She was still thinking about how to change her life’s path when someone knocked on the door then opened it without waiting to be invited. Carlotta, naturally.
She sat on the bed next to Viola’s chair. “I watched the video from the theater,” she said. “Have you had any religious training? You did remarkably well for a neophyte.”
Viola suppressed a smile. She’d also been surprised by how her congregation had reacted to her sermon. “No formal training, but I grew up in a very conservative Catholic home. My mother and I went to mass at least twice a week, and sometimes more often. I also went to parochial school for twelve years. So, I couldn’t help but think about God and religion all the time.”
Carlotta stood. “It shows. All I ask is that you include something nice in your masses about my family who allowed you the opportunity to help so many people.”
Viola was stunned. Did a demon from Hell really expect kudos from a kidnap victim? “I—I…”
The jefa frowned. “Remember, the only reason I let you speak in public is because I’d prefer to have the support of Santa Muerte’s followers at this critical time. You will speak kindly of my family whenever you’re in public, or you’ll get another taste of my whip.”
Viola had no choice. “Si, Señora.”
-o-o-o-
Thursday
Casa Santiago, near Louviers
Viola didn’t sleep well, not with Carlotta’s threat spinning around in her mind. As long as Carlotta could whip or beat her slave at will, her slave needed to toe the line. But the thought of misleading her congregation during a religious service was sickening. What could she say that would be honest enough to keep God from hurling a lightning bolt at her but still satisfy Pontius Pilate? That was a tough question.
At breakfast, Carlotta dropped by long enough to tell Viola that she’d perform two services that morning. The first would take place on the back patio, and the second would be a longer public mass, starting at eleven-thirty a.m.
“May I ask where that will be, Señora?”
The older woman’s eyes narrowed. “We are not sure yet, but why should it matter? We will deliver you to your adoring fans on time.”
It was obvious that Carlotta was still nursing a grudge from the night before. No surprise there.
When Maria finished eating, she and Viola headed upstairs for another seriously weird makeup session. This time, the black circles around her eyes included a red border made from flower petals.
In addition, Emilio had painted a more elaborate and surreal image on Viola’s robe, like something from Salvador Dali. The skeleton’s bones were orange and black, being consumed by fire.
Viola found more new material for her sermon and interspersed it with the text for the Santa Muerte rosary she’d found online.
Minutes before she was due to preach, Viola walked down the main staircase with Maria, who wore an identical robe.
To Viola’s surprise, the backyard crowd was twice as large as the morning before. And they’d piled more offerings in front of the altar, including a blunt burning in an ashtray. That was apparently the folk version of incense.
Before Santa Muerte stepped out onto the porch, Maria whispered, “Everyone is talking about how you saved our lives. Pablo’s men adore you.”
Viola’s face warmed, but she doubted anyone would notice her blushing because her skin had been bleached white. “Thank you for telling me. Everyone loves to be loved.”
After blowing out a deep breath, Viola stepped onto the patio. Her congregation clapped, which was very un-churchlike. More importantly, although the men in the audience were mostly stone-cold killers, they still knew how to smile. That started the glow inside her again.
Again, she reminded herself not to let the attention go to her head. People were seeing her as a spiritual connection, not the flawed human she really was.
The prayer to Saint Michael had been such a hit the day before that she started with it again. Then she mixed the rosary with quotations by the Dalai Lama. Now there was a good man, someone far closer to God, even if he didn’t believe the Western concept of a monotheistic God.
Viola’s mass took forty-five minutes, and nobody left early. That seemed like a good sign. Pablo also attended, standing in the back, and he participated in the call-and-response. Another good sign. Carlotta was thankfully nowhere to be seen.
After the service and a dozen blessings, Viola headed to her office and looked online for more spiritual material to use in her next sermon. Because her services were being taped, she felt a lot of pressure to constantly come up with new inspirational messages.
Then she remembered Carlotta’s latest order. What lies about the infernal cartel could Viola get away with? She was caught between God and Satan, and it was notoriously impossible to satisfy them both.
-o-o-o-
Mount Evans Motel, Idaho Springs
Each night, it seemed harder for Athena to sleep with a growing human being packed inside her. And Leo wasn’t the quiet, laze around the park type. His original mother had confirmed that. He seemed determined to run a marathon every night.
In the morning, after getting cleaned up and eating breakfast, Athena sat at her computer to catch up with Santa Muerte. Viola’s Facebook page contained a post from only a few minutes before. The Niña Blanca would be appearing at a late morning service in North Denver.
Athena checked the address mentioned in the post. It was an empty lot next to an abandoned grocery store. Not a particularly attractive venue for a church service, but Beau had told her the day before that the theater had been overfilled.
She passed the information on to Beau who immediately called one of his contacts at DEA. Hopefully, they’d have a chance during or after the mass to liberate Viola.
In the meantime, Athena continued trying to break the encryption on messages flowing in and out of Casa Santiago. Still no luck, but the social media accounts for the people living there proved to be helpful. In particular, a cartel soldier had described his revulsion at recognizing someone known as La Víbora. According to her Spanish-English online dictionary, the man’s nickname was the Viper.
