After the Syria business was closed, Victor was holding meetings on the top floor of the Feathered Serpent Temple more and more frequently.
Bramo arrived every morning at eight sharp, arms full of files, a tablet tucked under his arm, like some door-to-door salesman.
Casare came a bit later; the dark circles under his eyes never went away.
The first thing he did when he came in was clamp a cigar in his mouth, not lighting it, just holding it there, like some overgrown child who can't let go of his pacifier.
"Leader, the investigation into Altamirano is still ongoing." Bramo opened the folder. "They've gone through the accounts for the Syria operation, and now they want to audit the National Reconstruction Fund. They're saying the money for rebuilding Chiapas got mixed up with the Syria operation funds, that nothing's clear."
Victor was eating breakfast: a bowl of beef noodles. The broth was almost gone, just a few strands of noodles at the bottom.
