Descent from Xanadu (17 page)

“That, Señor Minister, is what I ask you to inform
el Presidente
,” Judd concluded.

The minister stared at him. “You speak very bluntly, Señor.”

“I know no other way, Señor Minister. Progress can only be built upon the granite of truth, not the timbers of dry rot.”

The minister’s voice was bitter. “That is the usual North American attitude. Below the Rio Grande we are poor second cousins.”

“President Carter came to Mexico City with an olive branch in his hand. He offered greater understanding between our countries. It was simplistic, I suppose, and miracles don’t happen between nations, not these days in any case. What he found was invective and studied slights and insults. Tell me, Mr. Minister, what has Castro offered Mexico that makes all of you content to suck his hind tit? Nothing. Except subversion and dissension, attacks on your style of government and your principles of democracy. Why are you people not insulting Fidel, sir?”

The minister was silent.

“Mexico had a profitable sugar-farming industry. Today Mexico imports sugar. It also imports cocoa, coffee, grain. All profitable crops gone in a frenzy of a fever for a product that is buried in the sea and that takes many years to bring up, and that can possibly be replaced by yet another form of energy before it begins to show up profitably on your economic charts.”

The handsome finance minister replied in a disappointed voice: “I am sorry to find, Señor Crane, that you have so low an opinion of us Mexicans.”

“That’s not at all true, Señor Minister,” Judd said. “I love the people, their gallant spirit, their generous nature. In my companies, I employ more than one and a half million Mexican workers, both legal and illegal. I find them all competent and industrious. But I do feel sorry for the Mexican people, and especially sorry for the unhappy prospects of their future leaders. Because in two years, when the new government takes its place, they will be so busy scraping the shit from their boots it may not even have the food for the people to lift with their forks.”

The minister looked at him. “You believe that?”

“I’m sorry but I do. I believe you will respect my candor and my affection for your country and its people.”

“Then what do we do?” the minister asked softly.

Judd met his gaze without blinking. “I am neither Mexican nor am I a politician. I’m an outsider. I don’t have answers. I only believe in the greatness of Mexico and I believe that it should be the leader of the Central American world—not the vassal of someone who is himself a vassal, tied and owned completely by people who hold all of you in naked contempt.”

The minister broke his silence with a long sigh. “You cannot delay your departure?”

“I’m truly sorry, Mr. Minister.”

“But you will return for another meeting?”

“If I am invited, I will be honored, Señor Minister,” Judd said.

“I will try my very best for that.” The telephone on the table next to him buzzed. He answered and listened for a moment, then spoke into it in Spanish. He listened again for a moment, then covering the mouthpiece with his hand, spoke to Judd.

“The immigration police at the airport are holding a Dr. Sofia Ivancich at the request of the Cuban police. They demand that she remain in their custody until she can be returned, as quickly as possible, to Havana. She says that she is your guest as well as your employee, in transit to your airplane with a correct visa for the United States from her own country.”

Judd looked at him. “Where is she now?”

“In the immigration office of the transit lounge.”

“Do the Cuban police have any authority there over anything?”

“Not officially,” the minister said. “But we have an unofficial understanding.”

“But not a legal one?”

“Not a legal one.”

Judd looked at him. “Dr. Ivancich is a very important person on our medical research staff. I would appreciate it if you asked your immigration office to conduct her personally to my plane and to tell them I have your word for her safe-conduct.”

“The Cuban police insist she is charged with serious crimes,” the minister said.

“In Cuba,” Judd said. “Not in Mexico?”

The minister nodded. “Not in Mexico.”

“The transit lounge is still under Mexican jurisdiction, is it not? No Cuban police have any legal power there, sir?”

“That’s true. Mexico has sole jurisdiction.”

“Dr. Ivancich is working on a special contract between the United States and Yugoslavia. I think her detention could cause needless embarrassment to the government of Mexico if you waive your own sovereign rights to the Cubans. And in addition, sir, I would personally appreciate it very much if you yourself could lend the weight of your office to accommodate my request.”

The minister looked at him only briefly before he spoke again into the telephone. A moment later he put it down. “It will be done, Señor Crane. I have already ordered immigration to conduct her, with a full complement of bodyguards.”

