The Lotus Eaters

Federated States Embassy, Ciudad Balboa

Ambassador Tom Wallis came around from behind his desk to shake Carrera's and Fernandez's hands, then McNamara's. He then gestured to introduce them to another man, this one with a plainly cultured tan, heavily muscled, blue eyed, blond, tall, and gringo. Sunglasses hung suavely from the gringo's pocket; and—to blend in with the locals—he wore a guayabera which successfully failed to hide a Bertinelli high-fashion holster.

"This is Mr. Keith, gentlemen," Wallis said.

"Gavin Keith," the gringo added.

Carrera disliked Keith instinctively. He thought of a piece of advice once given by a Federated States Marine Corps acquaintance on how to find a "Sea Lion," the FS Navy's underwater recon and demolitions commandos: "Go to the nearest high water mark and follow it until you come to the bodybuilder, laying in a lawn chair, catching rays, wearing sunglasses, and stylin' with an PM-6 submachine gun."

"You used to be a Sea Lion, didn't you?" Carrera asked, suppressing a smile.

"Team Six out of Big River," Keith answered. "How'd you know?"

"Just a lucky guess," Carrera answered.

If Keith suspected that he was somehow the butt of a private joke, his self image couldn't permit further inquiry.

Wallis also suspected that some sort of criticism had been passed. He decided to change the subject. "Mr. Keith's organization has some information that might be useful to you. In fact, it might be critical."

"What's that?" Carrera asked. "And what organization?" Who knows; maybe the muscles haven't cut off the blood supply to the brain in this case.

"I'm with DITF," Keith answered, "the Drug Interdiction Task Force. We've got people inside the Belalcázar organization. We think you're going to get hit, soon and hard."

Carrera raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean me, personally, or do you mean my family and friends? Or Balboa, generally?"

"All of the above," Keith answered. "We've got no details, not yet, anyway. We're working on it. There is one thing, though . . ."

"Yes?"

"They've got shoulder fired surface to air missiles available. If I were you I wouldn't take any aircraft anywhere anytime soon."

Fernandez frowned, nodded, and then admitted, "I've got nothing, no sources whatsoever, among the narcotraffickers, Patricio. Only when we grab one . . . and this report of light SAMs sounds . . . plausible, certainly.

"Is it just the Santander people or is Atzlan involved, too?" Fernandez asked.

"Atzlan is . . . interested," Keith said, "but, so far as we can tell, not involved. They're on the other side of the supply chain. What you're doing here doesn't affect them that much, if at all."

And it doesn't hurt, thought Fernandez, that I had my wet work people, especially Khalid, exterminate one group of the bastards some time ago. Hmmm. Maybe it's time to put Khalid back to work again; he's my best. But in Santander this time.

Hmmm. Wet work? Have to work on Patricio myself to get him to agree, these days.