The Mulberry Bush (26 page)

“They would have killed him.”

“On your orders?”

“On what they had heard with their own ears. They knew what his betrayal meant.”

“Why didn't they kill the American?”

“Why should they do that? Headquarters would just replace him with someone we didn't know. Also, we already had enough powerful enemies.”

“So then Amzi appeared out of nowhere?”

“Yes. It was him, not the Yanqui, who appeared at the next meeting with Alejandro. However, who but the Yanqui could have told Amzi where to look?”

“Why?”

“Orders, presumably. I have no firsthand knowledge of that. I can only tell you what I was told.”

“By whom?”

“By Boris. He knew a lot about the Yanquis. He said Headquarters had been appalled by what the Yanqui had done.
Kidnapping!
They—don't laugh—didn't do things like that. They took the Yanqui off the case. Headquarters wanted to get Felicia back, to get her out of the country. The torturers wanted something in return.”

“How did Boris know all this?”

“He didn't say, but everything else he ever told me was the truth. These questions are taking us off the subject.”

I went back into priestly mode—a neutral listener, not a judge.

Diego said, “Amzi made Alejandro an offer. All he had to do was give him, Amzi, the true names and whereabouts and photographs when possible, of every fighter of the revolution, and Amzi would cover Alejandro's ass by giving him back his wife in such a way that everyone would believe that whatever he had had to do, he had done for love. Treachery would be seen as romance. His betrayal of everyone who trusted him and everything he said he believed in would be one more proof of his moral nobility.”

At this point Diego closed his eyes and took a very deep breath.

Eyes still shut, he said, “Alejandro pretended to refuse. He walked away. Amzi stalked him. Whenever Alejandro ventured out of one of his safe houses, there was Amzi, waiting for him. He was very, very good at his work. He knew from the first moment my people were there.”

“But your people did nothing?”

“Amzi's people had guns on them. The Yanquis had night-vision glasses so they could see our people but our people couldn't see them, just feel their presence. Please listen. I am almost finished.”

He was annoyed, tired of reminding me how to behave. I shut up.

“Amzi sweetened the offer,” Diego said. “He knew that Alejandro's problem was not a moral problem. He was beyond morality. It was a question of where he could hide, where he could continue what he called his mission. Obviously he couldn't stay in Argentina or ever come back without being tortured, shot, or hanged or all three. Amzi offered him sanctuary. Headquarters would get Felicia back because she would be of no further use to the torturers after they knew, thanks to Alejandro, what they had been trying to make her tell them. So he would have saved her life, a dividend. Headquarters, in the person of Amzi, would smuggle the two of them secretly out of the country, provide them with fully documented new identities and an annuity. Then he would forget they existed. But rescue them if necessary, even if this did not become necessary for fifty years.

“Alejandro dragged it out. He was a tactician if he was nothing else. But then, as you already know, he accepted. And then the moment came. The torturers appeared, a dozen thugs along with a representative of the general commanding, none other than the conscience-stricken husband of our friend the good woman. Felicia was with them, dressed up by her captors in the latest fashion, her hair done, her makeup perfect courtesy of the torturers' makeup artist. Felicia was drugged and only half-conscious. She was barely able to walk or talk or hold up her head.

“Amzi showed them the thick envelope he carried and said, ‘We'll take her now.'”

“The officer said, ‘And the information? ‘

“Amzi said, ‘First, the woman.' The officer said, ‘No. First, him. ‘

“The thugs grabbed Alejandro and manacled him hand and foot. Even if he had had a cyanide capsule in his tooth or a bomb in his knapsack
they would have done him no good. Before they gagged him Alejandro screamed at Amzi:
‘Cabrón! Hijo de puta!'

“All this happened in the dark, so my men heard it rather than saw it. Their fingers were on the triggers of the Uzis. Somebody in the dark behind them—Amzi's men, who else?—blackjacked them. When they revived, everybody was gone. Also the Uzis. Amzi had saved them. Otherwise they would be in a cage or dead. They knew this. So did I.”

I said, “So whatever happened next happened in the dark?”

“Everything happened in the dark.”

“You say your people were unconscious. So how do you know that the famous deal that Amzi supposedly made—Felicia's life in exchange for the rescue of Alejandro and the revolution—actually happened?”

Diego let silence gather. How stupid could I be? Had I not been listening? Were the facts not self-evident?

He said, “I know because there were witnesses—Alejandro and the good woman's husband. Also, Alejandro was alive, Felicia was in the hands of her murderers.”

