Peril and Intrigue Under El Sexto Sol

Lorenzo Cano

Description

A MODERN-DAY STORY FILLED WITH SUSPENSE, HUMOR AND ROMANCE. PERIL AND INTRIGUE UNDER EL SEXTO SOL follows San Antonio, Texas Professor Tony Carranza and his cadre of students to Mexico City and smack into the final days of the presidential campaign of popular, reformist, indigenous candidate, Moctezuma Chacón. Suspecting that the death of one of Mexico’s ex-representatives to the United Nations was an assassination, Professor Carranza becomes a target by unknown assailants. Los Angeles Times reporter, Stacey Montemayor, arrives on the scene to cover the campaign and soon becomes embroiled along with Professor Carranza, the students, and a host of other patriotic Mexican activists seeking justice and democracy at all costs.

Sujets

• Arts visuels
• Histoire des Arts
• Histoire des Arts
• Histoire des arts visuels
• Politics
• Art
• Sexualité
• sexualité
• Sexualité

Informations

• Publié par: Xlibris US
• Date de parution: 26 janvier 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781664149632
• Langue: English

Extrait

PERIL AND INTRIGUE UNDER EL SEXTO SOL













Lorenzo Cano







Copyright © 2021 by Lorenzo Cano.

ISBN:
Hardcover
978-1-6698-6580-3
Softcover
978-1-6641-4964-9
eBook
978-1-6641-4963-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.




Rev. date: 02/02/2023




Xlibris
844-714-8691
www.Xlibris.com

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Contents
The People

Chapter 1 A Volcano Erupts
Chapter 2 A Turn of Events
Chapter 3 Crossing into Mexico
Chapter 4 The Regiomontano Express
Chapter 5 A Mexico City Welcome
Chapter 6 At the National Autonomous University of Mexico
Chapter 7 Plaza Garibaldi: Close Call
Chapter 8 Meeting Moctezuma Chacón
Chapter 9 Out on The Town
Chapter 10 The Attack
Chapter 11 Surprise in Polanco
Chapter 12 Captives
Chapter 13 Staying Alive
Chapter 14 Tapatío Redemption
Chapter 15 The Eve of The Election
Chapter 16 Surprise Visit
Chapter 17 Election Day
Chapter 18 Election Night
Chapter 19 El Panteón de Los Angeles
Chapter 20 Last Chance
Chapter 21 Unexpected Expectations
Chapter 22 El Sexto Sol Arising















This book is dedicated to the 1960’s and 1970’s Chicano Movement activists and to those individuals who struggled during the same time period for a more democratic and just Mexico. To my wife, Grisel, and to my sons and daughters, Lorenzo Eduardo, Lorenzo Xavier, Yajaira Milena, and Xóchitl Rosalie who have given me even more purpose and meaning in my life.



THE PEOPLE
Dr. Tony Carranza
Professor of political science
Moctezuma Chac ό n
Mexican presidential candidate
Lázaro Fuentes
Journalist for El Norte Newspaper, Monterrey N.L. Mexico
Stacey Montemayor
National political writer/journalist at the Los Angeles Times
David Mendoza
University student of English (San Antonio)
Ernesto Padilla
Student: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, UNAM
Chito Mendez
Leader of El Nuevo Movimiento Urbano, Mexico City
Shelly Martínez
University student of political science (San Antonio)
Daniel Silva
University student of architecture (San Antonio)
Raquel Villa
University student of journalism (San Antonio)
Ben Guevara
University student of pre-law (San Antonio)
Patricia Marín
University student of political science (San Antonio)
Nance Bravo
Professor of international relations, UNAM
Don Samuel Cortina
Mexico City cab driver
Henry Simmons
CIA Operative



