through the checkpoint in the lead truck. The U.S. officials were also celebrating. The irony amused him. While the U.S. put all of its officers at the truck seizure, he also smuggled the largest shipment of uncut heroin in history by human pack train across open desert. Two shipments that equaled everything else during the year! As a side benefit, he also had a new U.S. soldier to use in his Reino de Terror.
He savored the moment and felt invincible.
Vitale
Rachael was still getting used to the routine of driving to work up the George Washington Parkway instead of using the Metro from Foggy Bottom station to the Pentagon. Her new Toyota Solara convertible had leather seats with that fresh new-car smell. She thought of her friend Hale Warner at NSA who had died on a beautiful Saturday like this morning on the GWP. There was no way to accept his death as an accident on the pristine scenic drive along the Potomac. Hale worked at NSA and was investigating Will Lawrence. There was also an attempt on her life at the same time that was probably arranged by Lawrence, but he was gone and now nothing could be proven. Peter was living with her at the time and had saved her life.
It was before seven in the morning, and a pale amber dawn formed a silhouette of the National Cathedral on the hilltop across the Potomac. On impulse, she turned into one of the vista lots for a few minutes. She would still be one of the earliest Deputy Directors at work.
She pointed the hood of her car toward the sunrise and stopped the engine. There were no others around this early. She had her morning tea in the console. Sipping it on the way to work was a calming ritual, something that helped with all her new responsibilities. Her staff was secretive and non-communicative.
As she sat sipping her Earl Grey, she felt something else. What was it? Then she recalled that this was the same turnout where she and Peter had strolled along the river several times months earlier. She thought often about him lately since their jobs no longer converged in defense matters. She missed him. She had once told him that she would always love him. Then she had broken their engagement.
Sipping more, she remembered the morning on the Eastern Shore when he proposed. She had arranged the weekend together, and he was so awkward asking her. She had fallen in love with him almost before they met. He had a special job in the Army that meant his personal records were kept in a security vault under her control. When she was first asked about him by an FBI investigator, she was amazed by the things he’d done in the Special Forces. He was a genuine hero many times over and still the nicest, most caring, person she had ever known. Men had chased her since college, but Peter wasn’t like any of them. He was shy. She had had to get his attention before he would even speak to her on a personal level.
He hadn’t had a girlfriend since high school and was completely involved with his career in the Army. She was the only person that he let enter his shell, and it had been the most profound experience for her. He would talk to her without any seductive motive, yet he was passionate at the right times. They were both in love, and it had crushed her to break off the engagement. None of the men she ever dated had connected with her like Peter. If she were to diagram their cognitive stockpiles of experiences, education, political upbringing and social agendas, they were polar opposites. To her, this also made them a perfect pair.
She had a good reason to break up with him. His last exploit happened with a total disregard for her. He could partition his life in two pieces: the Army and the life they shared together. At least, it had seemed that way at the time. Had she been unfair? She loved him, but couldn’t risk being heartbroken if he was killed in some faraway place, never to be reported – another training accident. The worst of it was that he had volunteered to go into Iran on a covert mission to kill a state official to stop transfer of money embezzled in a plot developed by Will Lawrence. Her boss, General Simmons, had recruited Peter, who then volunteered, without ever discussing it with her. He was nearly killed and the terror of it caused her to break their engagement after he returned. Sipping her cup dry, she drove on to the Agency.
In the office, she opened an email from Jamie Montes stating, ”Rachael, I got an emergency call re. SC project and went back in country. I know you’ll understand. This is the way we do things in operations. See you in a few/JR”
Jamie knew her cellphone number yet hadn’t called her. The coward had decided to jump ship again and was obviously avoiding her. Did he really expect to outlast her in the Department? She remembered General Simmons’ caution. Maybe the weasel was clever enough to pull off a shell game and get her dismissed or reassigned. He had been in the Agency longer than most of the senior staff and was an Army-trained bartering artist.
