The Lord of Opium

Celia bustled around, preparing another pot of soup. “I’ve been thinking about possible names for our new drug lord,” she said. “How about El Relámpago, the Lightning Bolt, or El Vampiro?”

“I lean toward vampires,” said Cienfuegos. “They come out after dark and drink blood. Very scary.”

“For the hundredth time, I don’t want another name,” Matt said.

8

THE HOLOPORT

When they had finished, Cienfuegos led the way to the holoport, and Matt was surprised to recognize the place. He’d discovered it while exploring the secret passages El Patrón used to spy on people. It was a warehouse filled with computers and surveillance cameras, and normally it would have been full of bodyguards.

“I should have thought of this room,” the boy said. “It’s one of the few places El Patrón allowed modern machinery.”

“You’ve been here before?” Cienfuegos sounded surprised.

“El Patrón and I used to watch the surveillance cameras together.” Matt was lying. He’d never been here with the old man, but it pleased him to keep the jefe off balance.

“That’s odd. He never let his other—” Cienfuegos halted.

He never let his other clones in on the secret, Matt silently finished. You can’t use the word “clone” around the new Lord of Opium, any more than I can use the word “eejit” around you.

The jefe threw open the doors of a cabinet to reveal a giant screen. It brightened to show an office overlooking a large city. An address at the bottom read HAPPY MAN HIKWA. BULAWAYO, ZIMBABWE. Matt remembered that Happy Man was one of El Patrón’s most voracious customers. He distributed drugs under the leadership of Glass Eye and was now probably an enemy.

Matt was pleased to recall the man’s identity. When El Patrón was alive, the boy had memorized long lists of drug contacts, trade routes, and the correct mordidas, or bribes, to pay.

After a few minutes a new picture appeared of a shed half-filled with boxes: WAREHOUSE #7. ABUJA, NIGERIA. A red light flashed in a corner of the screen.

“They’re trying to contact us,” explained Cienfuegos. “Everyone wants to know where his shipment of opium is, and I can’t answer because I’m locked out. Everyone is. Have you ever used a holoport?”

“I never had reason to,” Matt said.

“It’s easy if you have access,” said Cienfuegos.

And that’s why you’re willing to serve me, thought Matt. Only El Patrón’s handprint—or that of his clone—could unlock the security system and disarm the weapons on the border. For the first time Matt realized what the old man had really intended. It wasn’t enough to fill his tomb with slaves for the afterlife. El Patrón had meant to kill everyone in Opium.

With the border closed and no one alive to open it, supplies would run out. Oh, the few Real People might scratch out an existence eating squirrels, but the vast eejit army would perish. And how long could the Real People survive without medicine, seeds, livestock, or food? Opium was a one-crop country, and everything else was imported. When all were dead, El Patrón would rule a kingdom of shadows, with ghostly eejits tending the fields and Celia eternally preparing meals and Daft Donald forever polishing Hitler’s car.

But he didn’t count on me, Matt thought.

“How do I dial up Esperanza?” he said aloud.

“I don’t know, mi patrón,” said Cienfuegos. “If you wait long enough, all the addresses will appear.”

Matt watched as pictures flashed onto the screen. Places in the United States and Aztlán appeared, although officials in those countries were not supposed to be involved with the drug trade. Warehouses in Russia, India, Japan, and Australia were shown, lingered a few minutes, and faded.

The air in the room was cold, and a hum vibrated almost out of the range of hearing. Matt shivered. He’d gone from near solitude to someone who would have to stand up to presidents and generals. The thought of going toe-to-toe with Glass Eye Dabengwa filled him with dread. He’d seen Glass Eye. The sight of those motionless yellow eyes had turned Matt’s spine to water, and the man wasn’t even looking at him. No matter how many pillows Cienfuegos put on Matt’s chair to make him look tall, Glass Eye would know he was just a kid.

The Convent of Santa Clara appeared with the words ESPERANZA MENDOZA. SAN LUIS, AZTLÁN.