CHAPTER 1
A Volcano Erupts
T HE TIME ON the wall clock was approaching ten and I had been elbowing the bar for some time, warming a stool, and sipping on another last glass of imported cabernet. The suave tempo of the music wafted through the club’s clouds of happy patron chatter; a good crowd, but nowhere near the weekend jam with long lines snaking outside. I set my drink down with a bump, see-sawing the wine before it settled into a glossy, crimson, serene pond. The swirling wine and concave shape of the glass reminded me of a small moon-lit bay near Puerto Vallarta six years ago where I spent a week on the beach with ex-college buddies and an old flame.
Mauve and pink neon lights around the large rectangular wall mirror glowed invitingly over my dimly lit perch. The scaly, elongated bulbs suggested two feathered serpents. Their long-tailed bodies rose from the bottom of the mirror, one slithered up left and the other to the right side along its carved wooden edges until they faced each other at the apex of the shiny glass with fearless eyes. The bartenders would explain to new customers that the colorful slithery creatures were artistic renditions of the plumed serpent, Toltec god Quetzalcoatl, and the masterpiece of famous Mexico City artist, Francisca Palomares. The place also got notoriety from the elaborately handcrafted wooden bar that was considered the longest in the state of Texas. It stretched from near the entrance to the back of the long, rectangular-shaped room that faced the lush vegetation along the San Antonio River Walk. It was the first drinking establishment to open back up after the end of Prohibition in the last century decades past and an icon primarily for those who gravitated from the Westside and Southside; particularly those that were looking for reasonable prices, uplifting roots music, a good conversation, or just to be left alone . For certain, the Soul of Texas Latin Jazz Nightclub was the place to be by generations of native and transplanted patrons.
On the weekends, the best Latin jazz, conjunto, and Tejano bands performed their magic to enthusiastic crowds. Coats required by all gentlemen , stated the Greater Convention and Visitors Bureau’s brochure item on the nightclub. Joey, the manager, wouldn’t settle for anything less than a spiffy look. This was the place where La Chicanada, San Antonio’s Mexican Americans, came decked out wearing elegant hats and chic attire, both retro and nouveau. Texas Colors Magazine called the fashionable styles “Latin cosmopolitan”, but we in San Antonio knew it simply as the Westside look.
I usually didn’t come on Wednesdays, but I had heard earlier in the day that my department had voted to grant me tenure, a life-long contract with the university, and every professor’s dream. Not bad, I thought, for a thirty-six-year-old guy from the Westside of San Antonio. The great news warranted a small celebration. Why not? Besides, the five o’clock news on KTEX had warned motorists to avoid driving, if possible, due to expected flash street flooding. I harbored in the club, then decided to linger even after the rain quit. Feeling mellow, I thought about all the sacrifices I had made towards getting tenure, including my breakup three years ago with a long-term relationship.
I thought to plan a pachanga later with my friends and family. I had published a nationally recognized book, edited two others, completed umpteenth scholarly articles, mostly in so-called top-notch journals, and nearly completed my second book over changes in Mexican politics with a firm commitment by the University of Texas Press. The close departmental vote awarding me tenure was unsurprising since some of the faculty couldn’t stomach that a Chicano from the Westside had attended a more prestigious university than they, and that my publishing record was beyond repute. Those voting against me didn’t like my politics; too committed to my community, and I simply wrote too much on the politics of the have-nots…a topic unworthy of academic prestige in the eyes of the Neanderthals in the department who had remained uninformed or unmoved by the fact that the world had recently celebrated a new century and moved forward rapidly. Most of all, I behaved as an equal which didn’t sit well with a few in the department who thought their DNA was superior to someone with the last name Carranza. “Snobs,” I thought to myself, when I felt someone gently tapping me on the shoulder.
“Pardon me, Professor Carranza?”
The beautiful, stunning woman seemed familiar, but I couldn’t place her. “Maybe a graduate student,” I thought. That I was instantly taken aback by her beauty was the understatement of the year! Time froze and the music stopped as the patrons around the bar fixated on her long, silky, raven hair, smooth, golden-bronze skin, and eyes like exotic gems.
“The conference,” she breathed, as if she had read my mind. She pulled out the barstool next to mine and displayed a pair of shapely legs snuggled inside a modish black skirt embroidered with images of red roses and tassels along the hem. Her muscle tone and tan thighs suggested vitality, physicality. A runner or tennis player , I surmised, looking down and then into her eyes.
“About a year ago,” she said, “The National Association of American Political Scientists in D.C. at your book signing. Remember? I’m Stacey Montemayor.” She offered her hand.
How could I have forgotten! We had sp