Let Me Tell You About Striking Oil in South America (2)
A secluded villa on Santa Elena Beach, Belize. In a spacious room, a middle-aged white man swirled a glass of wine.
Josh Harrington. Head of Overseas Business at Cevron, and the principal architect of the bloodbath in San Marcos.
"Hah... the air really is different here."
Josh drew a deep breath, gazing out at the Caribbean night glittering beyond the window. Only hours ago he had been running for his life, one step ahead of the FBI. Now he was savoring every second of his newfound leisure.
Those idiot FBI bastards.
He was an elite among elites — top of his class at Yale, Harvard MBA. He had cut his teeth at energy companies from a young age, jumped to Cevron, and clawed his way up by securing oil development rights across Africa and the Middle East by any means necessary. Bribes were standard operating procedure. When the situation called for it, he had not hesitated to bankroll rebel groups and topple governments.
The San Marcos affair had been nothing special to a man like that.
A few beggars died. So what?
To a plutocrat as thoroughgoing as Josh, the people of a developing nation were nothing more than tools — expendable parts for extracting resources. He had simply been unlucky this time.
"Tch. If only that damn yellow monkey had died, I wouldn't have had to run like this..."
He drained the wine in a single swallow. Watching the title of Cevron division chief — a position he had spent a lifetime building — vanish into thin air stung, but it was fine. He had taken precautions. A full hundred million dollars, laundered and converted into crypto. The empire he had built was gone, but with that kind of money he could live like a king in Brazil.
It might even have been a blessing. He was finally free of the old wife who had spent every day scraping at his nerves. Children might have complicated things, but whether by fortune or misfortune he was sterile, and there were none.
Perfect conditions for a fresh start.
Once he got to Brazil he would buy a mansion with a view of the beach, fill it with young, beautiful women, and throw a party every night. Complicated oil development could go to hell.
"Time I started living a little."
Josh smiled with deep satisfaction and stretched out on the bed. The plush mattress folded around him. He was just about to close his eyes and sink into that comfort when—
CRASH—!
A sharp explosion of glass, and the balcony window shattered into a thousand pieces.
"Wh-what the hell!"
Josh bolted upright, heart slamming against his ribs. Something the size of a water canister came flying out of the darkness beyond the window.
Hissssss—!
White smoke erupted from it in a furious cloud.
"Cough! Cough!"
He barely had time to panic before a dull, heavy noise rolled up from downstairs.
Dudududun—! Bang! Bang!
Gunfire. Instinctive terror crawled up his spine.
I-I have to run!
Josh staggered toward the veranda, dragging his body with him. Jumping from here might break his legs, but that was a hundred times better than being caught.
Except—
"Huh...?"
His feet would not leave the floor. His legs had gone as heavy as lead, as if someone had glued them to the ground. His vision blurred. The ceiling began to spin.
"Son of a... bitch..."
Fwoooosh—!
"Guh— gahhk!"
Ice-cold water slammed into his face. Josh sucked in a ragged breath and forced his eyes open, coughing hard.
When his vision cleared, the first things he saw were not the bedroom of a luxury villa or a plush mattress, but gray concrete walls and a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. He was bound fast to a steel chair with rope, in a sealed room that reeked of damp and mold.
"Awake, are we?"
A sharp voice cut through the dark. Josh turned his head. A man in a black suit sat in a chair, looking down at him.
"Who— who the hell are you people!"
"Pleasure. I'm Lucio, Director of the San Marcos Intelligence Agency."
"...What?"
San Marcos? The color drained from Josh's face. He had been in Belize. He was certain of it. And now he opened his eyes in San Marcos.
"Why... why me..."
"Don't play dumb. You know exactly why."
Lucio snorted a quiet laugh and rose from his seat.
"Did you really think you could orchestrate a terrorist attack, murder a nation's president and every member of his cabinet, and walk away clean?"
With every step Lucio took toward him, Josh's heart shrank in his chest.
"I-it wasn't me! I don't know anything about it! It was Yon, the CEO — he ordered it! Yes! I was just following orders from above, I had no choice!"
Josh shouted as if he were the one being wronged.
"I'm just a salaried executive! What power do I have? The real bastards are at headquarters—"
"You can stop trying so hard."
Lucio cut him off, his voice gone cold.
"We already know you drew up the plan, got the CEO's approval, and disbursed the funds yourself."
"H-how did you—"
That was when it came.
"AAAAAAGH—!"
A scream torn raw enough to split the air, from the room next door.
"Hiek!"
Josh's shoulders bunched up around his ears.
"A familiar voice, isn't it? The CEO who signed off on everything is sitting in the next room."
Watching Josh tremble, Lucio's expression took on a curious cast.
"Truth be told, I personally think that terrorist attack of yours was a job well done."
"...?"
"Think about it. Thanks to you, that incompetent former president is dead, and His Excellency took power. San Marcos is developing by the day because of it. By any reasonable measure, you're practically a founding contributor to the nation."
Lucio meant every word. If these pieces of garbage had never existed, Eugene would still be nothing more than a cabinet minister.
"If it were up to me, I'd give you a medal."
"Th-then..."
