Connections: Conexiones (Mercenaries Book 3)

by Tony Lavely

  “Well,” Beckie said when she calmed her laughter, “to ‘breach my defenses’ she only has to grab my arm, I’m afraid. Amy will be better than me!”

  “I don’t know,” Amy retorted. “Grabbing your arm would get to me, too!”

  “I doubt she will resort to measures that crude. Cajolery seems more her métier. You made significant inroads on her anger with me, and once her questions are answered, that may be her next offensive move.”

  “But there’s nothing there we’d do differently… if I understood?” Amy asked with a look to Beckie.

  Ian’s voice took their attention. “I am always amenable to reasoned argument, but as it stands today—”

  “Nope, not gonna give anything away,” Beckie finished. She pushed Amy toward the door. “Sleep.”

  Friday

  Beckie felt the chill when Ian rose and began his preparations for the day. She rolled over, watching as he selected his uniform for the day, a white short-sleeved shirt over khaki slacks. “You look wonderful,” she said with a lilt in her voice. God, I love him!

  “I appreciate your confidence. Shall I return in an hour to assist you in the shower?”

  “I’d like that, but, no. Amy can do some of the work she’s along for. And I want to quiz her on the reading she’s supposed to be doing.”

  He came to kiss her lips before departing. She lay still for another five minutes before a quiet tap on the connecting door brought another smile to her lips. “Com’on in, Amy. I’m ready.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Amy put the brush down. “You’re done. And I’m hungry!”

  With a laugh, Beckie said, “Good! If I recall—”

  The loud rap on the door to the outside shocked her. A glance through the peephole revealed a man in the Guardia uniform she recalled seeing on her last visit. She didn’t recall having seen the man before, though like the ones she did remember, he appeared to be solidly built. She couldn’t see his hair or eyes under his helmet’s brim. As he raised his hand, she opened the door to find two Guardia there.

  The closer man stepped into the doorway and looked around. “Please, señorita… señoritas, you must come with me.”

  “Why? Where?” Beckie pushed back on her concern. “What’s going on?”

  “I have been ordered to move you… and the other señorita to a…” He paused again, as if searching for a word. “… protected place. Please come with me.”

  “What about Ian and the rest of the team? Mr. Jamse?”

  “They are being moved also. Please hurry!”

  The man’s anxiety and, Beckie had to admit, his near panic, led her to grab Amy’s arm and follow the man out the door. Amy shot her a questioning look, but Beckie pushed her along in the guard’s wake. The guard, clumsy in his obvious nervousness, escorted them down the back stairwell to a door marked la salida. “Exit,” Amy whispered. Outside, an olive-drab car waited.

  As he hustled them in, Beckie held Amy’s hand tight; she looked around the car’s interior. All the windows had been blacked out. Amy started to speak, but Beckie shushed her while she investigated.

  The blacked out windows hinted perhaps this wasn’t the trip she expected. The lack of handles on the doors seconded it. And finally, a steel plate separated them from the driver’s compartment.

  She took Amy’s head and laid her lips beside the girl’s ears. “Be quiet,” she whispered. “I have a concern about this.” She stopped as Amy moved in agreement, then continued, “This is a cop car, I think, and maybe that’s okay. But I’m… We’ll see what happens when we stop.”

  Amy reached to hug Beckie’s arm, then fell back against the plastic seat. But she didn’t let go of Beckie’s hand.

  The car had been stopping and starting frequently. Beckie pulled her phone out of her pocket; she wasn’t even disappointed to see “No service” in the display. The clock, however, showed they’d been on the move for less than half an hour when not only did the car stop, but the engine did also, and the body rocked as someone exited.

  She hadn’t slipped the phone into her pocket when both doors opened and she and Amy were grabbed by the arm. Beckie shrieked as the hand gripped her left shoulder above the fixator, and Amy swung around, throwing a fist at the man’s face. “¡Dejarla ir!” “Let her go!”

  By the time Beckie’s right hand reached her shoulder, the man had not only let go but fallen away from the open door. Amy hadn’t hit him; her captor had dragged her out of the vehicle and stood her up against the door, arms hanging over the top.

