Luke was counting on it. He wanted Calderon to act on his hunter’s instinct. The killer had lost Luke’s scent and would follow every lead to reacquire his prey.
Without knowing it, the cunning Sammy Wilkes was being played by both sides.
Would Calderon know that he’d been discovered?
Luke realized it wouldn’t matter. Calderon would never run, never go underground. He’d continue the hunt.
And that would be his final mistake, because Luke was going to kill him.
You’re already dead, you bastard…
A narrow band of violet was pushing up against a black-domed sky when Rosalinda broke his reverie and announced, “Ahead. That’s Río Dulce.”
A mile ahead, the port town’s lights shimmered. Luke pulled off the road and cut the engine behind a cluster of trees. The truck’s diesel snorted a few times before dying.
Luke decided they should break up into smaller groups, and after some back-and-forth between Rosalinda and her workers — they were concerned about her staying with the gringo — she finally convinced the men to walk into town ahead of them and find buses to their homes. She waved them forward as if shooing reluctant children off to school.
Chaos had shattered the workers’ quiet and ordered lives. Luke understood the feeling.
Fifteen minutes later Luke and Rosalinda walked toward town along the same road. He carried his knapsack over one shoulder. Draped over the other shoulder was a large duffel bag filled with equipment and weapons he had scavenged before leaving the forest lab.
Frankie was several paces in front of them, his horseshoe-shaped legs bobbing back and forth.
“Can you remember anything else about CHEGAN?” Luke asked “Anything you haven’t told me?”
“Nothing that paints a picture of evil.” She shook her head slowly. “In fact, quite the opposite. They operate a hospital in Guatemala City, a hospital for children with genetic disorders. They do it without compensation, I am told.”
They came up on Frankie, who had stopped to light a cigarette.
“Put that thing out.” Luke grabbed the cigarette and crushed it under his shoe.
By the time they reached the edge of town, the sky was changing from black to muddy gray. Entrails of smoke swirled from stubby stone chimneys. Even at that hour there were men loitering in alleyways, the type of men who linger with stooped heads, glancing sidelong at the world and missing very few of the details that pass in front of them.
The smell of hot grease and burning wood wafted from an open doorway on the right side of the street. A primitive wooden sign hanging over it read COMIDA.
Luke saw that Rosalinda’s limp was becoming more pronounced. “Let’s eat,” he said.
They sat at a bench table, and Luke ate like a ravenous animal, washing down a mountain of corn tortillas with a brothy soup, in the bottom of which sat a single chicken claw.
Two ruddy-faced men with dull bloodshot eyes grinned at him from across the smoke-filled room, their heads bobbing up and down as if he was the most entertaining sight they’d seen in a long time.
Frankie said, “I be back,” and was out the door with a fresh cigarette in hand before Luke could clear his throat of food.
Luke wiped a sheet of sweat from his forehead, then said to Rosalinda, “I need a hotel room. Can you find one that caters to tourists, someplace where an Anglo won’t stand out?”
“I know of a few hotels like that.”
“Good. Do not use your real name when you register. Get two keys, and tell them you have a husband who’ll be joining you. After that, you should leave town.”
“What about the boy? He should not be with you.”
“Tell him that,” Luke said. “After you check me into a hotel, take Frankie to the bus station and put him on a bus back home.”
She nodded. “Where is his home?”
“Santa Elena.”
“He came with you all the way from Santa Elena?”
“He doesn’t follow instructions very well,” Luke said. “Stay with him until the bus leaves, and don’t blink or he’ll probably vanish on you.” He wrote down the names of several medicines on a napkin and handed it to her. “On your way to the bus station, stop by a pharmacy and see if you can buy any of these.”
The recognition showed in Rosalinda’s eyes. “These drugs are for HIV.”
