THE INSURGENCE of CHAN SANTA CRUZ

BOOK EIGHT: THE SECOND of the BOOKS of CHANGE

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

Don Antonio let himself into the old house an hour after midnight, having reversed his decision to maintain a vigil. He would have fallen asleep, he told himself, and better in his own bed than in the poveda.

It was uncharacteristically silent... despite grief and misfortune having brought Elena and his two grandsons into the house. As a conspirator, Rigoberto's offices had been ransacked, the fine house in the colonia seized by Alvarado's men; its furnishings confiscated and sold, or treated spitefully by the Lieutenant who'd boarded a dozen Federals there. Don Antonio himself had been turned away but Doña Julia had risen from her sickbed and, upon her insistences, a few of the most important effects of her son had been packed up in boxes and delivered. These were piled in the hacendado's library... he thought, again now, of his surviving son's last telegram... its instructions regarding valuable papers in Rigoberto's possession and the utter absence of fraternal sentiment. The book that José had sent to his brother was also there, one Rigoberto had shown him just before Alvarado's officers appeared, bearing their warrants... an advance English copy of "The Valley of Fear" by Conan Doyle, bearing a salutation in the author's own hand and, beneath, José's inscription: "To Bert and Elena... There IS no time!"

What had happened to José Macias? (To "Jorge Bustamente", who had killed Bravo's Jackal and taken his name and reputation, to "Dr. Navarette" of Niagara Falls and to a dozen other spurious persons... and at least one ornithropod!... of murderous aspect?)

The Colonel was far, far to the north... almost back to the American border with Canada... in a hotel in the great city of Peter Minuit, of Colonel Roosevelt and John D. Rockefeller, of the Morgan Trust.

Sowers of magic beans, one and all!

On the twelfth of April, 1915... that day on which Victoriano Huerta and some thirty members of his family (accompanied by his personal secretary, José Delgado, an American businessman, Abraham Ratner and the ranchero, Enrique Creel) were to arrive in New York... José accepted a Havana (it was an actual cigar, not a cunningly disguised bomb) from one Gaffigan, an investor of New York who did errands for, and carried messages between, the great houses of finance (the Morgans, and Rothschilds included), President Wilson's fiscal adviser, Colonel House, and persons of importance in London and Berlin... although never at the same time.

"Men of importance and authority are asking," Gaffigan said, pointing his own cigar at the Colonel like a pistol, "what is to be done with Mexico? None of its fellows seem to have the qualities essential to leadership... Huerta, like Diaz, is a bloody old Indian, but at least he knows how to keep order. The rest?"

"Carranza is vilified, although perhaps respected, for his corruption," agreed José, who... since his inexplicable, temporary transformation on the Honeymoon Bridge... had traveled under the papers of "Juan Aguila", a chemical engineer. (We can but surmise as to the nature of the chemicals that his documents enabled him to obtain!) "Villa is vengeful, illiterate... barely risen from a bandit's situation... although he seems the favorite of President Wilson who, perhaps, considers him an heir of Madero. Obregon is a Socialist, or worse, and there is no necessity to treat Zapata as anything more than what he is... a local bandit."

"Our people do appreciate what you did up north," Gaffigan allowed. "Huerta may have cause to think your mission a failure, but our intelligence credits your little golden scheme with advancing the cause of one Federal Reserve Bank which shall, perforce, become ours in the fullness of time."

The investor now riffled through some telegraph notices that cluttered the desk of his suite... for Gaffigan, like "Aguila", was a man of many names and no permanent home. "Our fellow from Berlin will be arriving on April the fifteenth, three days hence. He will be residing at the Great Northern Hotel, on 57th Street, but will take meetings at the German Club here. Only in the event of most serious, unexpected crises should he be contacted at his residence."

"I understand," replied the Colonel.

"For our purposes, Eddie has established the Mexico North-Western Railway Company as his conduit for funds in and out of the Republic. In the course of business, you are likely to encounter the Military Attaché, one Captain von Papen, and this business about the seaports... which has been put on hold for the time being... will be treated by the Naval Attaché, Captain Karl Boy-Ed." Gaffigan sighed. "The Germans are no better than Mexico, London or Washington in favouring influence over achievement, and I am afraid that these fellows are a couple of all-round dilettantes. Their superiors... our agents in the Reichsbank and among the Hapsburgs... will understand if you prefer dealing with Eddie, but please try to convince these puppets that their authority is being respected, else the wrong persons learn of our intent through petulance."

"I shall defer to the excellent judgement of this... Eddie," replied "Juan Aguila", though with some evident distaste.

The investor cleared his throat. "Have no apprehensions... Eddie is, in no respect, like those dim attachés. Why you should like the fellow, he's already wrangled membership in the Yacht Club!"

The Eagle... who might have been a buzzard, who had once been a Jackal and, as it seemed to have been, in a century past, a man... put his hands together in a fit of sarcastic applause and removed what seemed to be an oversized white handkerchief. Though weathered, it still shimmered like the wings of a dragonfly.

"What is that?" frowned Gaffigan.

"A surprise... for President Huerta. Has he not, in one of those cables, there..." Juan Aguila pointed, "stated that he has a surprise for us, which he calls his Plan de San Diego?"

"There is no revolutionary fellow, nor even bandit, who goes round these days without a Plan of some sort, the better to assume a sense of legitimacy. Please remember, sir, that... while we desire the restoration of Victoriano Huerta and the return, of Mexico, to the Progressive cause... our ultimate endeavor is larger than the fortunes of one man, one faction or even one nation, even a nation of size and promise as Mexico. If Huerta cannot get the job done, one of these others must... and we must advance the programme, no matter which of the devils it takes to do our bidding."

"I have given up a brother for the cause," said he who could be only José Macias at this juncture... nothing more and no less. "Not to mention the dream of Yucatecan independence. There is no purpose in establishing enclaves of liberty and order when the world, at large, remains a hungry mouth... a doomed and corrupt machine of treachery and chaos!"

"You sound as one quite influenced by those Darbyites up in the way of the Falls."

"They have their Plan, also, six thousand years in the realization. And their Book... which may not be canonical but is, at least, a mirror image of that which is."

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