by Marc Levy
“I didn’t expect to enjoy the stroll as much as I did. Alberto didn’t flirt with me, not like all the other boys, who only wanted to get the girls into bed as soon as possible. He talked to me about politics, about a new world where everyone would have freedom of speech and no one would be doomed to a life of poverty. Alberto’s a humanist. He’s idealistic and naive, but he’s also extremely generous. There was something reassuring about his deep voice, and the way he looked at me made me feel light-headed.
“We’d been so lost in conversation, we hadn’t noticed that the evening had flown by. When we started back, it was well past the curfew my father had given me—he had shouted it out after us repeatedly as we were leaving. I knew Papá would be waiting for us on the doorstep, maybe even with his shotgun filled with rock salt to fire it at Alberto and teach him a lesson. I didn’t want Alberto to get in trouble, so I told him it was better if I went home on my own, but he insisted on escorting me.
“When we got to the corner of my road I asked him to pass me his handkerchief, and tied it around my ankle. Then I leaned on his shoulder and pretended to limp the rest of the way. My father calmed down as soon as he caught sight of me, and began running towards us. I told him I’d sprained my ankle, and it had taken us two hours to walk back because I’d had to stop every few hundred feet to rest. I don’t know if Papá believed me, but he thanked Alberto for bringing his daughter back home safe and sound. My honor was intact, too, and that was the main thing. As for me, when I went to bed that night, all I could think of was the way I’d felt when Alberto had put his arm around me, and when my hand had touched his shoulder.
“Six months later, we were married. We didn’t have much money and it wasn’t easy making ends meet, but we always managed to scrape along somehow. We were happy, genuinely happy. I spent some of the best years of my life with him. We laughed so much together. And then the junta came to power, more terrifying than the previous dictatorships. Our son was twenty when they kidnapped him. We’d only had one child. Alberto never recovered from his disappearance, and neither did our marriage. We survived in our different ways. He chose to forget, and I chose to fight. Our roles were reversed.
“If you see Alberto again, you’re not to tell him I talked to you about him. Is that a promise?”
Andrew promised.
“I’ve had trouble sleeping ever since you came to see me. Ortiz isn’t one of the key people in my album. He was just a sidekick, like I told you—an officer with an unremarkable career. But now I can’t help wondering if he was the one who flew the plane from which they threw my son into the Río de la Plata. I want you to find him and make him confess. There’s nothing more terrible for a mother than losing her child. It’s the worst tragedy any human being can suffer, a prospect more terrible than death. You can’t imagine the pain of not being able to visit his grave, of never having seen his body. Knowing that the child who called you Mamá, who would run into your arms when he saw you and hug you as tight as he could . . . ”
Luisa paused.
“When the child who was the light of your life disappears without a trace, when you know you’ll never hear the sound of his voice again, your life becomes a living hell.”
Luisa went over to the window, keeping her face averted from Andrew’s gaze. She took a deep breath and continued speaking, her gaze lost in the distance.
“Alberto took refuge in oblivion. He was afraid that his suffering would drive him into blindly seeking vengeance. He didn’t want to be like them. I wasn’t afraid of that. A woman wouldn’t have the slightest compunction about killing someone who stole her child. If I’d had the chance to do it, I would have.”
Andrew thought fleetingly of Mrs. Capetta. Luisa turned back to him. Her eyes were bloodshot, but her bearing was proud.
“Find him. I’m begging you, from the bottom of my heart . . . or what’s left of it.”
She returned to his bedside and picked up her bag. Andrew thought as he watched her make her way out of the room that she seemed to have aged in the course of their conversation. He thought about his meeting with Ortiz all night. For the first time, he found himself hoping that Alberto’s plan would work.
* * *
Andrew’s phone rang in the late afternoon. The pain flared up again as he maneuvered himself around to reach it.
“When you say ‘I’ll call you back in five,’ you . . . ”
“I’m at the hospital, Simon,” Andrew broke in.
“Are you visiting someone?”
“No, I’m the patient.”
Andrew told Simon about the attack, and made him promise he wouldn’t breathe a word to Valerie. Simon wanted to get on a flight right away, but Andrew refused to let him. He’d drawn enough attention to himself already, and if Simon came it would only complicate matters.
“I’m guessing this is not a good time to give you my report on Capetta’s wife.”
“On the contrary—I’m not exactly busy.”
“She spends her afternoons knitting in a small park, watching her kid play in the sandbox.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“When I said she spent her days knitting, I mean that’s literally all she did.”
“Nothing else?”
“No, except she’s too beautiful to have been married to a guy like that Capetta you told me about. But that’s probably just jealousy talking.”
“Beautiful in what way?”
“Black hair, eyes as dark as ebony, a steely gaze, and an expression on her face that speaks of loneliness and intense suffering.”
“You decided all that just by looking at her?”
“Just because I love all women it doesn’t mean that I don’t pay attention to individual ones.”
