THREE
"What the Hell?" Mario was certain that Tommy had been joking, and he was certainly not prepared to assassinate any politician, especially the Prime Minister of Spain. He was, after all, a lawyer, not a hired gun, all lame lawyer jokes to the contrary notwithstanding.
"¿Como esta mi amigo?" Joaquin's voice was cheerful and welcoming, reminding Mario of his home and past life and years of happiness with his husband Mason and their many friends. It was a wave of nostalgia Mario had not anticipated.
"I have a request- an urgent need, actually, if you can help me?"
"Certainly, Mario, anything for our oldest and dearest friend."
"I hope that you are close enough to the Prime Minister of Spain that you can arrange an invitation to his private residence for me. It is kind of urgent."
Joaquin asked, "How urgent?"
"Like tomorrow morning..."
"Let me see what I can do, I will call you back in two hours" Joaquin promised.
Mario paced around his hotel room, trying to organize his thoughts, and realized he was hungry and was also missing the noon opening session of the law conference. He dressed quickly and grabbed his cell phone and headed downstairs to the conference room. He was grateful to find a fully stocked buffet table outside the conference hall with coffee, juices, and an assortment of European-style breakfast goodies: yogurt, cheeses, croissants, fruit, crudités, and Spanish ham and charcuterie.
He was startled when the phone vibrated in his pants pocket, sending a shiver down his leg. It was only ten minutes since his conversation with Joaquin, so he wondered who else would be calling him, since only Tommy and Joaquin knew where he was.
The phone's caller ID showed a Spanish number, and Mario jogged outside of the conference room to the hallway in order to answer the call. It was the Prime Minister.
"Good afternoon, sir, thank you for calling me" a mystified Mario stuttered into the phone.
"Well, it is I who should be thanking you, but we will have time for that when we meet. Are you able to come to my private home tomorrow morning, say about 10 AM?"
"Certainly, sir, I will need to make arrangements for travel from Majorca to Madrid, and then I can call you back and confirm."
"No need, I have arranged a military helicopter flight for you, it will be ready to pick you up in Majorca at Sant Joan airport at 8 AM, if that is convenient for you." It was more of a command rather than a request; Mario realized that high-ranking politicians like the Prime Minister were accustomed to couching their needs in terms that made them seem like readily-acceptable suggestions to anyone they considered their inferiors.
"Certainly, sir, I am looking forward to meeting you."
Mario spent the rest of the afternoon dozing through several of the introductory speeches in the conference hall, half-listening to the droning of the speakers and the MC, as well as the hushed buzz around him from the conference participants. He knew several of the conference attendees as well as the presenters; he had, after all, spent nineteen-plus years in law practice in one of the largest cities in America and had attended and presented at a fair share of these conferences. His mind was already on fast-forward wondering what the Hell was going on with Tommy and the Prime Minister of Spain.
His mind was racing through several questions: how did the Prime Minister of Spain know Tommy? How did he know where Mario was, especially after Mario's own confusion on waking up this morning? How did Joaquin get in touch with the Prime Minister so quickly? What in Hell did Tommy have to do with any of this? How hard should he kick Tommy's ass for this?
At the end of the Sunday afternoon session, as soon as the MC announced the schedule for the evening's cocktail hour and meet-and-greet sessions, Mario found a private business conference room and went in to call Tommy. "Can you fill me in on what is the issue with the Prime Minister, and what you expect me to do?"
Tommy laughed, as he always did; it seemed that nothing was serious to him. Five years older than Mario and head partner in the law firm with his twin brother Ted, Tommy had an American Midwest laisses-faire attitude about most things, including the practice of law. While in reality Tommy took very seriously the welfare of clients, you would never be able to see inside his mind on any particular topic because his attitude and facial expressions always masked his true feelings with his frat-boy attitude.
"I really think you should wait for the Prime Minister to explain everything to you. It is probably not kosher to discuss over a phone."
"As you wish, Boss."
"You little Spanish brat, I should have killed you when I had a chance."
"My name is Inigo Montoya..."
They both cracked up, laughing loudly. "Honestly, I don't think this will be difficult, but you will need to get involved immediately, so best wishes pal."
"Thanks, Tommy, I will call you tomorrow from Madrid after I meet with the Prime Minister."
The evening events at the conference were as predictable as California weather: walking around the meet-and-greet session with a drink (orange juice disguised as a Screwdriver) Mario met several lawyers whom he knew from prior conferences and fended off the come-ons from several women as well as a young male lawyer. Mario was perfectly willing to jump into bed with a willing cock, but his physical as well as psychological state at the moment was still too shaky to trust himself.
