going home.”
“To Bolivia? Are you kidding? I like it better here. So many opportunities.”
“Opportunities? What are you talking about?”
“So it’s a disaster. Doesn’t mean we can’t make money, collect power. It’s a salvage operation.”
“Sounds dangerous.” Jim eyed the man’s burns. “Playing with lighter fluid, was it?”
Jim sank into the chair behind his giant mahogany desk. He glanced at his brother to see Parley rolling a gold-tipped Montblanc pen between his thumb and forefinger, a thoughtful look on his face.
“Okay, you two,” he said at last. “What are you playing at?”
“Lazario says the gig is up,” Parley said. “After what he tells me about events close to the ground, I’m inclined to agree.”
“You mean total collapse?” Jim shook his head. “No. We’re winning the war. Soon as those bastards reopen Suez and Hormuz.”
“And why should they?” Alacrán said. “Until the Yankees resume food aid.”
“We can’t, or we’ll starve. Our friends up north, too. And if we don’t keep Canada fed, there goes the rest of our oil.”
“So you’ve decided the Arabs can starve. Do you blame them for shutting off the spigot?”
“Fine, it’s a war. People will die, sacrifices will be made.”
“Don’t forget the rebellions at home,” Parley put in.
“They’ll end as soon as the weather turns.”
“The soonest that happens is spring,” Alacrán said. “And that’s assuming the damn volcano shuts its pie hole. What if it doesn’t? Or what if it doesn’t matter, because the damage is already done? Look what has happened in one summer. You think we can survive a second year of global crop failure?” He shook his head. “Think how fast things have changed. Used to be, half the food in this country was never eaten, we had so much of it.”
“He’s right,” Parley said. “Six months ago we were turning corn into gasoline additives. Now we’ve got half the Southwest in refugee camps. The other half is descending on the Midwest like a plague of locusts, looking for food and jobs.”
“And that’s the States,” Alacrán added. “You want to know what I’ve seen in Mexico?”
“Not really,” Jim said.
His chair creaked as he leaned back. He’d considered all of this before. Thought about it every time he saw the protests, every time he saw hostile faces watching his motorcade in the street, wondering if those men carried guns tucked into their belts. And feeling like he was standing in front of a huge, crumbling earthen dam, as raging floodwaters turned it to mud.
“You said you’d seen things,” he said to Alacrán. “What kind of things?”
“Have you been to the Green River camps lately?”
“Yeah, just a few weeks ago,” he said.
“Wasn’t that the end of August?” Parley asked.
“I guess.”
“Three thousand refugees in August,” Alacrán said. “Tops. You’ve got fifty thousand now.”
Jim felt irritated. “I know that. The state still polices the town, you know.”
A smile came across the Bolivian’s face. “And doesn’t set foot in the camps, unless invited there by the army. General Lacroix is building a major military base in Green River. Military police patrol the camp, but they only care about political dissent. Drugs, prostitution, even rape and murder are around every corner.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“That’s Utah. Nevada is a hellhole. I was in Vegas two weeks ago. Half the city is pouring out as fast as they can as thugs and gangsters take control of one block after another. But the airport is still open, and billionaires take private helicopters to hotel islands along the strip. To gamble. Can you believe that?”
“See, how bad could it be?”
Alacrán laughed. “You don’t get it, Jim. For a man who once ran for president, you’re naïve.”
“Tell him what you told me about Cache Valley,” Parley said.
“What about Cache Valley?” Jim demanded.
“The Department of Agriculture
“To Bolivia? Are you kidding? I like it better here. So many opportunities.”
“Opportunities? What are you talking about?”
“So it’s a disaster. Doesn’t mean we can’t make money, collect power. It’s a salvage operation.”
“Sounds dangerous.” Jim eyed the man’s burns. “Playing with lighter fluid, was it?”
Jim sank into the chair behind his giant mahogany desk. He glanced at his brother to see Parley rolling a gold-tipped Montblanc pen between his thumb and forefinger, a thoughtful look on his face.
“Okay, you two,” he said at last. “What are you playing at?”
“Lazario says the gig is up,” Parley said. “After what he tells me about events close to the ground, I’m inclined to agree.”
“You mean total collapse?” Jim shook his head. “No. We’re winning the war. Soon as those bastards reopen Suez and Hormuz.”
“And why should they?” Alacrán said. “Until the Yankees resume food aid.”
“We can’t, or we’ll starve. Our friends up north, too. And if we don’t keep Canada fed, there goes the rest of our oil.”
“So you’ve decided the Arabs can starve. Do you blame them for shutting off the spigot?”
“Fine, it’s a war. People will die, sacrifices will be made.”
“Don’t forget the rebellions at home,” Parley put in.
“They’ll end as soon as the weather turns.”
“The soonest that happens is spring,” Alacrán said. “And that’s assuming the damn volcano shuts its pie hole. What if it doesn’t? Or what if it doesn’t matter, because the damage is already done? Look what has happened in one summer. You think we can survive a second year of global crop failure?” He shook his head. “Think how fast things have changed. Used to be, half the food in this country was never eaten, we had so much of it.”
“He’s right,” Parley said. “Six months ago we were turning corn into gasoline additives. Now we’ve got half the Southwest in refugee camps. The other half is descending on the Midwest like a plague of locusts, looking for food and jobs.”
“And that’s the States,” Alacrán added. “You want to know what I’ve seen in Mexico?”
“Not really,” Jim said.
His chair creaked as he leaned back. He’d considered all of this before. Thought about it every time he saw the protests, every time he saw hostile faces watching his motorcade in the street, wondering if those men carried guns tucked into their belts. And feeling like he was standing in front of a huge, crumbling earthen dam, as raging floodwaters turned it to mud.
“You said you’d seen things,” he said to Alacrán. “What kind of things?”
“Have you been to the Green River camps lately?”
“Yeah, just a few weeks ago,” he said.
“Wasn’t that the end of August?” Parley asked.
“I guess.”
“Three thousand refugees in August,” Alacrán said. “Tops. You’ve got fifty thousand now.”
Jim felt irritated. “I know that. The state still polices the town, you know.”
A smile came across the Bolivian’s face. “And doesn’t set foot in the camps, unless invited there by the army. General Lacroix is building a major military base in Green River. Military police patrol the camp, but they only care about political dissent. Drugs, prostitution, even rape and murder are around every corner.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“That’s Utah. Nevada is a hellhole. I was in Vegas two weeks ago. Half the city is pouring out as fast as they can as thugs and gangsters take control of one block after another. But the airport is still open, and billionaires take private helicopters to hotel islands along the strip. To gamble. Can you believe that?”
“See, how bad could it be?”
Alacrán laughed. “You don’t get it, Jim. For a man who once ran for president, you’re naïve.”
“Tell him what you told me about Cache Valley,” Parley said.
“What about Cache Valley?” Jim demanded.
“The Department of Agriculture
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