The Sandcastle meeting had been a farce. The file was either purged or deliberately void of useful facts. All she really learned was that the CIA was paying off a lot of informants to track people heading to America through Central America and Mexico. There was a hint of a terror camp developing somewhere in Southern Mexico, but he didn’t provide any details, only that it was touchy, balancing relations with drug merchants. He didn’t identify who received payments or what intelligence was gained. The “War on Terror” rationale was adequate explanation from his point of view. After two hours of circuitous dialogue without answers, she’d been planning to corner him with specific questions today, but he’d slipped away over the weekend.
She called the Director’s office and asked for a meeting about Project Sandcastle. To her surprise, Vitale agreed to meet with her right away.
When she arrived on the first floor, he invited her inside immediately. In a chipper mood, he said, “Good morning, Rachael. What a fine day! Can I get you anything?”
She started to speak when he interrupted, “Did you hear on the news that the President asked the Senate for a voice vote on my ratification?” He was animated.
“No, Sir, I hadn’t heard it, but I’m sure it’s a forgone conclusion.”
“Rachael, call me Sandy. I want you to think of me as a friend as well as your boss.”
Sandy Vitale was a colossal figure on Capitol Hill. He was known for earmarking every bill under his control and he traded funds quid pro quo with other house members like it was a Turkish bazaar. He also had a reputation as a philanderer. Fortunately, Rachael had been pursued by every type of male animal in existence and was an expert at repelling unwanted affections.
She crossed her legs under her skirt, catching his attention. “Sure, Sandy. I’d like to know your take on the Sandcastle Project.”
“Well, sure. I’ve been watching it since the beginning on the Hill. Had to fund the damn thing, you know.”
“Yes, that’s why I’m here. The department files don’t say much, and I’m trying to understand it.”
“Is Jamie giving you a hard time?”
“Yes, he is. Do you know him?”
“Not from my time here, but he always came with my predecessor to the Hill when we marked up the Appropriations Bill. He’s kind of slippery, but I was able to nail him down pretty good when I held the checkbook.” He had an unbreakable smile and was only paying partial attention. He seemed to enjoy watching her legs more than anything she was saying.
Rachael shifted posture and reversed her legs, keeping Sandy’s attention, “So, how much intelligence value comes from paying tribute to drug lords in Mazatlan?”
“Well, let me think about that. Hmm, as I recall, he gets a record of who’s coming and going across Central America, but he also has the ‘native’ folks geared up to squash these guys when we’re ready. It seems the drug lords don’t pay as well as we do.”
“So for now, the cartels get paid by both sides?”
“Well, sort of. We pay them money, sure, but we sometimes help open the borders a bit now and then to cross without harassment, just enough to keep them happy -- nothing serious, just enough to keep the natives happy.” He was smiling, but not looking at her face.
She stared at him for a moment, “You mean w
e’re helping smuggle drugs?”
“Oh, now, don’t look at it that way. We’re saving taxpayers money ‘cause the payoffs are lower.”
“So let me understand. We pay the drug traffickers and also help their smuggling trade. I didn’t get that from JM.”
“Well, he’s not going to be so forthcoming. He doesn’t trust anyone, you know. Just hands out the cash and provides a little help, crossing the border. He only gives one drug lord that kind of help.”
“Can I ask who that is?”
“Look, like I said. Jamie M doesn’t trust any of us, so we can’t tell anyone outside of you and me. This is the CIA, and we both signed oaths. Can’t betray the trust.”
“So, who are we helping?”
“Like I said, it’s only one guy at one location.”
“Who is it?” She was being insistent.
“His name is Cardenas. That’s all I know. We don’t even have a picture of him.”
Nothing more was accomplished that day. She left shortly after the last person in her office walked out. On the way home, before sundown, she stopped at the vista overlook again. She needed to think alone. There were two other cars in the lot, but no one was visible. She decided to walk down the path to the bench she had shared with Peter.
At the same time, Peter was showering at the Gym when