckerchief came out to meet us and take us inside. We came down into a sunken sitting room and the assistant brought out some tea and biscotti. He told us Michelle would be down soon and poured the tea for us. Apparently she was on a business call upstairs. I sat back on the leather sofa and looked out at the view that eight million daytime viewers could buy you.
She finally made her grand entrance, sweeping down the stairs in a flowing, cream-colored dressing gown. She looked casual, her hair was pulled back and she wore no makeup. She was a bit overweight, but beautiful in a down-to-earth kind of way. Her skin looked sensitive, as if she’d just had some sort of chemical peel. Her assistant introduced us and asked her if she wanted her special tea. She said yes and I thought about requesting one myself, thinking it might have some rum in it or something, but I thought better of it. Michelle Marcos didn’t seem like the kind of woman you joked around with.
“I respect what Pacifica has done for my country.” She said while her assistant fetched her elixir. “But I am a proud Mexican. I’m not interested in becoming a gringo. I think Baja would be better off as an independent region of Mexico, with our own government and laws, but a shared currency and culture. In short, my views line up more with the Baja Freedom Party. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“If that’s how you feel how come you haven’t endorsed them on your show?” Jayme asked, though she knew the answer.
“That’s not something I do lightly,” Michelle said, “make political endorsements. I consider all sides carefully.”
“How do your sponsors feel?” I asked.
“Most of them are on your side, but I certainly wouldn’t lose any money endorsing the Freedom Party.” Her assistant brought in her special tea and she sipped it gingerly and set it down.
“Is it just patriotism keeping you from seeing our side, or is there something else?” Jayme asked.
“No, there’s also a family matter.” Michelle said. “My uncle Hector is stuck in jail in Pacifica. He’s in a prison in southern California somewhere. My family would be very upset with me if I endorsed Baja becoming part of a country that has Hector locked in a cell.”
And there it was. I was grateful to the woman that we didn’t have to hint around and do the whole kabuki dance most people go through when asking for a payout. “What’s he in for?”
“I believe he was picked up as an illegal immigrant before the war started.” She said. “Or it might’ve been a petty theft of some kind.”
“How long has he been locked up?”
“More than seven years.” She said.
“Then whatever he did, everyone’s forgotten about it by now.” I said. “He’s just another number on a hard drive somewhere at this point. Having him released wouldn’t cause any trouble and could be easily arranged.”
Jayme seemed shocked by what I was saying, but Michelle Marcos didn’t bat an eyelash. “If you bring Hector home I will endorse statehood as a concept and have your candidate on for a puff interview. I know my audience and I can get you the votes you need to win.” She took a sip of her special tea without breaking eye contact with me.
“We hav
e a deal.” I said.
“I’m so glad,” she said, smiling at Jayme.
The campaign had a little four-seater airplane that they flew down to pick us up. We were flying all the way to Reagan International in Burbank, and once we were in the air Jayme let me know what she thought of the deal I’d struck. “People look up to her and see her as a champion of working women, and her endorsement is just for sale, blatantly. It’s disgusting.”
“What did you think you were going down there to do, have a political debate with the woman?”
“I don’t know,” Jayme said, “I mean I assumed she’d want something, but I was thinking about political concessions. A commitment to fund a girl’s school, new laws protecting abused wives, I don’t know…”
“You watch her talk show?” I asked.
“I’ve seen it.” She said.
“Because it sounds to me like you’re getting the character she plays on TV mixed up with the actress who plays her. Just because they have the same name…”
“Are you going to chide me for my youthful idealism?” She asked. “Because you can save it. I’m surprised she took the risk of asking for something so personal. If a transaction like that came out it would look bad.”
“She must be confident that it won’t come out,” I said, “either that or she just loves her uncle enough to risk it.”
While we were in the air my LA fixer was pulling strings and calling in favors to get Hector Manuel Diaz III released into our custody. It just came down to making it look like an extradition to Mexico to face racketeering charges. Since Pacifica had officially recognized the independent state of Baja, there had been a series of law enforcement pacts allowing prisoners to be exchanged. This had come in handy in the past, one side of the extradition agreement being easily bought off. If the Mexicans didn’t want someone buying their way out of prison they would have Pacifica come up with charges and ship them north. If we wanted someone to get out of prison before their sentence was over we would extradite them southward where the wheels of justice turned on grease alone.
A prison transport showed up outside the terminal just after our plane was finished refueling. The guard looked at Jayme and me and shook his head. “Where’s security?” He asked. “Are you two doing the transfer yourself?”
