An Eye For An Eye by L.D. Beyer Page B

see, was nervous. Good.
    “There has been discussion about using their unmanned spy planes, their Predator drones.”
    “Only their planes? They will not be putting their troops on our soil?”
    “No, señor. From what I learned, it will not be like last time.” The colonel shifted again. “But the drones are just as dangerous.”
    Guerrero sipped his coffee and studied the man for a moment. He put the cup down and brushed a piece of lint off of his sleeve before looking back up at his guest.
    “And what is it that you propose to do about this…new development…Colonel?”
    His guest shifted again. “The plan’s not final yet, but I suspect that we will approve it. I don’t know much right now, but I would think that all flights would have to be coordinated with our air force. If so, I should have access to the flight schedules. I should also have access to the mission briefs. I do not know for sure, but I am assuming that I will see them with sufficient time to give you advance notice.”
    “When do you expect a decision?”
    The colonel shrugged. “You know how slow we can be sometimes.”
    Guerrero suppressed another smile. While this was a potentially troubling piece of news, the bureaucracy of his own government, especially when working with los gringos, might work to his benefit.
    “Let’s assume the plan is approved,” Guerrero said.
    “Then we can use the email accounts and the codes we’ve always used,” the colonel responded. “Or, in an emergency, the cell phones.”
    Guerrero nodded. The colonel worked as chief of staff to General Salazar, the man in charge of Mexico’s antidrug efforts. He was one of a number of intelligence sources Guerrero used. They were expensive; his intelligence gathering network alone cost him one hundred and thirty thousand dollars a month. But a business couldn’t operate without good intelligence, he had reasoned.
    The value of the colonel’s information had always been excellent. The colonel had proven to be a shrewd operative as well, suggesting a single email account where he left coded messages in a spam folder that were picked up by one of Guerrero’s many lieutenants. Still, trust only went so far in this business.
    The colonel continued, providing other pieces of information that he thought might be of interest to the head of Las Sangre Negras. None, though, was as important as the drones. When the colonel was done, Guerrero picked up the bell next to the coffee service.
    “You will stay for lunch, Colonel?”
    The colonel nodded and Guerrero could see the pained look that the man couldn’t quite hide. A heavy lunch, followed by the hood, then a trip down the winding mountain roads and several hours in a car was not something to look forward to.
    Guerrero rang the bell.
    A moment later, a young woman, wearing the white apron and the plain blue dress of a maid appeared.
    “Cecilia, we’re ready for lunch.”
    “Sí, señor.”
    When she left, Guerrero sat back, looked out over the garden and sighed.
    “Such a beautiful day, don’t you think, Colonel?”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
    Matthew Richter caught a glimpse of himself as he shuffled past the mirror. He stopped and stared for a second. His face was pale, and his hair was matted down on one side. The other side stuck up at an odd angle. He sighed. None of his half-dozen visitors—most members of the JTTF—had said anything. Nor had Patty. He glanced at the clock on the wall. 3:30 p.m. She wouldn’t be back until the evening, after her classes ended. He’d have to wait until then, he thought, unless the nurse had a comb.
    He heard the door, but before he could turn—moving quickly made him woozy—the nurse was by his side.
    “I told you to buzz me if you wanted to get up again,” she scolded as she led him back to bed. She helped him lie down. It took several minutes to tuck him back in and to check his vital signs. She frowned.
    “Blood pressure’s a little low. Do you feel dizzy?”
    “A