Maggie thought about that. “What are you going to do with Comrade Abraham here?”
Achic shrugged as he aimed a pretend shot against a poster of Chairman Mao on the wall. “Take him along. He’s not Cain, but he is second in command. After he goes through interrogation, what’s left of him can rot in Latacunga prison. Standing room only.” He raised his voice so Abraham could hear through the ear plugs. “Glad you came to mess with my country now, you scum?”
Abraham said nothing, moved little. Marcelo shifted in his chair, shuddering.
“I have some Kodon,” Achic said to him. “It’ll help kill that bastard pain until we can find a doc.”
“No th-thanks.”
“Going to tough it out?”
Marcelo grimaced. “It’s part of the package, jefe. War. Others are dead. Not me. Pain is proof I’m still kicking. I won’t mask reality. I’ll live with it, as long as I can. If I can’t, then I’ll take your disco pills.”
“Old school,” Achic said, giving Maggie a weary smile.
Marcelo was some kind of modern-day Latin Samurai, steeped in his warrior code. Maggie didn’t pretend to understand, just knew that men like him were necessary.
“You ready to go?” Achic asked her. “I’ll drive you to Coca Airport. Hopefully you can still buy a ticket to Quito. With the oil boom, every flight is packed, and there’s nothing more than puddle jumpers that land here anyway. You’ll have to pay a ‘special fee.’ But in Quito, you can get a flight back to the U.S. You got your new passport?”
She nodded.
“Even so, you’ll have to change your appearance. They’ll still be on the lookout for you. Need cash?”
Maggie ran her fingers through her hair, blinked away the chaos of the last day plus. She hadn’t slept since the flight into Bogotá. Over a day ago. She hadn’t bathed. She hadn’t eaten. Her teeth had what felt like a layer of fur on them. “I’m going to find a shirt for Marcelo,” she said. “There’s got to be something.” Walking off, she headed down the hall, really just to get away for a moment—think things over.
Stopping at the first bedroom, she saw the bodies.
Knowing and seeing were two different things.
Beatriz lay sprawled unnaturally in a death run, legs splayed, on the floor. Her rugged Indian features were smeared with blood. She’d been shot more than once. She lay over Gabby, curled up, a dead boy, never to be a man now, Beatriz’ big arm in its cardigan over him, as if she could somehow save him from his fate.
She had heard him call Beatriz Mami when he thought no one else was around.
Maggie hung her head in grief.
A lot of blood had been spilled over this milk run. Too much to simply walk away.
And if she were going to have any effect on the insanity taking over the country of her birth, getting Tica and the rest of the Yasuni 7 freed would be a good place to start.
She pulled an old blanket from the bed, musty and reeking of mildew, and gently laid it over mother and son, wondering what had prompted them to join the terrucos. Everyone had their own reason, and it was always personal.
She pulled the window blind down, shut the door on them, leaving them in silence.
In the first bedroom in a closet she found a camouflage jacket. Size large. But it would do nicely. Back in the living room, she handed the jacket to Marcelo. He looked up with gratitude. His shirt lay in bloody shreds on the floor around the chair. He was clearly in serious pain. His bare shoulders shivered.
“Thanks, ch-chica.”
“Thank you for saving me from those madmen.”
He gave a fatigued nod. “Defendemos,” he said quietly.
“Yes,” she said. “You do.”
There was a pause.
“You ready to go now, Maggie?” Achic said. “Back to the U.S.?”
“No,” she said, meeting his gaze. “No, I’m not.”
-21-
“What the hell are you planning, Maggie?” Achic said, squinting. “If not going back home to the U.S. straight away?” Marcelo looked up from his chair. He had the camouflage jacket draped over his shoulders. His eyes were glazing over, no doubt from shock and pain. Abraham still lay on the mattress, a hood over his head, hands tied behind him.
“The transfer,” Maggie said, standing up to face Achic. “Beltran for the money.”
Achic stood there, frozen. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Are you s-sure about that?” Marcelo said. “It m-means meeting with Cain.”
