Two days had passed since Blancanales — as Rosario Briones — had enlisted with the Contra team. As yet, he knew no more about their U.S. military links than he had at the beginning. There had been no further contact with Machado, the commander of the group, and the Gutierrezes, Raúl and Esperanza, answered all his questions with the vaguest generalities, while Anastasio Ruiz regarded him with frank suspicion and dislike. Pol dared not push too eagerly for information, knowing that the Contras lived in constant fear of infiltration and destruction by their enemies. He had mixed motives for the dinner invitation that had placed him in this restaurant, with Esperanza seated opposite: aside from the desire to speak with her in private and extract such information as he could, Pol was excited by her closeness, by the sensuality that she exuded without trying.
She was a sexy woman, and her allure was undiminished by her obvious intelligence. She understood the stakes in Nicaragua and Central America, had obviously considered her options before joining her brother in the Contra movement. Esperanza was committed to the liberation of her homeland from an ideology that she abhorred, and Blancanales knew that she had risked her life in combat situations more than once in that pursuit. That told him zip about Luis Machado's possible involvement with McNerney and the others, though. If the commander was in league with certain military renegades, how many of his aides were privy to the secret? Would Esperanza know, or would Machado keep her in the dark for reasons of enhanced security?
Politician realized that he was reaching now, attempting to absolve her in advance. He was attracted to her and he didn't want to count her with the opposition — didn't want to kill her — but he couldn't let his gonads do his thinking for him, either. If the Contras were involved, if Esperanza was among those dealing with McNerney's team, he would be forced to deal with them as enemies, regardless of the opposition's sex or sex appeal. It wouldn't be the first time that a soldier's duty ran against the grain, against his heart, but Blancanales was a soldier first and foremost. He would do his duty if it killed him.
The Contras were a tight fraternity, as secretive in operation now as Daniel Ortega's Sandinista Front had been before the downfall of Somoza. Secrecy was paramount for any group outnumbered and outgunned from the beginning of its struggle. Knowledge filtered through the ranks on the basis of a need to know, and it was possible that Esperanza was unaware of a connection with McNerney and the other renegades, assuming such a link had been established.
Pol was wandering in mental circles, and he knew it. There were too many wild cards in the game for him to bet his life on anything. And yet, he had already done precisely that. The ante in this game was life or death, and every moment that he spent among the Contras raised the stakes. Inviting Esperanza out to dinner was a risky proposition in itself, inviting trouble from the likes of Anastasio Ruiz. Machado's slick lieutenant obviously wanted Esperanza for himself, and while she seemed oblivious to his desires, that didn't make the man less dangerous. If anything, her cool response appeared to make him want the lady even more, and if Ruiz began to think of Blancanales as a rival, it could lead to serious trouble.
So be it.
Pol was braced to use whatever weapons came to hand, emotional or otherwise, to break this thing wide open. If it took dissension in the ranks, then he was ready to oblige. And if the lady took a fancy to him in the meantime… well, far be it from the Able warrior to discourage her. The information gained through pillow talk could be invaluable to an agent in the field, and if it took romance to make the lady drop her guard, Politician was prepared to do his utmost for the cause.
Blancanales could have named a dozen things that he would rather do than tamper with the lady's feelings, but he had to play the circumstances as they came. She was available, and she was highly placed within the local Contra infrastructure. It was even money she would know about a deal with Mike McNerney's troops, if such a deal existed. Barring revelation of a better source, Politician would be forced to run with what he had.
"You've heard the story of my life," he said when they were finished with their salads. "How about yourself? What brings you to the movement?"
Esperanza thought about her answer for a moment, and her eyes were far away as she began to speak. "Raúl and I were raised outside Leon," she said. "Our father had a small plantation there. We were not wealthy, mind you, but we were not poor, as many of the people were and are today. Our parents sent us both to school, we had new clothes and decent food to eat, a home with walls and roof."
"The peasants envied you," he said.
The lady shrugged. "I did not understand this envy as a child. I knew my father dealt with President Somoza on occasion, that he offered information on the Sandinistas when guerrilla troops initiated their campaign around Le6n. We recognized the danger, but it was an abstract thing. Our father did not seem to take it seriously. Why should we?"
She paused and sipped her wine while Blancanales waited for her to continue. He could predict the story's end already, but he sensed that Esperanza had to get there on her own. How long had it been since she dared to share the pain with anyone besides her brother? Might confronting it not help to wipe away the bitterness that he had sensed about her from the moment of their introduction?
"In the spring of 1980, after President Somoza fled, guerrillas came to see our father. They informed him that he had been charged with treason, and our mother had been named as his accomplice. They were shot before our eyes. Raúl and I were taken to a camp that offered social and political 'reeducation' to the chosen few. The officer in charge was a widower and very lonely. I was seventeen years old."
She didn't need to spell it out for Pol to get the picture. Esperanza sat with eyes downcast, and she avoided looking at the waiter when he brought their entrees.
"You got out," the Able warrior cautiously reminded her. "You're free now."
"Am I? Is it possible to shed your memories, your past, the way a reptile sheds its skin? Sometimes I feel that I have never left Leon, that I am still a child in the reeducation camp. Sometimes… I think that I may never put the blood and bitterness behind me."
