Assumed Identity (1993) (8 page)

'You promise that you can explain? Then do so. By all means, explain. It will be amusing to hear' - the twin suddenly pressed the muzzle of his Browning 9-millimeter pistol against Buchanan's forehead - 'how you intend to settle what you call this misunder-standing.'

That almost made the difference. Buchanan's pulse quickened. His muscles compacted. Inhaling, he prepared to-

But the twin hasn't cocked the pistol, Buchanan noticed, and the Browning doesn't have a sound-suppressor. If he intends to kill me, isn't it more likely that he'd want to avoid causing a commotion? He'd use the bodyguard's Beretta, which does have a sound-suppressor, so he wouldn't attract a crowd from the bar.

It's still possible that this is an act.

Sweating, mustering resolve, Buchanan watched the second twin approach.

The man stopped beside his brother and peered down. Even in the gloom, his eyes were vividly hawklike. 'Listen carefully,' he told Buchanan. 'We are going to talk about names. But not the name that the drunken American called you in the restaurant. Not Jim Crawford, or at least not only Jim Crawford. And not just Ed Potter. Other names. Many other names. In fact, so many that I find it impossible to remember them all.' He pulled a folded piece of paper from his suit coat. 'You gave us a list of names of our associates whom you claim betrayed us. Well, I have a different list, one with other names.' He unfolded the paper and aimed a penlight at it so he could read. 'John Block. Richard Davis. Paul Higgins. Andrew Macintosh. Henry Davenport. Walter Newton. Michael Galer. William Hanover. Stuart Malik.'

Oh, shit, Buchanan thought.

The second twin stopped reading, scowled at the sheet of paper, shook his head, and sighed. 'There are several other names. But those will do for purposes of illustration.' He refolded the piece of paper, returned it to his suit-coat pocket, and at once thrust the penlight close to Buchanan's face, aiming it into Buchanan's right eye.

Buchanan jerked his face away to avoid the light.

But the bodyguard had shifted behind Buchanan and abruptly slammed his hands against the sides of Buchanan's head, making Buchanan's ears ring. The sudden, stunning pressure of the hands was like a vice. Buchanan tried, but he couldn't turn his face away. He couldn't avoid the blinding glare of the slender beam of light aimed into his eye. He reached up to grab the bodyguard's smallest fingers and snap them in order to make the bodyguard release his grip.

But Buchanan froze in mid-gesture as the first twin cocked the Browning, the muzzle of which was now pressed against Buchanan's left temple. Christ, Buchanan thought, he just might do it.

'Bueno. Muy bueno,' the first twin said. 'Don't make trouble.'

The penlight kept glaring at Buchanan's eye. He blinked repeatedly, then scrunched his eyelid shut, but could still see the light through the eyelid's thin skin. He scrunched the eyelid shut tighter. A rough hand grabbed the side of his face, clawing at the eyelid, forcing it up. The light again glared. Buchanan's eyeball suddenly felt hot, dry, and swollen. The light felt like a bright, hot needle that threatened to lance his eyeball as if it were a festering boil. Buchanan needed all his self-control not to struggle, not to attempt to break away from the hands that bound him - because he knew without doubt that if he struggled again, the first twin would blow his brains out.

'Bueno,' the first twin repeated. 'Muy bueno. Excelente. Now, if you wish to live, you will tell us what all of those names that my brother read to you have in common. Think well before you answer.' He nudged the muzzle of the Browning harder against Buchanan's temple. 'I cannot respect, do business with, or tolerate a liar. The names. What is their secret?'

Buchanan swallowed. His voice was hoarse. 'They're all me.'

Chapter 11.

Except for the splash of the waves and the pounding of Buchanan's heart, the night became silent. Then, in the distance, laughter echoing from the hotel's outside bar broke the quiet. The twins and the bodyguard seemed frozen. At once they moved, the first twin lowering his pistol, the second twin releasing his grip on Buchanan's right eyelid, then shutting off the penlight, the bodyguard removing his vice-like hands from the sides of Buchanan's head.

