“For a man about to die, you are very happy, no? Maybe I should just shoot you now. That way I won’t have to clean my knife.”
“I’m not going to die. Not…today. And when have you…ever cleaned anything, Enrique?”
Those monster eyes pinned him to the ground. “You call me by name. How do you know this?”
“Only one man I know…reeks of rancid pig piss,” Manny managed through a throat as dry as dust. “Cristo, Enrique. It’s me. Manny. For God’s sake, untie me. And then, amigo, you will pay for that boot you planted in my ribs.”
But not right now. Right now it was all Manny could do to stay conscious and silently thank God for sending this unlikely angel of mercy.
Enrique Diaz dropped to his knees with a cry of “Dios!” when he finally recognized Manny.
Enrique whipped his knife out of the scabbard and sliced the rope tying Manny’s wrists.
Icy hot needles of fire exploded through Manny’s hands. He roared out his pain when his shoulders, frozen for hours, fell forward. Then he puked river water until there was nothing left but bile.
And then, mercifully, he passed out again.
“So. Do you know who betrayed you, amigo?”
Enrique and his brothers, longtime Contra fighters Manny had trained with, sat around a small campfire deep in the jungle, sharing a sparse meal of black beans and rice. Manny had told them about Poveda’s men coming for him.
He stared at the fire as a green iguana skittered across a rust-colored rock and disappeared into the jungle scrub. It was dusk now. Thanks to Enrique, Manny was clean and clothed. His arm and his thighs were bandaged and soothed with salve. His belly was no longer empty.
It was only by good fortune that Enrique and his small band of guerrillas had been in this part of the jungle today. They’d been hunting. Manny was the only game they’d found. No one else would find him here. The camp would not be visible to anyone—including the Sandinistas. The jungle folded around them like a tent of green.
Manny was rehydrated. Enrique’s salve had begun to work on the gunshot wound that had started to fester. Manny’s headache had dulled to a minor annoyance. In a day or two, his body would be strong again.
His heart, however, would never heal. This he knew with everything in him.
“Manolo?”
He jerked his head toward Enrique, realized he hadn’t addressed his friend’s question. Manny set his jaw. Stared at the fire. “Yes. I know who betrayed me.”
He didn’t offer any more explanation. Enrique exchanged a look with the others, gave a slight shake of his head. They knew better than to ask more. Knew that Manny would deal with the betrayal in his own way. In his own time.
“I need to get to Cougar,” Manny said. “Can you take me to his camp?”
Cougar was their CIA contact in this war that the United States quietly sanctioned and covertly assisted. Last Manny knew, Cougar was headquartered just the other side of the northern border in Honduras. But that was months ago. And Cougar never stayed in any one place for long.
“Sí.” Enrique nodded. “I can get you to him. When you are stronger. First you must rest. Unless we find transportation, it’s a five-day march.”
Wishing for transportation was the equivalent of wishing for peace. It wasn’t going to happen. “We leave in the morning,” Manny said, and while he could see Enrique wanted to argue, he only nodded.
It was time to call in favors from the CIA. Manny had been Cougar’s informant for over a year, feeding him information so the United States could best support the movement against the communist Sandinistas. Now Cougar would repay Manny for his service.
His cover was blown. He could no longer show his face in the city. No longer see his family for fear they would become caught in the crossfire.
So he would do his fighting from the jungle from now on. And for that he would need weapons, explosives, and men.
The CIA agent stood when Manny and Enrique entered the tactical camp just the other side of the border in Honduras five days later. Tall, lean, and as mean as a bull shark, Cougar squinted at Manny through blue eyes as hard as chipped ice, while around them men in U.S. Army camouflage carrying submachine guns and armed to the teeth stood at the ready.
At a nod from Cougar, they relaxed their guard, but only marginally. No man on assignment in this part of the world ever fully relaxed.
Manny estimated Cougar to be in his late thirties. Beneath a camo boonie hat his head was shaved, his eyes hardened, his expression blank.
“Thought you were dead,” Cougar finally said, moving a toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other.
Word traveled fast in the jungle. Manny wasn’t the only plant among Poveda’s ranks. “There are those who would wish it so.”
Cougar grunted. “So it seems. Let’s get out of the sun. Tell me what happened.”
Manny followed Cougar to a tent stained mud gray and jungle green. Inside, it smelled of must and cigar smoke. Manny sat and told Cougar about his capture, leaving out the part about Lily.
That was for Manny to deal with. For him to know.
For him to regret.
“I need guns. I need men,” Manny said point-blank.
The CIA agent reached into a box, withdrew two cigars, offered one to Manny.
Manny shook his head. Waited.
Cougar sliced off the end of a cigar with his bush knife. “No guns. No men.”
Manny felt his anger rise but kept it in check. “I risk my life to give you information. This is how you repay me?”
The older man lit the cigar, savored the first puff, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Look, Ortega, you know how the game is played. You’re a dead man if you stay in Nicaragua. Any man found with you is as good as dead. Poveda’s pissed. You duped him. He won’t call off his dogs until he finds you. And that makes you a liability to the cause.”
