A stabbing pain inflames Bill’s eyeballs. He cries out in agony and slams his fists into his eyes. “Oh, God, my head!”

The man looks at his wife. “Por favor, llame a un medico.” The woman hurries off.

Bill Godwin’s eyes feel like they are being skewered. He tears at his hair, then bends over and pukes a bloody, acidic black bile.

The older Mexican is leaning over, futilely attempting to assist the sick American when he pulls back suddenly and grabs his ankle. “Hijo de la chingada!”

Sizzling vomit has splattered on the man’s foot-searing the flesh.

The White House,
Washington, DC.

Ennis Chaney feels the eyes of President Mailer and Pierre Borgia upon him as he reads the two-page report.

“No clue about where this toxic crud came from?”

“It came from the Gulf, probably from one of PEMEX’s well fields,” Borgia states. “What’s more important is that a dozen Americans and several hundred Mexicans have died. The currents have confined the black tide to the Yucatan coast, but it’s important that we monitor the situation to make sure the ooze doesn’t reach American shores. We also feel it important that we maintain a diplomatic presence in Mexico during this environmental crisis.”

“Meaning?”

Chaney notices Mailer’s discomfort. “Pierre thinks it would be best if you headed the investigation. The drug-trafficking problem has strained our relationship with Mexico. We feel this situation might present us with an opportunity to mend a few fences. The press will be accompanying you—”

Chaney sighs. Although his official term as vice president was not to begin until January, Congress had confirmed his appointment him to the vacant seat earlier. The new post, combined with helping his senatorial staff adjust to his leaving the Senate, was wearing him thin. “Let me get this straight. We’re preparing for a potential conflict in the Persian Gulf, but you want me to head a diplomatic mission to Mexico?” Chaney shakes his head. “What the hell am I supposed to do, other than offer my condolences? With all due respect, Mr.President, our ambassador to Mexico can handle this.”

“This is more important than you realize, besides”—the President forces a tight smile—“who else has the stomach for it. Your work with the CDC during the dengue fever outbreak in Puerto Rico three years ago was a terrific public relations coup.”

“My participation had nothing to do with public relations.”

Borgia slams his briefcase shut. “The president of the United States just gave you an order, Mister Vice President. Are you planning on fulfilling your duties, or are you planning on resigning?”

The raccoon eyes open wide, shooting daggers at Borgia.

“Pierre, would you give us a few minutes.”

The Secretary of State tries to stare Chaney down with his one good eye, but he is overmatched.

“Pierre, please.”

Borgia leaves.

“Ennis—”

“Mr.President, if you’re asking me to go, then of course, I’ll go.”