The first twin studied Buchanan. 'I did not expect the truth.' He sat on a chair near Buchanan, placing his Browning on the table so its muzzle was pointed at Buchanan, leaving his hand on the weapon. 'I asked you earlier. I'll ask you again. Who are you?'

'Ed Potter.' Buchanan closed his right eyelid, massaging it, still seeing the painful glare from the penlight.

'And not John Block? Or Richard Davis? Or Paul Higgins?' the first twin asked.

'Or Jim Crawford?' the second twin insisted.

'I never heard of Jim Crawford,' Buchanan said. 'I don't know what the hell that drunk in the restaurant was talking about. But as far as John Block, Richard Davis, and Paul Higgins are concerned, they're. How did you find out about my aliases?'

'You do not have the right to ask questions.' The first twin tapped the barrel of his pistol on the table. 'Why did you assume those names?'

'I'm not a fool,' Buchanan said. His right eye watered. He kept it closed and squinted at his captors with his remaining functional eye.

'You expect me to come to Mexico, start smuggling drugs north and weapons south, and use my real name? I'd use a false name if I were dealing drugs in the United States. Here in Mexico, where a yanqui is conspicuous, I had all the more reason to use a false name.'

The second twin turned his penlight on and off as if in warning. 'A false name is understandable.'

'But so many false names?' The first twin persisted in tapping the side of his pistol on the table.

'Look, I told you I was doing business in more places than Cancun,' Buchanan said. 'I have bases in Merida, Acapulco, Puerto Vallarta, several resorts I haven't mentioned.'

'But you will,' the second twin said. 'You will.' His voice thickened with emotion. 'The names. I want to hear about these names.'

Buchanan slowly opened his right eye. The glare from the penlight was still seared upon his vision. If his gambit didn't work, they would try to kill him. There'd be a fight (if he was lucky and had the opportunity to try to defend himself), but he didn't have much chance of surviving a struggle against three men while his vision was impaired.

'Answer!' the second twin barked.

'I take it as a given that when an American does illegal business in a foreign country, natives of that country have to be recruited,' Buchanan said. 'Those natives can go places and do things that the American wouldn't dare to without the risk of being conspicuous. The local authorities have to be bribed. The drugs need to be picked up from the suppliers. The weapons need to be delivered to those suppliers. There's no way I'm going to try to bribe the Mexican police. Even as bribable as they are, they might decide to make an example of a gringo and stick me in jail for a hundred years. I'd just as soon someone else took the risk of picking up the drugs and delivering the weapons, especially when it comes to dealing with those crazy bastards in the Medell!n cartel. Let's face it - Mexico's so poor there are plenty of young men who are glad to risk their lives if I pay them what they think is a fortune but what to me is nothing. Of course, I need recruits in every resort where I do business, and while I'm in those resorts, I need a cover story to account for my presence. A tourist attracts attention if he comes back every three weeks. But a businessman doesn't, and one of the most commonplace American businessmen at Mexican resorts is a timeshare condominium salesman. American tourists don't trust Mexican salesmen to lease them real estate. But they'll trust an American. Under assumed names in all the resorts where I have a base, I've convinced the authorities that I'm legitimate. Naturally I use a different name in each resort, and I have false documents in that name. But here's the trick. If my Mexican recruits in each resort get picked up by the police or questioned by suppliers who have turned against me, my recruits don't know the assumed name I'm using. They don't know where I live or where I do business. Except on terms of my own choosing, they have no way to get in touch with me or to lead the police or a drug supplier to me. The name by which each recruit knows me is also assumed, but of course I don't need identification papers for those other names.'

The first twin leaned forward, his hand on his pistol. 'Keep talking.'

