"But how did you get them off Ramiro's computer? How did you find them? You went downstairs and you weren't gone for more than fifteen minutes—"
"It was luck. I found them and I made a copy. I think I have them all." The lie came easily, flowing out of his mouth as though it had happened exactly the way he spoke it. The truth—that he had nothing at all on the disk—would have unhinged her. "Remember this. Garcia doesn't know what Ramiro has, so whatever I give him, how can he say they aren't the right files, or that I have withheld some of them?" Anthony pressed her hand to his lips. "Todo va a salir bien. I promise you. Within an hour we will be back at Ramiro's house. All of us."
Gail stared at him for a few seconds, then sank back into her seat, silent again.
After making a complete circuit of one of the residential blocks and seeing no headlights following, he found an apartment building with space at the curb. He maneuvered the Toyota into the spot and killed the engine. A bare-chested man with a beer in his hand watched from the small porch of the building. Anthony held up ten dollars and asked if he could leave the car there for a little while. With a nod, the man pocketed the money.
Taking Gail's arm, Anthony crossed the street a block south of the Capitol. She had no trouble keeping up in her running shoes and jeans. They turned north, and soon the Dragon Gate came into view. The neighborhood was alive with people, color, and noise. Paper lanterns swung from lines crisscrossing the street. Music blared through the open windows of a bar. Hand in hand, they pushed into the crowd. A slender woman in a silk tunic waved a menu as they walked under the awning of a restaurant. He heard a loud pop and the laughter of boys running away. Smoke drifted upward, swirled, and vanished.
A small man came alongside, his head barely clearing Anthony's shoulder. In English he said, "Candy? Señora, some candy for your child? Only twenty-five cents." He held up a basket. Anthony saw a brown hand and the sleeve of an embroidered silk tunic. He looked at the man's face. Not a chino. A mulato with curly gray hair and glasses with old plastic frames. Hector Mesa. He dropped a wrapped sweet into Gail's hand. As though bumped by someone behind him, he lurched forward, and Anthony heard him say, "Wait for me at the bar in Tien-Lu. Two blocks north." He and his basket vanished into the crowd.
"What did he say to you?" Gail asked.
Anthony looked around for the nearest cross street. They followed it between buildings that crowded the narrow sidewalk. He put his arm around her and his lips close to her ear. "We're meeting Hector at a bar."
"When are we going to get Karen?"
"Soon. It's going to be all right, bonboncita. Just do what I tell you and don't ask so many questions."
She frowned but said nothing more.
The Tien-Lu was a dive with few customers. He installed Gail on a bar stool and signaled the waitress. The time was five minutes until six. The waitress set down a bottled beer that Anthony didn't touch. Gail stirred the ice in her cola. Fifteen minutes later Hector slid onto the stool to Anthony's right. He had ditched the costume.
Gail leaned forward to see him. "Hello, Hector."
"Señora." He smiled at her and clasped his hands on the bar. They were too big for his narrow wrists. The knuckles were like walnuts, and his veins roped across the tendons. The curved reflections of a red lantern obscured his eyes. In Spanish he said, "I saw the Chinaman go upstairs. A black man was with him, carrying a rug in his arms. I think it was not a rug. He was careful, so I am sure that the girl is okay."
"Who else is with them?"
"Two men. I see one of them at the entrance. The other went up the stairs. There may be others. I don't know."
Gail leaned around to ask, "What did he say about Karen?"
"They took her upstairs. She's all right."
She breathed. "Thank God. What time is it?"
"It's not time yet," Anthony said. "I need to talk to Hector. Stay here." He put a hand on her shoulder as she began to object. "Please."
They walked into the gloom of a far corner, and Anthony kept an eye on the door while Hector told him what he wanted to do. Hector moved closer, and Anthony felt a weight settle into the pocket of his coat. Five minutes later, Hector went out the back entrance of the bar. Anthony found the men's room next to the kitchen, which smelled of cabbage and grease. He shut the thin door and put the wire hook through the eye bolt. The urine-stained toilet had no seat. With one foot on the rim, he lifted his pant leg and strapped Hector's little Beretta to his ankle.
