The Panamanian Princess

"Who is this man from America; what does he want of us; what does he want of me? I no meet with this - this American," the princess says in her thick Spanish accent.  "I am with family."

The princess stares at Captain Eduardo, her eyes like darts, piercing right through him, "This American, this Kenneth Douglas, follow him.  See where he goes, see what he does, see who he talks with.  This Kenneth Douglas - I  no trust him." 

"Senor President," the military advisor says from the end of the long table.  "Senor President, the Colombian military is building strength at our southern border.  I am afraid they may invade us again."

"Captain Eduardo, report," the princess shouts.  "This American distracts me with his daily messages.  What have you learned?"

"This American travels all over our country saying he is a crop buyer from America, but he does not go to our fields, he does not talk with our growers; instead he stays in his hotel room except for at night.  He goes to the nightclubs and watches salsa dancers, plays that crazy American jazz, then comes back here to Panama City and stays in his hotel room.

The president surveys the damage, the dead, and the injured in the corridor, and he listens to the voice of this American, the voice of a new friend, a voice of hope - a voice that just might be too late to save him or the princess.

The princess freezes in her chair, but Kenneth jumps to his feet, throwing his chair  to one side.  He reaches under his coat and produces a Colt .45, a Texas six - shooter. 

The princess, still seated at the table, looks up to the crop buyer in disbelief.

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