She pushed the gun into her skirt pocket and made sure the room was as she’d found it, switched off the light and left the house. She climbed down the stairs, trying to remember the night’s passwords so she could pass by the guards at the bottom. It was late. They wouldn’t let her pass if she didn’t give them the right words.
Finally, on the last flight of stairs down, she remembered the words of the day. Her mind gave them up for her. She spoke the words to the guards when they asked for them. In turn she asked them if they’d seen Captain De la Cruz. By the light of the sodium arc lamps they used to keep the beach well-lit, she managed to make herself look coy and flirty and they laughed at her. One of them suggested the Captain was along the beach up by the billets, training with his men.
She thanked them, fluttering her eyelashes at them. They gave one of the half salutes they gave civilians and she passed on. After a few paces she kicked off her shoes, which were a nuisance in the dry sand. She left them sitting there.
There was a stiff wind coming in off the sea tonight, making things cool. She might have felt cold if she stopped to feel anything at all, for she was only wearing a sleeveless cotton shirt and the full cotton skirt that swirled around her ankles and hung around her hips. It dragged farther down her hips by the weight of the gun, but she didn’t care about that much, either.
She hoisted her skirt up a bit higher and kept walking.
There were two lines of men exercising in the sand, facing the rolling waves. Gas lanterns sat on either side, casting small pools of light. One officer stood in front of them. Captain Lucas De la Cruz.
Téra adjusted the direction of her walk and headed straight for him. No coyness this time. No backing down. No politeness.
She saw the men hesitate when they saw her, especially when she drew the gun.
Lucas turned to face her.
“Dismiss your men,” she told him.
“Téra, for heaven’s sake, child.”
She raised the gun to aim at his chest. “You tried to kill Daniel Castellano.”
The condescension was wiped from his face. He glanced at his men. “You’re dismissed.”
“But—”
“Sir—”
“Go!” he roared at them.
They scattered.
Lucas faced her, his hands loose at his sides. His eyes were shadowed pits, this far along the beach, showing nothing. The only thing that moved on him was the white shirt. The officer’s shirt of the real Vistarian army.
“The only way you can know that is if he told you,” he said. He paused. “So Nemesis is still alive. Well, well.”
The wall protecting her heart crumpled. Pain rushed in. “You’re not denying it,” she breathed, horrified.
Lucas spread his hands. “I tried to warn you, Téra. I tried to make you stay away.”
She fired.
The shot made him stagger back, but didn’t knock him off his feet. A shoulder hit. He put his hand up to his right shoulder. “In and out, Téra. Didn’t your brother ever teach you how to kill a man?” He turned and walked away, toward the billets. Blood was seeping through the back of his shirt, but not a lot of it. Not nearly enough.
Téra lifted the gun to fire again, but she couldn’t shoot him in the back. She couldn’t. She walked after him. “You lied to me.”
“I never lied. Not once,” he said over his shoulder.
“By omission!” she screamed. She hurried along the sand to push ahead of him, to get in front of him. It halted him. She turned and raised the gun again, but her hand was shaking. “You’re an insurrecto! A spy!”
He laughed and the laugh seemed to shake his entire body. “Of course I am. Somebody has to do it!” He looked at her and sighed. “Somebody has to do the dirty work. Somebody has to pay.” He stepped closer. “Twelve inches, Téra. You can’t possibly miss from here.”
She tried to squeeze the trigger and let it go. Four times. Each time she couldn’t bring herself to put enough pressure on the trigger to fire it.
Finally she dropped the gun to her side. “You made me love you.”
“No. I didn’t.” He stepped around her and walked slowly up the beach toward his billet. The blood was spreading on his shirt now, a black stain in the moonlight.
She followed him helplessly. “What are you doing?”
“Walking.” His breathing sounded bubbly. She wondered if she had done more damage with the bullet than she had thought.
Perhaps he thought so too, for when he reached the billet he paused at the steps and held onto the iron rail, like he was catching his breath. Then he climbed one step at a time and pushed the door open.