Athena was able to find a number of online references about him, including many pictures. He was a notorious cartel assassin, but most of the information was in Spanish so she couldn’t understand much more.
Next, she checked to see whether anyone was snooping on her or any of the people close to her. She and Beau were fine, but someone had managed to hack into Roger’s personal Gmail account. And worse, the someone was currently trying to access his DOJ work email. She fired an encrypted email off to Roger, warning him.
-o-o-o-
Cub Foods Store (vacant), North Denver
Diego pulled into a huge parking lot next to an abandoned grocery store. Hundreds of people were gathered in front of a flatbed trailer.
He spoke to Viola. “The open trailer will serve as a makeshift stage, raising you high enough off the parking lot so everybody can see you.”
It was a hot July day, and Viola prayed that her sweat wouldn’t ruin Maria’s elaborate makeup job. But it and everything else was in God’s hands. Viola set to work with her assistants creating an altar on the truck’s bed.
Despite the blazing sun, the people waited on the sizzling asphalt while more streamed in. Something about Santa Muerte resonated deeply with these folks. Viola didn’t know why, but the folk religion was changing her, too. Some of the happiest moments in life had happened while she was helping society’s downtrodden. She grimaced. Have I become a cult leader?
Whatever was going on, it felt right.
When the altar was ready, Viola raised her arms straight out to the side, palms up. The crowd hushed. She began by thanking Carlotta for making it possible for everyone to gather and celebrate their faith. Viola laid it on thick because even though Carlotta’s motives had been selfish, she was still helping these damaged souls find some inner peace.
Instead of a somber, dignified Catholic service, this mass reminded her more and more of a Broncos game. On a whim, she began to sing Amazing Grace in Spanish, and the congregation sang with her at the top of their lungs.
Chapter 17
By the time Viola finished the mass, she was so energized that her hands shook and her voice trembled. After the service, people lined up on one side of the trailer in front of a stepladder so they could join her on the stage and ask her for help with their problems. This time, the line was three times longer than the day before. Diego allowed only one person at a time to approach Viola. Another guard at the opposite end of the flatbed trailer helped folks return to the pavement.
She spoke with and blessed her congregation for half an hour, working through most of the line. Then, a burly black man stepped up the stairs and strode toward her. Something about his demeanor seemed wrong. She’d seen a lot of suffering people recently, and this guy didn’t have the same aura.
Right before he reached her, he put his fingers to his lips and whistled. Two men that had been loitering in front of the trailer immediately jumped onto it. The three of them leapt toward Viola.
She screamed, not sure what was happening.
They grabbed her.
“DEA!” they yelled. “Federal agents! Freeze!”
One of the agents near Diego pulled a gun.
Diego went for his pistol.
That was all Viola saw before two gunshots rang out from somewhere near Diego. She was dragged to the back of the flatbed and passed to a fifth man on the asphalt.
Viola was stunned but couldn’t see what’d happened to her guards. The men surrounding her seemed to be cops. DEA meant drug cops.
They pulled her to a large white van, heaved her inside, and most of them piled in behind her. One man got behind the wheel. A few seconds later, the guy who’d been standing near Diego hopped in and closed the sliding door. The driver peeled out.
Still shocked, Viola asked with a stutter, “A-are you p-police?”
The black guy who’d first approached her said, “Yeah, I’m Harold Wilmington, Special Agent with the DEA. You’re free.”
A wave of relief flowed through her, and she burst into tears. Her mind clouded, but when the van turned a sharp corner, she almost tumbled over. After catching herself, she remembered Diego. “What happened to the Hispanic guy by the right-side stepladder?”
“He went for his gun. I put him down.”
She felt a pang of worry for him. “Is he going to be okay?”
The guy shrugged, obviously not caring one way or the other.
Nobody said anything for a few minutes as the van sped down city streets. Every minute or so, the driver checked his rearview mirrors, probably worried about being chased.
Viola couldn’t think straight. Thoughts spun in her brain. But these men deserved appreciation for risking their lives for her. “Thank you so much for helping me.”
They remained stoic.
What now? She thought about her mom, who had to be worried sick about her kidnapped daughter. “Can I call my mother and let her know I’m okay?”
Nobody spoke. Instead, they looked at Wilmington.
He pulled out his phone. “I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.”
Viola called, and her mom started screaming. Viola kept telling her she was okay, but it took a few minutes before Gloria got a hold of herself.
Then, she asked, “Where are you?”
“I’m in a Drug Enforcement Agency van driving in North Denver.” She turned to Wilmington. “Where are we going?”
“Federal courthouse building downtown. You’ll be safe there.”
Viola relayed that, and her mom said, “I’ll drive up to Denver as soon I find my keys and glasses.”
That would typically take a while. Viola could barely wait to see the most important person in her world.
After Viola ended the call, Wilmington asked in a fake-casual tone, “So, how did you manage to end up looking like that?”
