PRECIPICE (16 page)

Chip was examining a sandy beach along the side of the pool at the base of the waterfall. “It looks like it’s come down in the last few days,” Chip said. “That last band of light rain came through on Thursday.”

They had been carefully watching the radar map every day for the last two weeks to see what the weather was doing in the area.

“You can see in the sand where the raindrops fell. It wasn’t enough to bring the river up any. And here’s the high water mark from the day it rained,” he indicated the area of smooth sand nearer to the water’s edge where the dimples from the raindrops weren’t visible.

“So it’s dropped almost a foot since Thursday. At that rate, it shouldn’t be more than another week before it’s right, as long as we don’t get any more rain.”

Harris raised his eyebrows in surprise. The kid was like some kind of native tracker on a whitewater hunt.

“OK, Tonto,” he said with a chuckle. “So we should tell the boss that we’re looking at next Sunday or Monday to launch the mission?”

“As long as it doesn’t rain much before then,” Chip reinforced again.

“Right.”

Chip began scrambling up the bank to a point above the rapid, and Harris followed. Carlos stayed where he was, cracking open a bottled water that he carried for a drink. When Chip was about twenty yards upstream of the rapid, he turned and looked downstream toward it. He could tell that the road they had driven down to the river was not visible from the streambed, and this was the spot where they were planning to exit the river at the end of the trip. Although they would have the benefit of GPS to know when they reached this point, he figured it wouldn’t be a bad idea to remember what it looked like from the direction they would be coming, just in case. He picked up a two-foot-long piece of driftwood about the thickness of his forearm and jammed it in a sandy beach a few feet above the recent high water mark. If there were lots of places that looked alike on the river, he would know this was the right one by seeing his marker. Once he saw it, the truck would be in the woods just downstream.

Eager to be finished with the tedious drive back up the abysmally rocky road, they headed back to the truck. The rest of the team was waiting in the other truck in a concealed spot about an hour-and-a-half’s slow drive from here. They would travel the additional hour back to Ciudad Valles tonight and keep a low profile for a few days, maintaining their cover as traveling whitewater enthusiasts. Although he was eager to explore this new river, Chip was content with any chance to get back in his boat.

*

The sudden blaring of the marching tune startled Moore back to alertness. He slammed his glass of bourbon down and snatched the cell phone from his desk where he’d been watching it sit dormant for over two hours now.

“Hello!” he shouted into the phone, the alcohol and his frustration getting the best of him.

“Daddy?” Came the timid reply. God, he sounded horrible, she thought. Did he know what she’d been doing?

Shit
, Moore thought. It wasn’t that cocksucker Ortiz. He had completely forgotten that Sam was supposed to call today. There was an awkward pause while Moore got ahold of his emotions and took a deep breath.

“Hey darlin’,” he finally mustered in his sticky-sweetest deep southern drawl. “How’s Daddy’s little girl doin’ way out in sunny California?”

“I’m OK,” she replied with none of the bubbly conviction she’d had on her first year away at school.

“How’d your midterms go?”

“Fine,” Sam replied evasively, “I mean, I think I did OK.”

“I’m sure you did great.”

Moore was interrupted by the call waiting beep in his ear. He hated that thing but had no idea how to turn it off. He looked at the screen and saw Ortiz’ name on the caller ID.

“Shit, uhhh, I’ve gotta take this call, darlin’. Let’s talk on Wednesday, OK?”

“OK Daddy.” She wasn’t enjoying the line of questioning anyway. She hadn’t been to class in two weeks and was going to fail everything this quarter. It was only a matter of time before he found out.

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Moore held the phone in front of his blurry eyes so he could see the keys and mashed the green button with a thick thumb.

“Hello.” Moore’s answer was far more reserved and ominous this time.

“Hey boss,” Ortiz said cautiously, “you wanted me to call?”

“
I know
,” Moore said slowly and seriously, emphasizing each word to convey the deeper meaning.

There was a long moment of silence while Ortiz processed the information. Moore’s grip was so tight that it threatened to crush the tiny phone in his massive paw.

