Jenkins drove the surveillance van back to the embassy parking lot while Carter was busy nursing the traumatized Henderson, who had the American flag blanket wrapped around him like a burrito. After returning to the embassy, Henderson tentatively exited the truck, trembling like Achilles receiving the corpse of Patroclus. The horror, the terror, the nightmare of seeing Sam’s joyful laughing, his hand-holding with Cuauhtémoc. The sight of their bird talons interlocking with one another seared into his memories. He incoherently mumbled and muttered as he ventured into the Embassy’s back door with Jenkins and Carter. 

The aides set him down in an office on the top floor, where he had windows overlooking the Edificio Antonio Sola apartment across the street. To Henderson, this was a twisted sitcom set up, he was their neighbor, a sad and lonely military man, condemned to watch his surrogate son reveling in the domestic bliss with Cuauhtémoc and his unnatural family. Unnatural, but no less genuine. “Why can’t I have something like that?” He muttered.  

“Jenkins, Carter, get the surveillance equipment up here. We’re setting up the TOC.” Henderson hissed, prompting Jenkins and Carter to groan, but reluctantly obeyed. They went to collect the surveillance equipment and technicians before piling them into Henderson’s office. Cameras, binoculars, drones, and control terminals keep watch on the neighbor. 

“Uh… sir… is this a bit excessive?” Carter asked sheepishly.

“Not!” Henderson spat at them before pushing his eyes through the binocular lens. “GAAAH! Look at them! Frolicking in their domesticity! Corrupting Sam All American Values to their hedonistic degeneracy!!!!” Henderson growled as his eyes darted from the tortillas to Cuauhtémoc’s well-waxed eagle beaks. “Look at those suspiciously perfect tortillas! And those immaculately waxed homewrecking beaks!” 

“Uh… sir… they’re just making lunch. That’s just maintenance… have you brushed your teeth yet?” Jenkins asked, looking more concerned at the green miasmic breaths coming out of Henderson’s mouth.

“I’ll brush my teeth after I’ve made sure Sam is-” He trailed off and let out a hysterical scream when he saw Sam preening Cuauhtémoc’s feather, and Cuauhtémoc was returning the gesture. “THEY’RE PREENING THEIR FEATHERS!” He turned to the exasperated aides, not registering their fatigue. “Prepare the PowerPoints! Operational Briefing in 45 minutes!”

“Too soon, sir…” Jenkins replied, groaning.

“One hour!” Henderson spat back, sending them away. His aides, technicians, were then busy preparing a PowerPoint presentation in the office, complete with threat assessment, objective, DEFCON readiness level, targets, time, and place. Once the PowerPoint was ready, Henderson was presenting it with a laser pointer to an audience of sleep-deprived aides, confused technicians, desperate interns, and a few cardboard cutouts. 

“Alright, people, listen up! We are now at DEFCON: Queer!” Henderson began. 

“That’s not even a real code.” One of the technicians grumbled.

“It is now! We are facing the greatest threat to Wholesome Traditional American values! In the form of this GREEN! DEVIANT! GAY! HIMBO! PEACOCK!” Henderson hit the first presentation, a photo of Cuauhtémoc suspiciously handsome eagle face flexing his pectorals and biceps. 

Jenkins whispered to Carter, who nodded. “I might be reading too much into this.” 

“He has seduced Sam Spade, our greatest achievement and icon! With tortillas!” He then showed them a slide of Sam happily making tortillas with Cuauhtémoc and his family. “Today’s tortilla? Tomorrow? Cohabitation in the same bedroom! Then God knows what else!” Henderson's body twisted and arched as he over-emphasized the threat. “Welcome to Operation: Nestflix!” 

“Are you for real, sir?” One of the interns asked, only to receive a maddening red as the devil death glare from Henderson.

“We will bring Sam back to America’s proper fold! Our objective is to observe, subvert, and rescue Sam from that degenerate bird before they can build a nest together! We will rebuild his nest at home in Virginia!” Henderson declared to a half-bored audience and two sleeping aides as he moved on to the nitty-gritty details of the operation and standard operating procedure for the coming days and weeks.          

Back in Edificio Sola, Cuauhtémoc and Sam were setting the table, while Delgato and Selena were preparing their lunch. They heard their doorbell ring, and Delgato sprinted over, checking the wall-mounted camera in front of their home. Thankfully, it wasn’t Henderson, just the local Sushi Chef bringing over their order, prompting the panther to open the door with his QR scanner ready for payment. 