It was a truth Manny had been avoiding because he needed to fight, but Manny knew the agent was right. Still, there had to be a way.
“He won’t find me. As you said, the word is out that I’m dead.”
Cougar shook his head. “Only speculation on their part. Either way, it doesn’t matter. The damage is done. You’re useless to me now—and no good to your people with a price on your head. Poveda won’t kill the hunt until he finds a body.”
Unfortunately, Manny realized, Cougar again was right. Poveda would not stop looking. Would not rest until he was certain that Manny was dead.
“Let me send you to the States,” Cougar said, rousing Manny from his brooding thoughts. “Let things cool off down here for a while.”
“Go to the States?” Manny glared at the CIA operative. They’d had this conversation before—or one similar to it. “And do what? Hide like a dog while others fight what is my fight?”
“Learn. You’ll join the Army. Get more training. And you have my word, we’ll bring you back here in a year with an arsenal of knowledge and skill that will do you much more good than any weapons cache I could give you now.
“Think about it, Manolo,” Cougar said when Manny remained thoughtful and silent. “You’re a smart man. Just think about it,” he repeated. “You’ll see the wisdom.”
What Manny saw, after giving the CIA agent’s suggestion some thought, was that he had no choice. Cougar was right. Manny was now a liability.
Which meant he was a failure.
He’d failed his country.
He’d failed himself.
All because he’d been a fool over a woman.
He rose to his feet, gave Cougar a nod, and walked out of the tent. Only then did Manny allow himself to think about her. About Lily. Whom he’d first met in Poveda’s excessively opulent house that had been paid for and furnished on the backs of Manny’s countrymen.
If he had been thinking with his head instead of his cock, he’d have listened to her words, not her dulcet voice, at the dinner table when she’d agreed with Poveda about the lost cause of the Contras.
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If he had been thinking, he wouldn’t have told her secrets that could bring him down. Wouldn’t have believed her when…well. He just wouldn’t have believed her.
His father was right. He wasn’t a man. He was a foolish boy.
And the next day, when Manny boarded a transport plane that would take him to the United States of America, he felt every bit the boy.
Lily had reduced him to that. She had taken everything that was important away from him. He was leaving his family. Leaving his home and everything he knew. The only thing that kept him from crying like a boy was the promise that he would return.
That and a growing hatred for the woman who had changed his life forever.
PART II
United States, present day
CHAPTER 6
Boston, Mass., Emergency Center, Dowling 1, South Boston
“I guess that does it for the fifty-cent tour, Lily.” Howard Rutledge, the balding forty-something Emergency Medicine administrator, extended his hand. “Welcome aboard. I hope the facility measures up to your expectations.”
The scream of an ambulance siren bled in from outside. All around them, the emergency center staff attended to the demands of a bustling and well-run ER. Well run, yes, but Lily already had some ideas that would streamline operations even more and improve patient care.
She didn’t mention that to Howard, however, who had just taken her on a guided walking tour of the center where, as of today, Lily was officially the new head of nursing. She also didn’t mention that she’d stopped having expectations years ago. At least about some things.
And those kinds of thoughts are unnecessary, jaded, and just plain pissy, she chastised herself as one of three ambulance bay doors flew open and a trauma team greeted a blood-drenched gurney surrounded by EMTs.
Chalk up her attitude to buyer’s remorse. Wrong sign of the moon. Or most likely, Lily could blame it on worry.
Adam had flown out two days ago. Her baby was halfway around the world in Sri Lanka by now. Sri Lanka, for God’s sake. She still couldn’t believe he was gone and that he’d be spending the summer assisting in the ongoing tsunami relief efforts.
God, when had her little boy grown into a young man? And of all the things he’d inherited from her, why had it had to come in the form of her “save the world” gene?
She snapped herself back to the moment and smiled at her new boss. “It’s a great facility, Howard. State-of-the-art. I’m thrilled to be part of the team.”
“No more thrilled than we are to have you. I know I’ve said it before, but your credentials are outstanding.”
Lily allowed herself a moment to see her résumé from Howard’s perspective as the gurney rolled past them and into a trauma room.
Yes, Lily had earned her way to this position starting with her DWB field experience years ago and her subsequent return to school, where she’d earned her master’s, and ending with her previous position in Portland, where she’d set up and staffed a cutting-edge trauma unit—the first of its kind in the city.
Howard checked his watch. “Sorry to tour and run, but I’ve got a meeting. You need anything, you know where to find me.”
Lily folded her clipboard against her breast and laughed. “Well, I’m a little uncertain of that at this point, but I’ll figure out the topography soon enough.”
Rutledge laughed, too. “It is a bit like a rabbit warren, isn’t it? Just follow the yellow brick road and you’ll be fine. I’ll let you get settled in then.”
Lily thanked him and, sidestepping another rolling gurney, picked her way back to her office.
Once behind her desk, she let out a deep breath.
“So,” she said, looking around the nicely appointed and roomy office that now had her name on the door, “this is home.”
