Treaty Violation by Anthony C. Patton

“someone we can each profit from destroying.”
    “I doubt he and I have anything in common,” Dupree said, looking down his nose at his couch companion.
    Manuel shook his head in disgust. “Cowboy.”
    Unfazed, Hernandez gestured to the wet bar. “Let me offer you a drink.” He’d expected animosity, but the plan would unify them. He filled the tumblers with ice and scotch. Dupree and Manuel joined his silent toast.
    Manuel set his drink down. “What’s this all about?”
    “Cesar Gomez,” Hernandez said, enunciating both names.
    Dupree nodded knowingly and lifted his drink.
    Manuel didn’t look convinced.
    “I don’t have to tell you what he’s done to my life,” Hernandez continued. Two people he’d loved dearly, Helena and Tyler—dead. “I know you want him behind bars,” he said to Dupree.
    “I want him in an electric chair,” Dupree clarified.
    “I also know your views on Panama,” Hernandez said. “We’re pragmatic men. We believe in order and stability. We know that—”
    “What the hell is this about?” Manuel interrupted.
    “You, however,” Hernandez said to Manuel confidently, unfazed, “probably don’t consider Cesar an enemy. In fact, I know you work for him.”
    Manuel scoffed. “I’m a business consultant,” he said, then looked at Dupree and shook his head in disgust. “I don’t deal drugs.”
    “You work for a cocaine trafficker,” Dupree said
    “Gentlemen,” Hernandez said, “allow me to patch up your differences. Colonel Dupree, can you confirm that the operation to arrest Cesar Gomez was put on hold?”
    Dupree groaned. “They called it off after Tyler Broadman was murdered. No offense,” he said apologetically, with a deferential gesture to Hernandez, “but his murder should make us turn up the heat, not cancel the damn operation.”
    Manual leaned forward. “What operation?”
    “I agree,” Hernandez said, putting Manuel on hold. “I propose we continue the operation.” He gestured to them with a circular motion, then leaned forward and looked them in the eyes. “Are you with me?”
    There, he’d said it—no turning back. Tyler had asked him a similar question almost one year before when he asked him to spy for the CIA . With hindsight, his acceptance had been hasty. He would have said yes eventually, but Tyler had made him feel it was now or never. This time, however, he was the spy, and this was his operation.
    “The operation might have been put on hold,” Dupree said, “but I’ve dedicated every asset I have to interdict Cesar’s cocaine shipments.”
    Hernandez grinned. “With the right information, Colonel, you won’t have to search for them.” He looked at Manuel. “We’ll know where they are. Isn’t that right?”
    Manual lifted his hands defensively. “Wait a minute. Cesar doesn’t tell me that kind of information. You’re out of your mind.”
    “But you could get that kind of information,” Dupree said, warming to the idea. He gulped his drink and grinned like a cat with a mouse under its paw.
    “I’m sure he could,” Hernandez said confidently. Dupree certainly had intelligence sources but probably no one like Manuel.
    “No way,” Manuel said. “If he suspects anything, he’ll kill me. He doesn’t fuck around.” He leaned back and folded his arms. “Why should I risk my life for you two?”
    Hernandez chuckled to himself. He’d anticipated Manuel’s response! Panama wasn’t a player on the world stage, and his position as Minister of Foreign Affairs up to this point had been a pathetic string of compromises. For once, though, he was going to dictate the rules. A surge of energy rushed through him as he prepared to make a man bend against his will. The sensation of power was euphoric!
    “Manuel,” Hernandez said, “your rice business relies on tariffs to prevent competition from imports.”
    Manuel shook his head in disbelief.
    “I wonder what would happen if those tariffs were reduced,” Hernandez added and