Her heart stirred as she watched his progress through the window of Calli’s office. She didn’t know Nick well because he was a private man and because a war arranged everyone’s priorities for them.
One thing she had seen was his obvious love for his wife. He hid it well, especially if he thought anyone was watching, although she had seen him follow Calli with his gaze and his expression soften.
Then there was the story Minnie had told her about how the two of them had met. Téra had seen the photos in the newspaper, of course. Everyone exclaimed about Nick betraying his own people by taking up with an American, while Téra studied the grainy long-shot photos and the passion the two of them clearly shared.
Nick had lost a country because of her. Now he was being told he couldn’t win that country back, not if he wanted to save her again.
Téra turned away from the window. “Nick’s back,” she told Minnie and Chloe, who were pouring over Chloe’s satellite pictures. They both looked up as Téra slid past them. She moved into the corridor and along it to the empty sunroom, to wait.
Nick looked up as he pushed the door opened. She saw his shoulders straighten. “Téra…you’re up early.”
“Or late,” she said with a small shrug.
“Is no one sleeping here?”
“I guess it’s been that sort of day. Night. Days,” she corrected herself.
Nick’s smile was grim. “They tell me you saved Rubén Rey’s life. Good for you, Téra.”
“It was nothing,” Téra said. “He gave me directions. I followed. I wanted to tell you…” She hesitated. “Calli was brilliant, Nick. She shot one of the Insurrectos and kept everyone safe. The only way they got her was with a sucker punch, when she rushed to help Rubén.”
Nick’s face tightened. His eyes seemed to darken. “Thank you for that.” He rested his hand on her shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. He looked up over her shoulder.
“Oh, Nick!” It was Minnie’s voice.
Téra turned to see Minnie standing on the top step of the two steps down into the sunroom.
Minnie held her arms out to Nicolás Escobedo, El Leopardo Rojo and the recent President pro tem of Vistaria. He moved to her and hugged her. Hard.
Because Minnie was two steps up, their heights were similar. Minnie made soft shushing sounds as Nick rested his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes. His shoulders shook.
Téra eased past them and up the corridor to the back stairs and sat on the bottom step, where neither of them would see her through the railings. Nick wouldn’t appreciate knowing she had seen him at his most vulnerable.
The silence stretched for long moments. Nick gave a heavy sigh and cleared his throat. “I thought I could sneak in before anyone woke. Téra says you haven’t gone to bed.”
“That’s a slight exaggeration,” Minnie said. “We’re winging the sleep bit. A few hours here and there. There’s too much to do and now we’re shorthanded.”
“Good,” Nick said, his voice low. “Tell me what I can do to help. Give me work, Minnie. The more of it, the better.”
Minnie was silent.
“Don’t look at me that way,” Nick said, his voice dropping lower. “I’m not asking to run the joint. Duardo made it clear I have to stay away from decision making. I’ll go crazy sitting and waiting, though.”
“Can you cook, Nick? Because we’re down to survival mode now and anything else requires command decisions.”
“I burn toast,” he said. “There must be something you need. What are you doing right now?”
“Looking at satellite photos,” Minnie said. “I have Chloe to help me.”
“Why are you looking at satellite photos?” Nick said, with a tone that told Téra his curiosity had been pricked.
“No, Nick,” Minnie said shortly. Gently.
“You said you were down to survival mode, yet you’re looking at satellite photos, a low priority in the grand scheme of things. Something has happened,” Nick said.
“I think you should head upstairs and get some sleep, Nick. You’ve had a long night.”
Silence.
“Minnie…” Nick began, his tone reasonable.
“Don’t make me make it an order,” Minnie said, her tone still soft. Téra felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up at the iron note it contained.
Téra slipped off her shoes so her feet would be soundless and rose and hurried along the corridor to Calli’s office and pushed open the door. She almost collided with Chloe, who had been standing at the door and listening, too.
