The Once-Dead Girl

by Laer Carroll

  “I’ll remind him.”

  “Never mind. I will remind him. Perhaps with a little remark about his memory fading.”

  By the time the light began to fade and the workers answered a distant bell to quit work Coronado’s pique had eased. He was a man of even temper. She’d realized that early.

  She’d also realized that he loved his job. He was on top of every aspect that she could see, including the theory of coffee production and larger issues of business management. Not surprising, once she found he had an MBA from Harvard, the same institution to which his sons were going.

  He and his wife invited her to stay for dinner. She refused, saying she didn’t want to drive at night, and judged they were genuinely sorry to see her go.

  She was too, a bit. She’d deliberately slipped into the position of daughter, calculating that the way they missed having their own daughter around would make them more likely to open up to her.

  But she’d not counted on herself reciprocating the feelings.

  ·

  Before the entrance to the four-lane concrete highway back to Guatemala City there was a bend in the road which hid the highway from her and vice versa. Her compact car vanished in a swirl of dust. No way was she driving that hour-long winding trip back to Guatemala City.

  ·

  That night in her hotel in Guatemala City Bethany sent an email to money manager Salinger with a copy to Sandrine. The most important part was one paragraph.

  No problems with the Coronado plantation. The slightly lower profits of the last few years are the result of a plantation expansion. Perhaps you missed or forgot the emails you received on that subject. Proceeding to Colombia.

  Two hours later, after a generous and delicious meal in a shabbier part of the city, she sent him another using one of Sandrine’s email accounts. One paragraph in it was important in that one.

  Beth assures me no problem with the Coronados. Did you really forget the expansion program? I think not. Good idea to test Beth. But I judge she needs no further testing.

  She congratulated herself on the diplomatic way she’d told Salinger Knock off the testing .

  ·

  The next problem area was in Colombia. She made reservations that night. The middle of the next morning she presented herself at AuroraAirport, dropped off her car, waited for her flight, and went onto the plane as the last customer to enter the tunnel to her aircraft.

  Glancing back and seeing no one looking she disappeared. Lying flat in the air, she glided back to and out the entrance to the tunnel, found a staff exit from the airport wing, walked out of the wing, and rocketed into the air through an area clear of aircraft.

  The shortest time to the city of Pereira, Colombia, was seven and a half hours, with two plane changes. She was not going to waste that time. Instead she arced up briefly into and out of the stratosphere and made the trip in 20 minutes .

  She got her passport stamped before leaving the airport, got her car, checked into the hotel room near the airport, and flew to the plantation she needed to investigate.

  It was north of the city about 30 miles in the ApiaRiver valley. A few miles away was the city of Apia, some 10,000 to 15,000 souls, depending on where you marked the city’s edge.

  There was a festival going on as she passed over it at a quarter mile up. On impulse she dropped down and blinked into visibility on the far side of an outdoor restroom.

  There was a little round park near the city center and a band playing cumbia in the gazebo in the center of the green. She knew this dance from the more authentic milongas where a lot of Argentines went. The DJs there used it as a break from tango. It was like a slow salsa.

  At the edge of the green dozens of people stood listening and dancing. The music was infectious. She too began to dance: step step step-step-step step-step-step and repeat.

  An older woman nearby was doing the same. She smiled at Bethany. Beth smiled back, held out her hands. The woman took them. They began to dance, as women often did at the dances she’d gone to in South America when no men asked them to dance.

  When the piece was done a man the woman’s age came up and with gestures asked her to dance the next dance. She waved at Beth and smiled and took his hand.

  Bethany was not left bereft for long. Other men asked her to dance and she accepted.

  More than an hour later the band stopped playing. The crowd broke up, laughing. A lot of them threw coins or bills into a coffee can near the band. Bethany did the same.

  Some of the dancers gravitated to a nearby open-air cafe, a couple of the women urging Beth to do the same. She did so and made several acquaintances, women and men both .

  Evening edged toward night. The shapechanger rose, hugged several women and men, one of whom ventured a hand down below her waist toward her bottom. She play-slapped him and spun away laughing.

  Minutes later she walked around a building and vanished in a wash of wind.

  The loneliness she often carried with her had vanished for a time. Heart full, she went up to a mile, found her target a few miles away, and swooped. There was still an hour at least of daylight.

  ·

  The next morning earnest student researcher Bethany introduced herself to a functionary at the plantation.

  It was more than twice the size of the Coronado operation. It was also more modern. There also was no easy cooperation between management and workers.

  It didn’t take long for her to decide that there also was something rotten underneath the operation.

  Perhaps it was good that she’d been tested earlier. Now she knew first-hand how a plantation was run and run well it was easier to spot problems.

  Perhaps Salinger had more than a test in mind when he directed her to the Coronados first. If so, he was even sharper than she’d given him credit for.

  She played the student role as before, trailing various experts around the plantation. The top manager saw her only briefly. It was enough for her to read the subtle signs in his body that told her he was guilty of something.