'Each of the characters I pretend to be has a particular style of clothes, a preference for different foods, an individual way about him. One might slouch. Another might stand rigidly straight as if he used to be in the military. Another might have a slight stutter. Still another might comb his hair straight back. Or have spectacles. Or wear a baseball cap. There's always something about the character that's memorable. That way, if the police start asking questions about a man with a certain name and certain mannerisms, it'll be difficult to find that man because the mannerisms are as false as the name. I mentioned after that drunken American confused me with someone else back at the restaurant - his mistake is a variation of an old saying that all foreigners look the same to Americans. Well, that saying can be turned around. Most Americans resemble each other as far as Mexicans are concerned. We weigh too much. We're clumsy. We've got too much money, and we're not very generous with it. We're loud. We're rude. So any American who has easy-to-describe, individual characteristics will be remembered by my recruits, and if they're forced to give that description - "he has spectacles and always wears a baseball cap" -to an enemy, all I have to do is assume a different set of characteristics, blend with other Americans, and become invisible.'

Buchanan watched the twins, wondering, Are they buying it?

The first twin frowned. 'Since you use so many false names, how do we know that Ed Potter is your true identity?'

'What motive would I have for lying? I had to tell you my real name or else you wouldn't be able to investigate my background and satisfy yourselves that I'm not a threat to you.'

Buchanan waited, hoping that he'd overcome their misgivings. He'd followed a rule of deep-cover operations. If someone challenges you to the point that you're about to be exposed, the best defense was the truth, or rather a version of the truth, a special slant on it that doesn't compromise the mission and yet sounds so authentic that it defeats skepticism. In this case, Buchanan had established a cover, as he'd explained to the twins, but then he had yet another cover, that of Ed Potter. The latter cover was intended to manipulate the twins into accepting him as a partner. But the false names he used as a time-share condominium salesman in various resorts, and the further false names that he used with his recruits, had not been intended as a way to impress the twins and demonstrate that he would be an asset to them.

Rather those false identities had been a way for Buchanan to protect himself against the Mexican government and, equally important, to prevent the Mexican authorities from tracing his illegal activities to a covert branch of the United States military. The last thing Buchanan's controllers wanted was an international incident. Indeed, even if Buchanan were arrested while he was posing as Edward Potter, his activities could still not be traced to his controllers. Because he had yet another cover. He would deny to the authorities that he had ever belonged to the DEA, and in the meantime, his controllers would remove or erase all the supporting details for that assumed identity. Buchanan would claim that he had invented the DEA story in order to infiltrate the drug-distribution system. He would insist, and there would be supporting details for this cover as well, that he was a freelance journalist who wanted to write an expose about the Mexican drug connection. If the Mexican authorities tried to investigate beyond that cover, they would find nothing that linked Buchanan to U.S. special operations.

'Perhaps,' the first twin said. 'Perhaps we can work together.'

'Perhaps?' Buchanan asked. 'Madre de Dios, what do I have to do to convince you?'

'First we will investigate your background.'

'By all means,' Buchanan said.

'Then we will determine if some of our associates have betrayed us as you claim.'

'No problem.' Buchanan's chest flooded with triumph. I've turned it around, he thought. Five minutes ago, they were ready to kill me, and I was trying to decide if I'd have to kill them. But I did the right thing. I kept my cool. I talked my way out of it. The mission hasn't been jeopardized.

'You will stay with us while we verify your credentials,' the second twin said.

'Stay with you?'

'Do you have a problem with that?' the first twin asked.

'Not really,' Buchanan said. 'Except that making me a prisoner is a poor way to begin a partnership.'

'Did I say anything about making you a prisoner?' The second twin smiled. 'You will be our guest. Every comfort will be given to you.'

Buchanan forced himself to return the smile. 'Sounds fine with me. I could use a taste of the life style I want to become accustomed to.'

'But there is one other matter,' the first twin said.

'Oh? What's that?' Buchanan inwardly tensed.

The second twin turned on his penlight and flicked its glare past Buchanan's right eye. 'The drunken American in the restaurant. You will need to prove to our satisfaction that you were not in Kuwait and Iraq at the time he claims he spent with you there.'

'For Christ sake, are you still fixated on that drunk? I don't understand how I'm supposed to-'