Chloe brought the door almost closed behind Téra and watched. Then she shut it and came back to her chair. “He went upstairs,” she murmured. “He actually obeyed.” She sounded awed.
Téra didn’t blame her.
Minnie opened the door twenty seconds later and halted, her gaze swinging from Téra to Chloe. “What?” she demanded.
Téra shook her head. “Just wondering if you would come back or not. Chloe was saying a hot chocolate would be a good wake up for all of us. Lots of sugar.”
“Only if you want to crash and burn in twenty minutes,” Minnie said with a snort. “We’re all so tired the sugar slump will knock us all off our feet.” She came around the desk and tucked her foot beneath her as she settled back on the chair. Her foot gave her an extra two inches. It merely made her appear not quite as short as usual behind Calli’s big desk.
She picked up the photos Chloe printed out for them. “Where were we? Right. Nothing moving. What time did the satellite go over, Chloe?”
“Between sixteen twenty-three and sixteen thirty-eight,” Chloe said.
Téra translated mentally and frowned. Four in the afternoon was a busy time of day. She reached for the photo showing the main street of Pascuallita and scanned it once more.
No one. Not a single soul.
Oh, except for the dog trotting down the middle of the deserted street. There wasn’t any traffic for the dog to dodge.
It was a real, live dog, too. It wasn’t someone pulling a magic Photoshop moment with the satellite feed. Chloe had pointed it out by laying this photo and another similar one beside each other. “Check the angle of regard,” she said, pointing to the table of digits in the corner of the photo. “This photo was taken thirty seconds later. The dog is about twenty yards farther down the street. In that time no one threw a stone to send the dog on his way. Nothing stopped the dog or scared him. He trotted down the road, completely undisturbed.”
Téra craned her head to see the second photo lying between Minnie and Chloe. “There’s no one in Pascuallita at all. It’s not just the house. The whole town is deserted.”
“Thank you,” Chloe said.
“Oh my god…” Minnie breathed, as she fumbled for the phone. Her face paled.
“What’s wrong?” Téra cried. “Is it the baby?”
Minnie shook her head. “I worked out what Nick was saying, before I ordered him upstairs. Damn!” She peered at the phone. “Yes!” She jabbed at one of the shortcut buttons. “She put her on fast dial.”
She sat back.
Téra glanced at Chloe. Chloe shook her head. She didn’t know, either.
“Olivia,” Minnie said. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”
Téra could hear Olivia’s faint voice. She sounded alert.
“None of us are getting much sleep, here, either,” Minnie said.
Chloe gathered up the photos, her lips pursed together.
“Chloe?” Téra whispered.
Chloe shook her head. “I’m getting nowhere here. Cristián could be in trouble, and we’re sitting around discussing sleep patterns.” She picked up the ragged pile of photos.
“Excuse me one moment, please, Olivia,” Minnie said into the phone. She put the phone against her shoulder. “Chloe, sit your ass back in the chair. Right now.”
Chloe froze.
“Téra, don’t let her out the door. You hear me?” Minnie said. Her eyes met Téra’s.
The same lit
tle prickle of tension walked across the back of her neck. Téra nodded. “I hear you.”
“Thank you. Chloe, sit. Put the photos down and wait.” She put the phone back to her mouth. “Sorry, Olivia. Chloe wants to swim across the straight and save Cristián. As if I don’t have enough heroes on my hands. Listen, Nick said something...yes, he just got back.” Minnie looked up. Chloe was still standing, staring at her, her eyes wide.
Minnie pointed to the chair with an imperious finger.
Chloe sat.
Minnie said into the phone, “He said Serrano grabbed people who can give him control over both Mexico and the Loyalists. You know Serrano, Olivia. Would he have the balls to try to control America, too? And how would he do it?”
Chloe gasped.
Téra could hear Olivia’s gasp, too.
Chapter Eighteen
Parris’ unit spent the night easing through a countryside crawling with homeless Vistarians and Insurrecto patrols, thieves and other opportunists and more. Vistaria was a chaotic mess, Adán realized, as dawn crept into the sky.
