Hostage Crisis

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Slowly, she moved back to her desk. Lately, the only time she could get any of her work done was by working into the small hours of the night. Morning sickness ensured the beginning of the day was a total loss.

  Right now, with everyone locked in the strategy meeting after the broadcast on the hostages, she was getting more work done than she’d got done in a week, except for Trini’s interruptions.

  Téra thrust her head into the room. “Hi?”

  “Your blessed sister keeps dinging me via that Facebook wrestling group, insisting that she talk to you. She keeps saying it’s urgent, urgent, urgent. I can’t get her to go away. She won’t tell me what it’s about and she won’t leave a message. Will you please sit and talk with her so I can have my computer back?”

  Minnie got up and walked over to the other desk where all the old manual systems were kept that she and Rubén were gradually converting over to the laptop.

  “Sorry, Minnie. Trini’s not usually like that,” Téra said. “She usually uses the common accounts.”

  Minnie smiled at her sister-in-law. “I know that. I’m not bitching about her. I’m bellyaching about not having my computer. One week I’ve had that thing and I’m already attached to it. I’m still upset about the broadcast, too. Don’t mind me.”

  Téra settled behind the open laptop. “I’ll be as fast as I can,” she promised.

  Minnie sat in the other chair and bent over the old paper ledgers with a sigh. The old systems worked just as well as the computer did, but after getting used to doing it on the computer, they were slow and awkward to use. When she could click and drag an item around on the screen, having to rewrite it over and over on paper became a real pain in the backside.

  Téra made a small noise. It wasn’t quite a gasp. More like a choking sound.

  Minnie looked up.

  Téra had gone white. So white, the freckles on her nose were standing out clearly.

  “Téra!” Minnie bounced over to the other desk. “What’s wrong?”

  Téra blinked and looked up at her. “Nothing.” She stood up. “I’m fine.” She smiled, but it looked as though someone was pulling wires inside her head to make her face perform the trick. There was no emotion there. It was a ghastly expression. “Thanks for the loan of the computer. It’s all yours again.”

  She left, moving like a ship under sail, cutting through the sea smoothly.

  Minnie checked the screen. Téra had shut down Facebook. There was nothing to see.

  Minnie turned and hurried after Téra, but she had already disappeared in the rabbit warren of rooms that made up the top half of the big house.

  Minnie stopped and bit her lip. She didn’t like it. Not at all. There was something not right about this. Her gut was churning and it wasn’t morning sickness. She headed for the potting shed—the “boardroom”.

  * * * * *

  Duardo was such a strong creature of habit, of discipline, that even though he was now married, he still kept his spare gun and bullets in the same place—in the left corner of his footlocker. Téra didn’t even need to search for them.

  Growing up in a military household also meant she had absorbed a great many basic skills by osmosis. She loaded the clip and reseated it with little difficulty. She checked the safety was on and sorted out how to cock the gun, because she knew this was a semi-automatic and that it needed to be cocked the first time she fired it.

  The whole time, her heart and mind seemed to be locked in a hard, tight place where she couldn’t think or feel. Everything was instinctual. Basic.

  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.

  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 made 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 her 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. Her hand was shaking. “You’re an Insurrecto! A spy!”

  He laughed and the laugh seemed to move 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.

  Téra 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.

  P
erhaps he thought so too, for when he reached the billet he paused at the steps and held onto the iron rail, as if 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 my 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 running. Téra rolled her eyes as she remembered the battery. 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 her 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.

  Only, it was Duardo’s bullet that hit home first. 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 sobbed. “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 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 said, pointing at the rifle.

  “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 well, I couldn’t play cards 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 spooked tonight.

  Calli stopped in front of the pair of them.
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  “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…”

  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, though 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.”