Tiffany waited for the crowd to disperse before she approached Paco. She had thoroughly enjoyed the walking tour and wanted to ask him a few more questions about the area. She thanked him for his time and tipped him twenty pesos. ‘I thought you did a wonderful job. You were very informative.’
He graciously took the money. ‘And entertaining.’
‘Yes,’ she said, laughing. ‘Informative and entertaining.’
He grinned. ‘Mucho gracias.’
‘If you have a moment, may I ask you another question?’
‘For you, pelirroja, anything.’
She blushed slightly. She wasn’t used to this kind of attention. On most trips, she was rarely noticed. ‘I was wondering about the lake.’
‘Which lake?’
‘Lake, um, Texaco? You know, the one around the city?’
He smiled at her attempt. ‘It is pronounced, Texcoco.’
‘Texcoco,’ she echoed.
He nodded. ‘Texcoco is a lake. Texaco is a petrol station.’
‘Sorry about that. I knew it sounded wrong when I said it.’
‘That is OK. Americans say it like that all the time.’
‘You must get sick of us.’
He shook his head. ‘Not at all. Without dumb Americans, I do not make money!’
She laughed at the comment. She sensed he was only teasing. ‘After that remark, I’m afraid to ask you my question. You’re going to think I’m really stupid.’
‘Not stupid. Just unaware. Most people who live here are unaware, too. Tell me, what brings you to Mexico City?’
‘A business trip.’
‘What kind of business?’
‘International banking. I have a big meeting with a key contributor.’
Paco grinned. ‘See! You are not stupid. You have important job with important company. You are much more important than me. I am just a tour guide. Your question could never be stupid. Tell me, what is question?’
‘You said the Aztecs built their city in the middle of the lake. And the Spanish built this city on top of the Aztec city, right?’
‘That is correct.’
‘That’s what I thought. In that case, what happened to the lake? I don’t remember seeing it when I flew into the airport.’
‘Sadly, the lake is no more. The Spanish killed it.’
‘They killed it? How do you kill a lake?’
‘By building a giant drain to let the water out.’
She stared at him, unsure if he was joking. ‘Are you serious?’
He nodded. ‘Flooding was a problem for the Spanish. They expanded our city without strengthening the levees, and that was big mistake. The flood in 1629 was so bad that parts of the city remained underwater for five years. Eventually, the Spanish crown did something desperate. They built a drain to save the city. First they took our island, then they took our lake.’
‘That’s horrible. I bet the Aztec city looked gorgeous in the middle of the water.’
He shrugged. He had never seen Tenochtitlan. He had been born 500 years too late. ‘I must admit, there is one thing that gives me comfort about the fate of the Aztecs.’
‘What’s that?’ she asked.
He pointed at the Metropolitan Cathedral. It loomed high above the plaza, its bell towers stretching towards the sky. It truly was an impressive church.
She nodded solemnly. ‘Your faith in God.’
He laughed at the suggestion. ‘No! I am not a religious man. I am talking about the building. The building brings me comfort.’
‘You mean its beauty?’
‘I mean its condition. The stupid thing is falling down.’
‘Really?’
He laughed louder. ‘The Spanish thought they were so smart when they drained the lake. But guess what? The water had to go somewhere. In this case, it went under our island. For centuries, it has been eating away at the rock. The lakebed is dry, but our city is sinking – several inches every year. Look at the towers. They are all crooked. I call them the Leaning Towers of Zócalo. I am old man, but my spine is straighter than them. Someday they will fall over. And when they do, I will laugh and thank Cuauhtémoc. I will tell tourists that his ghost knocked them over as revenge for losing his city.’
Until that moment, she hadn’t really noticed the towers. But after his comments, she couldn’t help but notice how crooked they were. ‘I’ll be damned. I totally missed that.’
‘Have you been inside the cathedral?’ he asked.
‘Not yet.’
‘Do not waste your time – unless you like scaffolding. Everywhere you look, there is scaffolding. It is holding up the arches. It is holding up the ceiling. It is even holding up Jesús. He should be on a cross, not on scaffolding. I am not Catholic, and even I know that.’
She fought the urge to smile.
‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘have you heard of “the watch list”?’
‘You mean the criminal watch list?’
He shook his head. ‘I mean, the monument watch list.’
‘Nope. Never heard of it.’
‘Historians studied famous monuments all around the world, and they picked the ones that you should visit before it is too late. Catedral Metropolitana is high on that list.’
She considered his statement. ‘In that case, would you mind taking my picture in front of it? I want to get a photo before it falls down.’
Over the next fifteen minutes, Tiffany took several photographs of the plaza. She walked to one end of the square and snapped some pictures. Then she walked to the other end and did the same. But instead of focusing her lens on the buildings and monuments, like every other tourist in the Zócalo, she was more concerned with traffic patterns and escape routes.
As families strolled past and young kids played, she tried to imagine what they would do if they heard a gunshot. Would they freeze? Would they scatter? Or would they put their faith in God and run towards the cathedral? And what about the guards at the National Palace? It was no longer the official residence of the Mexican President, but it was still a government building. Would they come running, or would they lock their doors to protect their own?
Tiffany continued to ponder such things as she walked towards the northeast corner of the plaza. She noticed a steady stream of people coming and going from that direction, but she couldn’t understand why. As far as she could tell, there was nothing over there except an intersection. And then she saw it. A set of stairs leading under the plaza.
She went closer and peered into the stairwell, unsure what she would find in the shadows. Several feet underground, there was a blue-and-white sign that read, ‘Zócalo’. Next to it was the symbol for the Mexico City Metro system. For some reason, this major station on Line 2 was practically hidden from the plaza. No signs or symbols on the street above. Just two iron railings and a long set of stone stairs leading into the depths of Paco’s island.
Just to be safe, she made sure there were no surprises in the station before calling in her field assessment. Using a burner phone, she dialled the number from memory and waited for the team leader to answer. She knew what was at stake. The next phase of their mission would be based on her evaluation. If the plaza wouldn’t work for a ransom drop, she had the authority to move it to a secondary location – even if that meant waiting for another day.
‘So,’ he asked her, ‘what do you think?’
‘I think it’s perfect.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m positive. There’s no way they’ll catch me.’
‘If they do, they’ll kill you.’
She smiled. ‘Not if I kill them first.’