But the face that hovered over him with an anxious expression was not the smiling, unctuous face of his old tormentor. The doctor was dead now…dead. No, whatever nasty trick of fate that had brought him here, it was not the same.
This time, there had been a trial, a farcical exercise in frustration and futility as soon as he had recovered enough to make an appearance. He was taken from his cell to a room, where he was swiftly condemned for the crime of smuggling.
It was almost laughable.
The rifles he’d smuggled across the border were not the ones presented to the magistrado as evidence, but it didn’t really matter anyway. Someone knew about it and had betrayed them. Who would have known? Had Butch Casey and Paco been caught as well?
It was all still so fuzzy, most of the details still foggy…the soldiers entering the cantina, ranging around the room like scavengers, hunting.
Thinking back, he would almost swear that the soldiers were interested in him alone that night, had been looking for him. Only a few peasants were arrested; they had ignored most there, save the few men they scooped up and charged as bandits.
“Guilty,” the magistrado had pronounced with barely a glance at the prisoner standing before him in shackles and bruises. He had rifled some papers, then scrawled his signature across the bottom and motioned for Steve to be taken away.
The sentence was predictable—thirty years hard labor. A guard had nudged him, laughing when he stumbled, then slammed a fist against the side of his head as he struggled for balance.
“Gringo pig! You will be with us a long time, so you had best learn your duty now, filth! The price of resistance can be painful…crawl back to your cell like the dog you are!”
The lash of the whip had cracked against his back and he had sucked in a deep breath, forced to go on hands and knees the long way back through the tunnels, while the guards beat him and prodded him with whips and clubs. By the time he was returned to the tiny cell, his hands and knees were shredded and bleeding, and his back and ribs ached where the whip had flayed him.
Panting for breath, sucking in huge gulps of fetid air to fill his laboring lungs, Steve had crouched on the cold rock floor of his cell like the dog they had named him.
Like before, only his pride sustained him, that and a stubborn will to live. This time he was better prepared for what lay ahead. He had learned through the years that compromise was not the same thing as surrender, that if a man lived to fight another day, it was a victory of sorts.
The other two men in his cell moved slightly, silently, as if conserving their energy just to breathe. He had been like that once, had almost willed himself to die. Had even tried to kill himself rather than submit to a fate worse than death. That he had failed at it had been a triumph he had not then recognized.
He did now.
For he was still alive, and the doctor who had brought him to the point of suicide was long dead—killed by one of the young men he had forced to submit to his advances, gutted like a fish and left to die in his own blood.
A fitting end for a man who had caused so much misery and death.
“Men who live by the gun, die by the gun,” his grandfather had told him too many times to count. Maybe he’d end one day as the doctor had ended, dying the way he had lived. But for him it would be with a gun in his hand.
But not now. No, not now, by God!
“Amigo,” came a whisper in the dark, “there is water to wash your cuts here….”
It was an offer out of despair, an act of humanity in an inhumane place. Steve looked up, saw in the fitful light that filtered through the bars of their cell the face of his cell mate, and nodded.
“Gracias, amigo….”
As his cell mate gingerly washed his back, sluicing a small amount of their precious drinking water over the raw cuts, Steve reflected on his situation.
It was all too familiar to him, the dark days of tedious back-breaking labor deep in the mine shafts. All he had to do was wait. He would have plenty of time to do nothing but think and plan. Like before, he would escape. And like before, he would kill the man who had put him here.
LA CORTESANA
22
How unnerving it all was. It was the end of autumn, the end of a presidency, and the air of death permeated the entire city. Ginny was given an apartment in a little house off the main plaza, and since she had brought only the barest of necessities with her, Lerdo generously saw to her wardrobe.
“It is the least I can do for you, Señora Alvarado, since I am the cause of so much inconvenience to you. Luna should not have overstepped his bounds.”
Rafael Luna would do much more than overstep his bounds if she gave him even half a chance, Ginny realized, for he was at her heels at every opportunity. He was her escort—a guard for her own safety, of course—but she knew that it was much more than that. While it was obvious that he wanted her in his bed, there was an underlying reason for his constant attendance on her as well. Why else would be go to so much trouble? And why else would he stop her from finding Steve?
Steve. She was sick with worry for him, and had not been able to get a message to Don Francisco, though she had certainly attempted it. Luna, of course, for reasons of his own, intercepted her messenger. She shuddered to think of the man’s fate, for she had not seen him since.
“Señora, as you are on a mission of some delicacy, you must not continue to attempt sending messages. Surely, you realize the danger to el presidente should you be so foolish as to say the wrong thing.” A faint smile curled Luna’s mouth, and his eyes were watchful, regarding her with the same hot gaze that made her feel as if he knew what she looked like beneath her gown.
“I am not a fool, General Luna, but I am worried about my husband. Since you profess to be ignorant of his fate, I must find him myself.”
“Should you continue, you may find to your sorrow that he has been lost forever. Do not provoke trouble, señora.”
“Are you threatening me?” Ginny was furious, her hands knotting into fists at her sides. She clenched them into the silk of her skirts and snarled, “I refuse to be intimidated!”