“So the good woman, as you call her …”

“As she was.”

“… was your source.”

“Yes, of course,” Diego said. “But Amzi insisted they release Alejandro into his custody. They agreed. They could not do otherwise without bringing the imperial wrath of Washington down upon themselves. And after all, the torturers had what they wanted: the names of everyone they needed to torture and kill, the key to the final solution of the Alejandroista Question. They didn't need Alejandro. If he had no followers, if they were all soon going to be dead, what harm could he do? They would keep the woman. The gringos would understand that they must have a guarantee, a hostage. When at the last second they seized her at the airport, Amzi made no effort to protect her.”

Diego looked at his watch.

He said, “Time is short. To answer your question, the name of the Yanqui agent who sent Felicia to her death is Thomas Terhune.”

I was not surprised. The picture puzzle was coming together.

I said, “One more question. Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I want to talk to Terhune, and I want you to bring him to me.”

Talk
to him?

I said, “What makes you think I can do that? Or that he'd be stupid enough to do it?”

“Wait. Don't jump to conclusions. What is done is done. Doing more harm can't change that. Soon I will be old. I want to die in peace, and I realize that the only way I can have peace before I die is to reconcile with this man.”

“Diego …”

“No. Let me speak. You know a Jesuit called Yuri, a Russian.”

“I do. How do you know him?”

“How do you think? Boris introduced us.”

“One atheist providing spiritual guidance to another?”

“An intelligent priest was what I needed at the time. This priest had confessed Alejandro, so he would know what he could not tell me and offer informed spiritual advice. Father Yuri made me see what I must do. I know what you must be thinking. But ask yourself this: Who introduced you to Father Yuri?”

Diego's move was crude. So what else was new? The home truth about the clandestine life is that it clothes itself in subtlety but lives by the raw truths of human nature. Diego wanted something. In order to get it he would tell me everything. He would do this because his spy, Luz, had told him that I, too, wanted something and what that something was. He knew I would pretend to believe his lies in order to get it, just as he pretended to believe mine.

Diego said, “Think about it. Ask yourself why should I do this Yanqui harm after all these years, what I can possibly have to gain in comparison
to what I stand to lose—Luz, above all? You of all people know what it is to lose her, what it means, how incurable the pain. Besides, there are incentives. There is much I can tell him.”

I said, “The revolution is old news.”

“I know that if anyone does. However, terrorism is not old news. The drug trade is not old news. Washington throws away billions trying to penetrate its secrets. I know those secrets by heart—methods, names, connections, rivalries that can be exploited and how to exploit them. I know the politicians who are being paid in money and girls and protection to make all this possible. I know where the bodies are buried. Above all, I know where the money is hidden.”

He also knew how good it would be for his business if the U. S. government eliminated his competition.

I said, “Amzi won't buy this.”

“Why not? I think otherwise. Those two are enemies. Terhune betrayed Amzi in the Alejandro operation, saddled him with the blame and the guilt for what happened to Felicia. Terhune's got something to resent. He made the new, worse Alejandro possible. Amzi spoiled everything. He stole the credit that belonged to Terhune. He has probably done the same thing many times since. And as a result, he has overshadowed Terhune for the rest of his career. Terhune thinks that he should be the DDO, that Amzi cheated him of his rightful place. This is his chance to recoup. Amzi knows this. He will not hesitate to send him into danger and hope for the worst.”

“You want Terhune to come to Argentina?”

“Where else?”

“If he's as smart as you think he is, he'll never do that.”

“Then we can meet on neutral ground. I will fly to meet him anywhere outside the USA.”

For a change, I was the one who snorted. Where exactly was this neutral ground to be found? Given their history, there wasn't a patch of
it anywhere on the planet large enough for Diego and Tom to occupy at the same moment.

Many seconds later, Diego broke the bubble of silence.

He said, “There's only one way to find out—ask him. Will you do this for me?”

I said, “I'll deliver the message.”

Amzi said, “It sounds like Diego has either made friends with Jesus or he wants to behead Terhune. All in favor of Jesus say aye.”

No one spoke.

Amzi said, “OK, Tommy Tune, you're first on the dance floor.”

“First principles first,” Terhune said. “Once a terrorist, always a terrorist. This man in particular. He was the brains and the executioner of the movement, then of the drug operation. Alejandro was the dummy in the store window.”

Amzi said, “So you don't want to take the bait?”

