The Mongolian Conspiracy Read online

  “Colonel, García here.”

  “The gentleman you know wants to see you, in two hours. At seven.”

  “That’s fine. By the way, one of the dead men was Cuban, wasn’t he?”

  “We have been able to identify only one of the Chinese. He was a Cuban citizen.”

  “And the one with the machine gun?”

  “We still don’t know who he was. By the way, I’d like, once in a while, for you to leave someone alive, someone we can question.”

  “I’ll do my best, Colonel.”

  When he returned to the table, his steak was there and well cooked. Laski was eating a piece of chocolate cake. García sat down.

  “In Mexico we have a saying when you get somebody else to do your dirty work, we say your using a cat’s paw to pull your chestnuts out of the fire.”

  “Yes, Filiberto, many countries have similar expressions. Also in the Soviet Union . . .”

  Laski’s large eyes exhibited nothing but total innocence.

  “What were you saying?”

  “I think it’s fine to get the FBI to work for you, but I don’t like it that you get me to work for you, especially when I’m just starting something up with that gal.”

  “She is very pretty, Filiberto. Looks like you have things all sewn up. Just this afternoon she kissed you on the mouth.”

  “I thought you’d stopped watching me.”

  “I have many men working for me. I must keep them busy doing something. Don’t you agree?”

  “Why don’t you have them watching the Cubans?”

  García’s voice was sharp. Laski stopped smiling. He looked concerned:

  “You are upset that we saw you with the girl, Filiberto. But it doesn’t matter. We are all men and we all know how these things are.”

  “I don’t like that kind of joke.”

  “I’m sorry, Filiberto, but it’s all part of the game. When you get involved in these international affairs, nothing is private. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is.” Laski’s voice had also gotten hard.

  “I have a theory, Ivan Mikhailovich.”

  “After a violent incident, I get hungry. It is interesting to observe the different ways men react. We have studied the reactions of each enemy agent, and we keep files on them all. Graves, for example, after every violent incident, feels an uncontrollable urge to report to his superiors. Perhaps it is due to a primitive need to confess a sin, or a longing — a very American longing, needless to say — to make every act legal.”

  “I was about to tell you my theory, Ivan Mikhailovich.”

  “On the same subject? It must be very interesting. Perhaps you’ve observed things we haven’t. The truth is, the perfect agent should have no reaction at all to violence and death — emotional reactions are completely useless, though difficult to avoid. For instance, I get hungry, and then, when I eat, I get a stomachache. I have thought it’s an inherited characteristic, perhaps a throwback to when man killed only to eat. What do you think?”

  “Back to the chestnuts and the fire and the cat,” García said. “We could formulate a theory about how you Russians, there in Outer Mongolia, heard certain rumors —”

  “As we always said, they are only rumors. But Mexico has friendly diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union, and we believed it would be a noble act on our part to inform you of these rumors — you don’t have any agents in Outer Mongolia.”

  “No, we don’t.”

  The Russian’s eyes filled with innocence and love for his fellow man.

  “But you can count on us, Filiberto. Any rumor that might affect your country, we are more than willing to report it to you.”

  “Like this one?”

  “Yes, like this one. It is a manifestation of the Soviet Union’s sincerity and —”

  “You know something, Ivan Mikhailovich? I think your reaction to violence is not to eat, but to talk, and above all, not to let anybody else talk.”

  “You think so? How interesting —”

  “Now, to return to my theory —”

  “Your reaction, Filiberto, is curious. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a case like yours. You form theories, so many theories. And if you have nothing better to do, I think it would be a good time to go get some sleep.”

  “You might be right. We’re wasting our time.”

  He paid and left. They said goodbye to each other at the door after making a date for twelve noon at the La Ópera cantina. Fucking Russian and his reactions! And that dead Chinaman cheerfully telling us everything about his plans. Fucking Chinaman! All about contraband morphine and the whole deal. And the Russian pretending he believed the whole damn thing. And the gringo not saying a word. Everyone believing what the Chinaman was saying, now all of them out there investigating. And now my neck hurts. Maybe that’s my reaction, as the Russian says. Fucking Russian!

  He stopped a taxi and gave him his address. At least I’ll have time to take a shower. And see Marta. She’s there in my house and I’m here acting like a chump with my international intrigues and my Outer Mongolia. I hope she closed the curtains. Those Russians have already seen too much. Must’ve seen more than I have. Fucking Russians!

  V

  When he entered the apartment, the dawn was spreading gray shadows everywhere, like large stains of mildew in an abandoned house. Nobody was there. Noiselessly, he opened the door to the bedroom. The colorless light entered the window, accompanied by the first noises from the street. Marta was sleeping, curled up, as if frightened, her bare arms outside the sheet and her hands joined next to her face. What those fucking Russians must have seen. They see everything because they’re conducting an investigation, and I’m just around to kill. To kill without seeing what I’m killing, without knowing why I have to kill. Maybe just because.

