Roldán peered at her nails, then frowned and picked at a cuticle.
Ibarra’s smile slipped. Just a little.
Then the sunny expression returned at full wattage and he waved his hand, beckoning them. “Come, come.” He moved through the room, stepping over limbs. He patted a woman’s jerking head as he passed.
“What now?” Roldán whispered.
Calli kept her gaze on Ibarra’s back as she moved through the room, blindly stepping over and around. Roldán stayed behind her, for there wasn’t room for them to walk abreast.
The small room Ibarra moved into was an explosion of pink, from the ceiling to the padded floor. There was no furniture. The aroma in the room was rank.
Calli shuddered and tried not to moan. She put her hand over her nose and breathed through her fingers.
Roldán waved her hand in front of her face.
The door shut behind them, leaving them in the room with Ibarra.
Ibarra threw his hands out. “What do you think of my little project?”
“This place was your idea?” Calli asked, not moving her hand.
“It was started by the late, great Zalaya. I have…improved upon the original design.”
This, then, was where Téra had been held. No wonder she had emerged from the palace with glassy eyes, flinching at any sharp movement.
“There is a place here for both of you,” Ibarra added.
Calli dropped her hand, her disgust outweighing the stench. She stared at Ibarra. “That is what this whole performance was about? Threatening to throw us into the bordello? How naïve do you think we are, Ibarra?”
“No, he wants something,” Roldán said, her eyes narrowed. “Enough to put on a performance and dazzle everyone. Including Serrano, right?”
Ibarra’s smile faded.
The insane gleam left his eyes.
Calli shuddered. He wasn’t mad at all. The man peering from those eyes had seen horrors and done worse, although he hadn’t lost all sanity…not yet, at least.
“You can get me out of this place,” Ibarra said. “Serrano is crazy, he can’t see the end is coming. He still thinks he can win, even with the Americans firing rockets at us. His plans…” Ibarra swallowed. “He will kill us all.”
“Let me guess,” Roldán said. “You don’t want to die.” She said it flatly.
“I would be of immense benefit to Mexico,” Ibarra said. “With my training and knowledge—”
Roldán laughed. “You want to defect to Mexico?”
Ibarra frowned. “You can lock me up in prison for the rest of my life, but get me out of this place now.”
“In return for what, exactly?” Roldán said. “You have no worth of interest to Mexico.”
His face flushed a deep red. “You forget where you are standing.”
“No, I haven’t.”
Calli glanced at Roldán. She was rousing Ibarra’s anger, instead of working with him, finding a way he could help them.
Ibarra pointed toward the door. “Out there is another door. That door leads outside, behind the palace, where there are trees and hills and places where one can become lost.”
“You would let us go?” Calli said, her pulse thudding.
“If I agree to asylum,” Roldán said.
Ibarra’s smile was tinged with the madness that had been there since he walked into the room where they had been held this morning.
Tell him anything! Calli silently screamed at Roldán. Tell him what he wants to hear! You have the power to get us out of here.
Roldán crossed her arms. “Mexico does not treat with criminals and terrorists,” she said. “You know that. You knew it before you brought us here. You are either toying with us to see if we are stupid enough to entertain you, or to give us a false hope. For that, I spit upon you. You aren’t worthy of the status of terrorist or criminal. You’re just a bully.”
As Ibarra absorbed Roldán’s disdain, Calli could barely breathe. Sick fear raged through her.
Then his sunny, crazy smile returned. “And you are entertaining!” he cried, clapping his hands together. “So much so, we can’t possibly lose your potential.” He leaned sideways and banged on the wall with the flat of his hand. “Serrano has put me in charge of your welfare. His directions were…” His smile slipped. “Well, let’s just say Serrano has learned to let me operate in my own way.”
The door opened and the armed guard returned.
Ibarra pointed at Roldán. “That one can have Maria’s room, now Maria has departed our happy little family.”
The guard grabbed Roldán’s arm. She yanked. He had too good a grip. He dragged her toward the door.
Roldán got both hands on the doorframe, which anchored her for a moment. Her gaze met Calli’s. “Don’t let these mad men win,” she hissed.
The guard yanked again and Roldán was dragged out. The door slammed shut again.
Trembling, Calli wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. She didn’t think she would ever be warm again. She watched Ibarra, waiting to see what he intended to do with her.
“Serrano was very specific about you,” Ibarra said softly. “Alas.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Odesky’s voice in Parris’ ear was soft. “Think we’ve found something, Captain.”
“Location?”
“South end of the bay.”
“Three minutes.” She glanced at Gomez, who was her partner tonight. “Jog trot,” she ordered.
They jogged at a slow pace through the kapok trees they had been searching among, out to where the trees changed to palms, then through the palms to the beach. In the moonless night, the beach was a thin strip of pale ground between the black water and the tree line. Seaweed covered most of the beach and the iodine stench was sharp. The bay was small and unremarkable, except for the height of the cliffs at the north end.