“Thank you, Señor Minister.”

“She should be upon your plane in less than ten minutes.”

“Again, sir, I thank you,” Judd said.

The minister smiled. “Just one question, Mr. Crane. Were you not a graduate of Harvard Business School?”

Judd nodded. “Yes.”

“I, too,” the minister smiled more broadly. He held out his hand. “I congratulate you on your ability to muster facts and come up with solutions. I hope one day you’ll be playing the game from my position and I will stand in your place.”

“I have, sir.”

“And, Mr. Crane, did you win there, too?”

“We don’t win or lose. We learn to do the best we can. No, Mr. Minister, it’s I who must congratulate you.”

23

The lights over Mexico City disappeared in the heavy layer of brown smog that buried it. A moment later the plane was high enough to find the sunny blue above. “Covered in a blanket of shit,” Judd said, looking out the window.

“Your orange juice and pill, Mr. Crane.” Bridget placed the two glasses on his tray.

“Never forget, do you?” he said dourly.

“That’s what you pay me for,” she said. She waited until he swallowed the pill and the juice. “Dinner will be at seven-thirty,” she said. “Lights at nine.”

“I’m no longer in the hospital,” he said.

“Doctor’s orders,” she said. “You stay on this routine for two more weeks.”

“How about a fuck?” he teased.

“That’s not my department,” she teased back. “But you’re much better. Soon enough you’ll be able to handle problems normally.”

“Thanks a lot,” he growled. “But don’t you wait around. I won’t forget how you failed me in my time of need.”

He watched her leave his cabin and looked over to Fast Eddie, behind the bar. “They’re all cunts,” he said.

Fast Eddie flashed all his teeth. “Yeah!”

“Orange shit tastes like any shit,” he said. “Give me a cherry Coke.”

“Wait a minute, boss,” Fast Eddie protested. “Remember the doctor’s orders.”

“Fuck her,” he snapped. “You don’t work for her.”

“But—?”

“Do what I said.”

Quickly, Fast Eddie put the drink together. Judd sipped at it. “Good,” he sighed. He felt himself picked up. “Doctors don’t know everything.”

Doc Sawyer and Merlin came into his cabin. “Everything okay, gentlemen?” he asked.

“Okay,” Merlin said.

“What about Sofia?” he asked.

“She’s fine,” Doc Sawyer said. Then he noticed the blank expression on Judd’s face. He glanced at Merlin. “Did you tell him?”

Merlin shook his head. “I thought you had.”

Judd stared at both of them. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Doc Sawyer looked at him. “Someone with a silencer tried to nail her going through the transit lounge. Wasn’t a very good shot though, he just hit the soft flesh of her left arm.”

“They get the guy?” Judd asked.

“Never even saw him,” Merlin said. “Mexican Security never knew she had been nailed. The lady’s got guts. She walked through the transit lounge without saying a word. Kept her right hand clamped over the hole in her arm, just as cool as a cucumber, so that no one would notice the blood until she got on the plane.”

“Where’s she now?” Judd asked.

“Asleep in her cabin,” Doc said. “She’s lost blood, of course. I gave her two pints of plasma, patched her up and knocked her out. She’s okay. She’ll sleep about ten to twelve hours.”

“Good work, but damn it all!” Judd exclaimed. “I wanted to know what happened in Havana.”

“We know pretty well,” Merlin said. “The lady remained poised enough to bring back Borovnik’s papers. I’ve gone through them. All those deposits through the South and Western Savings and Loan were part of a Cuban government sanction. The dealers worked through them.”

“We really got into something there, didn’t we?” Judd said.

Merlin nodded.

“Now what?” Judd asked.

“Our whole fucking government is also in it now,” Merlin said. “Besides Treasury, FDIC, IRS, Customs and the FBI, the CIA is swarming all over it.”

Judd looked at him. “What’s the bottom line now for us?”

“Wipeout for S and W Savings. We might have skated through with four hundred million withdrawn, but the way it looks now, with all the agencies in it, looks like we’re holding more than six hundred million. The only way we can hold it together is to support it with three hundred million more of our own.”