  He stopped to look at her. Her breathing was slow, unhurried. Without making a sound, he took off his jacket and holster. He didn’t want to have it over his heart. Right now is when I should slip into bed with her. Right now when she’s sleeping. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman sleeping, at least not such a beautiful woman. Usually, by the time they fall asleep, I’m gone. I didn’t need them anymore. I think I’m turning into a faggot. I should already be in bed with her. Why keep looking at what you can grab with both your hands? Fucking Russians across the street! Me only look, like the Chinamen would say, me no touch. And me just like them. Me not getting into bed. Fucking faggot!

  He had absentmindedly picked up the chamois and was cleaning his gun. He moved his hand along it slowly, as if caressing it, but without taking his eyes off Marta sleeping in his bed. Without warning, she stirred, then bolted upright. All she had on was her slip.

  “Filiberto!”

  “Don’t be afraid, Marta.”

  Marta rubbed her eyes and smiled:

  “I waited up very late for you.”

  She made no move to cover herself with the sheet. She sat on the bed and placed both hands on her outstretched legs.

  “Then I got sleepy and lay down for a while and . . . I didn’t have any pajamas . . . Are you going to go to bed?”

  “No, Marta. I just came home to take a shower. I have to go out again.”

  “But you haven’t slept a wink. You haven’t slept for two nights. Do you want some coffee?”

  She leapt out of bed. She was barefoot. She walked up to García and placed both hands on his shoulders. Her breasts could be seen through her slip, small and hard, and her tussled hair fell to her shoulders. She smelled of body and bed. García leaned over and kissed her on the lips, without touching her. In one hand he had the gun and in the other the cloth. She pressed up against him.

  “I love you, Filiberto, I love you very much. When I’m here alone I have nothing to do but think of you and how much I love you. That’s why I’m telling you this now, because so much has changed in our relationship.”

  She took one step back and began to unbutton his shirt.

  “You’ll need a clean one.”
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br />   “Yes, Marta.”

  “Why don’t you rest a little? I’ll wake you up whenever you tell me to.”

  “There’s no time, Marta.”

  He gently moved her to one side and entered the bathroom. Fucking faggot! Me just standing there and her almost naked. That’s what happens to old men. And I want her so bad . . . Fucking faggot!

  When he got out of the bathroom, his clean clothes were laid out on the bed. He began getting dressed. Marta appeared at the door holding a cup of coffee. García sat down on the bed. His legs were shaking.

  “You can leave the coffee on the nightstand, Marta.”

  Marta put it on the nightstand and sat down on the bed, next to him.

  “You’re tired. You shouldn’t work so much at night.”

  “This only happens once in a while, Marta. We are conducting a special investigation.”

  “You don’t want to drink your coffee?”

  García embraced her and kissed her, hard. His hands were shaking and there was a gaping pit in his stomach. They fell backward onto the bed. Marta smelled of the warm night, bed, and woman. García slowly got up, without taking his eyes off her.

  “No, Marta, not like this. We’ll have plenty of time when this is all over.”

  “Whenever you say, Filiberto. I’ll be waiting for you. Whenever you say.”

  She smiled at him. If she smiles one more time, Mr. Rosendo del Valle and the colonel can both go fuck themselves. I’m such a fucking faggot! Since when have I been so damn polite when it comes to doing it with a bitch?

  “You are a real man, Filiberto. That’s why I love you so much. You don’t want this to be something unimportant . . . I’ll be here when you want me and however you want me, because you are a real man.”

  “Yes, Marta. Later . . .”

  “I knew it the first time I saw you at the shop. Only a man like you, a real man, would do what you’ve done. When you said we should come to your house . . . I knew what would happen . . . But it didn’t. You don’t like it when things aren’t done right, and that’s why I love you. All day yesterday I thought about you . . . You want me to put your shoes on?”

  “No, thank you, Marta. I’ll do it.”

  “I thought about you, about how you’ve behaved. You didn’t just want to sleep with me . . . like so many other man. You helped me and you didn’t ask for anything in return . . . and even now you’re not asking for anything. But I’ll be here, waiting for you . . .”

  “Yes, Marta.”

  He stood up and went over to the mirror to tie his silk tie. Then he put on his shoulder holster and over that his beige trench coat. He took out a dark-green silk handkerchief and placed it in his chest pocket. He turned to face Marta:

  “I want you to go to Palacio de Hierro and buy yourself some dresses and anything else you need, Marta. You’re not going back to Dolores Street . . .”

  “No, never again.”

  “Here, there’s six thousand pesos, take it . . .”

  “That’s a lot of money.”

  “No, it’s not. I want you to buy anything you want. Everything you see and like, buy it. That’s what money’s for.”

  “But . . . how will I repay you for all this?”

  She stood up from the bed and walked over to him. Her nipples were hard under her slip.

  “How am I ever going to repay you for everything you’ve done for me?”

  She took his hand and kissed it. García lifted her chin and kissed her on the mouth.

  “There’s the money. I might be back this afternoon.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “And when this is all over, we’ll go to Cuautla, to Agua Hedionda, even to Acapulco. We’ll take the car.”

  Marta smiled. There was great sweetness in her face.

  “Whenever you want, Filiberto.”

  “Goodbye.”

  “Don’t come back too late, Filiberto. You have to rest . . .”

  “Goodbye.”