Parris kept up the pace along the tiny crescent to where the darker shape of Odesky was waiting at the far end of the beach where more rocks thrust out into the sea. There weren’t even any decent waves. The wavelets lapped monotonously below the seaweed.
They squelched across the wet sand, jogging until they reached Odesky.
“Tell me,” Parris said.
Donaldson was Odesky’s partner. He stood in the drier sand and weed. “Here.” He bent and picked up a handful of the seaweed laying on the rocks that began there.
Five meters square of seaweed lifted at his tug. “It’s a net, with weed over it,” Donaldson said.
“Throw it aside,” she said.
Donaldson and Gomez each gripped the edge of the net and hauled. The smell of dried seaweed and dehydrated and rotting sea creatures wafted over them. Parris blew out her breath.
They dropped the netting on the seaweed behind them.
Parris studied the little metal dinghy for a moment. It was small, scratched aluminum, with ropes coiled in the brine at the bottom and a pair of short oars.
Odesky waved the hand-held scanner over the metal, then showed her the display. “It’s barely a twitch, but it’s there. That’s how we found it.”
Her heart thudded. She thumbed the all-channel button on her communications badge. “Everyone, heads-up.” She gave them a second to pull their attention away from whatever they were doing. “On me, asap. Far south end of the bay, at the water line. Now.”
Through her ear bud, she heard the whispers of acknowledgement. She turned to Odesky. “How much do you know about radiation?”
“Enough to know I don’t want a dirty bomb going off anywhere in the world, sir.”
“This bay is the exact coordinates of where the last radiation signature was spotted. What can shield a core of cobalt 60 from our scanners?”
“A dozen feet of concrete,” he said.
“What about water?”
Odesky shook his head. “You’d need a hundred feet of water to dissipate…” He spun to look out into the bay.
The rest of the unit assembled around them, silent silho
uettes standing in a ragged circle.
“Phew,” someone breathed, bending over the boat and peering.
Parris spotted Adán’s unhelmeted head among her men. “Caballero,” she said. “Tell me about this bay. How deep is the water here?”
“I don’t know the bay personally. We’re near the top of the island now, yes?”
“Less than a mile from the Seal Cliffs,” said Yardley, the navigator.
Adán nodded. “It’s a good bet the water here is deep. That’s why there are no big waves. There’s no shallow slope for them to build upon. Everything around the top end of the island is steep cliffs, dropping straight into the sea.”
Parris considered. The dinghy was giving off a trace of radioactivity, which meant it had been in contact with the core at some point. They had used the boat to either bring the core ashore, or dump it in the water, where it would be undetectable to the satellites and drones scanning for radiation.
Only, if they had brought the core ashore, everything that had come in contact with it would show traces, too. Bushes that had brushed against it as they carried it away. The ground where they would have rested it would buzz the dial—and they would have rested it, for the sucker was over a hundred pounds in weight, despite being only a foot square.
“We have to check the water,” she decided. “Pull out the dinghy. We’ll use it to keep station, while everyone swims and dives and sees what they can see. We’ll move up and down the bay, in files, until we find something or decide there’s nothing to see. Locke, you’re station keeping with me.” He deserved to take it easy as he had covered for her.
“I can help,” Adán said. “I’m a good swimmer.”
She knew that, although she had nearly forgotten all the barbecues at Adán’s house in the hills when Stuart and Adán had tried to out-dive each other in Adán’s strangely deep pool. “Thanks, but this isn’t a job for civilians.”
The men carried the little rowboat down to the water, skimming passed Adán. He glanced at them, then at Parris. “I’m a better diver than any man here,” he said. “I’ve trained for deep free diving.”
“My men are trained,” Parris assured him. She stripped off her backpack and handed it to Ramirez, who was waiting for it, then handed him her helmet, too.
“It’s over a hundred meters deep out there,” Adán said. “Your men can get down that deep with no tanks and no weight belt and still have enough wits left to see anything?”
Parris strode to the boat. Of course they couldn’t get that deep. No one could.
Adán grabbed her arm. “I can get that deep,” he said, his voice low.
“Caballero, sit your ass down on the sand and don’t move,” Parris told him. “That’s an order.”
He let go of her arm and held up his hands in a mollifying gesture. “You have no idea what it will be like out there, what you’re asking of them. There’s no moon. It will be pitch black beyond the radius of their flashlights. There are probably sharks in the area. There are always sharks in the area, because of the seals.”
Donaldson’s head jerked up from the circle of men stripping off their gear, down to fatigues only. They were piling the backpacks beneath the seaweed netting.
“Which is why you will sit tight and shut up,” Parris snapped back. “Do I need to put an armed guard on you?” She turned to Locke, who was already in the boat. “Draw up a grid. We’ll move up and back, twenty meters at a time.”
“Yes, sir,” Locke said.
