“There's no answer at the Palace,” he said, staring out at the jungle which began only a hundred yards away from the back of the pension.
“No answer?” She frowned. “That's odd.”
“It's weird. Even for Montedora, it's weird.”
“Maybe the phone lines are down or something,” she suggested.
He shook his head. “I asked the city operator. She said they're working. No one's answering.”
“But they've got people on duty twenty-four hours a day. It's the Presidential Palace, the head of the national government,” she said in bemusement. “How can—”
“I don't like it.”
“What do you—”
“Let's turn on the radio.”
He turned abruptly and went back inside. Madeleine followed him. He went behind the bar and turned on the ancient radio, tuning into one of Montedora's government controlled news stations. Madeleine couldn't follow the announcer's rapid, muffled Spanish and asked what was being said.
Ransom shook his head. “Nothing, really. It's just an agricultural report. Something about more foreign subsidies being made available in the Calentura Valley.”
“They don't need subsidies there,” Madeleine said with a disgusted sigh. “They're all big plantations, like mine. It's the small farmers who need—”
“Uh-huh.”
Realizing he wasn't listening, and that her comments weren't relevant to the current problem, she shut up and sat down at the bar. After a few minutes, Ransom went upstairs and got a small twelve-band radio from his suitcase. He tuned into an English-language international broadcast and told Madeleine to listen to it.
An hour later, Senora Gutierrez announced their lunch was ready on the veranda. Ransom asked her to bring it inside so he could stay by the pension's radio and telephone. Curious about this request, Senor Gutierrez came into the barroom and asked what was going on. After exchanging a few words with Ransom, he, too, sat down at the bar to eat his lunch.
Seeing that Ransom wasn't eating, Madeleine reminded him that, after the morning's unpleasant events, he should get some solid food into his stomach. He agreed absently and slowly ate about half his meal before trying to phone the Palace again. No answer.
The Montedorans were living under their fourth non-elected government in a decade, and everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the elusive guerilla army of the Doristas mounted a major offensive against Veracruz's regime. Neither the radio news nor the phone calls Ransom made to Montedora City suggested that the capital was under attack. Yet the Palace had suddenly stopped answering the telephone.
Wondering if anyone else knew about this strange phenomenon, Senor Gutierrez decided to stroll into the main square, where his friends would be gathering for coffee. Madeleine continued listening to world news, watching Ransom's intense concentration with uneasy foreboding.
The senor returned an hour later, agitated, sweating, and speaking so fast that Madeleine couldn't understand him. The expression on Ransom's face warned her it was alarming news, though.
“What?” she demanded.
“The army just cleared the streets and sent everyone home,” he said. He asked Senor Gutierrez to clarify something, then continued, “There's a curfew in effect until noon tomorrow.”
“What?”
Frightened, Senor Gutierrez went straight to the kitchen to tell the news to his wife, daughters, and daughter-in-law. His married son and two grandchildren came inside, as did the other two guests of the pension. Within minutes, a dozen people were gathering around the radio, which still rumbled with dull news about road construction and the First Lady's charity work.
“I don't understand,” Madeleine whispered to Ransom.
“Neither do I,” he murmured. “But something's happening.”
“How—”
“Shhh! This is it!” He turned up the radio. The room fell silent as the regular news broadcast was interrupted, everyone listening intently.
Unable to follow the announcement, Madeleine waited until Ransom finally turned to explain it to her. His expression was stark. “The entire country is under the same curfew as Doragua.”
“Good God.” Her voice was thin with sudden fear. “Has the Palace been attacked?”
“I don't know. Only the curfew was announced. No explanation.”
“But that must mean—”
“Look, it might just mean that Veracruz has had an appendicitis attack. Or maybe there's been another assassination attempt. With two rebel forces and such an unstable government, they'd never announce any weakness or illness of his, but they'd be scared enough to shut down the country for a day or two.”
She swallowed and nodded, realizing he was right. Things here were very different from what she was used to. There could be a dozen explanations. She mustn't jump to conclusions.