  He left the apartment and went outside. The sun was beginning to paint the filth of the city a sickly yellow. Fucking faggot! I’m definitely out of my element. First with the gringo and the Russian and this international intrigue. And now with Marta. She’s not like other women. Could it be because she’s Chinese? Or she sees what a chump I am and they sent her to do her little job? And here I am, missing my chance to help her do it. Fucking dumbass! And she’s even hotter than I thought. For all I know, by the time I get back, the job’ll be over, and she’ll leave with my money and all the rest of it. I’d have it coming to me for being a dumbass, for being the fucking dumbass that I am.

  The professor lived on Arcos de Belén. Waking him up wasn’t easy, and García had to bang on the door pretty hard. Finally, it opened. The stench in his room was nauseating.

  “So early? What’s gotten into you, Cap’n? Can’t you see I’m nursing a bit of a hangover?”

  “I’ve got a little job for you, Professor.”

  “Like the one yesterday?”

  “I want you to find out everything you can about Luciano Manrique, the thug who had various sources of income.”

  “Luciano Manrique? I defended him once, Cap’n. But where he is now, according to the newspapers, even I can’t get him out. Someone did him in, along with Villegas.”

  “Look, Professor, you know how things work as well as I do . . .”

  “I don’t kill, I defend the accused. Acts of mercy . . .”

  “Guys like him, second-rate gunmen, they always have someone higher up who’s protecting them, who pays for their lawyers . . .”

  “Priests also must partake of the altar . . .”

  “I want to know who was protecting this Manrique fellow, and who he was hanging around with lately. Find that out, and I’ll give you another two hundred pesos.”

  “Another? You still haven’t given me the first three hundred.”

  “Bring me the information at eleven, to La Ópera. Here’s twenty on credit, for your expenses and to treat your hangover.”

  “Thanks, Cap’n. See you later.”

  The colonel, as always, was in a bad mood. Doesn’t seem like the colonel ever sleeps. And it can’t be because of his faithful departed, because he keeps his hands clean. Just like all of them who’ve come after us. They’ve all got clean hands because we do their dirty work for them. Fucking hands!

  “Why did you strangle that gringa?”

  “We found her dead, Colonel. The Chinks killed her because she was blackmailing them.”

  “Whenever you’re involved in a case, the whole thing fills up with dead bodies. You never leave me anybody to interrogate.”

  “I didn’t kill a single person last night.”

  “If you say so. Now, before Mr. del Valle gets here . . . Those Chinese were lying to you. There are no drugs or money in the warehouses . . .”

  “No dollars?”

  “Nothing. And based on what we’ve been able to find out from our informants, these people have not been in contact with any known drug traffickers. Even Villegas, according to what we know about him, had never been involved in that kind of business.”

  “I figured.”

  “Why?”

  “As soon as we caught them, that older Chinaman, the one who seemed like the boss, he started to blab about the drugs and about moving in on the Mafia in the States. He was talking too much.”

  “So, what’s their game? What we thought?”

  “The Russian doesn’t want to say anything, but I’m almost sure.”

  “Sure of what? It’s harder to get information out of you than a criminal, García.”

  “I think the rumor the Russians heard in Outer Mongolia didn’t have anything to do with an attack on the president of the United States. For one thing, there was too much money involved; for another, it wasn’t well organized.”

  “So?”

  “The Russians heard about something that’s going to come down in Mexico, and they wanted a free hand to investigate.”r />
  “Something like what?”

  García meditated for a moment. If I tell him what I think, he’s going to say I’ve been smoking marijuana, but I’ve got to tell him, for silence means consent and that Russian with all his theories was treating me like I’m a moron.

  “I didn’t take you for an expert in international politics, García. I thought you applied your talents to purely regional problems.”

  “There are a lot of Cubans who don’t like the Russians, and there are a lot of Chinamen in Cuba, Colonel. With a little help, they could plan a coup, throw out the Russians, and turn Cuba over to the Chinese.”

  “And?”

  “And, the Russians wouldn’t like that.”

  “I can imagine. And?”

  “That was the rumor the Russians heard. They were preparing a counterrevolution, organized by the Chinese against the Russians in Cuba. And that counterrevolution was being prepared in Mexico, with money from Hong Kong.”

  “What about the report the Russians gave us?”

  “They wanted our help, and especially the FBI’s. With a story like that, we all had to work together to find out the truth.”

  The colonel reflected.

  “So, according to you, García, there is no Chinese plot to assassinate the president of the United States?”

  “I’m not absolutely sure, Colonel.”

  The colonel’s face showed impatience. At that moment, the door opened and Mr. del Valle entered, his beatific smile playing on his lips and gleaming off his teeth. Both men stood up:

  “Please, sit down, gentlemen.”

  He remained standing and began to talk as if he were giving a speech.

  “I don’t know if you realize that the president of the United States arrives tomorrow, and we still do not know what to expect. I am going to have to report to our president —”

  The colonel cut him off. He recounted everything that had happened so far and explained García’s theory that a Chinese plot against the Russians in Cuba was behind it all. Del Valle sat down to think. Then he asked:

  “So, you are certain, Mr. García, that the only thing these Chinese want is a Chinese coup in Cuba?”