He knew this area well and Donaldson, who was on point that night, kept him close.
Stealth was more important than speed. Adán remembered Parris’ C.O. telling her the priority was to remain hidden. It meant the journey to the coast that should have taken only a long day at most would take up the better part of two nights.
They would stop, pause and melt into the shadows whenever someone drew near. Using night glasses, they would wait and monitor whoever it was until they were well out of hearing range, while Parris took notes on the position and the passer-by.
Adán found it hard to stay still against a tree, his face turned away and wait for an entire squad of Insurrectos to march by with their heavy boots and heavier breathing.
“Why aren’t they using trucks to transport troops around?” he demanded once they passed by, keeping his voice down.
Donaldson pushed the big knife he had withdrawn back into the sheath on his thigh. “We figure they must be short on gas by now. No new tankers have tied up since the war broke out. Serrano will save what they have for the big push at the end.”
Of course. Such a simple thing.
“So why are they up at this end of the island?” Adán replied. “Why hasn’t Serrano moved everyone down to the other end, where the Loyalists are?”
Donaldson shrugged. “Because he’s stupid?”
Parris’ gaze caught Adán’s. She didn’t shake her head or move at all, yet Adán sensed she was warning him to keep his mouth shut. As they turned back onto the track and walked forward, he thought it through.
If Serrano had taken the cobalt and was busy making a bomb from it or hiding the bomb he had already made—Adán had no idea how long it would take to build something like that—and if the bomb was hidden somewhere at the top end of the island, which the drone trace hinted, then of course he would have troops guarding it.
The more troops Parris and her men saw here, the more convinced she would be the bomb was here, too.
When dawn showed, Adán was relieved. All they had done was walk slowly and sometime halt to let others pass by in the night, yet he was more drained by the night than he would have been from a marathon stunt session.
When Donaldson turned to him and said, with a hint of hope, “I don’t suppose there are any handy, unused caves near here?” Adán had already cast his mind back to his teenage years and could point toward the nearest remote and unpopular cave.
“No one will think to use it, even locals,” Adán said. “There was a cave-in when I was a kid and some tourists died, so they boarded up the entrance.”
“You still snuck in, right?” Parris said, right by his elbow.
“It was a dare,” Adán admitted. “I was terrified the whole two hours I had to stay in there.”
Donaldson snorted.
“You won the bet, yes?” Parris said.
“Yeah, I did. Jonathon Luis’ complete Dirty Harry collection on VHS.”
“That’s more like it,” Donaldson said.
“Move on,” Parris said.
“Yes, sir,” Donaldson replied, glancing at Adán for a direction.
They reached the cave just as the sun rose above the horizon. New planking and boards were rivetted over the older chipboard sheets Adán remembered. A sign in Spanish and English warned people away.
“It’s safe, right?” Parris asked Adán.
“The bit that collapsed is two hundred yards inside. The front, right here by the boards, is flat and sandy and probably warm, too, because the southern sun shines on the boards all day.”
“Sounds like paradise, sir,” Donaldson said.
Parris nodded. “Find a way in that doesn’t tell the world we busted in here.”
Three of the unit stepped up and popped the rivets on one of the larger sheets. Beneath, the chip board had baked in the sun for decades and flaked away to crumbling wood fibers. They punched in a man-sized opening. Everyone slipped under the outer layer and moved inside, except for the first two guards on rotation, who put the top sheet back in place.
The inside of the cave was just as Adán remembered it, except for one thing. There was a hiss and tumble of water, somewhere out of sight.
The cave was a series of pockets and recesses and short tunnels.
“It’s a rabbit warren,” Ramirez said.
“No one wander off and get lost,” Parris told them, as LEDs glowed, lighting up the big main chamber.