There was no hesitation in Judd’s voice. “Do it.”

“You could lose the whole bundle anyway,” Merlin said.

“It’s our name and our money,” Judd said, and added, “The money isn’t that important. It’s our own stupidity I don’t like.”

They sat silent for a moment. “Anything else?” Judd asked.

“All the girls have completed their medical exams and have checked out beautifully,” Doctor Sawyer began. “Legal has all their contracts duly and properly signed, so even the lawyers are content. Security has placed them in different homes in states all over the country. None of the girls knows anything about the others, of course, and none of them has the faintest notion of your own connection with the project. Needless to say, they and their children will be protected for life by an irrevocable trust. That’s been set up already. They’re all completely satisfied. In six or seven months, we should have a bumper crop of contented mothers and pretty babies such as no one man’s come up with since Ibn Saud.”

“He had over nine hundred children,” Judd said. “At least, he had the fun of making every one of them.”

“Ah, well, you can’t have everything,” Doc Sawyer laughed. “You live in a different world.”

Judd was silent for a moment. “There is
one
woman who knows, Doc. Sofia.”

Doc Sawyer nodded. “Zabiski and I discussed that. Her abortion will take place as planned. And as far as she’ll ever know, so will all the other abortions.”

Judd looked out the window. There was a thin orange line as the sun fell into the horizon for the night. He didn’t turn to them. “Looks like you’ve tied everything together.”

“We tried,” Doc Sawyer said.

“Good.” Judd turned to Merlin. “What’s happening with Crane Island Resort?”

“Crane Construction has already put together a study team. Their problem right now is finding the right people to comprehend what we require. But they feel that they’ll have that preliminary work done in about two months.”

“Then how long until they can build and have it finished?”

“One year to start building, one more year to finish.” Merlin looked at him dubiously. “Do you still want to go through with it? I’m guessing we’ll be looking at more than forty million dollars, maybe more.”

Judd turned to him. “We’ll go over the study before we make that decision. We still have the time.”

Bridget came into the cabin. “Sorry, gentlemen,” she said. “Time’s up. My patient has to have his nap before dinner.”

“My sweet and attentive bitch,” he said. But there was no rancor in his voice. He was beginning to feel tired.

***

The soft hum of the jet engines seeped into his stateroom. He opened his eyes slowly. Bridget was standing beside his bed, her white nurse’s uniform ghostlike in the darkened room. “Were you standing there long?” he asked.

“Only a few minutes,” she said. “You were sleeping so deeply I didn’t know whether to awaken you for dinner or not.”

“Dinner is a good idea,” he said. “Lunch got fucked up. I never ate it.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll let the chef know.”

He sat up in the bed. “I’ll grab a shave and a shower,” he said. “When will dinner be ready?”

“Whenever you want it,” she said.

“Half an hour okay?”

“Yes.”

He watched the door close behind her, then pressed the stateroom light. Looking down he saw the red message light on the telephone blinking. He picked up the receiver.

“Your mother called from San Francisco while you were sleeping, Mr. Crane,” the communications officer reported.

“Get her back for me,” he said. He put down the telephone and went into the bathroom. The telephone rang while he was still in there. He picked up the wall phone beside the john.

“I have Mrs. Marlowe on the phone for you, sir.”

“Thank you,” he said. He heard the transfer click. “Barbara.”

“It’s almost six weeks since I spoke to you,” she said. “Where are you?”

“Right now I’m on the john, taking a pee,” he said.

“Silly,” she laughed. “I mean, where are you?”

“According to the flight plan I should be somewhere over the Amazon but I’m not sure. I just woke up.”

“How are you?” she asked. “Are you well?”

“Never felt better,” he said.

“What about those treatments?”

“Like a piece of cake,” he said. “How are you and Jim?”

“We’re good,” she said. “I heard that you’re going to the inauguration.”

“That’s right.”

“We’ve had an invitation, too,” she said. “I thought it would be nice if we could go together.”

“I love the idea,” he said. “Let’s plan on it.”

“We will,” she said. She hesitated a moment. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes, Barbara,” he said. “I’m superfine. Give my love to Jim and a big kiss for you.”