there is a purpose for the security."
"You believe your life is in danger from opposing political factions in Mexico?" Haydon was still missing the point here. Gamboa was using his charming paternalism to sidestep the obvious intent of Haydon's questions.
"Mr. Haydon, Mexico is full of fanatics. It is our shame and our pride. After all, one could call the fathers of our revolution fanatics. Yours too. But all Mexicans are fervent people, not just the 'movers and shakers' as you call them here. Perhaps there are some fanatics who disagreed with my politics. No man can expect to be loved by everyone. Certainly not a man in government. If he were, he would not be doing his job. It is not realistic.
"In Mexico there are those who feel that a man has committed a crime simply by virtue of his wealth. There is much to be hopeful about in my country, but there is no denying that many people are still uneducated. Ignorance among our poor is a plague for all of us, because the disappointments they face in life causes them to grasp at weak reeds for hope. They are taught by some to hate those who have more than they. They are told that their poverty is a direct result of our wealth. Their bitterness is corrosive and unavoidable, and their exploitation by leftists is understandable."
Gamboa sighed and looked around the room.
"Mexico has its problems, Mr. Haydon. They may appear primitive to you. You may wonder why we cannot pull ourselves together for progress. Why we cannot educate our people, why there is the terrible gap between the rich and the poor, why we cannot be more economically productive, more honest. More like you North Americans." His eyes settled on Haydon. "Well, for all our faults we are not deceiving ourselves. We may have to look over our shoulders while we step into the twenty-first century, but we will be there along with everyone else. And another generation will have engaged the complexities that challenge us. There will be more answers. There will be more hope."
An expression of resignation slowly replaced the light that had momentarily illuminated the dignified Gamboa's eyes.
"In the meantime we must face the realities of the situation," he said. "To answer your question: I do not know who would want to assassinate me, Mr. Haydon. I only know that I must never let down my guard. I can never have enough eyes to watch. I can never have enough ears to listen."
Haydon sat silently, breathing the rich aroma of the leather upon which they sat, and looked at Benigo Gamboa. He wondered at the complex truth behind what he had been saying. He did not believe that the old man had only these vague notions of who the assailants might have been. While it might be true he had many nameless enemies, Haydon was sure that these enemies were known to him.
"Mr. Gamboa, did you know any of the other men killed in the attack?"
"Yes." Gamboa nodded heavily. "Yes. There were two security men in a Mercedes. I did not know them personally. They were hired from a local agency. There was the chauffeur of the limousine. He has driven for us for several years. Again I did not know him personally. Sosa made all those kinds of arrangements. And then there were Mr. Crisman and Mr. Lowell. This morning Mr. Sosa and I met with these two men to discuss the possibility of my buying some property in Austin from Mr. Lowell."
"He was a realtor there?"
"A land developer, yes."
"Crisman was also a developer?"
"No. He is an attorney here in Houston. We were meeting in his office in the Coastal Tower building in Greenway Plaza. He had been the contact between myself and Mr. Lowell. We came to a verbal agreement this morning and I asked the two men to lunch. We dined together at Charlie T's. A long lunch, because we talked at greater length about the land. We had more drinks after lunch, and then we left. Ramon and Mr. Crisman were going to take Mr. Lowell to his hotel—"
"Where was he staying?"
"The Westin Galleria. And then Ramon was to take Mr. Crisman
"You believe your life is in danger from opposing political factions in Mexico?" Haydon was still missing the point here. Gamboa was using his charming paternalism to sidestep the obvious intent of Haydon's questions.
"Mr. Haydon, Mexico is full of fanatics. It is our shame and our pride. After all, one could call the fathers of our revolution fanatics. Yours too. But all Mexicans are fervent people, not just the 'movers and shakers' as you call them here. Perhaps there are some fanatics who disagreed with my politics. No man can expect to be loved by everyone. Certainly not a man in government. If he were, he would not be doing his job. It is not realistic.
"In Mexico there are those who feel that a man has committed a crime simply by virtue of his wealth. There is much to be hopeful about in my country, but there is no denying that many people are still uneducated. Ignorance among our poor is a plague for all of us, because the disappointments they face in life causes them to grasp at weak reeds for hope. They are taught by some to hate those who have more than they. They are told that their poverty is a direct result of our wealth. Their bitterness is corrosive and unavoidable, and their exploitation by leftists is understandable."
Gamboa sighed and looked around the room.
"Mexico has its problems, Mr. Haydon. They may appear primitive to you. You may wonder why we cannot pull ourselves together for progress. Why we cannot educate our people, why there is the terrible gap between the rich and the poor, why we cannot be more economically productive, more honest. More like you North Americans." His eyes settled on Haydon. "Well, for all our faults we are not deceiving ourselves. We may have to look over our shoulders while we step into the twenty-first century, but we will be there along with everyone else. And another generation will have engaged the complexities that challenge us. There will be more answers. There will be more hope."
An expression of resignation slowly replaced the light that had momentarily illuminated the dignified Gamboa's eyes.
"In the meantime we must face the realities of the situation," he said. "To answer your question: I do not know who would want to assassinate me, Mr. Haydon. I only know that I must never let down my guard. I can never have enough eyes to watch. I can never have enough ears to listen."
Haydon sat silently, breathing the rich aroma of the leather upon which they sat, and looked at Benigo Gamboa. He wondered at the complex truth behind what he had been saying. He did not believe that the old man had only these vague notions of who the assailants might have been. While it might be true he had many nameless enemies, Haydon was sure that these enemies were known to him.
"Mr. Gamboa, did you know any of the other men killed in the attack?"
"Yes." Gamboa nodded heavily. "Yes. There were two security men in a Mercedes. I did not know them personally. They were hired from a local agency. There was the chauffeur of the limousine. He has driven for us for several years. Again I did not know him personally. Sosa made all those kinds of arrangements. And then there were Mr. Crisman and Mr. Lowell. This morning Mr. Sosa and I met with these two men to discuss the possibility of my buying some property in Austin from Mr. Lowell."
"He was a realtor there?"
"A land developer, yes."
"Crisman was also a developer?"
"No. He is an attorney here in Houston. We were meeting in his office in the Coastal Tower building in Greenway Plaza. He had been the contact between myself and Mr. Lowell. We came to a verbal agreement this morning and I asked the two men to lunch. We dined together at Charlie T's. A long lunch, because we talked at greater length about the land. We had more drinks after lunch, and then we left. Ramon and Mr. Crisman were going to take Mr. Lowell to his hotel—"
"Where was he staying?"
"The Westin Galleria. And then Ramon was to take Mr. Crisman
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