A flicker of hope lit in Josh's eyes. Lucio's face went ice-cold in an instant.
"But what can I do? His Excellency wants justice."
"...!"
"A hunting dog like me can hardly go against his master's wishes, can he?"
Lucio flicked his fingers, and agents waiting in the shadows stepped forward carrying an assortment of tools. Clubs. Pliers. A stun gun.
"I have to present them to His Excellency first thing tomorrow morning. Make them as docile as possible."
Lucio delivered the order without a trace of interest.
"Yes, sir!"
"W-wait! Wait a second!"
Josh screamed himself hoarse, but Lucio walked out with the same indifferent stride.
Creeeak— slam.
"I'm sorry? You captured the ringleaders of the terrorist attack...?"
I set down the coffee I had been drinking, still scalding. As of two days ago the FBI had been going on about how they had lost them, how they couldn't make an arrest. Then Lucio showed up first thing this morning and announced that the terrorists were in custody.
"How did this happen?"
Lucio answered with a face that gave nothing away.
"We got lucky, Your Excellency. We received intelligence that they were hiding in a villa in Belize, dispatched SIA operatives, and secured them."
"Belize?"
I was bewildered, but thinking about it, it made a certain sense. Belize was not exactly next door, but it was an hour by plane.
The real question remained. How had the SIA known where they were when even the FBI didn't?
"Who told you they were there?"
"We approached them through the Douglas & Hoffman attorney we previously detained, offering to provide an escape route for the terrorists. Once the FBI's net started closing in, they swallowed the bait whole."
"Wait."
So the SIA had smuggled them out?
Or had they? Would they have gotten away even if we'd left them alone?
Hmm...
I wasn't sure.
It was the right call, though.
However it had happened, the terrorists were caught. That much was fact.
"You've been working hard, Lucio."
"It was planned jointly with Chief of Staff Isabella."
"Ah. I see. You did well too, Chief Isabella."
I offered a few words of encouragement to the two of them, who were looking at me like puppies waiting to be praised, then asked,
"So where are the terrorists now?"
"We've had them waiting outside. Would you like to see them?"
"Sure."
Lucio gave some instruction to an agent beyond the door, and men in handcuffs filed in one after another. I recognized one of them. Josh Harrington, was it? Harrington? Head of Overseas Business at Cevron — I had clashed with him more than a few times back when I was Minister of Resource Tourism.
"This is His Excellency, the leader of San Marcos. All of you will offer your apologies."
At the sound of Lucio's voice, the men began to tremble and mutter.
"I'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msorryI'msor—"
"I'vecommittedacapitalcrimeI'vecommittedacapitalcrimeI'vecommittedacapitalcrimeI'vecommittedacapital—"
"I'llneverdoitagainI'llneverdoitagainI'llneverdoitaga—"
The moment they laid eyes on me they slammed their heads into the floor and started groveling for all they were worth.
"Look, Your Excellency. Don't they seem genuinely repentant?"
"......"
I had called them in thinking I might throw a punch or two, but... there was nowhere left to hit.
Lucio spoke up, his eyes bright with anticipation.
"In my opinion, we should hang explosives on them in the public square and blow them up. We happen to have a fair amount of surplus ordnance, so it would be a good way to clear inventory."
"...Even criminals are human beings with human rights. We have to follow due process."
My firm reply seemed to grant them some kind of revelation. Lucio and Isabella nodded, looking faintly put out.
"Chief of Staff. Has the detention facility we're taking on contract from the United States been completed?"
"Yes. We've prepared a special detention wing."
"And security?"
"I can guarantee it's a place no one could escape even in death."
"Good. Lock these men in there for now, and notify the United States."
"Your Excellency, this is an excellent opportunity to put the United States in our debt. If we don't inform them, they will consider themselves to have failed to keep their promise, and we stand to extract considerable concessions."
"No. We can't do that."
I shook my head.
"The Cevron affair is an awkward stain from America's point of view as well. If we try to hold it over them and squeeze, it could easily backfire. And more than anything..."
"......"
"Do you think President Drump would even register it as a debt?"
"Ah... I see."
Isabella understood at once and nodded quickly.
"Understood. I will proceed with consultations with Director Ellen immediately."
"I'll leave it to you."
The talks concluded as smoothly as I had expected. No — far better than expected.
Director Ellen thanked me several times over, and then tacked on a discreet request of his own.
"If you could just... lock them away forever, as if they had vanished from the face of the earth, we would be grateful. So that their very existence is forgotten."
Apparently the American government had no desire to see these men walk back out into the world and start talking. Thanks to that, I obtained the legal authority to imprison them permanently.
That settles Ian's score.
The terrorists would now spend the rest of their lives paying for their crimes in the deep, dark coal mines of San Marcos, never again to see the sun.
See? Act with a clear conscience and everything works out. My creed had always been that lying and cutting corners only destroys trust.
And perhaps it was because of that mindset that God dropped a surprise gift in my lap.
"Your Excellency... after interrogating the terrorists, we have learned something new."
"What is it?"
"The Northern Oil Fields are more than three times larger than originally reported."
"...I'm sorry?"