Puzzled she followed him in.
There was a gas lamp burning low. Her pictures were still all over the walls. In fact there were more, including photos from the wedding.
Lucas sat on the edge of the bunk, still moving slowly. He pulled from under the thin mattress a small, powerful-looking laptop and what she thought was a battery case, except it had a black, thick stubby aerial attached to it. He set it up on the small desk next to the bunk and turned it on.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, a horrible suspicion forming.
Lucas pulled his shirt open to show her the wound her bullet had made. It looked small and red and undramatic. “I think you hit the lung, Téra. Now the lung is collapsing. I’m going to pass out soon. Then you can do anything you want with me. So I need to send one last message. The news that Nemesis still lives is really too good to leave sitting here in Acapulco, because there’s only one place you could have got that news. Only one place where it would have reached you before it reached your brother first. Daniel tried to reach Duardo at his old home in Pascuallita which means Daniel has to be on Vistaria.”
He grimaced as he plugged the laptop into the battery and turned on the laptop. “I happen to know a bit about Daniel’s personal history and the only thing that would make him reach out to Duardo at all is dire need, which means he’s trapped.” Lucas looked up from the laptop. “Now, the idea of the great Nemesis being trapped anywhere is almost laughable, given the size of Vistaria and the joke that is Serrano’s standing army, but there is one tiny pocket of pure security on the island at the moment. One place where, if Nemesis by some small chance happened to find himself, it would force him to sweat enough to perhaps reach out to Duardo.” He started typing.
Téra scrambled to put the gun against the back of his head. “You can’t send that.”
“You’ve already proved you can’t kill me, Téra. I can send this.” He kept typing.
She shifted the gun to rest it against his thigh and pulled the trigger.
The noise inside the cabin was huge. The impact collapsed the fragile folding metal chair and pushed Lucas back against the bunk. He cried out and clutched at his leg with both hands.
Blood oozed out from between his long fingers.
Lucas half lay against the bunk, breathing heavily. Blood trickled from his mouth as he stared at her. “It’s too late, Téra. I’ve already told them about Nemesis.”
She turned and yanked the cord from the battery out of the laptop. But the laptop continued to run anyway. Téra rolled her eyes as she remembered that laptops had their own in-built batteries. She pressed down on the power button until the screen went dark. The computer was turned off.
Then, one-handed, she picked up the laptop and lifted it above her head, ready to smash it onto the floor.
“No, don’t!” Lucas yelled, holding up his bloody hand.
She hesitated. “Why not?”
From outside the cabin she heard voices. Boots on the steps.
“Téra,” Lucas said.
He had a gun now and it was trained on her.
Téra put the laptop back down, her heart thundering. Where had the gun come from? She had looked away for the merest split second. She had got a taste of just how truly dangerous Lucas was.
Tears filled he
r eyes. “Go ahead,” she said. “I know you really could pull the trigger.”
The gun stayed lined up on her chest. Lucas’ gaze stayed on her face.
The door burst open. Duardo, Nick and Calli pushed into the tiny cabin. Duardo had the big black satellite phone against his ear. All three of them carried handguns.
Nick held up his hand when he saw that both Téra and Lucas had guns pointed at each other.
Lucas swiveled his head to look at the three newcomers. He seemed to be having difficulty moving. He focused on Nick. “I saw the broadcast. It sickened me. I thought you should know.”
Nick nodded.
Lucas looked back at Téra. “I love you. I always have.” He lifted the gun, aiming for her head, his gaze locked on her.
Time slowed to a crawl. Téra saw all three of the guns aimed at Lucas lift in reaction. He had deliberately baited them. Calli was the fastest of them all, even though Duardo had been practicing since basic training. She was a natural at it. From this distance, she would not fail to get a kill shot.
Téra screamed her protest, already knowing it was too late.
But it was Duardo’s bullet that hit home first this time. Téra actually saw it strike Lucas’ temple, knocking him onto his side.
Instant death.
Time restored itself to normal. The echo of the three shots in that enclosed space and the smell of gunpowder was overwhelming.