At twenty-five past six Anthony put some money on the bar, He and Gail walked outside. He had his hand around her wrist, and her pulse slammed against his fingers. Otherwise, she looked like she might be heading for a showdown in court.
The apartment would be two streets over, four down. He knew he was close when he passed under the scaffolding. He looked up and saw the shutters four stories above. Slivers of light came through.
Gail's gaze followed his. "Is that his apartment?"
"Yes."
They went around to the front and stepped into the entryway with its single bulb on the wall. The man waiting there was one of the phony State Security thugs who had stopped him outside the Colón Cemetery two days ago. He ran his hands over Anthony's waist and patted his coat. If he found the Beretta, Anthony thought he would probably have to kill him. The man didn't search below his coat pockets. He pulled out the disk.
"Put it back," Anthony said.
The man told Gail to turn around. She understood the Spanish and turned, holding her arms away from her body.
Anthony gestured to the man's cell phone. "Call the general. Tell him we're here, but my wife is going to wait downstairs with you." That produced a blank stare, but the man stepped farther into the foyer to make the call.
He came back and jerked his head toward the stairs. "He says no. You're both coming up. Go on. If you try anything, I'll blow your brains out, starting with her."
Anthony held out an arm. In English he said to Gail, "Come on. It's all right."
The guard fell in behind them. Going up the stairs, Anthony slid his hand on the wrought-iron railing. The street noise muffled their footsteps. He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. He was sweating, and his breaths were too shallow. He slowed down, took his time. The fluorescent tubes in the stairwell put a thin gray light on the filthy walls.
He put his arm around her shoulders. "We'll go in, give him the disk, and get Karen. And you do what I tell you. If I say move, you move. No questions. All right?"
"Yes, but I'm not leaving without Karen." The barrel of a pistol jabbed into his spine. "Cállense.” Shut up.
They reached the fourth floor. There was another man standing in front of the door at the end of the corridor. Anthony could smell the incense from ten yards away. The guard opened the door far enough to speak through it, holding his hand up to keep the visitors out. Then he stepped out of the way. Anthony recognized him: the trigueño who had driven the car away from the cemetery.
He followed them in as the first man took his position in the hall. A third man waited inside, the same big black guy with the limp who had pushed him into the car. He carried a holstered Makarov on his belt, and he stood with his arms crossed beside Abdel Garcia.
The general was perched on the arm of his red brocade sofa. Gail let out a cry. Karen lay across the cushions, still as death.
Gail ran across the room. "What have you done to her?"
"She is sleeping." Garcia's legs were crossed, and the toe of his polished brown shoe drooped toward the floor. His tan cotton shirt was tucked neatly into his pants.
"You drugged her!" Gail knelt beside the girl and touched her face, smoothed her hair. "Karen. Baby. It's all right. We're taking you home."
The trigueño had moved around behind them. Anthony kept him in sight.
Garcia laid his cigarette in the ashtray on a mahogany end table. The lamp was a porcelain woman in a Chinese robe. Garcia's hand slid in and out of the light, and smoke curled up through the lamp shad
e. In heavily accented English, he said, "Sit with her, please, señora. And you, Mr. Quintana." He slid off the arm of the sofa. "Sit down. Sergeant Ruiz won't hurt you ... unless you disobey my orders."
The black sergeant—Ruiz—-made no reaction to this, but his eyes followed Anthony as he moved Karen's legs aside. Anthony sat on the edge, one foot in front of the other, afraid that the lift of his trouser cuff would reveal the pistol strapped to his ankle.
Garcia smiled at Gail. The skin gathered over his jutting cheekbones like folds in a crooked curtain. "She is very pretty, your daughter."
"Just keep away from her." She shot Garcia a look of icy disgust. On the sofa, she pulled Karen's head and shoulders onto her lap and wrapped her arms around her.
Standing over them, Garcia switched to Spanish. "Where are the files, Quintana? I see that you have nothing with you."
Anthony reached into his pocket for the disk in its plastic case. "This is from Ramiro Vega. He made it last night."
"I want the files. Where are they?"
"On the disk. He destroyed the papers weeks ago. He didn't want them found."
