his uniform stained and torn. He hadn’t paused to change or truly to right himself after making the trip here, using the SUV he had hidden near the advance camp for just that purpose. There had been no time. By now, Castillo’s spies within the ranks of Orieza’s people—and Del Valle knew the Mexican president had them, for he permitted them to remain—would know that the general’s troops had suffered a serious setback on the Guatemalan border. Orieza would have to speak with Castillo, and that meant El Presidente himself would be phoning. Orieza couldn’t be permitted to take the call alone. He would need Del Valle on hand, lest the simpering old fool lose his nerve and back out of the plan.
Del Valle would give his general the courage he needed in dealing with the Mexican. That would be simple enough. Explaining to the general what had happened in the simplest, most casual terms would require a more delicate balancing act. Orieza had to know; it couldn’t be kept from him, lest the fact of Del Valle’s power behind the old man’s throne become too apparent to those with whom the General dealt regularly. There was no benefit to pulling a puppet’s strings if your audience focused on the puppeteer.
Del Valle knew that others considered him paranoid; he had been told as much, by many fools who this day didn’t draw breath. He dismissed them. To hold power, true power, required that one not be the constant target of assassins. Doing what was necessary carried with it many dangers and made many enemies. His shock troops were now camped about the general’s residence, a standing army devoted simply to keeping the old man safe. Let Orieza be a prisoner in his own home, content to play with his women and believing he was commanding legions. Del Valle would be there to reap the true benefits, forever in control, never far from the shadows.
Roderigo had risen through the ranks of the Honduran military, always unofficial, always an “adviser” or a consultant to men of power. Attaching himself to Orieza’s coattails had been simple enough, becoming known and respected as his adviser easy. The old man was handsome and well liked, a silver fox who, in his younger days, had shown much brilliance and inspired much loyalty. But Orieza was no saint. He knew and valued the services a ruthless agent could provide, and Del Valle shrewdly and masterfully played to the old man’s ego while bolstering his failing courage. Creating the shock troops, training them and assigning them their missions had been Del Valle’s brilliant move, and it had served them both well. Orieza liked believing he was protected by a private army within the Honduran military. The shock troops, meanwhile, were fiercely loyal to the man who had elevated them to elite status, to wealth, to almost unlimited license within the world permitted to them. Special privileges, women, weapons, money…the shock troops knew that they benefited greatly from the arrangement. They also knew that these things were conferred on them not by Orieza, but by Roderigo Del Valle.
After orchestrating Orieza’s coup, his rise to true power in Honduras, and after seeing to it that the old man’s claim to governing was shored up by blood and terror through his shock troops and his command of the Honduran military at large, Del Valle wasn’t satisfied. It was he, therefore, who had seen the potential of the oil pipeline. Nationalizing the country’s remaining private concerns had simply been a matter of course, but knowing what to do with those resources…well, that had been Del Valle’s brilliance at work, as well. It was Roderigo del Valle who had concocted the daring scheme to build the pipeline to Mexico, and it was Roderigo del Valle who recognized that a man like President Castillo would be receptive to the power play that Del Valle offered. Of course, Castillo thought all this was Orieza’s doing, and that was as it should be. If it went wrong, Orieza would take the blame. If somehow Del Valle’s hold on power was broken and the regime crumbled, it would be General Orieza’s back against the wall before a revolutionary firing squad.
When you were the power behind the throne, you could hide behind it, too.
But he was drifting. Back to the problem at hand. Castillo would call, would want assurances that the plan was to continue. Del Valle, through Orieza, would provide those assurances. President Castillo would be easily enough placated; he was many miles away, and understood the military might that General Orieza could yet bring to bear. Castillo also had a weakness that Del Valle was happy to exploit: the new Mexican president was a believer. His faith in this La Raza business, this Chicano nationalism, burned deeply in him. His hatred for the United States and his desire to take what he could from the Yankees north of his border would be the carrot that continued to lead him down Del Valle’s garden path. Only Roderigo del Valle would know that it was he who held the stick….
In offering these assurances to Castillo, of course, it was critical that Del Valle shield his general from the shock of the attacks near the Guatemalan border. Above all, Orieza couldn’t be allowed to know the true extent of the damage done.
Del Valle had seen the man. He had seen the big soldier and known him instantly for what he was, this Caucasian with dark hair. There was no way to be sure, but something about him—the way he moved, the equipment he carried, just something indefinable about his bearing—had made Del Valle place him as a an American. Certainly his willingness to invade, to kill, to cut a bloody swath across a foreign nation’s sovereign borders, was typical of his kind. Del Valle had seen U.S. Special Forces soldiers in action, and this man was very likely one of them.
His head still reeled with the knowledge of what the soldier had done. It was clear that the invader couldn’t be working alone, not given the extent of the carnage. He would likely be a leader, however. He had that look. Even in his brief contact with the big foreigner, Del Valle had felt something like fear tickling his guts. He had brushed against death and escaped, this man whose clothes were stained with blood, who smelled of smoke and of gunfire. This man with the two large knives mounted on his combat harness.
It was only after escaping the ruins of the base camp that Del Valle had learned of the true fury of the invading onslaught. His raiding party, massing on the border for another strike into Guatemalan territory, had been wiped out utterly. No doubt the American soldiers, if that was what they were, had brought a sizable team into the country. They were perhaps Marines, or SEALs…. It didn’t matter. He would have to make inquiries, once he returned to his own offices, in order to perform damage control.
The lesson they hoped to impart was clear enough: leave Guatemala alone. In truth, Del Valle hadn’t credited them with the courage to make a minor show of force, much less this. They were fools if they thought a bloody nose would be enough to dissuade him. He would find their forces, if they hadn’t already fled, and he would make lessons of them. But first there was Orieza….
Del Valle finished his useless attempts to clean himself up and turned to the door. He gestured to the woman, who pressed the buzzer beneath her desk. The door opened automatically, the locks releasing. That door was bulletproof, of course, the walls of Orieza’s office reinforced against explosives. The general himself sat within, looking far older and more tired than his troops would ever be permitted to see him.
“Roderigo,” he said weakly in Spanish, looking up from his ornate chair behind his equally ornate desk. “I am glad you are here.” He looked pale and sallow, his white hair flat against his skull. The elaborately gilded white uniform he wore hung limply on his frame, as if a size too large. He was staring at the phone on his desk, with its faux-antique receiver and engraved casing. It was ringing.
“Is that…?”
“Castillo.” Orieza nodded. “He has been calling all morning. I thought it best you be here before I spoke with him.”
Thank heavens, Del Valle thought, that the old fool can be trusted to follow my instructions at least that far.
“Of course, General,” he said, bowing smartly at the waist. “Forgive me for keeping you waiting. I will be honored to assist you.”
Orieza looked relieved. Del Valle took up a position perched on Orieza’s desk, where he would be able to listen to