Téra stared down at Lucas’ body. Someone was trying to pull the gun out of her hand. Hands were on her arms, trying to lead her away. She resisted.
Calli’s voice. “She’s in shock. She needs a doctor.”
“He didn’t destroy his computer.” Duardo’s voice, behind her. “The information we can get from this will be invaluable.”
“He wouldn’t let me,” Téra said.
“What was that, Téra?” Calli responded gently, trying to wrap one of the blankets from the bunk around her shoulders. The blanket smelled of Lucas. Abruptly, Téra’s chest unlocked and she began to sob. “He w-wouldn’t let me destroy it! He deliberately left it there for you! Ah, god help me!”
Duardo, who hated to show any sort of public sentiment, especially with her, was suddenly there, holding her. Her big brother was hugging her.
That told her how bad it was.
Her sobs intensified.
A few minutes later something pricked her skin, cold rushed up her arm and dark peace descended. She embraced it with panicky relief.
* * * * *
Nick hooked a submachine gun over his shoulder, reloaded his nickel-plated Colt and pushed it back into the holster strapped on his hip and grabbed one of the last bottles of Vistarian mescal off the sideboard. He caught Duardo’s eye as he left.
He thumbed a text message to Calli into his cell phone one-handed as he walked down to the beach.
He didn’t have to wait long. Duardo arrived barely three minutes later. His standard issue Glock was strapped to his hip and there was a SIG SG 550 assault rifle over his shoulder.
“That’s not standard issue,” Nick pointed out.
“I won it from an American who thought a pair of eights was good enough to ride on,” Duardo said. He grinned. “He made the mistake of thinking because I couldn’t speak English very well, I couldn’t play cards very well either.” He lifted a brow. “Who else are we waiting on?”
“Calli.”
Duardo nodded. Nick thought it was interesting that Duardo, who was such a typical Vistarian in so many ways, had no trouble accepting Calli as an equal and at times as his superior.
Nick cracked the seal on the mescal and held it out to Duardo. “To keep you warm.”
“We’ll be out for a while, then.”
“We could be.”
Duardo took a good swig and passed the bottle back. He breathed out between his teeth. “It’s been a while since I tasted the home brew. I’d forgotten that aftertaste. Phew.”
“A reminder of the ultimate goal of this conversation. I thought it appropriate.” Nick took a belt himself and felt it burn on the way down.
Calli crossed the sand toward them, a dark profile against the harsh lights bathing the beach. Nick saw the twin holsters, one on each hip and knew she had taken his instructions seriously. Then she flicked her thick braid over her shoulder and he saw the handle of the machete jutting up from between her shoulder blades and realized she had added another weapon to her usual arsenal, just as he and Duardo had.
He wasn’t the only one feeling completely spooked tonight.
Calli stopped in front of the pair of them.
“Is Téra comfortable?” Duardo asked her.
“She’s sleeping. The doctor put her out and she’ll sleep for about ten hours and wake naturally. After that, when she’s ready, she’ll need to talk.” Calli cocked her head at Duardo. “She may want to talk to you about it, Duardo. You’ll have to break down and actually talk about emotions and yucky stuff like that. There’s not too many people around for her to talk to. You were there tonight and you’re family.”
Duardo shift uneasily. “If I must, then of course…” But Nick could see his discomfort building and grinned.
“How on earth did you manage to woo Minnie, big guy?” he asked. “Because I just know the strong and silent routine wouldn’t go down with her, either.”
Duardo cleared his throat. “That’s for between Minnie and I, surely?”
“And me,” Calli corrected.
Duardo frowned, confused.
“You say ‘and me’ not ‘and I’,” Calli explained.
“I hate bloody English,” Duardo muttered.
Nick nodded. “It’s not pretty,” he agreed. “But we’re sticking with it, especially for right now.” He turned and started walking along the beach. The other two fell in with him, one on either side. “This is an official meeting, but there’ll be no notes and no official record of the meeting taking place. This is as sub-rosa as I can make it. That’s why it’s just us three. Clear?”