  “Hey, leave her alone!” Beckie’s voice was shrill; she forced herself to breathe. “And don’t fuck with my arm! Tell us what you want, and why. Now!”

  “Señorita,” the man holding Amy said as he allowed her to stand on her own, “we are told to bring you to la casa segura, el refugio. A fight has started. Please, you must go inside!”

  “Safe house,” Amy said across the backseat.

  Beckie nodded before looking around. They were in a garage with room for three or more cars in addition to the one they’d arrived in. It didn’t appear to be a working garage, merely one for storage. A few boxes stood against the far wall, but the block walls were otherwise unrelieved. Not even a damn window! “Okay. When will the others arrive?”

  “They do not share with us,” the man who’d grabbed at her said.

  Beckie crawled out of the car and waited for direction.

  The man beside her gave her an apologetic look. “Your phone, please.”

  It was no good trying to hide it; she’d had it in her hand since he opened the door. Expecting the answer would be “Orders,” she didn’t even ask why; she handed it to him. I will be ecstatic when this arm is healed and I can argue with people again.

  In three more minutes, they had been shown to a room three flights of stairs above the garage and the men had closed the door and departed.

  The room was fifteen by eighteen or so, based on pacing the walls off. The window and the door were the only openings except for a skylight in the ceiling ten feet overhead. The walls were white plaster, the floor, tile. Beckie kicked at a seemingly loose tile, to no effect. Then, while she walked one direction around the small room; Amy walked the other.

  “Not very much to see,” Beckie groused, “inside, at least.” They met facing a floor to ceiling window Beckie estimated to be five feet wide. It was a single light; there was no obvious way to open it.

  Amy spun slowly and agreed. “Besides, look at the glass. Gotta be an inch thick.”

  Beckie looking at the frame and nodded.

  The view was pastoral, since the walled roof the window looked out on blocked any view down. El Misti stood off to their right, still snow-covered, but with a white plume rising from the summit.

  “I don’t think we’ll be here all that long,” she said.

  Amy said nothing but gave her an inquisitive look.

  “No bathroom. No… chamber pot. No drain in the floor.”

  Amy nodded, then slid down the wall to sit on the floor. Beckie joined her. “Your phone?”

  “In my room. Didn’t think I’d need it.”

  Beckie shrugged. No worse than me, showing it off.

  Amy rolled her head to Beckie’s shoulder. “Any ideas what’s going on?”

  “No. I mean, you were there when Barbara told us about the safe house. That is what that guy said, right?” Amy tipped her head, but didn’t pick it up. “But I have no idea why they’d lock us in, or even take us without anyone else from the team. If they’re trying to protect us.”

  “Yeah, but those guys, they were scared of something.”

  “That’s the thing that bothers me. If we’ve been moved for our safety… Why were they so nervous? And if we weren’t, again…”

  “Maybe he was honest when he said they didn’t really know what was going on?”

  “It’s probably the best answer. Just, it’s not all that satisfying, you know?”

  Beckie’d watched a few clouds drift past
the window, a long enough trip that Amy’s head drooped when the girl dozed off. Wow! She’s relaxed! Or really zonked.

  The cloud watching reverie was destroyed by a clatter outside the door, followed by its opening. A Hispanic man came through, followed by a similar woman, though she wasn’t as dark-skinned as he. They both had straight black hair. In alpaca sweaters over jeans, it was difficult to guess their weights. Beckie forced a calm expression; she recognized the man from Mamani’s meeting in September. He’d been outside, waiting at Salvadore’s car, I think. What…

  Amy had roused at their entry and was giving first them and then Beckie, a long look. Beckie couldn’t figure how to share her discovery; she shrugged again before pulling herself to her feet. She reached to give Amy a hand, but the man was there first.

  “Hello,” Beckie said as Amy and the man straightened. “Welcome to our cell. I hope you have as wonderful a time as we.”

  Amy goggled at her, as did the man, but the English must have been too… esoteric for the woman; she maintained her stolid expression.