Falling onto the bed in his hotel room still fully clothed, Mario sighed deeply; he set an alarm on his cell phone for 6 AM and stripped down and climbed into the sheets and slept fitfully. He dreamt a series of weird and upsetting dioramas involving deep water, strangers shouting, and Mormon missionaries with big cocks.
The Aerospatiale SA-332 Super Puma helicopter already had rotors churning at 745 AM when Mario arrived by taxi at Sant Joan airport outside Palma, Majorca. He grabbed his briefcase and jogged over the tarmac to the open side-door of the craft, launching himself up into the second row of seats. The captain of the Puma shifted only slightly in his seat to acknowledge Mario, and the co-pilot handed Mario a set of headphones which doubled to abate the noise of the helicopter.
They were aloft in mere seconds, heading northwest across the dark water of the Mediterranean and onward to the capital city, some 340 miles. The pilot announced the flight would be about an hour, which Mario already knew, having flown in to Palma two days prior. The noise was deafening, and Mario was certain he was re-living the horrible hangover of the previous morning.
A Mercedes Benz limousine with darkened windows was waiting on the tarmac just a couple yards from the helicopter touchdown zone, and as soon as Mario stepped out of the military aircraft, the rear door of the Mercedes opened and he strode toward it. Within another twenty minutes he was being ushered into a plush office suite, where a tall and extremely handsome elderly man was standing behind an ornate hand-carved oak desk. "Welcome, my friend," said Prime Minister Armando Ruiz, extending a hand to shake. "Please sit; may I offer you a drink?"
"Thank you, just water, please," Mario said, still not completely recovered from the events of the past 48 hours.
"Well, I am sure that you must be curious as to what is so important to me, that I have interrupted your trip to Majorca," PM Ruiz said, his Catalan accent giving away his background and partially revealing his political orientation. Since the unification of Spain under Ferdinand and Isabella in 1491, the original six kingdoms of the ancient Iberian inhabitants had never gracefully surrendered their regional self-identity nor their political ambitions. Perhaps the era under General Franco had caused some unification, it may have seemed to outsiders, but the reality was that regional loyalties were still simmering just beneath the public surface.
"I am at your disposal, sir," Mario replied. "Tommy told me there is some urgency to your situation."
"Yes. To summarize, I have a household employee who is from Iraq but claims to be an American citizen."
"Really? And so how can I help you with that?"
"Tommy tells me you are the lead lawyer in immigration law in your firm, and that you have numerous contacts in embassies and consulates as well as in your own State Department, and can facilitate certain, ummh, arrangements?"
"It is true that I work part-time in immigration law, and have helped a number of clients, but what is it that brings us to this point in your personal life?"
"Well, I am not sure at all of the veracity of her claims, and based on what she tells me, it seems she may have a very difficult time getting your government to agree with her, let alone helping her find a place in your country. She has no papers, she has no documentation, she cannot remember the name of her American father, and she has no money."
"I see. But Sr. Ruiz, how is this a difficulty for you?"
"Well, you see, in my position, I need to discreetly allow her to get help from an American source, but I cannot be seen publicly as having pulled any strings, I cannot be involved in getting her out of Spain or out of Europe and into America. And I think it best if she is able to find some help in getting from Spain to America as soon as possible."
"Ah. So that is where I come in?"
"Si. Claro. There is one additional issue: I am informed by the chief of our Centro Nacional de Inteligencia that she is actually a spy. I have contacted a friend of mine at Mossad who tells me she is not on their radar. Nonetheless, it is very important to find a way for her to discretely exit Spain. Perhaps it is time for you to meet her."
Sr. Ruiz made a quick call on his desk phone, and in a minute or two a nervous young woman stepped into the office. She was wearing the traditional European house staff uniform: black skirt, white blouse, and a black bandana covering her hair. She half-smiled, clearly anxious.
"Lina, this is Sr. Mario Garza, a lawyer from the United States. He has come to hear your story and see if he can help you."
"Lina, it is very nice to meet you," Mario said as he extended his hand to shake hers. She offered a hand very shyly, and barely touched his for only a second or two before withdrawing. She was not simply nervous, but extremely withdrawn and shy; a thin girl of about 21 or so, with black hair and fair skin and unusual hazel-colored eyes.
"Tell me a little about yourself, please," Mario asked. It was clear this was not going to be easy.