“Simon, I know you better than that.”
“Oh, all right. She was having coffee at a McDonald’s, and her kid was walking back to their table carrying a tray that looked a little too heavy for him. I made it so he bumped into me—I sacrificed a perfectly good pair of jeans for you, by the way. Paolina got up and began apologizing profusely. The kid looked like he was about to burst into tears, so I made a couple of funny faces to make him laugh. I gave him ten dollars to buy himself a Coke and some nuggets, and then I asked if I could use the paper napkins on the table so I had an excuse to sit down with her until her son came back.”
“That sounds a lot more like you.”
“It really pains me to know that’s what you think of me.”
“What did she tell you?”
“She said she’d moved to Chicago after her husband died to build a new life for herself and her son.”
“A son she’s depriving of a father who’s alive and well. Some widow!”
“The way her face hardened when she mentioned her husband made my blood run cold. There was something terrifying about her, actually.”
“What?”
“I couldn’t say exactly. I just felt very uncomfortable around her.”
“Did she mention she was going to New York?”
“No, and when I told her as I was leaving that she should call me if she was ever in New York and needed anything at all, she said she was never going back.”
“She must have thought you were coming on to her.”
“Hey, if I’d come on to her, she’d have changed her mind.”
“Obviously!” Andrew said sarcastically.
“Yes, obviously! But seeing as I was on my mission and all, I didn’t step out of line. I was merely a businessman visiting Chicago, and a father of three in love with his wife.”
“How did it feel to play the good husband and father? Not too exhausted this morning, I hope?”
“I thought I missed you, but on second thought . . . ”
“Do you think she’s capable of killing someone?”
“She’s certainly strong-minded enough,
and she lied to me about her life and her plans. There’s something genuinely disturbing about her. I wouldn’t go so far as to compare her to Jack Nicholson in The Shining, but she’s got these really scary eyes. Listen, Andrew, what are you wasting your time in Buenos Aires for if you really believe someone’s going to try and kill you in a few weeks?”
“I’ve been offered a second chance, Simon—to protect Valerie from my wandering eye, but also to carry out an investigation that’s important, and not just for me. I’m even more aware of that now than I was before.”
Andrew asked his friend for one last favor. As soon as he’d hung up, Simon went to buy a bouquet of flowers and had them delivered to Valerie with a note Andrew had dictated.
In his hospital room in Buenos Aires, Andrew thought he could hear a voice whisper in his ear: “If Mrs. Capetta thinks you’re responsible for making her lose her daughter, you better watch out for yourself.”
* * *
Andrew went through another set of tests on Monday morning, and Dr. Herrera discharged him in the early afternoon.
Marisa was waiting outside in her car. After a brief stop at the hotel they went to the bar, where Alberto was waiting for them.
Andrew went straight to the table at the back of the room. Alberto was sitting alone. He unfolded a large sheet of paper and drew Ortiz’s itinerary on it.
“When he leaves Villa Maria, a broken-down truck blocking the road will force him to get off National Route 9. His driver will turn south to pick up Route 8. Meanwhile, you’ll be driving to Gahan. When you reach the crucifix memorial—you’ll recognize it easily, it’s a statue of the Virgin Mary under a small glass pyramid, well lit, perfect for our purposes—you’ll see three grain silos to your right, about fifty yards from the road. There’s a small dirt track leading to them. Hide the car behind the silos and turn off the lights. You and Marisa can take turns sleeping while you’re waiting.
“If Ortiz leaves Dumesnil at about 9 P.M., he’ll reach Gahan around four in the morning. We’ll have taken care of things by then. The road will be strewn with pieces of scrap metal. If the car keeps going after the memorial, it’ll be on wheel rims.”
“What if his car isn’t the first one to come by?”
“There won’t be anyone else on the road at that time of night.”
“How can you be absolutely sure of that?”
“Our friends will be watching the exits leading out of Olivia, Chazon, Arias, Santa Émilia, Colón, and Rojas. We’ll know where he is a quarter of an hour ahead of time, and we’ll only booby-trap the road when we’re sure he’s approaching the memorial.”
“There’s a town called Olivia in those parts?” Andrew asked.
“Yes, why?” Alberto asked.
“No reason.”
“Once his car’s out of action, stay hidden until his men have started out for Gahan. You’ll be no match for them if it’s three against one. I’m told you had a run-in with them recently, and if the state of your face is anything to go by, I don’t think you’d come out the winner in a fight.”
“How do you know that both men will go for help?”
“It’s better to be in company if you’re going to wake a farmer up in the middle of the night. Especially around these parts. Whereas Ortiz has nothing to fear sitting in a big car by the side of an empty road.”
What about me?” Marisa asked.
“You do the driving, and then you stay put in the car. I forbid you to get out of the vehicle, even if our brave journalist here gets himself shot. Do you understand that, Marisa? I mean it! If anything happened to you, your aunt would come over here and gun me down in broad daylight.”