“That’s what I came down to South America for,” Maggie said.
“Too dangerous,” Achic said, shaking his head. “I can’t let you.”
“With all due respect,” she said. “It’s my decision.”
“John Rae would not authorize it.”
“And where is John Rae?” Maggie looked around the wreck of a living room in a theatrical manner. “Oh, that’s right—he’s in jail. Or somewhere else. He’s certainly not here. So he doesn’t get a say. I’m going ahead with it.” She raised her eyebrows. “And after all the effort and misery that has gone into this operation, it would be a sin to do otherwise.”
“But capturing Cain . . .”
“No concern at all to me. That was never part of anything I signed up for.”
Achic nodded. “I’ve got to get Marcelo to a doctor. Then I’ve got to find John Rae . . . get him freed . . .”
“Then I suggest you get to it.”
“What I’m saying, Maggie, is that I can’t go with you—hold your hand.”
“No one is asking you to.”
“You think you’re going out there alone?” Achic said. “The Yasuni? The middle of the Amazon jungle? With Cain and his Maoist maniacs?”
“I was born in Ecuador, just like you. I’m not scared of the jungle. In fact, I’d like to see it survive a little while longer. Who am I dealing with? Some two-bit terruco whose only real concern is probably two million bucks. Money I understand. It’s what I do best.”
Achic frowned. “How do you think you’re going to get there?”
“I’ll hire a boat and skipper. Down at the dock. Won’t take more than a couple of hours to get up to the Yasuni.” That would also be a good way to avoid the authorities keeping an eye out for her in public places, like airports.
Achic shook his head. “Too dangerous.”
“Think about it: You’ve got Abraham. You’ve got his wife. The kid. Right?”
“Right . . .”
“If Cain gets out of hand, I’ll lay it out for him. He’ll be pretty receptive to any prisoner exchanges. You’ve got three people he wants.” Well, two, Maggie thought. “On top of the two million dollars, he’s in my pocket. I’m not worried.” OK, that was an overstatement, but she did indeed have the upper hand. “I’ll also make contact with the op manager, before I head to the jungle, get some support.”
“John Rae never told me who that was. Best to keep it that way.”
The old mantra about one cell knowing as little as possible about another. Ignorance was bliss. Or safety. “I’m covered, Achic,” she said. “When I talk to my op leader, I’ll make sure you’re kept in the loop. You may even get pulled back in at some point.”
Achic rubbed his chin and she could tell he liked the idea that the operation still had legs. “So,” he said. “What next?”
“We call Cain. Or rather, we get Comrade Abraham here to make the call.” She looked down at him. “We’ll arrange the meeting between Cain and myself. I’ll meet Cain, establish the ground rules. Then we’ll make the exchange in a safe place. Any problems, I’ll let Cain know we’re holding three of his key people.”
“Fair enough.”
“And I’ll need one task from you,” she said to Achic.
“And what is that?”
“You said you’re holding Yalu? And her son—Ernesto? At that safe house in Bogotá?”
“Correct.”
“You’ll need to move them. Somewhere safe.”
�
��Why?”
“Because if Cain learns about it, he’s likely to come straight for them.”
“Why?”
“You’ll find out soon enough.”
Achic seemed to think that over.
“Once Cain knows the situation,” she said. “He’ll be more than happy to play along.”
“I’m not sure Cain is ever happy about anything,” Achic said. “Unless it’s destroying something. But I think your plan could work.”
“Cajones, j-jefe,” Marcelo said, giving Maggie an appreciative nod. “This lady’s got some big ones.”
“Let’s call Cain now.” Achic stood over Abraham, pulled back the hood long enough to remove the ad hoc earplugs. Twisting the metal dial up on the upper left side of his pistol, Maggie knew he was putting the gun into semi-automatic mode.
He knelt down, pointed the barrel of the Glock into the back of Abraham’s knee.
“Feel that, Comrade?”