“That’s right.” I said.
He shook is head again and opened the back of the transport. Hector was a big guy who looked like he was in his sixties. He had a beard that partially covered a tattoo on his neck that said ‘Madre’. There were wire cuffs around his wrists and ankles, both connected to a metal belt, and he wore a bright pink jumpsuit. His hair was shaved close, leaving black stubble behind a receding hair line. He stood up and hopped out of the transport, and the guard led him in little baby steps toward me and Jayme.
The guard shoved his small-screen at me. “Gimme your print.” He said. I pressed my thumb on the screen and it flashed green. The guard looked at it and hit a sequence of numbers and then looked at me. “I’m transferring his files and restraint release codes to you.” He said.
I looked at my small-screen. “Got ’em.” I said.
“Good, he’s all yours.” He shook his head again and got back into the transport. I looked at Hector and smiled, although he wasn’t ready to return or receive any pleasantries. We walked silently through the terminal, surprising all the civilians we passed, and we went out the door to the hot tarmac. We climbed the steps to the plane, Jayme going first and me coming up slowly behind Hector who was having a hard time with the restraints around his ankles. He baby-stepped down the aisle and Jayme told him to have a seat. We sat opposite him, with a table between us.
He looked at us with a cold understanding of his dominance that came from years in the pen. He had a slight smile on his lips, as if he thought he might be dreaming. Jayme looked nervous and I’m not sure how I looked, but I didn’t quite know what to make of the guy.
Our pilot came back from the cockpit and looked startled at the sight of Hector, sitting there, huge, in bright pink, with manacles on. “Yeah,” he said. “We’re good to take off.” He pulled the door to the stairs closed and gave someone the thumbs-up out the little window. He glanced at Hector again and went back to the cockpit and shut the door.
“Well,” I said, “I’m not sure what to say Hector. Today’s your lucky day. You’re a free man.”
He looked at me hard, searching for a sign that I was joking. Finally he laughed. “C’mon,” he said, “you gotta be fuckin’ with me.”
“But I’m not.” I said. “It’s all arranged. This airplane is headed to Mexico. You get off a free man.”
He made a little noise of disbelief, and then took in Jayme’s fear. “If I’m free whyn’chu take the restraints off?” He asked.
“Your release is not necessarily legal, and if we took off the restraints in the LA area, the hacks at Chino would be notified. We have to wait till we’re in the air awhile so we don’t piss anyone off.”
The plane had taxied to the runway and the engines began to make a racket, silencing our conversation. We took off into the late afternoon sky and turbulence kept us quiet until the plane banked left and smoothed out. “Will there be a beverage service?” Hector asked.
“It’s just us and the pilot on the plane.” I said. “No one’s coming down the aisle with a cart, but I could see if there’s something to drink.”
“As long as it wasn’t made in a toilet I’ll be happy.” He said. I got up and went to the rear of the cabin where the refrigerator was. I heard Hector asking Jayme who we were and why we’d gotten him out.
“It’s a bit complicated,” she said, “but you have an influential family member.”
“Emanuel.” He said. “I thought that bastard forgot about me.”
“We got beer, wine or whiskey.” I said.
“Whiskey.” Hector said.
“I’ll take a coke if they have it.” Jayme said. I got the whiskey and coke and a beer for myself, and put a stack of three plastic cups on a pile of ice in a small ice-bucket. I set it all down on the table between Jayme and Hector. He was talking to Jayme the whole time.
“I saved Emanuel’s life once, when we were little kids.” Hector said. “I thought he must’ve forgotten, but I guess not.”
“You saved his life?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, “it was a long time ago. There was this kid who lived near us who was a fuckin’ psycho. We knew it, but we used to hang out with him anyway because he was older than us. He used to torment all the kids in the neighborhood, he did things that would curl your toenails just to hear about, but he was always cool to Emanuel and me.” He took a cup and scooped some ice into it and then poured himself an unreasonable amount of whiskey. He took a long sip. “There was an abandoned village near where we lived. An industrial quinoa farm had polluted the groundwater and it was giving everyone the cancer, so they all left. We used to play there, breaking windows, looking for treasure. The psycho kid acted like he was the mayor of this ghost town and he was always hanging around there, I think he might’ve lived there. Hey what about the restraints man? the wire’s cutting into my wrists.”
I glanced at Jayme. “Uh, yeah, okay.” I said. I got my small-screen out and found the release code and hit it.
