Page 91 of The Crush
“I need to go.”
“Danny, where are—”
“I’ll explain later. I—” Brenner is only feet in front of me now, hand already outstretched to shake mine. “I’m sorry.”
I pull the handset away from my ear, too late to get it safely back in the cradle before he says, “Agent Ríos, we’re ready for you.”
Seventy-Two
Daniel
They do seem ready for me. Reports neatly printed. Boxes painstakingly compiled. Maps and charts illustrated with key locations and players to get me up to speed on the next phase of America’s War on Drugs. Except this time, I already know there are likely to be no victors.
“I have to say, son,” Brenner starts, pouring out a half-full glass of whiskey regardless of the hour. “I was beginning to think maybe you had already gotten too settled at home, but…” He pats me on the shoulder before taking a seat across from me at the conference table, giving me a long look. “Clearlytime away doesn’t agree with you. You look like shit.”
“Bit of a rough night.”
“You don’t have to explain a thing to me.” He laughs, not seeming to care that I’m not laughing with him as he pushes the drink in front of me. “We all have our vices.”
“About my suspension—”
He waves it off. “Forget it. A misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding?” I repeat, feeling like I must have heard him wrong. “I was suspended indefinitely and put on a plane out of Colombia the same night.”
“Should never have happened,” Brenner says, looking down and shaking his head in an impression of contrition. “Wouldn’t have, if I’d been informed.”
“Didn’t you sign the order?”
He stands again, crossing to an evidence board at the end of the room. “Ríos, I don’t think I have to tell you that the situation in Colombia is not what we’d like it to be. The Cali cartel has been quick to move into any vacancy left by Escobar, but they’re playing the game differently, and we find ourselves increasingly unable to trust ouralliesin the Colombian government. We need to turn things around. Fast. No one is eager to have to wait on this the way we did with Medellín.”
I nod slowly, already knowing this brief both from my time in the DEA and from my time searching for what I could in the papers. Including a story from a month ago about how anotherformerDEA special agent had referred to Colombia as a “narco-democracy.” Understandably, the comment had not done much to mend an already fractured relationship.
“What we need,” Brenner continues, “is a team down there that understands our goals. That protects our interests.”
“Our interests? And what exactly are those?”
Brenner frowns, his brow furrowing, although I can’t tell if it’s because he genuinely thinks it’s a ridiculous question or because I interrupted his speech. “Ending the drug trade is the goal, Ríos.Winningthe War on Drugs.”
“Of course,” I say, watching him smile at my agreement. “And what about the people of Colombia? Do we care about them?”
“Always been such a bleeding heart.” Brenner’s mouth twists into an expression caught between amusement and disgust. “Ríos,the simple truth is that we cannot keep allowing this poison across our borders,” he continues, back to his campaign rally. “Theimpactit has onourcommunities… But of course, you know that better than anyone.”
I go still, my gaze quickly switching from where I had allowed it to wander over the documents pinned to the board back to Brenner, who gives me a pitying shake of his head.
“Your mother, wasn’t it?” he asks. “A car accident? Kid in the other car was high? So tragic.” He looks back at the board. “Anyway…let’s start. Lots to cover.”
Seventy-Three
Daniel
I lose track of time. The day slipping by in a steady march of meetings and briefings. So much information that I think I could drown in it, and part of me wishes I would.
To his credit, Brenner is smart enough to pass me off early, claiming he has to make a quick call before he’s already out the conference room door and leaving me to his perfectly coordinated onslaught. Before he’s out of sight, I think I see Salma again through the glass, her head turning occasionally in the direction of the conference room with a frown as she and the senior agent exchange words.
After that, I don’t see Brenner again until the sun is already setting. The pink and orange splashed across the sky reinforcing my wristwatch’s unheeded warning over the number of hours I’ve remained trapped in a gray and brown conference room.
I stop pacing when Brenner walks in, halting the track I’ve walked so many times that the shine has worn off the floor. Doesn’t matter. It’ll be back again tomorrow after the cleaning crew has swept through and turned this place back into a pristine monument to justice.