“Let's keep our heads, okay?” His voice was gentle, calming.
“I will,” she said firmly.
He smiled. “Somehow, I knew you would.”
To her surprise, he kissed her on the forehead.
Everything inside her caught fire at that simple, reassuring caress. The warmth of his lips on her skin, his hand on her arm, his soft breath stirring her hair. Something wild and wanting unfurled inside her, shocking her. Passion and need spilled forth from the unguarded well of her emotions, panicking her.
Overwhelmed and bewildered, she practically leapt away from him, stunned at the sudden hunger flooding her, swamped by longing for him.
Her eyes misted with a tumultuous mixture of fear, confusion, and embarrassment. The surprise on his face was quickly masked. With only the green glitter of his eyes giving him away, he said in a perfectly flat, emotionless voice, “Sorry. I forgot I'd promised not to touch you. It won't happen again.”
He turned away and went back to his seat near the radio, leaving Madeleine staring after him, feeling foolish and ashamed.
Senor Gutierrez broke out a bottle of whiskey and started passing it around. Ransom lit up a cigarette. Madeleine took a chair by the window, avoiding the curious eyes of the children.
She was scared, more scared than she had realized. That's why he'd caught her so off guard. They were in the middle of nowhere, in a country where they had no rights whatsoever. She didn't know what was happening at the Palace, or what effect it would have on her. For the first time, she truly understood the fear lurking in the faces of so many Montedorans. For the first time, she understood their helplessness; and she hated sharing it.
She must pull herself together. She couldn't help herself, or Ransom, or anyone else, if she let this lurking fear affect her judgement and her actions. She had told him she'd keep her head; she mustn't let him down. For now, that motivated her even more than not wanting to let herself down. She didn't think about why.
* * * *
Madeleine saw them first, since she was still sitting by the window when they arrived an hour later. Four armed soldiers, all on foot. As they came up to the pension and entered the front door, she wondered if they intended to occupy the building.
Clearly frightened, but summoning his courage, Senor Gutierrez greeted them, identified himself as the proprietor, and asked what they wanted.
The officer in charge said something to one of his men, who nodded. Madeleine recognized the man as one of the soldiers who had questioned her in the street this morning. He pointed straight at her. The officer looked at her for a moment, then gave an order.
To Madeleine's horror, two soldiers seized her and started to haul her toward the door. Stunned beyond rational thought, her feet dragged as she babbled, “Wait! What are you doing? Wait! I'm not—”
Ransom had already moved to block their path, talking rapidly in Spanish which had suddenly grown a lot worse. The fourth soldier swung the butt of a rifle at him. He ducked and kept talking.
The officer put up a hand to forestall another attack on Ransom. Then he said, “I am Captain Morena. I speak English, senor.”
&nbs
p; “Surely there has been a mistake,” Ransom said. “This lady is an American citizen. She has broken no laws.”
“There is no mistake.” Captain Morena's fat face was impassive, his tone cold and inflexible.
“What is the charge?” Ransom demanded.
“That is a classified matter.”
“You cannot arrest this woman without—”
“Who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do?” The captain's tone became belligerent.
Seeing he had made a mistake, Ransom changed tactics. “You're quite right, Captain. My concern for the woman made me forget myself. You see, her father entrusted her to my care, and—”
“Why do you carry a gun?” Morena asked sharply, noticing the holster at Ransom's side. Two of the soldiers suddenly raised their rifles and pointed them straight at Ransom.
“Oh, please don't hurt him,” Madeleine choked, still being restrained by one soldier. “Please.”
“By whose authority do you carry this weapon?” Morena demanded, ignoring Madeleine.
“President Veracruz himself,” Ransom said calmly. “I have papers signed by the President, here in my pocket. Would you like to see them?” He stood very still.