Hector ripped all the wires off and threw them over his shoulder. “Fuck those things!” He shouted. “I feel good!” He gave me a toothy smile and sat back, holding his drink. “Sometimes Emanuel and me used to go there to play this game where one would tie the other up and pretend he was holding him hostage or trying to make him talk. Well when this psycho kid saw the game he said one day he’d get one of us tied up for real and never let us go. We didn’t worry about it because threats with this guy were an everyday thing.” He took another gulp of whiskey. “Shit, that’s good. I didn’t think too much of it until Emanuel came up missing. His parents were panicking, he’d been gone five days. They asked me if I knew where he was, they asked all his friends, I thoug
ht of the psycho, but I didn’t say nothing. I was scared. I waited until late that night and took a flashlight and snuck into the village. I went to the basement of this old apartment building where we used to play and he was tied up to some pipes down there. I cut the ropes and told him how everyone was looking for him. The psycho kid had done terrible things to Emanuel, it had him all fucked up and confused.” He took a long drink. “He thought I was the one who’d tied him up. He got me in bad trouble. I was afraid to tell my dad about the psycho -I was really afraid of him. Emanuel and me weren’t very close after that, but I knew that he hadn’t forgotten what I did for him. The guy’s a lieutenant in the cartel now, but I guess you two know that. I didn’t think the cartel had that kind of pull in Pacifica, to get me released.”
I didn’t feel like explaining who had really sprung him and I guess Jayme didn’t either. “I’m going to see how long till we touch down in Cabo.” I said.
“Cabo?” Hector asked. “We going to Cabo?”
“Yup,” I went to the cockpit and pulled the door shut behind me.
“Some cargo we got back there,” the pilot said.
“You think he looks scary, you should hear some stories about his childhood.”
“What was he in jail for?”
“I don’t know,” I said, “I got his rap sheet right here, let’s see.” I pulled out my small-screen and clicked on the file labeled Hector Manuel Diaz III. I expected theft and drugs, but what I got was rape. Charge after charge. I scrolled down past child abuse and sexual-assault-of-a-minor charges and finally got to murder. Actually murders, plural. I counted five until I came to the last charge: Sexual Abuse of a Corpse. “How long till we touch down in Cabo?” I asked.
“Half-hour.” He said. “What’d the guy do?”
I stood. “He fucks dead people.” I said.
I left the cockpit and saw an empty seat where Hector should’ve been. Jayme was gone too, and there was a commotion coming from the restroom at the back of the aisle. I ran and yanked the door open. Hector had his right hand around Jayme’s neck and he was struggling with his left to get her jeans down. He turned and glared at me and I felt his fist crash into my head. Jayme shouted and I saw her kick Hector in the gut but then her voice was cut off again. I got up and saw the medical emergency kit mounted on the wall next to the toilet.
I had the case open and defibrillator out in a second. I pushed the pads on the handheld device up to the back of Hector’s neck and hit the bright red button. There was a loud cracking sound and Hector stiffened and then slumped, twitching. Jayme was twitching too, and her eyes were closed.
I started looking under the seats for the wire restraints, when the cockpit door slammed open. The pilot came out holding a scatter gun. “Wait, don’t kill him.” I said. “We have to get him to Cabo safe. Just help me get the restraints back on him.”
Hector groaned loudly. I found the cables and wires under the seat and dragged them out. The pilot and I went to where Hector was lying on his side. I dropped the defibrillator and rolled him over. He looked at me with glassy, bloodshot eyes. He groaned again and pushed himself up, the pilot was directing red laser dots all over his chest and head. He saw that I had the restraints halfway around his wrists and he flung himself away from me. I noticed the defibrillator wasn’t there anymore, and I was trying to regroup, but it was too late, he lunged toward the pilot.
The loud crack of electricity sent the pilot into convulsions, and I heard a pop and a hissing. He’d fired the scatter gun on his way to the floor. Hector and I both fell over him trying to get to the gun, but I got there first. I pointed it a Hector and hit the trigger. A woman’s voice issued from the weapon. “You are not currently authorized to operate this weapon…” She said. I brought the butt down on Hector’s temple as she continued. “If you would like to add a second authorized user for this firearm, you must register their prints at the Pacifica firearms registry in Sacramento…” I hit him again and scrambled to my feet, moving towards the cockpit. “If the authorized user does not hold this weapon within the next fifteen seconds it will be reported stolen and police will be dispatched to receive it.”
