Mercenary

by Duncan Falconer

  ‘So why are you still here?’

  He shrugged. ‘For something less noble. Recognition. I want it for myself.’

  ‘That’s not so bad a reason, Victor. It’s part of what distinguishes us from other living things. It’s only normal.’

  Victor smiled, but what he could not tell Louisa was that he had begun to doubt himself. He feared it would lead to self-betrayal, which might eventually become something far worse. He also feared he was not the only one who was changing.

  Chapter 3

  Back at the stables, Louisa dismounted and handed the reins of Stratton’s horse to a stable boy. As she unbuckled the saddle of her own horse she noticed a man whom she didn’t recognise standing by the corral looking at her. He wore the usual grubby military fatigues of the rebels. He took a piece of paper from a pocket, jammed it into a gap in the fence and walked away, glancing back to make sure she had seen what he’d done.

  She watched him as he went down the path that led to the cabins and then she retrieved the note. When she looked back he was gone.

  Louisa opened the note and read it, then screwed it up and leaned on the fence. The white horse walked over to her and she stroked his cheeks without focusing on him. He muzzled her hand and moved closer, demanding her undivided attention. ‘Are you feeling neglected today? Be thankful that is the worst of your problems,’ she said softly. ‘Remember one of father’s sayings? It’s your life-changing decisions that give life its meaning . . . That goes for you too.’

  She kissed the white horse on the nose and walked away to her own animal, buckled up the saddle again, mounted and set off at a trot, quickly breaking into a canter across the open ground towards the edge of the jungle.

  Louisa walked her sweat-covered horse along a shaded jungle path lined with the peeling trunks and branches of eucalyptus trees. She had covered several miles and now she peered through the trunks in search of a hut in a small clearing that she knew was somewhere close by. A sudden roll of distant thunder made her horse uneasy and she patted its flank to calm it. ‘Easy, Merlin. It’s only the rain coming.’

  A patch of brightness ahead signalled the clearing and the hut soon came into view on its far side.

  A saddled horse was tethered to a hitching post outside the hut. She stopped alongside it, dismounted and tossed her reins around the same wooden bar. Thunder crashed across the skies once again, this time preceded by a flash across the sky.

  As the sound of thunder reverberated into the distance, she looked around the surroundings before facing the door of the hut. It was ajar and, mustering her courage, she walked inside.

  Hector stood on the other side of the sparsely furnished dusty room, looking out through an opening, aware that he was no longer alone. The only furniture was a rickety table leaning against a thick wooden pole - which held up the centre of the ceiling - and a couple of chairs.

  He turned to look at her, his face sombre. But a second later it lit up with a broad smile. ‘Louisa,’ he said, walking over to her and wrapping his heavy arms about her to hold her in a grizzly-bear hug. She almost disappeared inside his embrace before he held her out at arm’s length to take a look at her. Her response was cold but he was not dismayed, as if he expected it. ‘You were so beautiful last night you took my breath away.’

  ‘Spiritual leader?’ Louisa asked him sternly. ‘That’s how you described my father.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it in quite that way,’ Hector said, letting go of her. ‘I was trying to control the conversation. It was politics.’

  ‘What do you know about politics? You insulted him in front of everyone, suggesting that he’s been little more than a guide through this damned rebellion.’

  ‘I had to bring him down a peg or two.’

  ‘You ever thought about trying to elevate yourself instead?’

  ‘I’m forever glad he doesn’t have your kind of debating skills.’

  Her expression stayed unchanged.

  ‘Louisa. Please. He has been like a god to us. I needed the others to see him as a mere man . . . one who makes mistakes.’

  ‘And what about you?’

  ‘Come on. I thought you took a degree in politics.

  It’s a game . . . Okay,’ Hector then added quickly, regretting the comment. ‘It’s not a game. I retract that. I’m not as eloquent as you. I don’t have your education. But you know what I mean. Of all people, do I have to explain myself to you?’

  ‘What makes you think you’re right? Why are you so sure you’re not the one making the mistake?’

  ‘I’ll tell you why I know I’m right. Sebastian operates entirely on passion. His kind of passion is the fuel that ignites rebellions. I could not do it. I admit that. He is remarkable. But passion is blind, Louisa. It does not know when to pause and inspect the wreckage created by its own fury.’

  ‘And you’re the new voice of reason and sensibility, I suppose.’

  ‘Is that so hard to believe?’

  ‘You’re out of your depth.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘We’re not dealing with honourable people. Neravista is a murderer. Amoral. A liar, cheat, thief, a torturer of men, women and children. For God’s sake, Hector. He’s playing you like a fish.’

  ‘Not a fish, a shark. And I’m in the pool along with him.’

  Louisa rolled her eyes. ‘One of my lecturers used to warn about using metaphors in a debate since even the dullest wit can recover.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Hector said, trying to convey hurt in his tone.

  ‘Neravista can’t afford to lose power. If he loses this country he loses everything.’