Garcia's jaw slid to one side as he tightened his mouth. "You're lying."
"It has what you want," Anthony said. "Do you think I would risk that girl's life?"
Garcia considered, then smiled again. "No, but all the same, I want to check it out. Half an hour? Maybe a little longer." He turned toward the man at the door and told him to take the disk to his house and see what was on it, then call him with the verdict.
Anthony said, "Let them leave, my wife and the child. I'll stay behind."
"No one is leaving yet." Garcia reached a hand out, and Gail jerked away. Anthony hadn't realized he was on his feet until he saw the sergeant's Makarov leveled at his chest. Garcia, who had frozen as well, finished his movement—taking his cigarette from the ashtray. "The disk, Mr. Quintana?"
The guard motioned, and Anthony put it in his hand. Garcia said, "Tell López to come in. Sit down, Quintana. We will be here for a little while. Put the gun away, sergeant."
Anthony followed the movements of the trigueño, who crossed the room, reached for the doorknob, turned it, opened the door. He stepped through, then jerked, coughed, and grabbed at the door frame, at his own throat, at air. He staggered back. His shirt was brilliant with blood.
The Beretta was already in Anthony's hand when the sergeant got his Makarov back out of its holster. Anthony fired. The noise from the small-caliber pistol was no louder than strong handclaps. Ruiz went to his knees, and the gun slipped from his fingers.
Garcia saw it and dove to pick it up. He swiped, and the Makarov spun away under the sofa. Garcia crawled toward it.
Anthony yelled, "Gail, get down! On the floor! Now!"
She pulled Karen with her and rolled to cover her body.
He was taking aim at Garcia when the trigueño, still staggering, collided into him, then lurched into the end table. The porcelain lamp went over. Shadows loomed across the ceiling. Hector Mesa put a foot on the guard's chest and leaned over him with his knife.
As Anthony recovered his balance, he saw Garcia ripping Karen from Gail's arms, Gail screaming at him to stop, then going for him with her fists. Holding Karen close, one arm around her waist, Garcia shoved Gail aside. Karen's legs swung out as Garcia turned. Anthony couldn't get a clear shot. Garcia slid through the door to his bedroom. The door slammed behind him.
"He's got Karen!" Gail shook the knob. "It's locked. Kick it down!"
Anthony threw himself forward, putting shoulder and hip against the door at the same time. The wood cracked but didn't give. He took a step back and hit it again. The door flew open, crashing into the wall.
Hector rushed past him with his knife. The blade shone red.
"Gail, get back," Anthony ordered. Gun in both hands, he swung it around the room with only the light from a fringed lamp to reveal what was there: bed with four carved dragons climbing up the posts, silk brocade coverlet, black armoire, a framed mirror.
Garcia had disappeared.
"Karen!" Gail spun around, screaming her name. "Karen!" Cold air came from a wall air-conditioning unit. Wooden louvers covered the windows. The place was tight as a tomb. Hector dropped to look under the bed as Anthony noticed a small black button on the wall. Hinges. A door.
He pulled it open and found a small dark room. Empty. He stepped in and noticed a window. He saw the lamp in the bedroom and realized that Garcia had installed two-way glass in the mirror. He moved his hands over the walls, feeling for a way out. He found it—a handle.
"Hector! In here."
The door swung into another room, completely empty but for a narrow bed, a chair, some clothes on a peg. None of this would have been visible except for the faint light that streamed through a narrow doorway. The sheet-metal door had been pushed open.
They rushed across the room, and as Anthony stepped onto the flat roof he smelled gunpowder from fireworks, heard loud music, shouts, laughter. The buildings nearby were of the same height or less, and except for the ambient light from the city, the darkness was complete.
Gail pointed. "He's over there!"
A silhouette moved along the opposite edge of the roof. Garcia had put Karen on his shoulder, and he moved quickly toward a ladder whose handrails curved over the low parapet.
They ran toward him, their footsteps thudding on the roof. The general's voice rang out. "Stay back or I will break her neck and throw her to the street." The silhouette shifted its burden and turned toward the ladder. The dim light shone on Karen's pale arms dangling on his back.