“The water is new,” Adán said. He followed the sound, turning into the pockets and dead ends until he found it. He looked at the river of water pouring out of a crack in the rocks and creating a small pond at the foot. The water was draining away somewhere that wasn’t visible.
“En suite,” Odesky said, behind him. “Very convenient.”
Adán put his hand in the water. It wasn’t as cold as he thought it would be, although it was a long way from a hot shower. “Probably not drinkable.” He stripped off his jacket. “Although good to wash up with,” he added. Now he was standing in front of running water, he felt grimy. Even if it wasn’t a hot shower, it would be refreshing.
He had been wearing the sleeveless tee shirt under his jacket for more days than he cared to count. He couldn’t afford to get it wet, which meant washing it was out, too. In caves, cold was a serious problem. Clothes didn’t dry in still air the way they did in sunshine and a breeze.
He took off the shirt as well and bent over the water to wash.
It was cold against his sweaty skin, but invigorating. He was tempted to duck his head under the stream. For the same reason he wouldn’t let his clothes get wet, he could not afford to spend the day in this cave with wet hair, either. He settled for cupping his hand under the water and bathing the back of his neck and his face, instead.
Before he was done, three more of the unit dropped their upper layers and were leaning over the shallow pool, too.
“Don’t get your clothes wet,” Adán told them.
“Too cold in here to be damp,” Donaldson said, with a nod. The others were being careful, too.
Adán picked up his shirt and jacket and moved away from the pool, to make room for others. The other three horsed around, splashing each other like high school boys, shoving and threatening to push each other in.
More were coming to the pool, drawn by the noise they were making.
Parris was at the end of the little cul-de-sac. She leaned against the rocks, her arms crossed, waiting for everyone to finish up. She was a good leader and was likely sizing up physical conditions of her men and their general morale. Her gaze shifted to Adán and her arms dropped.
There was something in her eyes…panic? Alarm? Wariness? Adán didn’t know what it was, only that he had jolted her out of Commander-mode. She was Parris now, not Captain Graves.
Her face grew pale.
The first tendrils of alarm grew in him. What had he done? Why was she looking that way?
He had sai
d nothing, done nothing, after the kiss under the cypress, for Parris was right—now was not the time or place for such things. She must keep her head in the game. She controlled and directed nine tough Rangers. She couldn’t afford to get distracted, for they would sense it and would disrespect her for it.
Adán realized all of it the moment she protested. He pulled away and stayed away, giving her space to do her job.
So why was she looking almost panicked, now?
Her gaze, he realized, wasn’t on his face. It was lower down.
He looked down.
The pendant.
The three masks, that he had over the years got around to thinking of as Happy, Sad and Googly. They hung on the chain as always. It was not the chain she had given him. He’d replaced the chain several times, as locks weakened or the gold thinned from wear.
The masks were hers, though.
Adán looked up. He let his brow lift a little. Yes, I still wear it.
Parris’ hand came up to her throat, which worked heavily. Her eyes were wide. Then she turned and strode away, moving fast.
His heart thudding, Adán dressed once more. He zipped up the jacket, too, for he was cold. Finally, there was nothing left to do but go back to the main chamber. When he got there, Parris had already pulled out her sleeping bag and dumped it the requisite ten yards from her “office”. She sat on the mat, her big pack a barricade in front of her, concentrating on the screen of her heavyweight laptop, a furrow marring her forehead.
Adán picked up the bag and went back to find a pocket or dead end or little recess—somewhere where she would not have to look at him with those eyes and he would not have to see them.
* * * * *
For three hours, Parris focused on paperwork and reporting in and the myriad little administrative tasks that were a leader’s lot. Most of them fell under the “problems” category. Management was mostly problem-solving, which had shocked her when she took her first command.
Even out in the field, a leader’s role in an operation was primarily about dealing with the unexpected. Without problems, snags and the odd blind-siding, her men could be briefed and shoved out there to do their jobs. They were disciplined enough they didn’t need someone to tap their shoulders and keep them focused.
Casualties of War Page 18