  ‘You’re making my argument for me. Of course he cannot afford to lose. That’s why he has to make a deal.’

  Louisa shook her head in frustration. ‘He’s not going to agree to anything that reduces his power.’

  ‘Don’t be so sure.’

  ‘He’s offered you autonomy?’

  ‘It’s a most important part of the agenda.’

  ‘Guarantees?’

  ‘We’re not at that stage of the negotiations yet.’

  ‘Dear God, Hector. You want a completely different form of government from him. You think he’s even going to consider that possibility?’

  ‘Once we get our foot in the door I’ll kick it wide open. Small steps, Louisa. But peaceful ones. Can we talk about something else for a moment?’

  She knew what he meant. ‘There’s nothing more important than this.’

  ‘There is something of equal importance, though - to me, at least. I want to talk about us.’

  ‘There is no us, Hector.’

  ‘Tell me one thing. Be honest with me. What if I am right? If I win? What about us then?’

  ‘To win, Hector, you would have to try. And the cost of trying would be far too much for Sebastian to pay.’

  ‘I’m in love with you, not with Sebastian.’

  ‘When you talk about Sebastian’s future you talk about mine.’

  ‘But that’s like asking me to choose between my politics and you.’

  ‘You just said your politics and your feelings for me were equal. You have to have a good memory to be a politician. They have to lie all the time.’

  ‘Is that what you’re suggesting? You and Sebastian instead of politics?’

  ‘No, Hector. I’m asking you not to split the rebellion. Have you even tried discussing this with Sebastian?’

  ‘You heard him last night. He will not hear any of it.’

  ‘Because you pushed him into a corner before you made your intentions clear. I believe that was your plan all along.’

  ‘Rubbish. I don’t need Sebastian to deal with Neravista - and yes, Sebastian would have made it more difficult, even impossible, as he is trying to do. But I did not try and shove him aside. Not the way you describe it.’

  ‘I applaud you, Hector. And I apologise for being wrong about you. You’ve taken to politics very easily. You lie with such conviction. Goodbye.’ Louisa
turned her back on him to leave.

  He made it to the door a fraction ahead of her and placed his arm across it, barring her way. Hector would not have been so bold with a woman like Louisa before that day. He had started his adult life as a goat herder in the eastern provinces and he remained aware of his humble beginnings, especially in her presence. He was the youngest of five brothers, of whom three had left their parental home when Hector was still an adolescent to start their own families while two had already died in infancy. The village he’d grown up in had had no doctor, the nearest one being a walk of two days or more away. Usually, if someone fell ill, they pulled through or they died.

  Hector’s opportunity for an education presented itself with the arrival in his village of an American non-governmental medical aid agency. One of the volunteers was a student from New Mexico who spoke Spanish and English. When Hector showed an interest in his books the student took it upon himself to teach the boy the basics of literacy. Hector’s appetite for learning was unquenchable and the student was soon teaching Hector how to read during just about every spare waking hour either of them had. Six months later, by the end of the student’s contract, Hector could read and write just about as well as any boy his age. The day the student left Hector asked if he could accompany him as far as the capital where he intended to get a job and continue studying. And that was precisely what he did. He rushed home to say farewell to his mother and asked her to tell his father out in the fields that he was leaving home. He tied all his earthly possessions into a bundle no bigger than a football and jumped aboard the NGO bus.

  The student let Hector stay in their offices for a couple of days until Hector got himself a job as a waiter in a hotel restaurant. Within six months he had risen to a position in lower management. In that time he also witnessed the injustice of the Neravista government and, thanks to some of the better-educated staff at the hotel, he developed a more than mild interest in local politics. After suffering a severe beating at a peaceful demonstration for better conditions in a local hospital, his patience for passive campaigning withered. He gravitated towards those who wanted a militant approach. Yet none of the leaders of any of the political parties inspired him until one day he went to a meeting outside the city.

  Several hundred people from all walks of life attended, something Hector had not expected since news of the meeting had circulated clandestinely. He was surprised to see how many of them appeared to be well-educated members of the middle class. But what really impressed him was the main speaker, Sebastian. When he talked everyone listened intently. He was so incredibly subtle. If Neravista himself had been there he would have heard the call for armed rebellion loud and clear but an inspection of the transcript would not have revealed a single direct reference to weapons or force.

  The other sight that for Hector almost overshadowed the impression left by Sebastian was that of his daughter. Louisa stayed very much in the background, quite literally. Few people probably noticed her standing in a far corner. For the would-be revolutionary she stood out like a beacon. To Hector she was a vision sent from the gods.

  Several months later there came another opportunity for Hector to visit Sebastian’s estate to hear him talk. On the journey Hector and his companions boldly discussed open revolt but by the time they arrived he could think of just one thing. From his place at the back of the meeting he searched in vain for Louisa. As Sebastian’s turn to address the gathering came, the young rebel’s expectations rose. When the proceedings came to an end and she had still not showed herself he asked a member of the household staff where Sebastian’s daughter was that day. She was away at school, he was told.