“So?” Ortiz finally said indignantly. “It doesn’t change anything.” His heightened emotion made his accent thicker.

“It changes everything, goddammit!” Moore roared. “You’ve got me tangled up with Mexican enemy number one, and you say it doesn’t change anything?”

Ortiz was sick of listening to this idiot, and pissed off that he was being shouted at after all that he had done for the man. He finally snapped.

“That’s right,” he said firmly with fiery Latin bravado, “it doesn’t change anything. You vote for the fucking bill and you get your fucking money. Do you have any idea what will happen if you cross these people? Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?! You think these people care that you’re a big senator? If you go back on the agreement, you’ll be lucky if all they do is expose the deal. You’ll be begging to end up in jail instead of having your family mailed to you in pieces. Get it? Nothing is changed except that you understand the game you’re playing. Don’t fuck it up.”

The line went dead.

Sheldon hurled the cell phone across the room where it shattered on the wall. He snatched up the glass off his desk, turned to the credenza, and filled it to the brim. His hand shook as he lifted it to his lips and gulped, relishing the fire as it burned its way down his gullet and into the churning sea of acid in his belly.

11

Tuesday, November 15th

THE PHONE ON Moore’s desk beeped, and Candace’s whiny, high-pitched voice stabbed out of the speaker like an icepick into his ear.

“Mr. Sullivan’s on the line.”

This was the moment of truth. Jim Sullivan was the Majority Whip, and he’d been riding Moore hard over the International Trucking Bill. Although the bulk of their conversations in past years had been simple confirmations that Moore would vote, as usual, along party lines, this issue had driven a wedge between the two men. With the vote scheduled for later this week before the Thanksgiving recess, he knew he could expect to hear from Sullivan every day to try and change his mind.

Sheldon could feel the whiskey oozing through the pores of his clammy skin, and he smelled his own acrid sweat. At least he’d kept a clean shirt at work. He’d been up late last night and had finally drunk himself unconscious on his stiff leather office couch in the wee hours of the morning. Sunrise had brought a pounding headache and a dose of clarity. There was no way he could go through with the deal. His conscience wouldn’t allow it. Despite his gut fear at the prospect of a drug lord gunning to destroy him and his family, he was reassured by the few words that Senator Craig had whispered in the meeting. Wesley Craig was not a man of idle threats. Contrary to his appearance as a jovial Texan teddy bear, he was a master manipulator of the system and a major player in military and defense matters. If anyone in Congress could orchestrate the elimination of the most powerful drug dealer in Mexico, it was Craig. In fact, Moore had decided it was safer to bet that Craig had things under control. The threat from Cardenas would be eliminated. There would be no more money forthcoming from his Mexican partner no matter which way the vote turned out. Finally, his choice had become clear.

Moore picked up the handset and punched the button for the lit phone line with a large finger.

“Hey Jim,” he said.

“Sheldon, how are ya?” The North Dakotan’s accent always sounded fast and funny to Moore, like the man was from another country or maybe another planet.

“I’m awl right,” Sheldon drawled back at him, “How’re you?”

“Well, I’ll be a lot better if I can talk you into changing your mind on this trucking bill. The party needs your help here, Sheldon. If we open the border up too much, we’ll never keep jobs in the U.S. Stopping this is what the voters want. It’s what the party wants. It’s really the best answer for the country.”

Sheldon just sat and listened. He could never get a word in edgewise with this guy and knew the best plan was to wait until he ran out of breath.

“It’s the best answer for you too, Sheldon. You know what’ll happen to ya in the party if you go against us on this. You’ll be lucky to win the nomination again, much less pay for a campaign. The people of Alabama won’t support ya if you send their jobs to Mexico. We’ve got to keep your seat on our side of the aisle here in the next election.”

The pause finally came.

“Well,” Moore said, “I reckon it’s yore lucky day then. I’ve changed my mind. I’ll be votin’ against it.”

