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“Mr. Moretti, I urge you—”
“Shut up,” he said to his attorney, holding Roth’s gaze. “I’m just stalling for time, Roth. Just like you did in Bozeman over the last year. It’s all going to be over very soon. And then I won’t be wearing this jumpsuit or these cuffs.”
“Ask him if he knows how Calakmul plans to kill the president.”
Roth stared at his friend. “So he’s going to win no matter what?”
“There’s no stopping it,” Moretti said. “If anything, your attempts to stop him is making it all happen faster. I’m sorry, man. I was genuinely trying to help you survive what’s coming.”
“You didn’t know Westfall was going to die.”
Moretti shook his head no.
“But you should have expected it. You knew how ruthless Jacob is.”
“Ask him about Calakmul and the president.”
Roth ignored the instruction. If the question came out of left field, Moretti would realize he was wearing an earpiece. That he was being fed information. It needed to come across more naturally. Friend to friend.
“He doesn’t share his plans, Roth. Not with me. Not with anyone. He operates like the cartels do.”
Roth shrugged. “I’m not an expert on the drug trade.”
“Information is compartmentalized. You catch a street dealer, he can’t reveal the inner workings. He knows one person above him and a few below. No one else.”
“So you don’t know how Jacob is going to kill the president either?”
Moretti shook his head no.
“Good. This is good. Follow your instincts.”
“Does Angélica know?”
“Who’s that?” Moretti asked.
Was he lying? Or was this an example of Calakmul compartmentalizing information? “She was his personal assistant at the Cozumel resort. Blond hair, glasses.”
A blink of recognition flitted through Moretti’s eyes.
“You saw her,” Roth whispered.
He nodded. “She’d been shot. He was . . . he was really worried about her.”
Roth swallowed. So he’d given Jacob another reason to hate him. He was running out of things to say. Questions to ask. Moretti didn’t know the specifics of an assassination plot. That knowledge hadn’t been entrusted to him.
“Ask him why he betrayed his country. He used to be in the navy. What made him turn?”
Roth rubbed his palm on the metal table. “Remember after high school when you joined the navy? How you tried to get through SEAL school?”
Moretti shrugged.
“If you had, you would have been trying to defend us. What made you change your mind? I don’t think you did it just for the money. What was it?”
“Excellent question. Well done.”
“The same reason the Aztec took up arms,” Moretti said.
“The Aztec?” Roth asked curiously.