At least for a while.
It had taken her several tries to screw up the courage to move to Boston. And finding that courage had nothing to do with her new position. It had to do with the surprise of her life and the eight-month investigation that had led her here.
She’d assured herself it was for Adam’s sake that she’d stayed in Portland as long as she had. It was tough enough being a teenager without being uprooted every few years.
It was tough being a mom, too. Tough being a single mom with a secret that could change both hers and Adam’s lives forever.
On a deep sigh, she told herself not to think about that now. Not yet.
Instead, she indulged in an uncharacteristic surge of self-pity. Her only child was now at the mercy of strangers halfway around the world. And while her parents had never recovered from the shame of their only daughter having a child without the benefit of a father or a husband and had never been loving, involved grandparents to Adam, they’d had plenty to say about her decision to let him go to Sri Lanka. None of it good.
“He’ll be fine,” she’d assured them, wishing she could be immune to their lifelong disapproval of her career and life choices.
“He’ll be fine,” she muttered now, telling herself she needed to get to work familiarizing herself with the filing system.
A dozen other students had accompanied Adam, along with qualified student sponsors. She’d personally researched the summer youth exchange program and knew it was credible and safe. Just like she’d thoroughly researched Sri Lanka.
Her globe now wore the imprint of her thumb over the island country that lay just off the southeast tip of India. She’d also checked world weather forecasts. It was not storm season in Sri Lanka. And although earthquake activity could not be accurately predicted, there were no indications that another tsunami was anticipated. As for the political climate, while it could be dicey, Colombo, where Adam’s host family lived, was far away from any hostile activity that might break out between the Sinhalese government and the Tamil rebels, who liked to stir up trouble. She’d made sure of that, too. He would be staying with a wonderful host family—she’d spoken with the Muhandiramalas twice on the phone—and Lord knew, Adam’s experience on this humanitarian mission would be life altering.
Then there was Adam’s take on the situation. As he so enjoyed telling her, he was sixteen. Not a baby.
Well, he was her baby, damn it, and that was never going to change. Opening up a lower desk drawer, she pulled out his photograph and set it on the credenza where she could see it.
Such a beautiful boy. Who would soon be a man. A man who looked exactly like his father.
When she felt a tear threaten, she growled, angry with herself, “Okay. Pity party’s officially over.”
She settled in to get some work done. In the back of her mind, however, a niggling question—one that had nothing to do with Sri Lanka—played over and over again: How long was it going to take her to work up the courage to follow through with the real reason she’d moved to Boston?
As soon as she got her legs under her and her backbone shored up, she’d face the music…and possibly the most difficult confrontation of her life.
Two weeks later
“Ms. Campora?”
Lily looked up from her desk to see the charge nurse poke her head in Lily’s open office door.
“Hey, Gracie. And it’s ‘Lily,’ okay?”
Lily’s first two weeks on the job had passed in a blur of activity. Which was good. When she dragged herself home each night, she was too exhausted to worry about Adam. But she still missed him. That wasn’t going to change even though he’d called twice, he was fine, and he was having the time of his life.
“You got a minute?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
“We’re having a little trouble deciphering your new trauma board procedures. Can you come down and decode for us?”
“Absolutely.” Lily checked her watch—couldn’t believe it was almost noon. She reached for her coffee mug, telling herself that since it was still officially morning, she was entitled to another jolt of caffeine to get her through it. “Give me fifteen and I’ll be there.”
One of the hallmarks of her administrative practices was the open-door policy. That and striking a balance between management priorities and staff needs. First and foremost, she was a nurse. She didn’t want to ever forget that. And she wanted her staff to know she never forgot it.
She finished up what she was doing, then hit the floor and headed for Trauma. She’d just rounded the corner into the unit and had the main desk in her sights when she looked up—and felt her heart stop.
A man stood in profile at the far end of the hall; he was speaking with the EMTs who were debriefing an attending on what appeared to be a recent admit. The man was well built, dark, and Latino. And the way he stood…the breadth of his shoulders…the blue-black of his hair. He looked so much like Manny.
Manny.
Her heart still hurt when she thought of him. Of returning to his sister’s Managua apartment all those years ago and finding him gone. Of the days she’d spent searching for him, agonizing over his fate.
Of the moment Poveda had told her that Manny had died in a firefight in some Nicaragua hellhole.
For seventeen years, she’d still seen him in every handsome Latino man she ever encountered. She would spot a man across a room, across a street, on a bus, or even on a plane and her heart would stutter exactly the way it was stuttering now.
God. She’d lost track of the number of heart-stopping times she’d studied a dark male profile with her breath caught in her chest…and then he’d turn and she’d be looking at a stranger.
Because Manny Ortega was dead.
For seventeen years.
Only now she knew otherwise.
It still came as a shock—but Manny was alive.
The thrill and amazement and confusion that knowledge always brought coursed through her now, adding to the irregular beat of her heart.
Manny was alive.
He was also the real reason she’d moved to Boston.
Cindy Gerard - [Bodyguards 05] Page 6
