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Foundation. For Christ's sake, the man had two
dying children and couldn't afford the medical treatment. And now you want me
to…."
    "What
he did was illegal, Mr. Sheridan." A man near the partially-covered
windows spoke. He was in his mid-fifties, thin, and spoke with a heavy Boston
accent. His entire manner reeked of arrogance, breeding. "The fact of the
matter is that Russ Talbot took money from drug lords and used his position as
governor of the state of New Mexico to allow drug shipments to come in and out
of his state. For the fiscal years 1987 through 1999, we've traced over
$900,000 in payments through banks in the Bahamas that are then placed in Swiss
accounts, and the trail ends there."
    The man
moved away from the windows, the sickly glow of the yellow bulbs illuminating
his grim face. "Sheridan, we've got a crook sitting in the White
House. Doesn't that concern you?"
    Sheridan's
expression was steady. "He's no different from any other politician."
    "Except
now that he's in the oval office, the Norte del Valle cartel is attempting to
blackmail him into opening our southern border." Mr. Meade's voice was
quiet, yet his words instantly silenced the room. "Colt, if we weren't
positive that Talbot was in contact with these drug smugglers again, there
wouldn't be a problem. For three years the man allowed foreign drug traffickers
to use his state as their own personal landing strip, but after 1999, the
contact ends. If the ties remained severed, we wouldn't worry. A man has a
right to a few secrets, even if he is the President of the United States. But
the fact that he's renewed his ties with the Norte del Valle cartel has us ...
concerned."
    Sheridan's
expression was serious. "You think Talbot's going to succumb to their
blackmail?"
    Mr. Meade
shrugged, smashing his cigar into the ashtray by his elbow. "If the most
powerful drug organization in the world was threatening to reveal a
relationship better left buried, wouldn't you do everything you could to stop
them? Of course Talbot is back in contact with them, purely to prevent them
from revealing his dealings with them. And in order to prevent them from
squealing, he may have to give in to their demands."
    "Open
the border?"
    "Exactly."
    Sheridan
sighed, slowly. "And you want me to track down any hint of a communication
between Talbot and the Cartel?"
    "You're
our best agent, Colt. Your family’s heritage and work record speak for
themselves.  Your ancestor fought to preserve the United States of America and
you’re doing the same. We're depending on you."
    Sheridan
was silent a moment. Outside, the rain was coming down in sheets, pounding
against the dirty windows. He listened to the rain, thinking.
    "You
sent me on basically the same mission with Clinton and Whitewater,” he said
quietly. “The man covered his tracks too damn good for me to discover anything.
It was four years wasted - Clinton had people thwarting me at every turn. For
every move I made, they countered me. They knew there was a plant close to
Clinton, but they never discovered it was me. If I try the same
route with Talbot, the CIA is going to put two and two together. They'll
eventually figure out that I'm the plant."
    Mr. Meade
smiled faintly. "You worry too much, my boy. We've another agent in the
President's office at your disposal, someone who's been there for years. In fact, he's
a double agent for both us and the CIA. If the Agency gets too close, he'll
send them on a wild goose chase like he did before. When your investigation of
Clinton got too close to the truth and the Agency was frantic to find out who
the mole was, Peter was excellent in foiling their efforts."
    Sheridan
nodded. "Harrios is a good man."
    "Good
and well-paid. His directive is to merely hinder any and all investigations
that threaten your mission. When the heat turns on, it's his job to cool
it." Mr. Meade refilled his shot glass. "He doesn't know that you're
the agent he's covering for, does he?"
    "The
E-mails I