"Why put yourself through all of that again?" he asked, sincerely curious about the lady's motives now.
"I owe it to my parents," she replied. "Until I have avenged their death and helped restore the freedom of my native land, I cannot rest."
"At least you're not alone. I mean, you have your brother, Anastasio, the rest."
Her smile was dazzling and somehow very sad. "Each of us is finally alone," she told him. "As for Anastasio… he looks for things that are not there."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"Are you?"
Blancanales nodded. "Yes. It gives me hope."
"Of what?"
"That you may be mistaken. Finally, we may not be alone."
"I knew you were impetuous," she said, "but I did not imagine you would be presumptuous, as well."
"Forgive me if I have offended you. I meant no harm."
"What did you mean?" she asked, and there was something playful in her eyes this time.
It was Politician's turn to shrug and smile. "We are engaged in a crusade that may require our lives," he said. "It seems a shame to die without experiencing life."
"Are you a man of no experience?"
"There are varieties, degrees," he told her in response. "A man who has consumed one apple may find others sweeter still."
"You are a man of many talents. First a warrior, now a horticulturist."
"You mock me."
"No. Well, just a little. But I meant no harm."
They laughed together, and he took her hand, surprised when she returned the gentle pressure, blushing. "We must eat," she said, "before our food gets cold."
"Don't worry," he replied. "It's warm in here tonight."
And it would be a great deal warmer soon, he thought, if things worked out. He'd need caution with the woman. She might be tough as tempered steel when making life and death decision
s for the Contra troops, but she was fragile on the inside, and he didn't wish to be responsible for any damage there. At some point, the demands of duty trespassed on a soldier's conscience, and he had to make a choice before he trampled roughshod over other lives. Whatever followed naturally from their contact here tonight, Politician was prepared to see it through. But he was not prepared to sacrifice the lady needlessly.
Perhaps, he thought, the lady was prepared to use him, too. And that was fine, provided that he read her accurately, understood her well enough to recognize the risks involved and cope with them in time. If not, the give and take might get him killed, and Pol wasn't prepared to die. Not yet. Not here. Survival was the top priority, and he would cling to it by any means available, but there might be an opportunity for stolen comfort in the meantime. It wasn't often that you found an opportunity for recreation on the eve of battle, and if Pol could mix a little pleasure with his lethal business, he was game. And if it paid off for his mission, then so much the better.
* * *
Anastasio Ruiz was waiting, watching, when they left the restaurant. He had been with them from the time Briones picked up Esperanza at her lodgings, clinging like a shadow in the streets. While they were dining, he had waited in the darkness, raging silently against the stranger who was threatening his world. Fists clenched, he peered through the lighted windows at the patrons in their finery and wished them dead.
Ruiz had been in love with Esperanza from the moment she had first approached the Contra organizers with her brother. Bold, determined, she had touched Luis Machado with the story of her family's tragedy, but it had been her beauty that had impressed Ruiz. Beneath the dirt, the baggy clothing, he had seen a woman of incredible appeal. A bachelor all his life, convinced that he would never love or marry, Anastasio had been astounded by the depth of his emotion.
Esperanza had been something less than innocent, of course — he knew the story of her time in the reeducation camp — but still, Ruiz had treated her with absolute respect. Another man might have declared himself at once, attempting to seduce her with his wit and charm. Ruiz had neither, and he knew it. At night, when he was left alone to brood about his life, he realized that romance hadn't simply passed him by. It had retreated in a rush on each occasion when he had tried to find female companionship. The Contra soldier had no way with women, and before Luis had recruited the Gutierrezes, Anastasio had worried that he might grow old and die alone.
There were the prostitutes, of course, and anyone could be successful on the streets. The whores had never turned Ruiz away, although they had infected him with syphilis on two occasions. At the time, he hadn't minded; it had been worth the extra cost. A furtive moment of companionship, away from wars and talk of wars.
But Esperanza had changed everything. She treated him with kindness, smiled at him from time to time, and didn't flinch away on rare occasions when their hands touched accidentally. She brought a gentleness into Anastasio's existence, and he loved her all the more because she did it all unconsciously, completely unaware of her effect upon him. He had never dared to voice his feelings, always waiting for the perfect time, which never quite arrived.
On one occasion he had written her a letter, struggling through four drafts before he had gotten it right. He had walked three blocks to find a mailbox, quarreling with himself en route, one part of him afraid to mail the envelope, another portion burning with desire. As soon as he had released the letter, heard it drop into the mailbox, he had known that it was wrong somehow. She would be horrified — or worse, amused. He had strained to get the letter back, one arm thrust down the box's tight, unyielding throat, but all in vain. At last he had been compelled to drastic action. Sprinting back to his apartment, he had secured a handful of incendiary sticks, retraced his steps until he had reached the mailbox, primed the slender flares and thrust them down the box's open maw. He had been a block away and weeping bitterly before the box had begun to melt.
The incident had made him realize that he would have to take his time. There was no point in rushing into anything before he was prepared; he had already learned that much from military strategy.