The captain gave a clipped order to one of his men. The man fumbled for Ransom's papers, then took away the Glock. He gave the papers to Morena, then unloaded the Glock; he handed the gun and Ransom's extra magazines to another soldier. Morena read the documents in question while the soldier continued searching Ransom with enough roughness to scare Madeleine even more. Ransom's face remained impassive as his pocket money and passport were taken away from him. The Smith and Wesson Bodyguard strapped to his ankle excited considerable comment. Madeleine had noticed before what a unique-looking weapon it was, distinctively customized and beautifully engraved. Two of the soldiers apparently wanted it for themselves, and they started bickering. A barked order from their captain silenced them. Forgetting about the papers he was examining, Morena took the Bodyguard away from his subordinates, examined it with pleasure, and then stuck it inside his waistband. He stared slyly at Ransom for a moment, fondling his new trophy with possessive fingers. If any of this worried Ransom, he wasn't letting it show.
Ransom's gaze returned to the documents in Morena's other hand. In a steady, casual voice, he said, “As you can see, I am a special friend of El Presidente's, and I have his blessing to carry arms to protect Miss Barrington. Of course, if there are fines to be paid, we will gladly pay them...”
Money, Madeleine realized. Of course! The soldiers had wanted money earlier, and she had refused. But Ransom was getting control of the situation. Everything would be all right, she assured herself. Ransom knew what he was doing.
“A friend of Veracruz,” Morena mused.
“That's right,” Ransom said.
“You know him well?”
“Quite well. We dined with him only yesterday.”
Morena grinned. “Only yesterday?” he repeated.
Ransom said nothing, watching the captain closely.
“You dined with him.” Morena started laughing.
Something was wrong. Madeleine's stomach churned with renewed fear. Something was wrong.
Morena barked an order at his men. Two of them seized Ransom. The third kept hold of her. Madeleine heard the pounding of her own heart, a mad drumming in her ears. She was suddenly more frightened than she'd ever been in her life.
“A friend of Veracruz,” Morena repeated, grinning hugely. He stepped forward and, without warning, brought his knee up with terrible force into Ransom's groin.
Madeleine screamed. Ransom collapsed, sagging between the two men who held him. Laughing, Morena slugged Ransom half a dozen times in the face and stomach while his grinning subordinates watched. The children started crying. The Gutierrez women turned away, while their menfolk watched in silent horror.
Finally tiring of this amusing sport, Morena took Ransom's chin in his hand and tilted his head up until their eyes met. Dazed and in considerable pain, but still conscious, Ransom glared at the captain with furiously glittering green eyes.
“Still feel important?” Morena sneered.
Blood gushed out of Ransom's nose. “You're making a big mistake,” he growled.
“It is you who are mistaken.”
“Veracruz will—”
“You don't know, do you? It won't be publicly announced until tomorrow, when all is secure.”
“What?” Ransom croaked.
Morena patted his cheek. “For the good of the people, for the good of Montedora, President Veracruz has relinquished his power to a more worthy man.”
“A more ... Oh, my God!” Madeleine blurted.
Morena grinned again. “At ten o'clock this morning, General Escalante took control of the government. And Veracruz's friends are now the enemies of Montedora.”
“Shit,” Ransom said.
Morena hit him again.
Ransom tried to fight back, and someone drove the butt of a rifle into his gut. Two soldiers dragged him outside and threw him down into the muddy road, where they began kicking him.
Madeleine was still screaming when he lost consciousness.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Everything hurt. His head, his face, his ribs, his belly, his arms, his groin. His groin ... He vaguely remembered them throwing him down in the mud, then kicking the shit out of him. Mercifully, he remembered nothing after that. Nothing except Madeleine's screams.
Maddie!
Fear flooded him. He tried to sit up.
The exquisite pain and sudden dizziness forced a groan from him, and he fell back instantly. God, it hurt.
“Stay still. Don't try to move just yet.”
Her voice. Her beautiful voice. Her gentle hands on his skin, pressing his shoulders into the mattress as he stirred restlessly.
“Maddie?” he croaked.
He tried to open his eyes, but the light hurt them.
“I'm here. I'm right here,” she said.