“Un pedido especial familiar para nuestros héroes de telenovelas favoritos.” The sushi chef stated, handing Delgato the Sushi boxes. 

“Just doing what we do best, tío Héctor,” Cuauhtémoc spoke with a smile as he gave Hector a wave.

“Hope your new husband enjoys the sushi.” Hector casually remarked, taking a look at his money before nodding. “Gracias, amigos. Adios.” The chef left them be while Sam nearly choked, hearing he was practically engaged to Cuauhtémoc by the neighbors. 

“You hear that, mi amor, we’re official.” Cuauhtémoc jokingly replied with a gentle elbow nudging at Sam’s frame. 

“Zona Rosa was your proposal to me?” Sam sheepishly groaned and saw Cuauhtémoc nodding with a wink. Spades let out a sigh before pulling Cuauhtémoc in for a head noogie. “Come here, you devious little…” Cuauhtémoc simply laughed at the head noogie by Sam before the two traded kisses on their cheeks. Across the streets, Henderson cringed and groaned seeing the sight.

The general feverishly documented the interaction with absurdly meticulous details. The length of Sam’s laughter was three times longer than his previously recorded. The preening acts between them before joining the table with Selena. 

It was all too real, no staged or awkward smiles. He popped a can of Henderson Lager, staring at the label with contorted features. “I could have had what they have. If it weren’t for you.” He muttered whilst staring at the can’s label before dunking it.  

“So, how’s Mexico treating you, mijo?” Selena asked, breaking Sam’s quiet.

“Overwhelming. All the right way.” He let out a gentle smile, hesitant but beaming with hopes words can hardly convey. “It’s been so long since I've seen real people again.” He spoke, catching Cuauhtémoc’s attention, pausing his munching of a piece of Ebirah sushi. 

“What do you mean, Sam?” He slowed down, hesitated to know. 

“Ah, just about everyone we ever knew left. I’m the only one left. Maybe with a wife, two eaglets.” Sam caught himself and sighed briefly. “Nah, they’re not real. You guys are.” He looked back at them. Selena was visibly concerned. She couldn’t tell what specifically went down, but a mother’s concern for her children was unmistakable. 

“Mijo, here you have nothing to worry about. I raised you alongside Cuauhtémoc, you are familia to me and nothing will ever change that.” Selena assured him with a gentle caress on his metallic cheek. Sam gave a relaxed coo in reaction, leaning into her palm. 

“Hermano, you’re never alone, we’ll always be with you,” Delgato assured Sam.

“Si, remember what we promised on our separation? We’ll meet again someday.” Cuauhtémoc added, to which Sam nodded and rubbed their beaks together. 

Over at Henderson, he feverishly noted down the interactions, every transcript, while his aides were catching some much-needed rest in the background, letting the general have his fun or lack thereof. 

“How is this possible!? Their sentimentality… It’s disarming, Sam! He’s getting soft and abandoning American Apple Pie for locally made Sushi!?” Henderson muttered profusely. He heard his phone ring and buzzed, picking up the mobile, and much to his horror, it was his daughter, Gracelynn. He hit the call button and put the phone to his ear. “Sweetie? Uh… how’s everything?”

“Daddy, where’s Sam? I haven’t seen him returning to the hotel.” Gracelynn panicked, high-pitched Southern drawl. 

“Oh, honey, sweetie girl, I’m watching him right now, he’s across the street from the embassy. It’s horrifying! Th-They’re… having Sushi together!” Henderson flabbergasted, cringing in cosmic horror, sweating as Sam enjoyed his sushi dish with Cuauhtémoc.

“No… Not our Sam… Not my Eagle-Boo. We had plans, Daddy! We were gonna get married in front of the Liberty Bell! The confetti was going to be made of shredded tax returns!” Gracelynn panicked over the phone, dreading the confirmation. “Is… he smiling?” She asked, stuttering. Sam never smiled at her.

“Oh yes honey… it’s him… Cuauhtémoc…” Henderson uttered, hearing his daughter’s ear piercing scream.

“THAT GREEN COMMUNIST COCKATOO STOLE MY MAN!”

Back at Edificio Sola, the neighbors were gossiping to one another over Sam and Cuauhtémoc’s wedding like it was the hottest chili pot at a banquet. Tia Rosa’s headstart, speculating whether or not Sam would wear something American style suit contrasted with Cuauhtémoc’s Aztec style ceremonial outfit.

‘Mio Dio, he’s only been here for a few days, but I hope El Centinela de Jade will marry Himbo Gringo. They’re just made for each other.’

