The Mongolian Conspiracy Page 15
“I believe so.”
“But are you absolutely certain?”
“There are too many people involved, Mr. del Valle. For an attack on the president of the United States, you don’t need so many. All you need are a couple of well-trained fanatics. You also don’t need that much money.”
“I don’t know,” del Valle said. “Your arguments offer no proof. Let me ask you this: Are you sure that the lives of the two presidents are not in danger?”
“No.”
“There you have it, Colonel — we can’t be certain.”
“Another thing that made me suspicious,” García interrupted, “was the Russians’ insistence on taking part in the investigation. It should have been enough for them to give us the warning.”
“I believe, Colonel,” del Valle said without paying any attention to García’s words, “that there is something important going on among the Chinese, and, in light of the report from the Russian embassy, I believe that this something is a conspiracy to assassinate the president of the United States during his visit to Mexico —”
“But,” said the colonel, “García explained —”
“Mr. García is not an expert in international intrigue. The truth is, he is not even an expert in police investigations. Much less can he accurately assess the Chinese and their well-known duplicity. I believe that, and I can even affirm that I am certain of it. Yes, absolutely certain. This investigation has not been properly conducted. Progress was made at first and a Chinese conspiracy was uncovered, but afterward, since yesterday, the investigation has taken a direction that I do not like.”
“The investigation has gone where the investigation itself has led, Mr. del Valle,” said the colonel.
“That direction is the wrong direction and has cost us time. The only sure thing is that the Chinese have received money. Unfortunately, given the methods used in this investigation, we have no witnesses. I notice a certain . . . alacrity, shall we say, in the liquidation of possible witnesses.”
García, his face expressionless, was holding his Stetson in both hands on his lap. So, Mr. del Valle is determined to believe in the Chinese threat and in this whole Outer Mongolia business. Fucking Outer Mongolia! And, fucking Mr. del Valle! We’re liquidating all the witnesses, are we? If he doesn’t like how I’m making my bricks, why doesn’t he get in there and mix the clay?
“Moreover,” del Valle continued, “the Americans have complained, tactfully of course, about Mr. García’s attitude. They claim he is not being cooperative. Considering who Mr. García is, Colonel, considering his past, it’s no wonder he’s not used to teamwork, and this kind of investigation requires it.”
The colonel did not reply. He was playing with his gold lighter. García remained impassive. Teamwork. To kill someone all you need is one man, not a team. A man who has balls and who’s not afraid of blood. Fucking team! As if this were a soccer match. I draw my gun from the left, shoot to the right — goal, someone’s been rubbed out for good.
Del Valle stood up again.
“Colonel, we have one day left to complete this investigation. I want action, serious action, not the massacre of underlings, like the unfortunate event last night. I want the Chinese who are at the head of this conspiracy. I want to know where the money is and what it is going to be used for. And I want to know tonight, so I can tell Mr. President that he is no longer in any danger.”
“We are doing everything we can. I have men investigating the Chinese connected with the Café Canton gang and the warehouses. We have increased surveillance of political exiles and along all our borders.”
“It’s not enough, Colonel.”
“In the square where the statue is going to be unveiled, we have emptied out all the buildings that have balconies, and only people with special police passes will be able to get in. You, yourself, Mr. del Valle, signed those passes.”
“It’s not enough.”
“We have recommended to the Americans that they use an armored car, to minimize the moments of danger.”
“I’m telling you, Colonel, it’s not enough. God in heaven, Colonel! What more do you want before you order a full-blown investigation? You already know the Chinese have received money; you know they are plotting something, and, putting aside Mr. García’s bizarre and unfounded opinions, you know that that something is the assassination of the president of the United States. Hire some competent men, really competent, to move this investigation forward, like the FBI is doing. Can you imagine the embarrassment if a foreign police force discovered the truth before we did?”
“Yes, of course . . .”
“Well, get going, then. We have only twelve hours left. Don’t waste any more time on this nonsense. I feel certain that Mr. García can keep himself otherwise occupied in the meantime. Good day.”
Mr. del Valle opened the door and walked out with dignity. In the doorway, he stopped and turned back:
“Please, Mr. García, do not take this personally. I have no desire to offend you.”
“García understands, Mr. del Valle.”
“Of course, the Russian is an expert —”
“He uses a Luger,” García interrupted. “I use a .45.”
“What does that matter?”
“And the gringo uses a .38 police special. Maybe because they’re experts. They know judo, karate, and how to strangle people with silk cords.”
“I don’t understand what you are getting at, Mr. García.”
Mr. del Valle’s voice was hard, curt, the voice of an official used to giving orders.
“Here in Mexico, they don’t teach us all those skills. Here all they teach us is how to kill. Or maybe not even that. They hire us because we already know how to kill. We aren’t experts, we’re just amateurs.”
There was silence. Mr. del Valle came back into the room. Fucking Mr. del Valle! What does he know anything about all of that? My hands smell of Marta. And I didn’t even want to make out with her. Fucking faggot! Here, the one and only homo is Filiberto García, at your service.