Through the foul odors which surrounded them, he could smell her clean, womanly scent. He felt her hair brush his face as she leaned over him. With every ounce of strength he had, he raised his arm, found her head, and pulled her toward him. She resisted only for a moment, surprise tensing her muscles, then she relaxed. He rubbed his face against her neck, then buried it in the soft hollow between her breasts, where her blouse fell away as she bent over him. The lacy edge of her bra tickled his cheek.
He inhaled deeply and nuzzled her, wanting to burrow into her. Soft, warm, fragrant, strong.
Madeleine.
The hand supporting his head gently rubbed the soreness at the nape of his neck. After a long, contented moment, she lowered his head back onto the mattress. And everything went black again.
* * * *
Voices woke him. He couldn't understand what they were saying at first. He lay still, learning whatever he could without revealing that he was awake.
The woman's voice he finally identified as Madeleine's. Her Spanish wasn't good, but she got the point across. She wanted food, bandages, medicine, clean water, clean clothes, and a doctor, and she wanted them now. The gruff response was negative. She changed tactics, appealing to the guard's sense of decency. He apparently didn't have one. She didn't give up, though. She offered him a bribe. What did he want, she asked, money? She'd get money for him. How about her earrings? They were valuable.
The man told her what he wanted. Ransom doubted that Madeleine understood the vernacular, but the guard's tone made his meaning unmistakable.
There was a long pause. Worried, Ransom flexed and tensed, testing his muscles. God, he was sore!
“All right,” Madeleine said in English, her voice utterly without inflection. Then she switched to Spanish. “Bring me everything I have asked for, and then I'll—”
“Are you nuts?” Ignoring the protests of his body, Ransom shot off the bed, crossed their cell in three strides, grabbed Madeleine, and roughly shoved her behind him. “Ove
r my dead body!”
“Ransom!” She gaped at him.
He turned to the guard, who had stepped back from the heavy door, which was still ajar. The guard pointed the business end of a Colt .45 straight at Ransom's belly. Fixing the man with his coldest, hardest stare, Ransom told him in a garbled mixture of graphic Spanish and English exactly what he would do to him if he ever laid a single finger on the woman.
“Ransom, don't antagonize him,” Madeleine said. “you need—”
“Entiendes, you ugly sonofabitch?” Ransom growled.
Angry and shaken, the guard ordered him to step back. Testing him, Ransom stepped forward. Far enough to see what lay outside their cell: a small anteroom with a desk, the doors to three other cells, and a heavy door leading to the rest of the world. Getting out of this cell was possible. He could do it right now. But what lay beyond that door? He couldn't move until he knew.
“Please don't make him shoot you.” Madeleine's voice was taut but even. “My first aid abilities are really quite limited, especially under the circumstances.”
The outside door opened. The guard looked away. Ransom didn't jump him, but he was tempted, so tempted. However, there was no point in escaping from this cell block if they'd be mowed down by guns the second they got out. So when another guard entered the anteroom, saw Ransom, and pointed his rifle at him, Ransom raised his hands, backed into his cell, and let them close and lock the door.
“Are you insane?” Madeleine snapped the moment they were alone.
He whirled on her, furious and scared. “Me? Have you lost your mind, offering to fuck one of the guards?”
“I'd have—”
“What—figured out some way to get out of it?” he snarled.
“I'd have thought of something.”
“Don't be a fool, Maddie. Half a dozen of them could throw you on your back and gang rape you until you passed out, and then keep on raping you, and you'd have no choice in the matter. And I couldn't stop them, because I'd be dead by then.”
She paled at that, but didn't back down. “Damn you! I was trying to help you—”
“You're not helping me by putting more bright ideas into their heads! Now that drooling bastard out there figures that I'm the only thing preventing you from willingly giving him the blow job of his life.” He took her by the shoulders, repressing the urge to shake her. He wanted her to listen. She had to understand how vulnerable she was. “Whatever fantasies he may have entertained about you, you just made them all seem possible, even if you never intended to keep your word.”
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