Wild Country

Chapter Thirty-Two

Felix Sorel sunned at his poolside near La Mariposa and, for the umpteenth time, scanned the proposal in his hands. The letterhead from Pelfculas Clasicas, classic pictures, seemed genuine enough, and the return address was in Argentina. It was not the first time a holodrama producer had offered a part to Sorel, who was still something of a hero in Latin America.

But that cover letter smelled wrong; had probably been intended to smell wrong; perhaps it was the passing reference to financing from New Israel. Sorel understood the real proposal on his first reading of the "treatment," a brief synopsis of the plot with one scene included as a sample.

Sorel had never said yes to a holodrama, but on reading that single scene he felt compelled to agree to this one. He would play the role of a courageous smuggler, running guns to insurgents in some (unnamed) country ripe for overthrow. An arms manufacturer had lost three men trying to contact him, but bygones might be bygones.

On the surface, the scene made as little sense as most holodramas. It was when Sorel mentally substituted drugs for guns, and the prospect of legalized drugs for a liberal gun law, that he saw the part they really wanted him to play.

Stripping away the clever camouflage from the Argentine treatment, Felix Sorel wondered if, indeed, this were an offer he could refuse and live to brag about it. Probably not. No matter what he claimed, the Israelis took it for granted that he had iced their men in Oregon Territory.

Now, reading between the lines of a holo script, he saw that they were willing to forgive that small lapse of politeness. They had something far more important to discuss, something that might powerfully affect his fortunes and those of New Israel.

No doubt of it: if Americans could cheaply and legally synthesize drugs, there would be no further point — certainly no money — in Sorel's conduit through Wild Country. Besides which, the Israelis saw clearly that any country that owned synthesizers would have a tremendous advantage over those that did not. It was almost like membership in the nuclear club of the last century, but with an edge that was economic instead of thermonuclear.

New Israel — if Sorel was interpreting the plot correctly — had reason to hope they would soon get their hands on a synthesizer. Meanwhile, having long since abandoned emotional ties to Earthbound countries, they could throw sand in the American gears in two ways.

One, they just might be able to sabotage the American production plant. That would delay the American advantage while others fought to create, or steal, the same technology.

Two, they could certainly provide a sudden and dramatic increase in hard drugs to the American heartland, at dirt-cheap prices. They would need someone to push the stuff through Wild Country for a year; perhaps longer. Very soon, old addicts could wallow in the stuff and give samples away. It would probably mean new addictions, overdoses, and a widespread national revulsion.

At exactly the time when legalization was under debate.

The scenario had loads of appeal for Felix Sorel, especially when he saw that the producer offered him something highly unusual: the right to select alternate endings. In plot one, his character made alliance with the arms suppliers and lived happily ever after. In plot two, Sorel refused that alliance.

Plot two had a tragic ending.

Sorel flopped onto his belly to toast his back a deeper golden brown and thought about living happily ever after. This new alliance could not last forever; a year, two or three at most. But in that time he would gain much, and his enemies to the north would suffer much. Whether New Israel gained or lost, in the long run, was of no importance whatever. Whether the Israelis blew him away in the short run was of the utmost importance, and those chingaderos were very good and uncommonly patient at doing exactly that. Did he want to spend the rest of his life in shadow, running from other shadows? Or did he prefer to make amends for his little breach with Maazel and company and haul more mierda through Wild Country to be spread across Reconstruction America?

Felix Sorel knew when he was co-opted. He could admire a bunch that absorbed their losses with such easy grace. "Kaiyi," he called lazily, "bring Cipriano to the study. We must tell San Antonio Rose to alert our Anglo friends. It seems," he added, smiling to himself, "that I have a contract with a producer."