  “I don’t understand,” the man said when he recovered. “This is not a, ‘cell,’ if I understood your meaning.”

  “I think you did. Door has no handle on the inside. Window has a great view but won’t open and is likely bulletproof and unbreakable. No furniture. No food or water. My phone is taken and not returned. How would you characterize it?”

  He smiled. “Minor inconveniences.” He waved them away. “I hope your visit here was explained?”

  Beckie turned and walked away. This is unbelievable. Inconveniences? Can he really be that stupid? She stood gazing out the window. This puts paid to the story this is for our safety, doesn’t it? One of the candidates’ drivers? But could he really be on the up and up? She shook her head. I don’t believe it. Something else is going on… Mamani’s videos? But I better get back to here and now. She turned to lean against the glass, glaring back at him. “A reason was given; however, it lacks… substance, depth… A fight. How about you explain exactly what we’re doing here, on top of the world?”

  “We keep you safe,” he said. “And you are. We will move, now, to—”

  “Where’s the rest of the team? And señora Mamani?”

  He made what could have been an attempt to sooth her, both his hands out pressing down. Beckie sloughed it off waiting for a response. He settled back and said, “You will meet them all, soon.”

  “Even Mamani?” Amy interjected.

  “Even Mamani,” he agreed. “Now…” He waved at the woman. “… she will accompany you to the… baño, so you may wash up, and then we will move.”

  The window in the bathroom was too small and too high, even if her arm hadn’t been damaged. The woman stayed close, although she did allow them the privacy of closing the stall door.

  The drive took longer than Beckie had expected before she admitted to herself she had no clue. She, Amy and the woman were all sharing the back seat of a large black car, one that looked like it should have a driver who would chauffeur someone around. Or maybe he is the chauffeur.

  Amy sat beside her, holding the Transformer arm; the woman had taken the window on the other side leaving Beckie in the middle. She’d bitten her lip hard enough to draw a little blood; Amy finally noticed and leaned over to wipe the blood away.

  Will we get another chance? Beckie decided, probably not. She allowed her head to loll on Amy’s shoulder and whispered, “Cover my mouth.” She almost giggled as Amy started, then turned it into an overall motion that left her arm as close to Beckie’s mouth as Beckie could have hoped. “The guy… works for Salvadore. Repeat it.” When Amy twisted around as if to look out the back window, she repeated the words before the woman told her to sit facing front. The man caught her eye in the mirror, Beckie held it with as harsh a stare as she could work up until he turned back to the road ahead.

  The darkened windows did not prevent her from observing the city as the drive continued. Eventually, the car stopped and the man killed the engine. When the woman opened her door, Beckie saw the facade of a two story adobe house. The drive was crushed stone and the walkway to the door less than ten feet away was the same. She glanced around to see Amy exiting the far side. Behind her, Beckie saw a tall fence beyond which either tundra or low, not yet green, grass grew. In the distance, a few alpacas grazed.

  A phone rang and the man grabbed for his pocket. He answered the phone in a spate of Spanish, then disconnected and told the woman something, also in Spanish. Beckie’s language skills did not keep up at all. He slammed the door Amy had used, pushed her away from the car and got in. In a flurry of dust and small stones, he sped away.

  He’s been called to a meeting! Amy grabbed at the car’s rear fender as he shoved her out of his way and got in. She stood flat-footed until he slammed the door. A glance in the mirror showed he wasn’t looking at her. The car roared and slewed into motion, spraying dirt and stones at Beckie and the woman. Amy took a couple of steps toward the gate. He’s gone! I can do this came to her in a rush of excitement; Beckie can’t.

  The car missed the post; as soon as it was clear, Amy ran.

  She slithered between the moving barrier and the post with barely a hand’s breadth to spare. The car turned right, headed down the slight hill and she raced after it, sure he was headed to the civilization where she needed to be. As she ran, red brake lights flashed. She desperately searched for a place to hide, but there was nothing. With another glance at the car, she dove into the ditch alongside the road. When she raised her head, the brake lights went out, and the car turned on a cross-street.