  Hector was very disappointed, but on his way out of the house he happened to see a framed photograph of Louisa. The face that he had been longing to see for months was even more beautiful than he remembered. The picture sat on a dresser along with a hat and scarf that he recognised as those she had worn that first time he’d seen her. He glanced around to check that he was alone and without a second’s hesitation he wrapped the frame in the scarf, stuck it inside his coat and walked out.

  Hector waited a long time before he saw Louisa in the flesh again. By the time the call to arms came and Sebastian had set up his first guerrilla encampment in the mountains she had already been sent away to America.

  Hector’s enthusiasm brought him to Sebastian’s attention early on in the forming of the various rebel companies and he was given command of a special reconnaissance unit. The other companies soon came to rely on him for vital operational information and his reputation was born. He matured quickly into a fine, positive commander known for leading his men from the front. By the end of his second year he had been promoted to brigade commander in the ever-expanding rebel army that was by then receiving funding and supplies from America as well as secretly from private investors and governments in Mexico, Brazil, Argentina and other Latino countries. At the start of the third year of the campaign Sebastian formed the inner council and Hector was elected a member.

  His experiences in those years altered Hector. He grew hardened in almost every way. And he was aware of it. Some called him callous, others were even less kind. But it was not until he once again saw Louisa that he realised there were parts of a man’s heart that could never change.

  When Sebastian introduced his daughter to Hector he had to remind himself that she did not know him. He tried to act accordingly and, in particular, to prevent his desire for her from becoming obvious. When she shook his hand she looked into his eyes and said she remembered him from her father’s first address all those years ago before she had left for America. Hector was stunned. He had hardly taken his eyes off her that day and she had not so much as glanced in his direction. For her to remember him after all that time could mean only one thing.

  His brigade was several hours’ ride from Sebastian’s encampment and it was weeks before he could find an excuse to make another visit. In that time he daydreamed about how their love would blossom. Yet when he did finally manage to visit Sebastian he found that Louisa was never alone. The only physical contact he ever had with her was when saying hello and goodbye, when he held her hand for longer than might have been considered polite.

  But despite the lack of intimacy Hector believed there was a place in her heart for him. Whenever their gazes met, at dinner for instance, he could see a tenderness that he felt was more than just comradeship or respect for his rank. Bizarrely, and he could scarcely even admit it to himself, his desire for her was part of what pushed him obsessively towards the peace talks. He could never factor it into his calculations but there were many things that would change if the fighting ceased: one of the most important to him would be a more stable environment in which he could court her.

  But as Hector held his arm across the door in front of Louisa that day the look she gave him filled him with dread for their relationship. ‘Don’t go, not like this,’ he begged.

  ‘I don’t have a choice, Hector,’ she said softly. ‘I’m Sebastian’s daughter. There’s still a choice for you, though.’

  Hector had hoped deep down that she did not agree completely with her father and was merely being supportive out of family loyalty. He was shocked at how badly he had misjudged her. He lowered his arm and she left.

  Hector listened to Louisa climb onto her horse and ride away. He felt a sudden chill.

  The rhythmic sound of footsteps heading towards the hut brought him out of his reverie. Hector walked to the other end of the hut to await his next visitor.

  Ventura stood in the doorway, wearing an all-knowing smirk. He was a short man, compact compared with Hector, sophisticated, well groomed and wearing a full-length tailored raincoat that tastefully matched the expensive riding suit beneath. His black moustache was a thin line in a 1930s style and he had an air of confidence and self-importance that came from his membership of the upper class. He was accompanied by several thuggish armed men, also in civilian clothes, who remained outside as he stepped
into the hut and closed the door behind him.

  ‘I can’t say I’m inspired with confidence by that meeting,’ Ventura said, looking with distaste around the simple dwelling.

  ‘When Sebastian realises he is isolated he will reassess the situation,’ Hector said flatly.

  ‘I wonder if you know Sebastian as well as you think you do. You appear to have misjudged his daughter somewhat.’

  Hector felt his anger rise but choked it back even though he could not hide it completely from his expression. ‘I have control of the council. That is the important thing.’

  Ventura seemed pleased with his ability to rile Hector easily. ‘I’m not so sure. As long as Sebastian commands his brigade he remains a threat. He has a gift for bringing men round to his way of thinking.’

  ‘You talk as if you and I are on the same side. We are not, Ventura. Just remember that.’

  ‘Your ambitions confuse me, Hector. Surely we’re converging forces.’

  ‘Perhaps. But we all have to change - make compromises - if we are to achieve an understanding. That includes your boss Neravista. I don’t want peace at any price. Just remember that.’

  ‘Of course. And Neravista understands that too. But we can’t wait on your reassurances for ever. The lull in our military activities is purely to give you the time to take control. We are prepared to renew our offensive - and vigorously - if you fail. And what about these new weapons that Sebastian has just received? They do not help matters. Some of my colleagues think you are merely playing for time in order to consolidate and rearm.’