Luke nodded. “I listed four medications, in order of preference. Try to buy the first one on the list; it’s a combination drug. If they don’t have it, try the second name on the list, and so on.” He pulled a thick stack of bills from his pocket and laid them in front of Rosalinda. “Buy as much as you can get with this.”
“The boy — he has HIV?”
“His mother. Give the drugs to Frankie and tell him what they’re for. It’ll make it easier to get him on the bus.”
Luke’s backpack started chirping. He pulled out Sammy’s phone.
“You in Río Dulce yet?” Sammy asked.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t leave. Calderon just called me. By the way, how’d you know he was gonna call?”
“Like I said, I had a feeling.”
“Yeah, right,” Sammy said. “Anyway, you’re on for tonight. Someone’s gonna meet up with you at eight o’clock.”
“Who?”
“Flash, understand how this works. I don’t ask, and they don’t tell. I told Calderon some cock-’n’-bull story about you being one of the workers at the University Children’s clinic down there. What’s important is, this guy that Calderon dug up has some info on your lady friend. And Flash, he’s gonna wanna be paid. A thousand U.S.”
“Where’s this Samaritan going to meet me?”
“I don’t know yet. Keep the phone with you, and leave it on. I’ll call you as soon as I hear something.” A pause, then, “Luke?”
Luke couldn’t remember the last time that Sammy had called him by his real name. “What?”
“Sammy’s nose is picking up something here. Watch your six.”
Watch your back.
Sammy was sensing what Luke had already assumed. It was a setup.
49
Rosalinda shook her head at Luke as she walked up to the taxi in which he and Frankie were waiting.
“It seems that the address I had for CHEGAN is a private postal company,” she said while squeezing back into the cab’s rear seat with them.
Luke looked at the plain-looking tan stucco building at the end of the block. His precautions — giving their driver a fake street number and stopping a half block from their intended address — had turned out to be unnecessary.
“So CHEGAN gave you a phony address,” Luke said.
“Perhaps not. They may have what you would call a post office box there. Many businesses and organizations use these private postal services. The state-run postal service is unreliable.”
Luke wasn’t convinced. “An organization that uses medical supplies and trucks has got to have someplace to keep them. Why wouldn’t their mail go to the same place?”
“I would not know.”
She exchanged a few words in Spanish with their dusty-looking driver, who made a U-turn and reentered traffic. When they reached the other side of town, Rosalinda followed their prearranged plan and had the taxi drop them in front of a hotel that was a quarter mile past the one where she had reserved a room.
They backtracked to their hotel after watching the driver disappear around a corner. The place was away from the town’s bustling hub, in an area where foot traffic was less congested and overly attentive eyes were easier to spot.
Rosalinda registered them as a family of three, and as soon as they made their way to the second-floor room, Luke sent Frankie out to buy food and supplies. Leaving the room for a meal was a luxury he knew he couldn’t afford when killers were stalking him.
He sat on the edge of a bed that sagged in the middle while Rosalinda used the bathroom. He used the few minutes of silence to salve his battered psyche.
&
nbsp; He was surprised at how well the woman was holding up. He’d seen the wheels fall off battle-hardened soldiers hours after a fierce fight, but so far Rosalinda’s emotional makeup seemed to have an epoxy-like quality.
When she came back out, she walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window and took in the view, twice squeezing her atrophied thigh with a veiled grimace. She seemed the type of person who’d rather not have her leg or stamina become a topic of conversation, so he said nothing.
He looked past her, through the wooden balustrades of his room’s veranda. On the other side of the road was a park, and a few hundred yards beyond that, a large stone structure that looked like a fortress from an earlier era. The rock-walled citadel sat on the shoreline of an immense lake.
“Lake Izabal,” she said, as if anticipating his question. “It empties into the Río Dulce, which means ‘sweet river.’ The area around here is named for the river.”
Luke got up from the bed and walked to the window.
She pointed at the stony fortress. “That’s Castillo San Felipe. It sits at the mouth of Lake Izabal. This is where the lake empties into the Río Dulce.”