“Great news!” Sullivan gushed in excitement. “You’re making the right choice. Thanks Sheldon, I knew we could count on you when it came down to it.”

“I’m glad to help out,” Sheldon said with a hint of sadness.

“Thanks again, Sheldon. I’ll give ya a call in a couple days to confirm, but I’m so glad you’ve decided to help us on this. The party appreciates all that you do. I’ll see ya.”

The phone line clicked off, and Moore slowly lowered the handset back into its cradle. It was done. He had no idea how the future would unfold from here, but at least his conscience would be clear. There’d be no three million more dollars, and he might never touch the two million that was already sitting offshore. Maybe he could access it later if Cardenas was killed or give it back if he wasn’t; but he suspected that no refund would mollify the drug lord once he learned that he’d been betrayed. Moore had no idea how he would handle his chief of staff, no idea if he would run for reelection, and no idea if he could stay with his wife. All he knew was that he was counting on Craig’s statement that Vicente Cardenas would be dead by next week. He’d just bet everything on it.

*

Word spread fast on the hill. It was two hours past noon when Ortiz found out that his boss had changed positions on the trucking bill. It was certainly big news since he’d been the guy who pushed it through committee. What the hell was he thinking? Aside from the political ramifications of a flip-flop like that, hadn’t Ortiz made it clear what would happen to him if he changed sides? Ortiz walked quickly through the parking garage to his Audi, the frustrated echo of his quickened footsteps filling the concrete space. The car chirped as he shut off the alarm. He climbed in, started it up, and made his way outside of the garage to where there was cell service.

He dialed his prepaid phone quickly and hit send.

“Hola,” came Héctor’s surprised voice on the other end of the line. The Mexican pulled over to the side of the dusty dirt road that he was traveling on, headed for the newest building they were using for the bus “recruiting.” The road was too uneven to drive on while he talked on the satellite phone.

“Tenemos un problema.”
We have a problem
, the American cousin blurted.

“What is it?”

“My boss has learned who your boss is, and he is changing his vote.”

There was silence for a few seconds, then Héctor swore at length. Finally he calmed.

“Then we must change his mind,” he said ominously.

Ortiz had worried that it would come to this. Although he had known it was a distant possibility, he had hoped the senator could easily be deceived until the vote was over. The man hadn’t put much thought into his job at all in the last few months. How had he found out? It must have been the DHS meeting. He cursed himself for insisting that Moore go, but how could he have known that instead of defending the bill, the senator would learn Cardenas’ true identity? He was too close to turn back now, though. He was not going to let two million dollars slip away, and he had to figure out how to keep Moore quiet about Ortiz’ involvement in this. His whole future was on the line. He knew there was only one way they could be sure of Moore’s vote. Still, threatening someone’s life was a huge step in a direction he had hoped never to travel.

“His daughter,” Ortiz said reluctantly. “She is a student in California at Stanford University.” He proceeded to relay her dormitory and room number to his cousin.

“OK,” Héctor was nodding. This was good. There was no better way to change a man’s mind. “Can you send me a picture?”

“Si.” Ortiz would have to find a way to swipe one from the senator’s office and scan it. Or maybe he could just snap a quick shot of one of the photos on Moore’s wall with his Blackberry.

“How much time do we have?”

“The vote will be Thursday or Friday.”

“It’s not enough time. Is there a way to delay it?”

Ortiz considered this for a minute, running through his options. There was one senator from the other party who would probably be willing to work with him.

“I have a senator I can get to stall it. It might require money, but there are not enough supporters of the bill to force a vote.”

Héctor had no interest in the technicalities of the American Congress; he just wanted to be sure that the vote didn’t happen before they could convince Senator Moore to change his mind again. “How long can you delay it?”

“Until after the Thanksgiving holiday next week?”

“OK, I will go to California.”

“Wait, one more thing…”

“Yes?”

“The girl will only be there until Saturday. Then she flies back here to Washington for the holiday.”

It was a complication. Héctor definitely did not want to attempt to grab the girl while she was with her parents in Washington. California was a much better option. He would have to move quickly.