“Look, Mr. García,” said del Valle, “I had no desire to offend you. I admire the work you have done, but in such cases, sentimental considerations can play no part. It is not only the life of the president of the United States that is at risk, but the life of our president and world peace, as well. Based on your findings, you have reached the conclusion that the plot the Russians warned us about has some basis in fact. This is a big step, and it compels us to reach a very serious conclusion.”
“I don’t believe there is such a Chinese plot to assassinate the president of the United States.”
“But you yourself said —”
“That there’s a plot to bring Cuba into the Chinese sphere of influence.”
“The evidence you’ve supplied is flimsy, Mr. García. In this case, you must defer to my long legal and administrative experience. You must defer to the investigations carried out by people who know how to do such things, the FBI and the KGB. Everything points to an attack being planned —”
“Yes,” García interrupted. “I believe they are planning an attack, but not with the Chinese —”
“That is absurd! Don’t you think, Colonel?”
“Yes, Mr. del Valle.”
“So, given the little time we have, I don’t want it wasted investigating this nonsense. We have only one day — one day, Colonel. Put your best men on this. If necessary, search all Chinese establishments in Mexico. That’s an order, Colonel.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think Mr. García has carried out the limited mission he was assigned and can now return to his regular occupations, whatever those may be.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Keep me informed of everything. Good day.”
Mr. del Valle again opened the door, and this time he walked out. García had remained seated, staring at the wall in front of him. Now they’ve gone and cut me loose. Ugly. And I deserve all of it for being a dumbass and a bigmouth. Who told me to con
vince fucking del Valle of something he doesn’t want to be convinced of? Better to be like the colonel. Yes, sir, Mr. del Valle, sir. Would you like me to kiss your ass, Mr. del Valle, sir? And I should return to my regular occupations. To my occupation as a hit man. We don’t need hit men for this operation. When we need another stiff, we’ll have you called in. But for now, don’t bother, because we are working with a team. My hands don’t smell like Marta anymore. Now you need a whole team to whack someone. I guess you also need a team to make it with a bitch. Fucking team!
“García.”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“You heard what Mr. del Valle said.”
“I did.”
“You were playing hardball, weren’t you? What, did you want to get a rise out of him?”
“I’m going to take eight days off, Colonel.”
“You are going to take exactly zero days off.”
“I don’t have anything to do with this anymore.”
“What was that you said about another conspiracy?”
“Mr. del Valle doesn’t believe it.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I don’t know. But we’ve never investigated what Luciano Manrique was doing in my house. He had nothing to do with Villegas, who was a hired gun for the Chinese.”
“Maybe it was something personal against you.”
“That could also be.”
The colonel walked over to the window and looked out, even though there wasn’t anything to see. There must be a whole hell of a lot of people who’ve got something against me. But they’d want to pump me full of bullets. And Luciano, may he rest in peace, was up to something else, like giving me a warning. It’s like the whole world knows I’ve turned into a faggot, and they think a club is enough to scare me off. And now, all the bereaved are going to come after me. Fucking bereaved! Looks like they’ll have to wait till I die of old age to feel happy. Or as Gertruditas in Yurécuaro said: “Don’t punish him. He’s suffering enough on his own.” Fucking Gertruditas! Seems she was right. The bereaved and all their suffering, but sometimes I think I’m the most screwed. Because now that the Revolution has become the government, even people wearing huaraches are digging their high heels into me. Fucking del Valle! Marta’s probably already gone out shopping.
The colonel turned away from the window and walked back to his desk. García was still sitting in his chair, not moving, his hat on his lap. The colonel lit a cigarette. As usual, he didn’t offer one.
“What do you think Luciano Manrique was looking for?”
“Don’t know. Seems like it was some kind of warning. Like he wanted to let me know about something. But he didn’t have time to give me the message.”
“With you, they never have time for anything.”
“So it seems.”
“What message was it?”
“Could have been a warning, to let me know I was investigating something dangerous, to tell me not to get between the horse’s legs. And they sent me that message the same night I was assigned to the job.”
“I see. What else?”
“That message had nothing to do with the Chinese at Café Canton, or with the half a million dollars. It was something else.”
“What?”
“To convince us that the Chinamen really do have evil plans, when, maybe, just maybe, it’s someone else who does.”
“I see.”
The colonel was smoking in silence. Spoken out loud like that, the whole thing sounds pretty stupid, but I think that’s just the point, we’re starting to see that rat’s tail. I would have loved to go with Marta to Palacio de Hierro. Buy this, Marta. And this one, too. Don’t look at the price tag; if you like it, just buy it, don’t look at the price. That’s what we all do in life. We don’t see what things cost.
“Could be,” the colonel said, as if talking to himself, “that somebody, maybe even the Russians or some gringos, found out about the rumor and thought it would be the perfect opportunity to assassinate the president and blame the Chinese.”
“Something like that, Colonel.”
“Keep investigating.”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“And try to leave somebody alive for me to interrogate.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“One more thing, García.”
García had stood up and was starting to walk away, then stopped.
“You will report only to me. Understood?”