She told him about the castle’s history. He nodded occasionally as she went on about pirates, Spanish conquistadors, and trading ships in the sixteenth century.
What interested him had nothing to do with its history. The castle sat on a promontory, an outcrop of land surrounded by water on three sides. By land, the only approach was across the manicured lawns and open spaces of the park. From the battlements atop the castle’s walls, he realized that a single lookout could spot anyone approaching the fortress.
She turned to him. “You don’t look well. Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll call you when I’m settled in a hotel.”
“I thought you were going home?”
“My home is in Bogotá, Colombia. I came to Guatemala to teach at the university, but from the time I joined Zenavax, I have lived at the lab.” She shrugged. “I will need a place to stay for the next several days, but I do not think I should rent another room at this hotel. We have already registered as a family.”
She was right. His enemies had probably already found the truck they ditched on the highway outside of town. They’d be searching for him, asking questions, and willing to pay for answers. Anything unusual, like a wife sleeping apart from her husband in a second room, could lead the killers to them.
She picked up her purse as though preparing to leave. “Please understand, though. I cannot sit in a hotel room forever. Sooner or later I must call my company and tell them what has happened. Perhaps I should make that call now. They can bring the authorities into this.”
“No!”
Luke immediately raised a hand by way of apology. “Kate’s killer knew when and where she was going to meet me. That means someone was monitoring her communications. If you call your U.S. office, whatever you say is probably going to find its way to the killers. Even if Zenavax has nothing to do with this bloodbath, it’s still not safe to call your company.”
“Then we should go to the authorities here.”
“The Guatemalan Minister of Health intervened to stop Josue Chaca’s autopsy. Somebody in the Health Ministry is either involved or being paid to look the other way.”
“We cannot hide here forever. Eventually, we must go to the police.”
“Not until I find Megan.”
She was looking at his hands, which he realized had tightened into fists.
He grabbed the large duffel bag, pulled out two identical metal-framed cases, and handed one to Rosalinda. “We’ll use these to contact each other.” They were the satellite phones from her lab. “Call me as soon as you get settled. If I’m not here, leave a message for yourself at the front desk. Say your name is Julia, let me know where you’re staying. Later, I’ll send Frankie over to your hotel. Get him onto a bus after you get those medicines for his mother.”
Her eyes were studying him. “I hope you find her. Your friend Megan.”
He returned her gaze. “Be careful, Rosalinda. I’ve been dealing with these people. They don’t leave loose ends. And if anything happens to me, get out of Guatemala. Get to the U.S. or go home to Colombia. Then go to the police. And don’t just tell some government bureaucrat. Tell the newspapers. The more public this becomes, the safer you’ll be.”
“Right now, I wish not to think anymore about this.” She started toward the door. “I will call you later.”
As soon as she was gone, Luke pulled off his shirt and examined his wounds. There was a blistered track near his left elbow where the bullet had grazed him. The skin was burned but would heal. The deep gash in his shoulder, though, had become badly infected. A growing circle of red was spreading outward from its edges and the wound was beginning to weep.
Luke collapsed backward onto the mattress, giving in to the fever he had ignored for the past several hours.
A minute later there was a knock on the door. “Boss, I here.”
When Luke opened the door, the boy was holding two white plastic bags. One was filled with an assortment of candies, two packages of corn tortillas, and a small brown paper bag. The other held three liters of beer and some bottled water. A child’s version of essential food groups.
He felt Frankie’s eyes studying him. “Cerveza — you like?”
“I like.” The truth was, he didn’t drink beer.
Luke grabbed the small brown bag. Inside was gauze, tape, antimicrobial ointment, and a bottle of antibiotic pills labeled CEFALEXINA. Luke swallowed one of the large orange pills, then another. He had given Frankie a list of pharmacy items he wanted, knowing that most pharmacies in Latin American countries sold drugs without a prescription. He had written “Cephalexin.” He hoped that Cefalexina was the Spanish equivalent.