“I didn't say that. Maybe he actually has something useful to say. He says he knows everything and maybe he does. Everything he's told us so far is factual. It's a gamble. But we're supposed to be gamblers.”

Amzi pointed a finger at me. “You?”

“If all he wants is to kill Tom,” I said, “he doesn't have to lure him to Argentina to do it. Bill Stringfellow was less than five miles from his house when they chopped off his head. Diego knows where Tom lives. He has a stable full of assassins. He can whack Tom on his way home
at any moment of his choosing or murder him while he watches TV or blow up his house during a family reunion. He could have done any of those things a long time ago if that's what he wanted to do.”

Amzi said, “You think he might actually spill all those beans?”

“He certainly was pretty talkative with me. You both know the case. Did he say anything that wasn't true? Tom?”

“It doesn't seem so. He may have left unsaid some things that are true.”

“Like what?”

Neither Tom nor Amzi answered the question. Nor did they exchange a glance, as a couple of men who knew the same secret might have done. I didn't follow up.

Amzi said, “So what do we do now?”

He pointed at me.

“It's Hobson's choice,” I said. “In my opinion it would be wise to err on the side of caution. Let me handle it.”

“He's your fucking father-in-law.”

“In biological terms, yes. In fact, I have no idea what Diego is to me. And anyway, whatever he may say, the connection is irrelevant.”

“Nice you're in such a cooperative mood,” Amzi said.

The truth was, Diego really wasn't an enigma to me. Now that Luz and I were apart, why should his attitude toward me include so much as a molecule of trust or affection or good intent? To Diego I was a pigeon in training. If I pecked the right button I got a bread crumb.

Terhune said, “What he's told us so far concerns the past and matches what we know. That means nothing. As our young friend, here, told us in another context, this guy is way too smart to lie to us when we already know the truth. What he wants to do is give us a reason to yield to temptation. Can we do what he wants us to do and profit from it? It would be risky, but it could be done.”

“And go on living?” Amzi said. “He ain't going to meet us inside the embassy with a bag over his head, and where else could we be in control?”

Tom said, “On neutral ground, as he suggests.”

“Like where?”

They batted this ball back and forth for long minutes. Diego was right, these two did not like each other. However, they could read each other. They spoke over my head, as if I were a child who couldn't understand the language grown-ups spoke among themselves. I was fine with that. They were talking themselves into this folly, just as Diego had hoped and for the reasons he had stated. He knew the type. It was their job to be curious, to live for answers, to outwit all comers.

Registering reluctance, Amzi let himself be convinced. It was a weak performance. He might not want Tom to come to a bad end, but he wouldn't be sorry if he did. He just didn't want the responsibility. They decided to ask the Director's permission to take the risk.

Downstairs, Tom beckoned me into his office and shut the door.

“I want to clear the air,” he said.

I thought,
Please don't confess.
I needn't have worried.

“There's something you should know,” Tom said. “The Bureau has informed Security it has established that your mother died as a Medicare patient in a nursing home in Oregon. She wasn't destitute but she was no millionaire, either. Her second husband—it was a common law marriage—never had a trust fund. He was a substitute high school English teacher, a nobody. The millions she's supposed to have left you in trust was transferred from a bank in the Cayman Islands that's popular with the cartels if it isn't actually owned by them, to a bank in Lichtenstein they are also known to use, then to a bank in Denmark, then to the bank in Oregon, which presumably is clean. The Bureau thinks it's onto something. Security tends to agree. That means a spot of bother. Clearly, whoever set this up wanted to throw you to the dogs. It will be hard to get the gumshoes to believe that, because that means they'd have to admit they were wrong and start all over again. Security is a world unto itself.
Nobody, not even Amzi or your admirer the Director, can tell Security, let alone the Bureau, what to do or what not to do.”

“Was my lawyer in on this?”

“I don't know, but he touched the money. That will be of interest to the Bureau.”

Thanks, Tom, for the peace of mind.

I said, “What do I do now?”

“About what?”

“Diego.”

“Nothing whatsoever until you hear otherwise. It'll take awhile for this to get through channels. Go back to Buenos Aires. If Luz is still there, she should stay there, out of the Bureau's jurisdiction. If Diego asks, and he probably won't, tell him the truth—we're thinking about it. We'll inform the station that you're in town and to stay out of the way. Report in to the station as soon as possible and keep in touch. If you need anything, they'll help you out in the usual ways.”

I flew back to Argentina that afternoon. In spite of myself I looked for Luz among the waiting crowd outside customs.

It's no simple thing, giving up hope.