The black hooded head nodded.
Achic moved the gun alongside Abraham’s knee, fired into the floorboard. There was a pop, the clang of an ejected shell, and a puff of dust as the 9 mm bullet drilled through the floor. “Next bullet is through the back of your knee—if you don’t cooperate one hundred percent. Do we understand each other clearly?”
“Yes,” Abraham croaked.
“Don’t forget that we have your family.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
Achic stood up, turned to Maggie, waved his open hand. “It’s your show now.”
Maggie walked over, stood over Abraham.
“Where’s your phone?”
“Pocket,” Abraham gasped.
Maggie bent down, dug into the pocket of Abraham’s shorts, came out with a greasy cell phone. She scrolled through the call log.
“This number, the one that’s been called the most? That’s Cain?”
“Yes, yes.”
“There’s got to be some kind of coded exchange between you two to authenticate. What is it?”
“A simple index based one we both know. Cain says a number; I reply with a matching phrase.”
“OK, You’re going to get me through to him.” Maggie spent the next couple of minutes outlining what Abraham was to tell Cain. When she was done, she said: “Any questions?”
“No.”
“And if I think you’re trying to use any kind of a secret code to alert Cain, beyond the authentication? If I even suspect that’s what you’re doing, then you can look forward to your wife getting deported while you sit in prison—along with Achic’s promise to rearrange your knee.”
“I understand,” Abraham said.
“Lift your head now,” she said.
Abraham complied and Maggie pulled the hood off. Maggie punched the cell number from the call list and listened to it connect, then start to ring. She pressed the speaker button, putting the cell phone into conference mode, and set the phone down on the floor not far from Achic. Abraham turned his head in the direction of the phone, ready to talk.
After several rings, the phone picked up and the sounds of birds squawking blended with static and the wind. Finally, a man spoke. His voice was cultured and businesslike. Not what she expected. He uttered two numbers: “Two. Two.”
Abraham said: “In class society.”
“Go ahead.”
“My status report, Comrade Commander,” Abraham said.
“Yes, yes.”
Abraham continued: “Another change of plans, I’m afraid.”
“What is it, this time?” Cain said, more curtly than before.
“Alice Mendes is planning to come upriver to meet with you. She doesn’t want an escort.”
In the jungle, a bird shrieked. “No escort?”
“A directive from her manager. It should be fine, Comrade. In fact, it creates a much lower profile, doesn’t it? One woman traveling alone? As opposed to having all of us bring her? One of the women in the cathouse down the street said the military circled by this place once or twice last week. That could be nothing. On the other hand, it could mean the tombas are onto us.”
There was a pause.
“It does sound as if Alice Mendes traveling alone might be better,” Cain said. “And you’re fine with this change, Comrade? You are my eyes and ears.”
“Absolutely,” Abraham said. “Beatriz and Gabby have come down with a dose of food poisoning, so we would only have to wait for two replacements anyway if you thought she needed an escort.”
“I think it should be fine if Alice Mendes comes alone.”
Cain was getting itchy fingers. He wanted that two mil.
“Very well, Comrade. Alice Mendes plans to leave early morning. As soon as she can make arrangements for a boat up to the Yasuni.”
“Tell her to meet Gauman at the lodge when she arrives.”
“Comrade—Gauman isn’t one of us.”
“Exactly. That’s in keeping with low profile. More soldiers have been posted and are checking everyone’s papers. Make sure Alice has hers in order, by the way.”
“Will do.”
“Have you spoken to your wife? Everything good there?”
There was a pause. “Yes, Comrade. All is in order.”
“Call me if there are any issues.”
“I’m hoping to get some rest now. We have been on the go for many hours.”
“I understand.”
“Vengeance is justice,” Abraham said, signing out.
Pocketing the phone, Maggie turned to Achic. “What are you going to do with Abraham?”
“He’s coming with me,” Achic said. “Once I’ve gotten Marcelo to a doctor. In the meantime, he can stay here. He’s not going anywhere.”