“What your name is?” the boy asked.
“You know my name.”
Frankie shook his head. “Es falso.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You say Edward to Padre Tomas. You say Luke to Rosalinda.” Frankie fingered his lip with one hand while pointing at Luke’s face with the other. “Y esta es falso.”
Luke reached up and felt a dry edge of the “scar” peeling from the skin under his nose. “My real name is Luke, but you can’t tell anyone.”
“Why I no can tell?”
“It’s complicated.” He suddenly felt light-headed and a chill swept over him.
“You okay, boss? You no look good.”
Luke motioned to the bed and the two of them sat.
“Frankie, don’t you miss your mother?”
The boy played with his fingers. “You want I go home, yes?”
Luke nodded.
Frankie’s fingers tangled into a knot. “I no want to be there when she dies.”
So, the boy knew. Luke wasn’t surprised.
“I need to get some sleep.” Luke grabbed a section of his bedcovering and wiped the sweat from his face. “We’ll talk about this later.”
* * *
“What is it, Elmer?” Ben swung his front door open. “Is this about Luke? Have you heard something?”
“No.” The old man’s eyes had a faraway look as he crossed the threshold. “Still no word.”
Elmer didn’t drive, so traveling across town to Ben’s home entailed either a taxi or a long bus ride. Ben knew that if his need was simply to talk to a friend, he would have called.
Something was up.
“Is this about Barnesdale?” Ben asked as they walked into the living room.
Elmer shook his head as he dropped onto a couch.
Not only was Elmer living with the agony of a missing son from whom he’d heard nothing, the man had to deal with knowing glances and whispered comments that followed him wherever he went around the hospital. The news media had all but convicted Luke in absentia for both Erickson’s and Barnesdale’s murders. The strain showed in Elmer’s face.
Elmer pulled a sheet of paper from his breast pocket and handed
it to Ben. “Look at this.”
Ben sat down next to his friend and studied the document for several seconds. “It’s a lab printout — I can see that. Why are you showing it to me?”
“Those are blood test results for volunteers in my malaria project, all of whom work in my lab.” Elmer sighed heavily. “After they’re exposed to the vaccine-producing mosquitoes, we do weekly blood tests. We measure their malaria titers, but we also do a direct measurement of their antigen level to see how much vaccine the mosquitoes are injecting into the volunteers’ blood.” He rubbed his forehead. “Look at the fourth line.”
“It says Elmer McKenna.”
“Notice the antigen level.”
“You’re positive. You have antigen in your blood. So what?”
“Years ago I had malaria. I can’t participate in the study,” Elmer said. “That’s not my blood.”
“You’re losing me.”
“You told me to use an alias for Josue Chaca’s blood specimen, the one we got from the state lab,” Elmer said. “So I used my name. I labeled the tube myself, then stored it with a collection of blood samples we’d drawn from the volunteers. One of my techs ran a titer and antigen level on that tube, thinking it was just another one of the volunteers’ blood samples.”
“There must be a mix-up.”
Elmer shook his head. “I had my tech repeat the tests while I stood there and watched. There’s no mistake. Sometime before he died, Josue Chaca was bitten by my mosquitoes.”
50
When Luke awoke, his eyelids opened as heavily as a bank vault door. A red shaft of light streamed through a gap in his window drapes, and the wall opposite his bed glowed with the deep hues of sunset.
He rubbed the sleep out his eyes and looked at his watch: 6:03 P.M. He’d slept for almost five hours.
Damn. He jumped out of bed and stumbled over to the corner of the room where he’d thrown his clothes. They were gone.
A silhouette bled through the window’s thin curtain weave. Someone was on the veranda.
He eased the curtain back and saw Frankie sitting in a small chair with his feet up on the railing. He was blowing smoke rings at the sunset.
Stigma Page 31