Hector circled left to the edge of the roof and followed it, crouching low.
"I said stay back!" Garcia leaned toward the street, and Karen's arms swung.
Gail cried out, and Hector came to a halt.
Garcia's voice floated to them, mingling with the sounds from the street. He was calm now, as if he knew that whatever happened next was within his control. "You will wait there, please. Half an hour, no longer. I will leave the girl unharmed at a location that I will communicate to you by telephone. You have your telephone with you, Quintana? Very good. I will call you when it is safe."
There was a movement along the parapet to their right. Garcia didn't see it. Someone was coming, staying low. He dragged a leg, and one arm seemed to hang uselessly at his side. Unsure what to do, Anthony raised the Beretta.
Garcia saw the gun. "Don't be stupid. If you fire, you will hit the girl." He reached for the railing and swung a leg over the parapet. He did not notice the man closing in until it was too late. The man reached out with one arm, trying to drag him away from the ladder.
In an instant Anthony was across the roof, struggling to get Karen away from Garcia. He caught her as she fell from Garcia's back. Now he could see the other man clearly: Ruiz. The sergeant leaned to one side as if in pain from the bullet Anthony had put in him, and blood ran down his arm, shattered at the elbow.
Garcia turned under him and got a shoulder in his stomach. The sergeant stumbled against the parapet, flailed for one long moment, and dropped, vanishing over the side of the building.
Héctor Mesa carne from behind García, grabbed his hair, reached around, and slid his knife across his throat. When Garcia went to his knees, Hector put a foot in his back and shoved. The general lay facedown, the blood spreading out around him, black in the absence of light, flowing around the gravel and weeds toward a low place in the roof.
Gail huddled over Karen, rocking her. Anthony knelt to make sure they were all right. He kissed Gail quickly, then stood up and walked over to the ladder and looked down. The soldier lay on the roof of a colonnade three stories below.
Wiping his knife on a cloth, Hector came over to look. "You see that, Señor Anthony? He jumped his boss. I wonder for what."
"He didn't like red brocade furniture. I don't know. What do you suggest we do now?"
"We should leave." Hector suspended his knife over the body below them and let go.
"Now give me the gun." Hector meant the Beretta, which Anthony had forgotten he still held. His cramped fingers didn't want to straighten. Hector wiped off the prints and took it over to Garcia and pressed it into his hand, then kicked it away. He stared after it as though sorry to leave his best friend behind.
Anthony asked, "Should we try the ladder?"
"No, no, the stairs. The ladder is not so easy. And if they see us, we are cooked."
Anthony lifted Karen from Gail's lap. Shaking, Gail steadied herself on his arm and stood up. "I could scream. I really could." She cupped Karen's face in her palm. "Baby? Sweetie?"
Karen mumbled in her sleep. Her eyes came open, swam to fix on her mother's face, then closed again. Gail said, "After all that, she's still out."
"You should be grateful."
"I suppose so. She'll be all right, won't she?"
"She'll be fine. How about you?"
"Dandy. I just want to get the hell out of here."
They retraced their steps, taking only enough time to wipe their fingerprints from whatever they had touched. The metal door leading to the roof. The handle on the door in Garcia's voyeur chamber. The doorknob of his bedroom, the wooden carvings on the arms of his sofa. With Karen on his shoulder, Anthony looked around the living room once again and spotted the CD and its case on the floor beside the dead guard. He told Gail to pick them up. She gingerly did so, stepping around the blood.
"Are you going to give this to Bookhouser?"
"No, it's blank. But don't leave it behind. My fingerprints are on it."
She snapped the CD into its case. "You really didn't have to lie to me."
He remembered what he had told her earlier. "I am sorry."
"Like hell."
Hector opened the apartment door and peered out before signaling for them to come ahead. Blood spattered the floor in the hall from the wound Hector had made in the guard's chest. He quickly wiped it away. It was possible that the bodies would not be discovered for days, unless someone from an adjacent building noticed the man on the colonnade roof. By then, the sight of four strangers coming down the stairs might have been forgotten.
Suspicion of Rage Page 35