“I need your assurance that Abraham will not be harmed.”
“Why do you care? After what they did to you?”
Her head was still ringing from where Abraham had pistol-whipped her. “I just need your word that you are turning him over to the authorities and won’t be harming him further.”
“I have no further need for him.”
“Good enough.”
Achic picked the hood up from the floor. “Lift your head, Comrade.”
Achic re-hooded Abraham, and dug out a roll of duct tape from his pack. “Legs together now. We want you nice and still, until I get back.”
Maggie slipped on her denim jacket, collected her backpack, walked over to the cluttered table. A copy of the Quotations of Chairman Mao was open, face down, the red cover splayed. She picked it up.
The little red book. How many wars had it started? How many lives had it ended?
Maggie opened the book to Chapter 2, quotation 2. “In class society everyone lives as a member of a particular class, and every kind of thinking, without exception, is stamped with the brand of a class.” Abraham had said: In class society.
A simple but pure authentication system. Give the caller an index to the book of Mao’s quotations. He or she needs to respond immediately with a few words that begin the quote. It requires the caller to have memorized the entire book. Something only a devotee could do.
She turned back to the group. “I’ll be in touch,” she said. “Somehow.”
“Just one thing,” Achic said, wrapping Abraham’s ankles with duct tape. “You were going to tell me why you’re so sure we have so much leverage over Cain.”
“It took me a while to figure out,” she said. “But at the Bogotá safe house, and here, it dawned on me that something wasn’t right—the way Abraham spoke about Ernesto. His concern when captured was for his wife—but not his child. Don’t you think that’s odd?”
“He loves his wife,” Achic said.
“She looks fairly easy to love,” Marcelo said drily from his chair.
“You don’t think it’s unusual that a man’s first concern wouldn’t be for his child?” Maggie said.
Achic shook his head. “Terrorists are hard to figure out. They don’t think like you and I.”
“Terrorists a
re no different than you or I,” Maggie said. “They’re just people.” She addressed Abraham. “Tell us why you and your wife fight with each other. Tell us why you really didn’t want her to come.”
“Go to hell,” Abraham growled, face down.
“Because Ernesto isn’t your son.”
Abraham said nothing.
“If he isn’t Abraham’s son,” Achic began. “Then who . . .” He stopped as soon as the words escaped his lips.
“We don’t know how Cain feels about Yalu,” she said. “But we can assume there’s some passion for his son. And that’s why you must move both of them. Immediately.”
“My G-God,” Marcelo said, grinning. “We’ve g-got him, jefe. We’ve got Cain. By the short-and-c-curlies.”
Achic said: “It does look that way, doesn’t it?”
They heard Abraham breathing heavily then. It almost sounded like weeping
-22-
It was well past midnight as Maggie headed down Chimborazo, the main drag along the wide Napo River. Plenty of signs of life still prevailed, mostly in the form of drunken exchanges wafting out of bars and clubs.
She found a cheap hotel room that wasn’t particularly cheap above a discotheque throbbing with techno pop. Next door to her room, a couple bounded in the throes of passion, or at least one of them did. The woman was putting on a command performance with exaggerated sighs and moans.
Half a dozen empty beer bottles filled a metal waste can by a sagging twin bed. A lone bottle with an inch of beer and sodden cigarette butts lining the bottom sat on the sticky nightstand. Picking up the bottle with thumb and forefinger, she set it next to the wastebasket.
Mildew and grime mottled the bathroom, where a sharp urine scent lingered. As much as she needed one, Maggie decided against a shower in the wretched stall. She unlaced and kicked off her dusty Doc Marten low-rise shoes and stripped down, opting for a sponge bath with Wet Ones, slipping on her clean pair of underwear and white T-shirt. Then she brushed her hair 100 times, her teeth twice, feeling fortified. She rinsed the other pair of panties out in the sink and hung them on a hanger by the open window where they fluttered in the night air. Hopefully, they would dry by morning.
The Cain File Page 20