The Prime Minister said "Why don't the two of you relax and have a seat and I will leave you alone to discuss the situation." With that comment, he stepped out a side door. Lina and Mario sat in opposite chairs. Lina sighed; she would not look at Mario squarely in the face but glanced just past him and did not initiate any conversation. Mario knew he would have to drag out of her any information he could in order to be able to figure out what to do next.
"So, you were born in Iraq?" She merely nodded.
"And who are your parents?"
She handed him an old and creased black and white photo, which showed an American soldier, idly leaning against a US ARMY Humvee, an M16 rifle slung casually over one shoulder and a cigarette dangling from his lips. He had a typical American easy smile and appeared to be fully relaxed, even though he was obviously in a war zone.
"Who is this?" Mario asked.
"Norton."
"I'm sorry; Norton? Who is Norton?"
"My father."
"Oh. Oh dear." Mario suddenly got curious. "And how do you know this man is your father?"
"My mother told all of her relatives- her mother and father and brother- that she was pregnant with me from an American, and this is the man."
"And his name is Norton? Any other name? Any other information?"
"No."
Shit, Mario thought, this is just fucking wonderful. Tommy's ass is gonna get kicked so hard.
"What about your mother; is she still in Iraq?"
"No. She died right after I was born."
"Oh God. I'm so sorry. So how did you come to be in Spain?"
"My brother has business friends here and brought me with him and they introduced me to someone and then I got this job through that friend."
Mario asked, "How did you learn English?"
"Many people in Iraq speak English, or at least a little. I am not very good, but I spent all of my school years taking lessons and also from working for the Americans doing laundry and washing dishes in the camps."
Mario was beginning to be impressed as well as sad; here was a girl, relatively young, clearly nervous about her place in the world, clearly lonely, and without any tangible resources to fall back on. His compassion wanted him to be able to fix this situation, but it was not going to be easy. It was going to be fucking impossible. Finding some American GI named Norton? Proving he was the biological father of this Iraqi orphan? Jesus on a pink pony. Tommy was going to get his ass kicked publicly for this one.
The Prime Minister of Spain returned to the den, and Mario smiled in his direction and said "I think that we are going to have to move Lina to a safe house in Germany near Ramstein airbase for a week or so in order to arrange the right people and resources to get her situation cleared up. How soon can she be ready to go?"
Sr. Ruiz, smiling, said "Thank you Sr. Garza, it will be my pleasure to provide any help I can, you are a miracle worker. Please allow me a few minutes to make some phone calls and we can have the transportation for the two of you by nightfall. It is important to me to be at least one step ahead of the CNI."
Mario stepped out of the office into the adjacent hallway to make a couple calls of his own: he first contacted Tommy, and without giving away his burgeoning plan to cut off Tommy's balls, explained the need to arrange a quick insertion of the Iraqi/American girl into the safe house in Germany, and for the American consulate there to be able to meet immediately with Mario upon arrival.
He next called Stuart Warden, his husband's nephew, and explained the situation. Stuart had been a clerk for the Federal District Court in Los Angeles and was still very highly connected, especially since he now was the chief legal counsel to the Mayor. Stuart promised to make a few calls and get back to Mario within two hours.
"By the way, I know we don't have time for a social call, but how is your husband?"
"Raj is great, he is up to his eyeballs in work for the Mayor, as always, so we are going to take a few days off and go to Mexico and lay on the beach. The Mayor's upcoming campaign for Governor might just kill us both," Stuart laughed.
"Good for you. When you guys get back from Mexico, let's get together. I have some things I want to bounce off of both of you and get your advice."
"Sure will. Be careful over there; I will call you back as quickly as I can."
The Prime Minister stepped into the hallway and indicated to Mario that they needed to talk. When he returned to the office, Mario was told that the transportation had been arranged to Germany for both Mario and Lina. They had about two hours to get to the Spanish Air Force base and get on board a private Lear, which would take them to Ramstein. The Prime Minister had also arranged for Mario's luggage to be sent to Ramstein from the hotel in Majorca.
With two hours flying time to Germany, Mario hoped to be able to grab a nap before plunging into the new and impossible task of finding `Norton' and establishing any link between the mysterious American GI and this white-skinned, hazel-eyed girl. His nap was fitful; he was disturbed by dreams of guns and GI's and deserts and being chased over mountains by helicopter gunships. He awoke in a sweat at 45,000 feet over southern Germany about twenty minutes before landing at Ramstein.