fingers on the table.
'There's always that possibility.' Buchanan shrugged. 'But the way I see it, I'm taking all the risks and you're taking none. Certainly there's nothing risky about your meeting me here - at a mutually agreeable, neutral place - for drinks and dinner. At the worst, you've been inconvenienced. From my point of view, however, at the worst, I get dead.'
Without looking at each other, the twins seemed to reach a mutual conclusion.
'Exactamente.' The second twin turned toward the half-filled restaurant, caught their waiter's attention, pointed toward the glasses on their table, held up two fingers, and then waved his hand in a circle, indicating he wanted another round of tequila, doubles for everyone. Seeing the waiter nod, he pivoted toward Buchanan. 'You interrupted before I could finish my earlier question.'
'PerdC/n. So ask it now.'
'Assuming you're telling the truth about these offshore bank accounts, how do you explain the considerable amounts you claim our associates have hidden from us? What is the source of those funds? They must be bribes from drug-enforcement officers for supplying information. Because the only other explanation would be that they're stealing a portion of our merchandise or else the money we collect, and I assure you we can account for every kilo we send to the United States and every dollar we get back.'
Buchanan shook his head. 'Bribes alone won't explain the tremendous sums in these offshore accounts. As you're aware, drug-enforcement officers have never been known for being overly generous with their bribes. Their budget's stretched too thin. But as it happens, you're wrong about having protected yourselves against theft. Your men are running an extremely sophisticated skim operation.'
'What? The second twin looked stunned. 'No es posible.'
'It's not only possible. It's a fact.'
'I'm telling you, we'd know!'
'Not this way. Not the way they're doing it. They're using rogue DEA officers to help them skim. How many shipments did you lose last year? An approximate percentage. Ten percent?'
'More or less,' the first twin said. 'It's inevitable that some of our shipments will be discovered. Couriers get nervous and make mistakes. Or DEA officers happen to be at the right place at the right time. We expect a certain percentage of losses. It goes with the business.'
'But what if some of those couriers weren't as nervous as they pretended?' Buchanan asked. 'And what if those DEA officers had advance warning to be at the right place at the right time? And what if those couriers and DEA officers were in business for themselves?'
As the waiter brought the second round of drinks, the group became silent. The moment the waiter departed, they assessed the restaurant's customers, assured themselves that no one was close enough to overhear, then faced each other, raising glasses, going through the ritual of consuming salt, tequila, and lime.
'Finish what you were saying.' The first twin clearly hoped that the alcohol would affect Buchanan's judgment and reveal a weakness.
'Their system's quite clever.' Buchanan set down the slice of lime from which he'd chewed. 'The rogue agents from the DEA have to satisfy their superiors that they're doing their job. So they surrender a portion of what they confiscate. Then the government brags about how it's winning the war on drugs, and the American television networks report the latest victory on the evening news. But what the government doesn't know, and of course the American public, is that other shipments were confiscated and that those shipments were sold to American drug dealers. The money from those sales - millions - is divided between the rogue DEA officers and the trusted associates you've put in charge of sending the shipments. As far as you're concerned, those shipments have been accounted for. By your own admission, you expect those losses. As long as you receive your usual profit, why would you think you were being