Xochitl quickly pounced like the jaguar they were, replying with their own comment regarding their Jade Sentinel’s legal status. 

‘Oye Tia, Pollito isn’t even a citizen yet. Ningún estatus legal equivale a ninguna boda.’

Henderson was still deep in his Lager fervor, turned a half-sober gaze over to the intern, eyes twitching at the word ‘Marriage’. “Did you say… marriage?” He asked, almost monotone and devoid of emotions like a robot. He saw the intern nod and snapped. Henderson threw his beer can out of the windows, falling on the sidewalk and spilling beer on the streets below. Pedestrians and passersby dodged in shock. 

“Goddamn it! We tried to control the narrative! We tried to keep him under wraps, curated his daily life to the most minute detail. The most scientifically engineered to produce absolute patriotism! He’s America’s Promise, not a… a green himbo’s nest-mate!” His voice cracked. In his rage, Henderson kicked the chairs and overturned tables, alarming even his aides and interns around the place. The technicians were startled, hiding behind whatever covers they could find before Henderson calmed down.

Over at the Pentagon, personnel were running back and forth across the concrete, glass and steel walls of the US military’s inner sanctum. The colonels, majors and generals of the oversight committee were assembled in their section, with an obsidian tinted screen showing the livestream from the Mexican CNI drones. 

Among them was a middle aged Afrolatino colonel with coffee brown complexion. He set his 1st Cavalry coffee mug on the table, sighing while he watched the drone livestreams of the minimart meltdown and the recent round of Henderson spying on Cuauhtémoc’s family apartment across the streets. His graying crew cut and wrinkled features contorted further as he shook his head. The other officers, some careerists sweated bullets in his presence, Colonel Alfonso Adams.  

He pinched his temple and groaned when he saw Henderson kicking chairs and flipping tables, yelling at the top of his lungs about marriage gossips of the neighbors. “Pull everything we have on this manchild. I want psyche eval reports, every video, recording, signatures of anyone cleared this man for Flag Officer.”

“On it sir.” A junior analyst went to work on his laptop typing out the list of demands, filing requests for records and databases in the Pentagon. 

“Issue a recall order. I want that sonuvabitch’s ass back here. Debrief Sam Spade. I want to know what he knows and every abuse that went under our noses.” Colonel Adams said, prompting the other members in the room to nod in response. 

“Don’t tell me, those are drone feeds from the CNI.” One colonel spoke watching the livestream comment section overlay.

“Yes sir, that’s the CNI drone alright from the signal bouncing and encryption protocols.” One of the tech sergeant analyst informed him. 

“No way is this spontaneous, they knew. They fucking knew! We’ve been outplayed by the Mexican version of the CIA here!” One major blurted out, half astonished, half outraged. 

Colonel Adams groaned, “Can it Major, we’ll know in good time. Right now work on recalling Henderson. I’ll be heading to Mexico City to have a word with Spade.”  

Back in the US Embassy of Mexico, the door swung open and in came the US Ambassador, Evita Morales, an American-Mexican who quickly bursted in, slamming down a paper list of recorded angry phone calls from Secretariat of Foreign Relations, and a legal notice from the National Privacy Commission. 

“General Henderson, what the hell are you doing!?” She asked, freezing Henderson in place with a glare. “You’re spying on civilians of the host nation? Influencers at Zona Rosa? You’re dragging us into an international incident!” 

Henderson stuttered and struggled to put together a sentence to justify his actions, “Ambassador… I don’t think… you understand… the gravity of the situation… regarding national security. Look!” he went for the laser pointers and pointed to a photo of Cuauhtémoc flexing his muscles and armor plates on a training beach at dawn. 

“His perfect tortilla handling technique? It’s… too good. Unnaturally good. That kind of tortilla grace comes from training.” Henderson continued. 

“And chiseled abs glistening in the golden sun? His perfectly waxed beaks that catch dawn’s first light like liberty’s own tears…” He whispered erratically. “He’s not civilians, he’s an operator of seduction and subversion and he’s corrupting my son!” Henderson hissed through clenched teeth to the unamused ambassador, who then took a look at the Cuauhtémoc’s photo on the projector then at one of the aides. 

Morales asked, “I’m reading too much into this right?” to which Jenkin exasperatedly shook his head. The Ambassador embarrassingly groaned, face planted firmly into her palms. “General, you have exactly five minutes to stop everything that you’re doing! And vacate the Embassy until further notice! Got that?”