  In the middle of the afternoon she cut matters short. She’d been pretending for some time that she was running out of energy, asking for ever-more-frequent stops to “rest a few minutes” and to drink water. She also made her face turn a bit pink, then pinker yet .

  Finally she dragged herself to the office of the top-level manager, thanked him, and asked if she could lie down on a couch somewhere. Thirty minutes she got up and drove away.

  Poor gringa. These norte-americanos just didn’t have the stamina of sud-americanos.

  ·

  Back at her hotel room in Pereira she mulled over the situation. It seemed to call for another of her personas. She sent an email to Sandrine with a copy to Salinger.

  Something criminal going on in ApiaRiver op. This is outside of my expertise. Suggest you contact a security specialist.

  I’m going on to the third problem area.

  ·

  That was a winery in central western Argentina near Mendoza which had problems. This turned out to be embezzlement by the treasurer.

  Bethany was sitting behind his desk when he came into the office the morning after she’d discovered it. She had her hair down from its usual bun and was not wearing her fake glasses. She was wearing make-up, very understated. She looked much older and more mature than the diffident student.

  “Sit down, Mr. Silva. There.” She pointed at the straight-backed wooden chair usually used by subordinates.

  “I will not. Who do you think...?”

  “I think that I have complete authority from your boss to fire you, place you on a black list, and put you in jail. So sit down.”

  “I will not...”

  “We know what you’ve been doing. Shall I call the police right now? I’m sure they will be happy to launch an investigation requested by one of the biggest employers in this area. ”

  He sat, deflated.

  “Missus Ascaride would rather not have publicity undermine confidence in th
is company. She is ready to ignore your embezzling if you resign, make restitution, and never work in this area again. But if you insist on making a fuss she will insure you are put in jail.”

  There followed much bluster and bluffing. She could read exactly what was which and, after ten minutes lifted the phone and dialed the police.

  “Wait! Wait!”

  She put the phone down.

  ·

  Now Bethany returned her attention to the Colombia problem. This time she was Ming Yao. Who somehow managed to get into Colombia without showing her passport.

  At 3:00 in the morning the manager of the plantation woke to find a cold gun-barrel pressed to his forehead. Standing over him was a Chinese woman holding the weapon—which he could not tell was a good fake bought earlier that day.

  “Wake up, Salazar. And get up.”

  The tall thin man goggled at her but when the barrel dug hard into his skin rolled over and sat up on the side of the bed.

  Ming stepped back and slipped the pistol underneath her green and grey camouflage jacket, part of a uniform of the same color.

  She allowed him to slip a bathrobe over his pajamas and had him walk down the hall to the living room of his two-story on-site home. There she had him sit on a couch while she sat astride a reversed straight-backed wooden chair, arms folded over the seat back.

  “You’ve been siphoning off money for at least two years. I want to know where that money goes.”

  “You’re crazy. ”

  “No. I’ve been sent to get it back. Or at least get even.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The chair clattered to the floor and she was standing over him, one hand pinching his left trapezius muscle near his neck. Pain like fire struck the upper left side of his body. He screamed.

  She released him, set the chair upright, and re-seated herself.

  When he had recovered somewhat she said, “In case you’re wondering, your wife and kids and servants are all asleep. They’ll never wake up unless I wake them.”

  He made as if to get up but sat back when she raised a hand.

  “What have you done to them?” he whispered.

  “No need to whisper. They can’t hear you. And you have a nice house with lots of lawn on all sides. No one outside can hear you either.”

  “What have you...?”

  “I’ve injected them with a poison. If the antidote is not administered they will slowly waste away.”

  He stared at her and she could see the belief sink in. His scream had been loud enough to wake everyone in the house.

  “They’ll kill me. They’ll kill my family.”

  “Not if they are dead first. That can be arranged.”

  “There are hundreds of them. You can’t get them all. The government has tried.”

  “You’ve already given me enough clues right there. If I and my people don’t get them all, because you gave us no more information, then they might carry out their threat. So tell me all of it.”

  It took some coaxing but in the end Ming had the story.

  In the northeast of the country a rebellion against the government had started a couple of decades before. Tens of thousands of people took up arms. They and the government had fought. The government had been winning for the last several years, only partly because of their superior military force. The government had also been slowly reforming its heavy-handed, corrupt ways. People had become less and less opposed to it, and more and more opposed to the rebels, who’d descended to banditry and terrorism as their first successes faded.

  Now the rebels were a couple of dozen gangs, competing with each other as well as the government. Some of them were migrating. This was one.

  Some of that Ming already knew. Some she learned as she researched them in the days afterward.

  “Very well. That’s enough. I’ll consult my sources and we’ll build up a database on this particular gang. Then we’ll neutralize them.”

  Salazar had calmed down as he talked, perhaps relieved he could finally confide in someone. He insisted he’d not even told his wife.

  “What’s going to happen to me?”