When I got to the cockpit I found it full of smoke and fire. Apparently the pilot’s shot had sent a mass of mini-projectiles through the control panel of the airplane. I could hear Hector coming and I looked around for something to defend myself with. I saw a pen and I picked it up. Acting without thought I jammed the pen into Hector’s neck just bellow the E in Madre.
He jerked back with the pen stuck in deep. He reached toward me with the defibrillator, but I ducked past him. When I was on the other side of him I reached around and yanked the pen out. He dropped the defibrillator and clutched at the geyser of blood. I scrambled back, away from him, and he turned and chased me, spraying blood across the wall of the plane.
The lights in the little four-seater went out and we started losing altitude quickly. Jayme and the pilot were staring as I stumbled and ran toward them with Hector close behind. “Gun!” The pilot shouted as I approached. I’d forgotten it was in my hand.
I noticed a light in the handle turned green as he took it from me. He fired at Hector, slamming him to the floor backwards. Jayme and I were behind him staring when turbulence snapped us out of it.
The pilot vaulted Hector’s corpse and ran into the black smoke. A half minute later the plane noticeably began slowing down and he came running back, coughing. “We’re going down in the ocean,” he said, “get in those seats and get your seatbelts on.”
We didn’t have to be told twice. Jayme sat next to me and the pilot sat across from us. We were all coughing from the smoke. “This thing have a life raft?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, “gimme your small-screen.” I passed it to him and he tapped in a few digits. “This is pilot Mike Herndon, we are in a Cesna headed due south about ten miles off shore. We are going down, repeat, we are going down. Last population center we passed was Ensenada. Please alert the coast guard and get a lock on this…” The impact was sudden. It felt like we hit a brick wall. My small-screen flew out of the pilot’s hand and the whiskey bottle hit me in the face. I learned later that it broke my nose.
Almost immediately the pilot was up. He opened a cabinet and pulled a bright yellow duffle bag out of it. “Help me get the goddamned door open!” He shouted. I stepped on Hector on my way into the thick smoke at the front of the plane where the pilot was going. I pulled, turned and pushed the lever and the door opened. I noticed that blood was pouring from my nose and was dousing my shirt. Cold water came rushing in at my feet.
The pilot got a mass of yellow plastic out of the duffle and handed me a bright orange rope. “Don’t let go of that.” He said, and threw the plastic out the door. He checked to make sure I had the rope tight, and then he pulled a cord and the raft inflated in about five seconds. Jayme was there in the smoke, coughing, and the pilot shoved her onto the raft, and then climbed in himself. The water was up to my calves by then. “Come on!” He shouted at me.
I threw myself onto the raft, and what happened after that is a little hard to remember. I remember the tail end of the airplane lifting slowly and sinking like a fluke. “Oh no,” I said. “My small-screen was in there. How’s the coast guard going to find us?”
“I have mine.” Jayme said.
The coast guard found us in two hours.
When we got to shore I used Jayme’s small-screen to call Michelle Marcos. I told her assistant that it was an emergency and to wake her up. Finally she came on the line. “We were in a plane crash,” I said, “we went down in the ocean and the coast guard just brought us in. I’m sorry Miss Marcos, your uncle Hector didn’t make it.”
“He’s dead?”
“Yes,” I said, “I’m so sorry.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive, yes.” I said. “He’s dead.”
“I see. Do you have the body?”
“No, it went down with the plane.” There was sile
nce on her end. “If there’s anything I can do…”
“No.” She said. “It was an accident and now he’s dead.”
“I’m so sorry.” I said again, but she’d already disconnected.
I was trying to get my head together at a resort hotel in Ensenada a couple of days later when I got a call on my brand new small-screen from Rebecca Delany. “Our man’s been invited to go on Michelle Marcos’s show next week.” She said.
“That’s weird.”
“Did you watch her show yesterday?”
“No.”
“But you heard about it right? I mean you don’t live under a rock.”
“I’ve been taking a break from the news and the election and stuff,” I said, “why?”
“Apparently she was brutally raped as a young girl, and she said the person who did it was a close family member. She’d been living with this secret for years and she said now she’s finally ready to deal with it because the man who did it is dead.”
“Hector.”
“I guess so.” She said. “She didn’t say his name. She’s trying to start a national dialogue about rape and incest.”
“I wonder why she wanted him out of jail.”
“Don’t you see? She was going to kill him herself, but when he died in the plane crash, she didn’t have to. We did her a way bigger favor than she asked us for!”
“She’ll endorse us?”
“She’ll deliver the election to us on a silver platter.”
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Cat Fancy