Ruiz was barely competent in the performance of his duties, and in combat he was every bit as timid as he had been in his dealings with the ladies. Awkward — some said ugly — as a child, he'd borne the derision of other boys who had taunted him unmercifully. In time he had learned to shut them out, and when that blank stare appeared on his face, they had gone in search of other fools to torment, leaving Anastasio alone. In certain ways the solitude had been infinitely worse, and there had been days when he had wished for playmates to belittle him, make jokes about his posture, his complexion — anything. At least while they had jeered at him, it had meant that they had recognized the fact of his existence.
It was his fault, of course, as it had always been his fault. In social situations, Anastasio invariably put his worst foot forward, bringing ridicule and shame upon himself and his companions. When the Contras needed someone to present their cause in public and Luis was unavailable, they canvassed members of the rank and file, ignoring Anastasio, forewarned by past experience. They knew the way he froze in crowds, the way his tongue refused to follow orders from his brain when he was called upon to speak in public. None of them referred to Anastasio's affliction when they passed him over — none of them would dare — but neither would they offer him the rostrum while a viable alternative remained.
Sometimes the speaker's duties fell to Esperanza, and on those occasions Anastasio was more than happy as a member of the audience. It granted him the opportunity to stare at her, unashamed, pretending he was fascinated by her speech instead of by her face, her almost otherworldly radiance. She had the ability to charm the crowds, and contributions doubled after Esperanza took the dais with her stories of the living hell that Nicaragua had become. There wouldn't be a dry eye in the house… except, perhaps, for certain fat cats who were wondering what Esperanza would be like in bed.
Let them wonder, as long as none of them made any effort to find out. Ruiz would gut them like the pigs they were and hang them up to bleed if any one of them should dare to lay a hand on Esperanza. She was his, although she didn't know it yet.
Of late, since the appearance of Rosario Briones, Esperanza had been taking on another form before his very eyes. Ruiz couldn't be sure of what was happening, but he had dark suspicions, and the evidence appeared to bear him out. Where Esperanza had remained aloof from men before, he often caught her examining Briones from across the room now, intent on every word the new man said. He had surprised them in the midst of conversation more than once, and he wasn't deceived by their attempts to steer the topic back toward military strategy.
For three years Anastasio had yearned for Esperanza, and now she was lavishing her attentions on a stranger. Was she sleeping with him yet? Ruiz dared not confront the question, knowing it could snap his mind. If Esperanza had betrayed him, he would kill her. No, not that… but he might kill her lover. And if the deed was done before Briones actually became her lover, why, so much the better.
It would be difficult, of course. Not the mechanics of the thing; life was a cheap commodity throughout Honduras, with supply far greater than demand. But the logistics would be something else entirely. If Briones simply disappeared — or worse, if he was cut down on the street, like something from a Yankee gangster film — there would be questions. From Luis. From the authorities. From other members of the Contra team. Ruiz had made no secret of his feelings toward the new recruit, and he would be suspected instantly… unless Briones was exposed for what he was: a threat to the stability of everything that they had worked for through the bitter years.
How best to do the job? What sort of planted evidence would be required to paint Briones as a traitor to the cause? Whatever was required, Ruiz would spare no effort in his drive to save the movement, save his woman. Save himself.
Esperanza and the stranger emerged from the restaurant, laughing u
nderneath the streetlights, and she had one hand looped through the bastard's arm as if they were embarking on a promenade. Ruiz felt sick, lightheaded, and he locked his teeth against the scream that threatened to erupt from his throat. He let them lead, already conscious of their destination, trailing at a distance, one more shadow in the night. He stood across the street from Esperanza's lodgings while they huddled in the doorway opposite, all lips and searching hands until she called a breathless halt and broke away. Despite the darkness and the distance, he could see the flaming color in her cheeks and felt himself responding, stiffening, but there was no time now for fantasy.
Ruiz had two alternatives: he could confront her now and force her to acknowledge him, his love… or he could trail Briones and attempt to gather evidence against the stranger who was now his mortal enemy. Considering the options, it was really no damned choice at all. He dared not bare his soul to Esperanza, even now. If she rejected him in anger — worse, if she should laugh — Ruiz would be destroyed.
Briones, then. He let the slick pendejo put a block between them, falling into step and running parallel along the other sidewalk. Streetlights here were few and far between; if Anastasio's quarry turned and tried to catch Ruiz in action, shadowed doorways could conceal him in an instant. Nothing could go wrong.
Briones walked for half a mile or so in the direction of his rooming house before he veered off track along a narrow, darkened side street, picking up the pace. Ruiz was momentarily afraid that he had blown the tail, but there was no sign from Briones. Anastasio proceeded with caution, one eye on his quarry while the other scanned for any hostile movement in the shadows. When he satisfied himself that there was nothing, he proceeded with alacrity, intent on closing the gap.
Downrange, a dark sedan had nosed into the curb beside Briones, and the man was hesitating, glancing back along his path suspiciously. Ruiz ducked back into the shadows of a vacant doorway, praying he hadn't been seen. Another moment, knowing that he might have lost his prey already, and he peered around the corner, risking everything.
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