“There is a vast difference between intimidation and warning, but you will do as you see fit, of course.” Luna observed her coolly, and she bit her tongue to keep from lashing out unwisely. Why warn him of her intention?
She wanted to ask, why? but was too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. An indifferent shrug was her only reaction to his intimidation, and that sufficiently annoyed him.
It was a duel between them, and she had the despairing thought at times that she was being forced into retreat.
Fretfully, she insisted that Lerdo discover what had happened to Steve, and told him that she suspected Luna had something to do with his disappearance.
“I have no sound basis other than intuition, but I am certain he not only knows what happened to Steve, but he is somehow behind it.”
Lerdo looked surprised. “But what reason would he have for harming him? They have never met, you said.”
“Not to my knowledge…no, they must not have known each other or Steve would have recognized him in Ojinaga. Oh, I don’t know why Luna would want to get rid of him, but he did. I know he did. There is no other logical reason why Steve is not here at this moment. As the Mexican ambassador, he may have incurred Luna’s enmity without meeting him.”
“And is it not possible that your husband had his own plans, Doña Genia?” Lerdo smiled gently. Deep circles under his eyes bespoke his sleepless nights, and he held himself with the air of a man resigned to his fate. “It is far more likely that the nature of his business would call him away, is it not? This is not the first time he has suddenly disappeared, you must admit. I remember him in California. He had a reputation for being a man of danger and mystery then, too.”
“There is a vast difference between mystery and sudden disappearance, Your Excellency.” Ginny kept her tone calm with an effort. “I realize that Steve is prone to vanishing from sight fo
r a time, but this time, he was abducted. I am sure of it, as I am sure that General Luna knows more than he will divulge to me. Can you not investigate?”
With a sigh, Lerdo nodded. “I will do what I can.”
It would have to suffice for the moment, but Ginny held little hope that Lerdo, with his world collapsing around him, would expend much energy in finding one man.
A week passed before she was once more summoned to the palace and a meeting with el presidente. He looked even more tired, deep lines engraved into his face by sleepless nights and strain.
“It is time, Señora Alvarado. My tenure is done, and the battle lost. You must travel swiftly now, and inquire from General Díaz if I am to be granted safe passage from Mexico. General Luna will accompany you.”
“General Luna? Your Excellency, I must protest. I do not trust the man. He is not to be trusted!”
“Try to put aside your personal feelings about Luna,” Lerdo said quietly. “As an emissary of Spain, he has access to Díaz where many do not.”
“Then perhaps he should make the arrangements for your escort to New York,” she said tartly, and saw the reproach spring into Lerdo’s eyes.
“Luna has access, not trust, Señora.”
Trapped and frustrated, Ginny could do little else but acquiesce, but she once more took to wearing a dagger strapped to her thigh beneath her skirts. It gave her more confidence, a reminder that if she had to, she would use it against Luna. Or any man who tried to hurt her.
General Luna looked at her with barely concealed triumph when she climbed into the carriage early the next morning, his black eyes glittering.
“I trust you slept well, Señora Alvarado?”
When she did not answer, he persisted, “And Carmen, she is an adequate servant, I trust.”
Sitting back, smoothing her hand over the deep green velvet folds of the cloak she held around her, Ginny said tartly, “It must be dreadfully tedious to be so bored with life that one must immerse themselves in all the petty details of another person’s life. I pity you, General, for your lack of diversions.”
He laughed softly. “Oh, do not waste such a sentiment on me, señora. I have my diversions. Yes, I have some most interesting diversions. Perhaps, one day, I shall share them with you. I think, somehow, that you might appreciate them more than most women.”
“Do not waste your time or mine, General. Now, if you please, I would prefer to ride in privacy. Be so kind as to ride with the driver.”
“I have my orders, fiery little cat,” he said in a low, intimate tone, “and one day you shall learn what it is to take orders from me. I think you will learn more swiftly than you like what it means to court discipline.”
A feeling of nausea churned in her belly as she stared at him, and Ginny knew that should she ever fall into this man’s hands, she would regret it.
“If you ever come near me,” she said slowly, each word distinct and deliberate, “I will do my best to gut you from neck to navel.”
To her angry surprise, he only smiled. “You will be a challenge for me, señora. I await the day with great anticipation.”
Before she could respond again, Luna shut the door, and to her relief, did not ride inside the carriage with her.
I do not think I can take another moment of his nasty innuendoes! she fumed. When I return to Mexico City, I will insist that Lerdo find me a safe escort home! Even if I have to wait until Díaz himself is president, I do not dare remain near Luna. He is dangerous.
But now she had to convince Porfirio Díaz, the man who would be the next president of Mexico, to show clemency to his predecessor. It was not an interview she anticipated with eagerness.
23
The silver mines were rough passages cut deep into the heart of a mountain, with tiny cells hacked into dank corridors off the main artery. Rickety wooden frames were built into the sides, clinging like vines to the rock walls that rose a hundred feet high.