  Her excitement had faded, a lot. She picked herself up and spit out several blades of grass. Before she took a few seconds to brush herself down, she stared behind her, waiting for the woman to appear, but nothing. A quick assessment of the scrape on her elbow where it had uncovered a rock: not as bad as it could be. I’m glad Sue found these peasant skirts!

  Once she began moving again, running in her long easy stride, the skirt wasn’t as useful. She finally hitched it up so the hem fell above her knees, tying it with the scarf, and adjusted her stride. Her breath wasn’t as easy as she expected. Oh, yeah. Seventy-five hundred feet, Mathilde said. She made more adjustments. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she swiped them away, looking for the big black car to return. She had no way to tell time, or where she was, or, really, as she thought about it, anything at all. Great move, girl! Here you are in a foreign country, no clue where you are, no way to find out. At least I speak a little Spanish. If I can find someone who’s not out to kill me!

  As she ran, she took time from fearing the man’s return to observe the landscape she ran through. The road looked like about a lane and a half wide, with ten or twelve foot high walls marking individual lots, or maybe buildings, based on the large tire tracks in the gravel and dust. Where no walls stood, the fields ran to nearby hills, green, though Amy had no idea what the plants were. Or why low stone walls divided the fields. Almost random, she thought. She focused on making sure she didn’t turn an ankle while simultaneously watching for traffic.

  As she reached the corner where the car had turned, she surveyed the opportunities. Ahead, she could see buildings. That was also true to the right, where the black car had turned. But straight ahead, in the distance a bus, a city bus, trundled by; she chose that path.

  As she approached the street her road intersected, she dropped the skirt into its normal place and used the scarf to cover the blue in her hair. He’ll remember that. Rather than running, she walked, but hastily, watching for any sign of undue interest.

  Of course, she thought, I have no money to ride a bus. But maybe a taxi’d be willing to take me to the hotel? If I can find one.

  When she crossed the street, there were gas stations on both sides, each with small shops, and she headed toward the busiest one, planning to ask for the use of their telephone. As she reached the doorway, a taxi, obvious by the signboard perched atop the roof, stopped to allow a
fare to exit. She slipped up behind the man as he paid. He gave her a dirty look as he bumped into her on his way to the building’s entrance.

  “¡Hola!” She continued in Spanish, “To the Libertador Arequipa, please.” The driver gaped. I guess my Spanish isn’t as good… “¿Hablas Inglés?”

  He gave her another glance and said in Spanish, “I understood you. I was surprised one would wish to go there, from here.” He waved at the depressed industrial area Amy’d run to.

  “I did a tourist thing and got lost,” she said. “Please tell me if you don’t understand my street-Spanish. Can you take me to the hotel?”

  “Sí. We are going.”

  Amy collapsed against the seat back and heaved a sigh. She looked up to see the driver’s eyes in the rear view mirror. “Are you all right, señorita?”

  She nodded her head, pulled the scarf off and fluffed her hair before retying it. She asked what she thought might be acceptable turista questions: Why was the hotel in the middle of a park? What were the main churches in the city? How did people earn their living? He relaxed as he drove, answering her for the twenty-five minutes it took to reach the hotel’s entry.

  Both Beckie and the woman turned their heads to avoid the dirt kicked up by the car; before the woman did anything but cough, Beckie saw Amy racing toward the still open gate. She made it through before it closed and continued downhill. With her heart pounding, Beckie whispered “You go, girl!” and pretended to trip, falling against the woman’s legs. “Ooof! Sorry, I tripped on something.”

  The woman picked herself up and began to brush herself off before realizing Amy wan’t standing there with Beckie.

  “¿Dónde está ella?” The woman shouted her question, but Beckie just splayed her hands before her. “Where is the other girl?”

  “I don’t know.” And it’s an honest answer, Beckie thought. I have no fucking clue where she is! Muttering in Spanish, the woman grabbed at Beckie’s good arm and pulled her through the door to the house. The door slammed after she’d been shoved into a small dark room on the first floor; she heard the lock go home before footsteps stomped away.