“Yes, Colonel.”
He left and closed the door behind him. The colonel kept flipping the gold lighter between his fingers.
The hustle and bustle of the day was starting up on Dolores Street — shops were opening, the trash of the night was being taken away. Santiago was drinking a cup of tea.
“You want, Mr. García?”
“Thank you.”
“Why you here so early in the street, Mr. García? Looking for bad guy?”
“Just passing through, Santiago.”
“In China we say bad man never sleep because good man no let him.”
“There’s something to that.”
“Have some tea, Mr. García.”
“Any news around here?”
“Some, some.”
Santiago leaned over to whisper in his ear. He smelled of garlic and opium.
“Honorable Mr. Liu very angry, very sad . . .”
“What’s wrong with him?”
“Marta. You remember Marta, Mr. García?”
“Yes.”
“She Mr. Liu wife.”
“His wife?”
“Second wife, as we say in China. And she run away. Since a few night, when you here, Mr. García.”
“You don’t say . . .”
“Maybe you find her, Mr. García? Mr. Liu very very sad. Today he no open shop and he no talk to nobody.”
“That’s what you get for having two women, and at his age.”
“Oh, this Chinese custom, very old Chinese custom, and very honorable. When wife very old, man take second wife so first wife can rest. Very honorable Chinese custom.”
Santiago suddenly smiled, showing his few yellow teeth.
“You like Marta, Mr. García? Marta very pretty, very pretty.”
“Did she have a sweetheart?”
“No, Mr. García. Honorable Mr. Liu never let her go out
nowhere.”
“But she did go out.”
“Seem so, Mr. García. She leave and no come back.”
“Have they looked for her?”
“Mr. Liu no want to speak to nobody. No want to open shop. Very sad, Mr. Liu, very sad.”
“Maybe he’s playing the part a little?”
“Maybe he love her, Mr. García. No good for man to put love into woman. Love like that for children, but no for woman, woman not loyal.”
“That’s why he’s so sad?”
“To tell you truth, we no understand either, Mr. García. Juan Po and unhappy man talk last night. We no understand. But it like that. Maybe honorable Mr. Liu, after so many year here, he take some feeling from you people.”
“Maybe.”
“Drink your tea, Mr. García, tea from China, very good.”
He took a sip. Fucking Chinamen. So you shouldn’t love your woman, only your children, and those of us who don’t have children, we’re just screwed.
“Poor Mr. Liu do everything to make happy his women, but Marta very young and he more than fifty year old. This no good, Mr. García. Young people with young people.”
“Yes.”
“But, please, Mr. García, try to find Marta. It hurt to see feeling of honorable Liu and how he lose face in front of all honorable men because he have feeling. You look for her?”
“We’ll see. Listen, Santiago, tell everybody to be very careful for a few days, to shut down the betting and the smoking . . .”
“Danger?”
“Yes. I’ll tell you when you can reopen.”
“Much danger?”
“It’ll pass,
as always. But be very careful. See you soon.”
“Goodbye, Mr. García, very honored for your visit, very honored.”
He started walking toward the cantina. First Santiago acts like Liu’s the offended one and then, just like the gringo and the Russian, he starts investigating Marta. Might be pure love, might be pure distrust. Sounded like he was telling the truth. Fucking Liu! Maybe it’s really tough on him that I took her away. He can go to hell. A girl like Marta shouldn’t be with a man who’s fifty. Maybe that’s why I’m turning into a faggot. Maybe these fucking Chinks cast a spell on me, gave me the evil eye. And now all I can do is whisper sweet nothings in her ear. What will she buy? Maybe she’s afraid to spend all those pesos. She doesn’t know I’m on the trail of more of the same. 3-5-9-9-0-8. That’s where the dough is, and I’m the only one who knows. Pretty clever.
He stopped at a tobacconist and dialed a number:
“Is this 3-5-9-9-0-8?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Wang?”
“There’s no Mr. Wang here.”
“This isn’t his house?”
“No.”
“Is this 3-5-9-9-0-8?”
“Yes.”
They hung up. Very discrete, like they didn’t want to say whose house it was. And it was a kid who answered. That’s not a private home, and that wasn’t a maid.
He dialed another number.
“Gomitos? García here.”
“What’s up, Captain?”
“I need you to find me an address.”
“Orders from?”
“The colonel. It’s the address with the phone number 3-5-9-9-0-8.”
“I’ll call you back in ten.”
“I’ll call you, Gomitos, and thanks.”
He hung up. The bucks are there, all of them in green fifty-dollar bills. And seeing as how I don’t work on a team, it’ll all be for me. Fuck the team! Now we’ll see who’s a better investigator. Fucking investigation!
The professor was already in the cantina drinking his first tequila of the day, his tequila of salvation, as he called it, to be imbibed ritualistically, as if it were a sacrament. García took him over to a booth.
“Find out anything?”
“Luciano Manrique’s exemplary life is an open book to me.”
“What kind?”
“A somewhat pornographic book, like those novels they write these days, the ones they say are new art and very highbrow. Can I order another tequila, Cap’n?”