Everybody froze. Viola realized that he wasn’t just trying to make conversation or put her at ease.
“T-this is how S-santa Muerte looks. Been t-trying to help those poor people.”
He nodded as if she’d said the most profound thing he’d ever heard. It was another signal that he wasn’t just killing time.
“Whose idea was it to dress you up this way?” he asked.
Viola caught herself before responding. Blew out a deep breath. She needed to think carefully before she started answering a bunch of cop questions. “Sorry, s-so upset, con-confused. Can’t think straight.”
She hoped he’d take the hint and back off. She’d done a lot of weird things lately, all under duress. Had even broken the law more than once.
Wilmington asked, “Did they hurt you?”
Maybe he really was worried about her. “Sometimes, but I’m okay.”
“You were inside the compound for several days. You must’ve met some strange folks.”
Jerk. He was trying to take advantage of her at a weak moment. She didn’t answer.
“You must’ve seen Carlotta,” he said. “After all, she runs the place. What was she like?”
Viola tried to speak, but words wouldn’t come out. Crazy feelings came and went. She felt like she was trapped in a cage with a lion. “Sorry, I’m pretty m-messed up.” Leave me alone!
Wilmington didn’t back off. “It’s okay. Take your time. Who originally grabbed you?”
She realized he was taking advantage of her confusion to start her talking. Asshole!
Viola tried to concentrate. Whatever she said during this supposedly casual conversation—in front of multiple witnesses—could easily change the course of her life for the worse. Better to be careful and seem rude than to blab her guts out.
She closed her eyes and ignored him.
-o-o-o-
Mount Evans Motel, Idaho Springs
Athena gasped when the first labor pain came sharp and sudden. Beau was talking on the telephone, as usual, and she waved to get his attention. “Leo wants out—now.”
He covered the mouthpiece. “Are you sure it’s not just those blueberry pancakes you inhaled for lunch?”
She wasn’t sure, but it didn’t feel like gas. “We’re at least an hour from the hospital—longer with traffic. We should get going.”
“Good point.” He hung up, and they quickly gathered their things. Athena had anticipated they might need a quick getaway, so most of their stuff was already packed. It only took a few minutes to gather the rest.
After she hobbled over to the motel office to explain that they had to leave unexpectedly, a second labor pain hit her. This one was considerably tougher than the first.
The guy reached for her arm. “You okay, Jane?”
She couldn’t answer until the spasm passed.
“Yeah, it’s just time.” She paid the bill in cash and waddled toward the beater Beau had bought.
He flew east on the freeway to Colorado Highway 93 north, that being the fastest route from Idaho Springs to the hospital in South Boulder. Athena leaned her seat back and tried to relax. To breathe. She reminded herself that something magical was about to happen. Though at the moment it felt less like Disney magic and more like Sauron’s.
-o-o-o-
Byron Rogers United States Courthouse, Denver
When Viola’s van stopped inside a garage at the back of a large building, the DEA agents had given up any pretense of being buddies. They’d acted insulted when she wouldn’t talk.
Things were happening too fast. They obviously wanted to squeeze information from her. She could forget the possibility that they’d rescued her out of the goodness of their hearts. The realization re
duced the amount of guilt she felt in cold-shouldering her saviors.
Viola felt a duty as an American citizen to help fight crime, but she was in a tough spot and nobody surrounding her was looking out for her. These guys expected info, and they weren’t concerned about the potentially horrible consequences she’d face if she ratted out Carlotta or the cartel. She needed time to think this through.
Consciously or not, the men encircled her as they walked to an elevator. They took her up several floors to what she recognized from a million cop shows, an interrogation room. It even had the crappy metal table and matching chairs. Mirrors covered one wall.
“Why am I getting the impression I need a lawyer?” she asked.
The six burly men stiffened and scowled as if she’d just dropped her pants and took a dump on the floor.
Wilmington went back to his falsely friendly-casual tone. “Viola, we risked our lives to save you. That’s our job, and no thanks are required. But now we need your help to save others. Just answer a few questions. We’ll be a crime-fighting partnership.”
It didn’t escape her notice that he’d refused to give her a straight answer to the lawyer question. And she’d already been pushed around enough for one day.
She snapped back. “We both know what will happen to me if I answer your questions. One fine day I’ll be minding my own business, and some casually dressed, ordinary guy will pull a gun and put another bullet or two in my head. Or are one of you going to follow me for the rest of my life to make sure I stay safe? How about you, Agent Wilmington?”
His brow furrowed. “The Justice Department has an excellent Witness Protection program. They’ve never lost anybody who’s cooperated.”
“Sorry, but I’m not giving up my job, friends, and family, just like that, all for what could be the rest of my life. I’ve seen enough of the Santiago family to know they’ll never stop looking for me.”
Wilmington pointed to a chair that faced the mirrored wall. “Have a seat. Someone will be back shortly.”
“I want to see my mother. And a lawyer.”
They silently filed out the door.
Anointed (Vanished Book 3) Page 12
