know Sun?”
“He and I have a history,” Bourne said thoughtfully. “Why would he target Wei-Wei?”
“I don’t know.” Yue hopped off the table. The leg with the injured ankle bent under her and Bourne held her as she grabbed the table’s edge. She looked at him. “But I know someone you can ask.”
Y ou have a problem,” Maricruz said as she pushed back a plate filled with shrimp shells. “A serious problem.”
Felipe Matamoros wiped the grease off his thick lips. “And what would that be?”
“MEL Petroservicios.”
He sat back, his face as stony and enigmatic as a sphinx.
She had scored a direct hit, as she knew she would. “Simply put, the Americans have just put MEL out of business.”
“And that concerns me how?”
“Don’t be coy. You used the oil company—or I should say former oil company—to launder Los Zetas’s ill-gotten gains. Now you’re dead in the water.”
“I see you’re better informed than I had expected, mi princesa .” He cocked his head. “But actually, we’ll get by. We’re used to this kind of shit from the gringo. All life is shit in Mexico. No one values life. You think it’s just us in the drug trade? No, no, mujer . It’s the police, the army, the business tycoons, and most of all, the politicians, who spout platitudes out of one side of their mouths, while eating off my plate with the other.”
He spread his hands wide. “Now tell me, what are you going to do for me? Offer your father’s cyber-security business to launder our money?”
“Absolutely not. SteelTrap is one hundred percent legitimate and it will stay that way.”
“Then I don’t see what—”
“Art, Señor Matamoros. In China the new upper class is desperate to spend money in order to feel a sense of self-worth.” She looked around the opulent room with its many expensive artifacts from Mexico’s storied past, before returning her gaze to Matamoros. “Pathetic though that may be, it’s a fact of life in today’s Middle Kingdom.”
“I was born into poverty, mujer . From where I sit, the world has a very different look.”
“That’s as may be.” She gestured around the room. “But do you think this is the sort of legacy a man of ambition wants to leave? Don’t you think he wants to achieve something more, something greater than what has been?”
“Go on,” Matamoros said after a time.
“The benefit for you is that, unlike in the rest of the civilized world, the art market in China is entirely opaque. Real works of art commingle with fakes and no one knows the difference. All are bought for exorbitant prices and are sold for exorbitantly higher prices.”
“So you take Los Zetas’s money, buy artwork in Beijing, sell it to newly rich Chinese businessmen, and return the laundered money to us, for a fee.”
“Fifteen percent,” Maricruz said. “Plus fifty percent of the profit made from each sale—and believe me when I tell you we will make a tidy profit on each sale.” She smiled, her eyes shining. “It’s foolproof. And best of all, the Americans can’t touch you or your money.”
Matamoros rose and walked around the room, touching each piece of Aztec and Olmec sculpture as if they might speak to him, guiding his decision. At length, he turned back to her. “If I say yes, there are still five others who have to agree.”
“A hive mind. I understand a thousand percent.”
His expression remained somber. “First and foremost, mi princesa , we are commandos, the elite of the Mexican Army, which, I admit, is something of a joke. But nevertheless, we who make up the core of Los Zetas were well trained, because we set our minds to learning the art of war. Better still, when we defected we took both our advanced weapons and our contacts with us. There are six of us. We operate as a cadre. This is what makes us so strong; this is what makes us invulnerable.”
“Then take me to meet the rest of the cadre. I’ll convince them as I’ve convinced
“He and I have a history,” Bourne said thoughtfully. “Why would he target Wei-Wei?”
“I don’t know.” Yue hopped off the table. The leg with the injured ankle bent under her and Bourne held her as she grabbed the table’s edge. She looked at him. “But I know someone you can ask.”
Y ou have a problem,” Maricruz said as she pushed back a plate filled with shrimp shells. “A serious problem.”
Felipe Matamoros wiped the grease off his thick lips. “And what would that be?”
“MEL Petroservicios.”
He sat back, his face as stony and enigmatic as a sphinx.
She had scored a direct hit, as she knew she would. “Simply put, the Americans have just put MEL out of business.”
“And that concerns me how?”
“Don’t be coy. You used the oil company—or I should say former oil company—to launder Los Zetas’s ill-gotten gains. Now you’re dead in the water.”
“I see you’re better informed than I had expected, mi princesa .” He cocked his head. “But actually, we’ll get by. We’re used to this kind of shit from the gringo. All life is shit in Mexico. No one values life. You think it’s just us in the drug trade? No, no, mujer . It’s the police, the army, the business tycoons, and most of all, the politicians, who spout platitudes out of one side of their mouths, while eating off my plate with the other.”
He spread his hands wide. “Now tell me, what are you going to do for me? Offer your father’s cyber-security business to launder our money?”
“Absolutely not. SteelTrap is one hundred percent legitimate and it will stay that way.”
“Then I don’t see what—”
“Art, Señor Matamoros. In China the new upper class is desperate to spend money in order to feel a sense of self-worth.” She looked around the opulent room with its many expensive artifacts from Mexico’s storied past, before returning her gaze to Matamoros. “Pathetic though that may be, it’s a fact of life in today’s Middle Kingdom.”
“I was born into poverty, mujer . From where I sit, the world has a very different look.”
“That’s as may be.” She gestured around the room. “But do you think this is the sort of legacy a man of ambition wants to leave? Don’t you think he wants to achieve something more, something greater than what has been?”
“Go on,” Matamoros said after a time.
“The benefit for you is that, unlike in the rest of the civilized world, the art market in China is entirely opaque. Real works of art commingle with fakes and no one knows the difference. All are bought for exorbitant prices and are sold for exorbitantly higher prices.”
“So you take Los Zetas’s money, buy artwork in Beijing, sell it to newly rich Chinese businessmen, and return the laundered money to us, for a fee.”
“Fifteen percent,” Maricruz said. “Plus fifty percent of the profit made from each sale—and believe me when I tell you we will make a tidy profit on each sale.” She smiled, her eyes shining. “It’s foolproof. And best of all, the Americans can’t touch you or your money.”
Matamoros rose and walked around the room, touching each piece of Aztec and Olmec sculpture as if they might speak to him, guiding his decision. At length, he turned back to her. “If I say yes, there are still five others who have to agree.”
“A hive mind. I understand a thousand percent.”
His expression remained somber. “First and foremost, mi princesa , we are commandos, the elite of the Mexican Army, which, I admit, is something of a joke. But nevertheless, we who make up the core of Los Zetas were well trained, because we set our minds to learning the art of war. Better still, when we defected we took both our advanced weapons and our contacts with us. There are six of us. We operate as a cadre. This is what makes us so strong; this is what makes us invulnerable.”
“Then take me to meet the rest of the cadre. I’ll convince them as I’ve convinced
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