  “For the time being you’ll keep your position. You served well in the years before. Perhaps, just perhaps, Sandrine will keep you on. That will be up to you.”

  He began to thank her but she interrupted.

  “How have you been paying this ‘protection’ money?”

  “Cash. Once a month I make up a bag and drop it at some location. Someone picks it up. I never see them.”

  “Very well. Here’s what you will do.”

  When the call came telling him where and when to drop the money bag that month he’d wait for an hour or two. Then when he had a normal business call to make he would make a call to her, “realize” he’d gotten the wrong number and hang up, then make the normal call. That night she’d wake him as she had tonight and get that information .

  “We’ll have the pick-up under surveillance and track the money back to the head of the criminals. Then neutralize them.”

  “‘Neutralize’?”

  “Most likely kill. But there are other alternatives. Which you need not concern yourself with. Now let’s get you back to sleep.”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “I will ensure it.”

  “How?” His fear, fading as they’d talked, returned in full force now.

  “Don’t worry. It will be painless. And you will awaken from it.”

  She stood and shooed him back to his bedroom. A touch to his forehead put him to sleep. Then she did the same to his wife and everyone else, turning their coma into normal sleep.

  ·

  For the next two weeks Bethany worked at several tasks. She did research on the gangs which were plaguing Colombia. The bulk of that action done, she turned to the list of problem companies.

  There were several causes of the problems beside the criminal. One was a long-standing dispute between labor and management. She could do nothing about that; it would have to work itself out—if it did. One was caused by changing market conditions. Again nothing she could do nothing about that. And there were others.

  Some she suggested to Schlesinger that he seek ways to solve. And he did for a few, which he duly reported to Sandrine before taking action. Usually she approved it.

  Then the next-to-last day of the month she got the phone call she’d been expecting.

  “This is Enrique Salazar. Mr. Montez, please. ”

  “There’s no one here by that name.”

  “Oh. A thousands pardons, Ma’am.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  ·

  At 2:00 am she woke Salazar, got the drop info, put him back to sleep, and changed his wife’s sleep back to normal. He and she would awaken feeling better than they had in a long time. She’d finally decided to give them perfect health. The two would be able to better serve Sandrine that way.

  ·

  The drop bag had an invisible avenging angel floating at most a hundred feet above it and usually closer to a dozen feet from the moment it was put together. This time it was put in a garbage can behind a restaurant in PereiraCity. Ten minutes later it was picked up by four heavily armed men in a four-wheel-drive long-cab truck.

  This was no surprise to Bethany, as she’d seen it loitering nearby for the past half-hour and the men in it taking turns watching the can and patrolling the area.

  As it sped away it was followed by a similar truck, also filled with armed men.

  For almost 15 minutes the small convoy threaded the streets of Pereira, then struck off into increasingly rough country to the northeast. This took another 50 minutes, ending when they drove into a compound in a heavily wooded area of old trees and mature brush. The brush had been cleared and several of the trees pruned of their lower branches.

  Atop it was a combination of green camouflage cloth and netting to shield it from the air. All the vegetation above would also be cool enough to shield it fr
om infra-red detectors in manned and remotely controlled aircraft or in spy satellites.

  Under the canopy were several tents. Some were small and housed only a few men. Some were larger, housing trucks and other equipment, or even entire families. A single large one was for the boss. Its interior was elaborate and luxurious.

  For several hours Bethany wandered invisible through the camp, getting to know its layout and the people. Some of these were women and children. This was a complicating factor for her. She’d pictured the gang as an all-male force. Most of the soldiers were men, but there were some women who were armed and seemed equally tough.

  There were two satellite compounds, smaller, also shielded from air surveillance. Between them and the main compound were trails covered by a long awning shielding individuals.

  As she spied she puzzled about how to handle the gang. The skeleton of a plan formed. She elaborated it. Then she left the area. Twenty minutes later she was in Pereira, buying supplies for the plan and fleshing it out.

  Among the supplies were parts to create a mockup of a small jet aircraft, similar to the arrowhead-shaped aerospace shuttles which served Lagrange-point manufactories. This was a framework of aluminum poles bolted together, covered by grey opaque plastic sheeting stretched tightly over it and glued.

  This she constructed atop a remote hill covered with a dense canopy of trees and no easy access to it. No one lived within miles. She also brought numerous other supplies and left them there. This included a music player and a set of speakers which she bolted to the bottom of the fake aircraft, facing down and forward.

  It was amazing how much volume of sound could be projected from them.

  At nights she slept in her bubble floating a hundred feet above it.

  At night and during the day she also visited the bandit camp several times, keeping track of what was going on and getting to know the people there .

  Finally she was ready to put her plan into action.

  ·

  Midmorning of a weekday someone came walking around a tree trunk in the bandit’s compound. She was quickly noticed.

  She was a middling-height woman of impressive muscularity wearing a tight body suit of bright orange and blue. She also had blue skin and purple hair.