“She won’t get out of the car,” Andrew promised, earning himself a kick in the shin from Marisa.
“You should leave as soon as possible. Gahan is at least a two-hour drive from here, and you’ll need time to scope out the area, find the hiding place and make sure you can’t be seen. Ricardo’s fixed you something to eat on the way. He’s waiting for you in the kitchen, Marisa. Go on. I have a couple things I need to say to Mr. Stilman.”
Marisa obeyed her uncle.
“Can you see this mission through?”
“We’ll know that tomorrow,” Andrew replied lightly.
Alberto gripped his forearm.
“I’ve rallied a lot of friends to make sure this operation is a success. It’s not just my credibility that’s at stake. My niece’s safety is too.”
“She’s a grown woman, she knows what she’s doing. But it’s not too late to demand she stay behind. If I have a good road map, I shouldn’t have too much trouble finding the place.”
“She won’t listen to me. I don’t have that kind of authority over her anymore.”
“I’ll do my best, Alberto. And you do what you can to make sure this mission, as you call it, doesn’t turn into a tragedy. Will you give me your word that none of your men will try to get even with Ortiz?”
“I already have!”
“Then it should all go smoothly.”
“Take this,” Alberto said, placing a gun on Andrew’s knees. “You never know.”
Andrew gave it back to Alberto.
“I don’t think that’ll keep Marisa any safer. I’ve never used a gun. Contrary to popular belief, not all Americans are cowboys.”
Andrew made as if to get up, but Alberto signaled that the conversation wasn’t over.
“Did Luisa come to see you in the hospital?”
“Who told you that?”
“I was keeping an eye on your recovery, just in case Ortiz’s men had the bright idea to finish the job.”
“Then you already know the answer to your question.”
“Did she say anything about me?”
Andrew looked at Alberto and got up.
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, when I’m back from Gahan. Have a good evening, Alberto.”
* * *
Andrew looked around for Marisa’s Beetle when he came out of the bar. He heard a car horn honking and turned to see Marisa sticking her head out of the window of a Peugeot 406.
“Shall we go?” she called. “Or have you changed your mind?”
Andrew got in the car.
“My uncle thought my car wasn’t sturdy enough,” she explained.
“I can’t imagine why he should think such a thing,” Andrew replied.
“This is his car. That should tell you how much he cares about the success of our mission.”
“Stop using that ridiculous word! We’re not on a mission, and I work for a renowned newspaper, not the secret service. I’m going to question this Ortega and try to make him confess he’s Ortiz—if he is Ortiz, that is.”
“If you’re only going to talk nonsense, then maybe you should keep your mouth shut,” Marisa rejoined.
For the hundred-odd miles to Gahan, they hardly said a word to each other. Marisa was concentrating on the road. As her uncle had warned, it was in very bad condition, and there was very little light. They reached the memorial and the fork in the road towards midnight. Marisa stopped the car behind the memorial, flicked on a flashlight and swept its beam over the surroundings.
“If the tires blow out at this spot,” she told Andrew, “the car will end up in that field. See? Nothing to worry about. My uncle knows what he’s talking about.”
Andrew got out to inspect the road, wondering when Alberto’s men would step in.
“Get back in the car,” Marisa ordered. “There’s the dirt track leading to the silos. We should get to our hiding place. We’ve a long wait ahead of us, so we might as well eat something now.”
She started the car up again and drove along the track that wound its way behind the silos. She parked between two of the grain stores and turned off the car lights. When his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, Andrew realized that while t
hey had a perfect view of the lighted area where the operation was to take place, it would be impossible for anyone to see them from the road.
“Your uncle really hasn’t left anything to chance.”
“Alberto was a Montonero. He fought those bastards in the days when they didn’t hesitate to shoot on sight. Let’s just say he’s experienced. If he was your age, he’d be the one sitting in this car, not you.”
“I’m not his henchman, Marisa. Get that straight once and for all.”
“You’ve repeated that often enough. I got you loud and clear. Are you hungry?”
“Not really, no.”
“Eat something anyway,” she said, handing him a sandwich. “You’re going to need all your strength.”
She switched on the ceiling light and looked at Andrew, smiling.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“You are.”
“What’s so funny about me?”
“From the left, you’re kinda cute. But your right side looks like the Elephant Man.”
“Thanks for the compliment.”
“It was only half a compliment. Depends on which side you’re sitting on.”
“I could sit behind the wheel if you prefer.”
“No way. Not that I don’t like your disfigured war hero look though. It’s more my style.”
“I bet Antonio would be happy to hear that.”
“Antonio’s not handsome. But he’s a good guy.”
“That’s really none of my business.”
“What about you? Is your wife pretty?”
“That’s really none of your business either.”
“We’re going to be spending most of the night in this car. What do you want to talk about? The weather?”