It was Steve’s worst nightmare come true, an endless litany of labor and wretched conditions. Before, when he had been sent to the mines by Devereaux, he had resisted the guards’ attempts to force him to work. This time, he was a model laborer, blending seamlessly into the anonymous file of men.
But he waited.
The right time would present itself, and he would grab it. Then he’d be free again.
The man who had befriended him upon his arrival was manacled to him, their leg shackles tearing flesh but not their fierce desire to escape.
“When you go,” he said softly one day, waiting until the armed guard had passed them, “take me with you.”
Steve slid him a wary glance. “What makes you think I intend to escape?”
“You have that look about you. But you, I think, are much smarter than the others who have tried and failed.”
Juan Rodriguez was a political prisoner, a man who had spoken out too boldly and found himself arrested and sentenced to twenty years hard labor.
“I miss my family most,” he said bitterly. “My wife was pregnant when I was arrested. I do not even know if I have a son or a daughter. Or a wife any longer.”
Steve thought of Ginny, and he thought of their children. What would happen if he didn’t manage to escape? But Ginny must be looking for him; she was resourceful. She would find him, or at least go to his grandfather.
Ah, Christ, I hope she doesn’t think I have just gone off on business for Bishop again! Where the devil is Paco?
He was supposed to have met him there in that tiny cantina, but all hell had broken loose when the soldiers had come in “looking for escaped rebel prisoners,” though the men they had taken were only honest civilians.
It was war. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time could get a man killed if he wasn’t careful.
Or earn him freedom if he was bold enough to take a chance….
Steve had been in this exact same situation before. He’d seized his chance then, and he would do it again. This time, at least, there was no doctor with unnatural desires to drive him to the brink of surrender. No, this time he knew how to survive what must be tolerated, and just wait for his chance. It would come. Sooner or later, it would come.
Days blended seamlessly, night no different than day save for the thin edge of light beyond the dank, dark walls that smothered them. Leg and wrist irons were not welded this time, but fastened with locks and keys, dragging in heavy metallic thuds as they worked. There were three men to a cell, all shackled together, sharing space and scant food that was little better than fare fed to livestock. Water was provided in a small bucket with a battered dipper, and more often than not, fetid.
Work was a blur of darkness barely broken by flickering torches and the orange-yellow glow of lanterns that illuminated sweating, straining bodies streaked with soot. Tunnels stank of rank sweat, creosote and urine, almost overpowering at times.
And always, as before, there were the sadistic guards who enjoyed meting out punishment or reminders of who was in charge.
Steve plodded on, forcing his mind to think of more pleasant days, anything but the reality of his situation. It was the only way he could survive at times, the only way he kept from doing something careless or stupid.
One of the guards paused behind him, and the hiss of the lash was a brief warning before it struck.
“You! Get back to work. El jefe tolerates no idle gringos!”
Head bent, he ignored the fiery bite of the lash into his back and kept working, refusing to be provoked. Chains rattled as he toiled, dragging at his wrists and ankles in a cruel reminder that he had been careless enough to repeat a lesson he should have learned well the first time.
But this time, there was the certainty that Ginny would do whatever it took to find him.
“Where are we?” he asked one day when they had been taken back to the tunnel from their tiny cell. Juan gave him a strange look.
“You do not know?”
A wry smile twisted his mouth. “I wasn’t exactly awake when the
y brought me here. It’s hard to keep up with where you are when a dozen soldiers have managed to bash your skull in for you.”
Juan nodded understanding, a sympathetic gleam in his eyes. The steady smack of steam machines filled the black passageway with a racketing sound that muffled their conversation.
“We are in Chihuahua. This is the Galena, a silver mine owned by el jefe, the rich norteamericano who promises to pay el presidente but gives most to himself and the men in his employ. Greedy bastards!” He spat to show his contempt.
“El presidente will soon find himself needing silver if Díaz succeeds, and I think he will,” Steve replied, and when he saw a guard approaching, bent again to his work. Head down, he endured the brief stinging bite of the lash as the guard passed by.
The Galena. It struck him like a heavy fist that he was no doubt working in the mine owned by William Brandon—U.S. senator and Lerdo’s supporter. God! If it wasn’t so damned infuriating, it would be ironic. Did Brandon know that his son-in-law was a prisoner in his mine? Hell, it may very well be at his instigation. After all, Brandon wasn’t exactly a stickler when it came to eliminating obstacles, and lately Steve had proven to be a most irritating block to getting what he wanted—Mexican silver.
Just how rich did a man have to get to be satisfied? And how low did a man have to sink to justify using these methods of getting cheap labor?
By God, he would pin the senator to the wall for it this time! Ginny would just have to understand.
24
Don Porfirio remembered her well, of course, and Ginny was glad that Lerdo had so graciously presented her with new clothes for the meeting. It would have been too embarrassing to meet the man who was to be the next president wearing the rags that Luna had abducted her in, and she had told the Spanish emissary so in no uncertain terms.
“You are a boor, Señor Luna, and I do not care to be associated with you on any level but in the capacity of envoy for el presidente.”
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