They both nodded.
Nick passed the mescal to Calli. She didn’t wipe the neck or hesitate. She tipped the bottle up and took a hefty swallow of the contents. Then she handed the bottle back to Nick without comment and licked her lips.
Duardo grinned.
“We’re going to keep walking so that no one can sneak up on us and listen in. I’ve got so paranoid I just don’t want to take the chance. We found Lucas, but until we gut his computer and figure out if there’s anyone else, we can’t relax. Even then, we still can’t be sure.” He let the silence build for a few steps. “Duardo, you know Daniel Castellano.”
“I…knew him.” There was awkwardness in Duardo’s voice. He sounded apologetic.
“You know who he is now, don’t you?”
Duardo sighed. “Nemesis.”
“You know who Nemesis is, don’t you?”
“As Zalaya, I heard of his reputation, but in the past tense. I was told he was dead, that he had been executed at the outbreak of the revolution—a preemptive strike.” Now his tone was firmer. This was more comfortable ground for Duardo. Less emotional.
“I’m afraid I don’t, though,” Calli said. “Duardo was the one on the phone talking to Cristián, so he got that end of the conversation. And Nick, you seem to know all about this Nemesis already, so you’re ahead of me there. You both need to back up and fill me in.”
“Duardo, why don’t you start?” Nick said. “Get it over and done with.”
“Thanks,” Duardo said dryly. He walked for several paces in silence. Nick pushed the mescal at him and he took it absently. “Daniel and his family lived in Pascuallita. Daniel is the same age as me, but we went to different schools. His family came from…there is no English translation for it. ‘Down the hill’ is the closest. Nick?”
“Lower class,” Nick murmured. “Working class. If you care about such things. But in Pascuallita it’s more to do with where you live and how you c
onduct your life, than what you were born into.”
“Like American ‘white trash’?” Calli suggested.
“Yes, very close to that,” Duardo agreed. “His mother left when he was very young. She just disappeared one day. Her clothing and possessions were all gone. No one knows why, not even Daniel. I’m not even sure his father knows, although when he got drunk, he liked to hint that he knew and it was all Daniel’s fault. Then Daniel’s father died when we were about eleven. I remember it, because there was a big discussion in the town about what to do with ‘the boy’. My mother and father talked about it at dinner one night, while we were all sitting around the table. Pascuallita was small enough then that every family’s business was the whole town’s business. So we all got to talk about Daniel’s future and figure it out. A family took him in, but they were just using him as an unpaid servant and everyone could see it, including my father, who got very angry about that. So just like that, my father decided we would take him in. About four weeks after Daniel’s father died, Daniel came to live with us. My father announced that Daniel was our new brother.”
Duardo stopped talking abruptly. He drank from the mescal.
Nick stayed silent. He could hear how Duardo hated talking about this and if he interrupted with questions, Duardo was going to clam up.
Was this how Calli always managed to scrape painful stuff out of him? Was he learning empathy from her?
He glanced at her, but they had left the lights behind and in the dark he couldn’t see enough of her expression to know what she was thinking.
“Daniel was angry and hostile, but my father was patient and he eventually got his way. I was in awe of Daniel. We were the same age, but Daniel always seemed to be older than god to me. He knew so much, had experienced so much and seemed so wise. To this day I have no idea what Daniel saw in me, but we became this odd pair of friends. Then, when I was sixteen, my father died.” Duardo drank from the bottle again. “Someone had better take this,” he said, his voice rough.
Calli took the bottle from him.
“My mother insisted that Daniel was part of the family, but even he could see that she couldn’t afford to keep paying for him to stay there with her single income. He found a family in town who had a printing business who would let him help out after school for room and board and moved in with them. My parents had managed to teach him one thing; that he needed to graduate high school, at least and so he did. It took him a year longer than I did because he had to work a lot of the time in order to eat, but he graduated. That meant he could join the army and qualify for officer training after basics, if they liked what they saw.”
Blue Knight Page 22