“I know these waters,” Adán insisted. “I dived in them every single day, growing up. I’ve been around boats and the sea my entire life. I’ve been a member of the California Free Dive Association since I was twenty-one. This diving—no weights, very deep—that’s what we train for. That’s what we do.”
Parris spun to face him. “Sit. Down.” She spaced out the words. “Or I will make you do it.”
Silence.
Adán was breathing hard. She understood why he was challenging her authority. He didn’t know his arguing was what got corporals busted back to privates and officers stripped of rank. Or if he did know, he didn’t care, because this was important to him. He needed to help. Everything Adán had done since the war broke out was a product of his wild need to be of service. To be useful.
“We’re not talking about retrieving a flag or something cute,” she said. “If I’m right, there’s a cobalt 60 core down there that belongs to the United States. It’s up to us to retrieve it. It’s our shit spraying toxic waste everywhere. So take a load off, Adán. It would be rude of us to leave it all up to you.”
His shoulders didn’t slump. He didn’t sigh or roll his eyes. In the moonless light, she couldn’t tell what was in his eyes.
He turned and moved up the beach to the nearest patch of sand clear of seaweed and sat.
“Do I need to leave someone with you?” she asked.
Silence, for a heartbeat or two. “No,” he said heavily.
She nodded and turned back to the boat. “Let’s go.” She stepped into it.
Locke worked the oars. She would spell him in thirty minutes. The rest of the team clung to the gunnels, swimming alongside the little dinghy. When they reached the outer end of the south of the bay, Locke turned the boat to face toward the north point of the bay, about half a mile away. There was nothing but rising and falling black water, reflecting stars.
“Okay, everyone. Two yards from the boat, five feet between each of you. Dive to about ten feet and swim at that depth for as long as you can. See what you can see. Up for air and a breather, then back down again,” she told them. “Stay parallel with us.”
The waterproof flashlights flickered on, making green glowing cones in the water. The lights spread as the men swam, forming two lines out from the boat, like wings.
Locke got the oars going again, keeping the boat on the line between the cliff points and drifting ahead to keep pace with the swimmers. “You were a bit harsh,” he said, his tone mild.
Parris didn’t have to ask him what he was talking about. “If he was with the unit, I would have busted him for insubordination.”
“You might want to consider if you were overcompensating,” Locke said.
Parris pressed her lips together. “I was nice,” she said, her voice dry.
Locke stayed silent.
“Spill it, David.”
He glanced over his shoulder, checking his direction. “It takes time to figure out how to be both kinds of human,” he said. “You’ve never had to, before.”
Parris shook her head. “I was, once. I was a failure at it.”
“Probably because you didn’t try. It takes work.”
“Great,” she said dryly. “Swing port two degrees,” she added, as the bow veered.
“It’s fucking hard work,” Locke added. “Which means, it’s only worth it for the right people.”
“Shut up now, Lieutenant.”
“Yes sir.”
Fifty minutes later, after turning the dinghy and heading back to the south spit, Ramirez cut through the water in a splashy overarm. He gripped the side of the boat and wiped his face clear of water. He pointed with his flashlight beam. “About fifteen feet down, there’s a float holding up a rope. There’s a glowtube on the float. It’s dead. It was a deliberate marker.” He blew out his breath. “I followed it down as far as I could go and didn’t reach the end.”
Parris considered, her heart pattering.
“It might be nothing,” Ramirez said. “Some old fishing boat that sunk and the float is hanging off a crayfish trap.”
“Or it might not be,” Parris said.
“There’s only one way to find out,” Locke said. He glanced toward the shore, and Adán’s small black shadow, sitting right where she had left him.
“Fuck…” Parris breathed.
* * * * *
Parris took over the oars, ordered two of the men into the dinghy for a soft ride home, and told Ramirez and the rest to cluster and stay on top of the ma
rker. She rowed, working off the fear and the adrenaline spiking through her.
Could she do this? Could she let Adán risk himself?
Sharks. Black darkness. Free diving into what could be a toxic grave?
When the dinghy grounded on the wet sand, Donaldson stood up and waved to Adán.
Adán got to his feet and moved over to the boat.
“You’re up,” Donaldson said and jumped out.
Adán looked at her.
It takes work to figure out how to be both types of human.
She cleared her throat. “You can really free dive a hundred meters?”
“I really can,” he said, his voice even.
“If anyone on my team could do it, I would have asked them,” she said.
“If anyone on your team could it, I’d be stunned,” Adán replied. “It takes years to learn how.”
The last of the team got out and headed up the beach to where they had left the gear. They would guard the gear and keep watch.
She gripped the oar, her heart aching. “Would you help me? We need to figure out what’s at the end of the marker we found.”
“I will help you.”
Donaldson thumped Adán’s shoulder. “Better you than me, dude.”
Adán climbed in the boat and Donaldson pushed it back into the water. Parris turned it around and got going once more.
“Three degrees to port,” Locke told her, for he could see the group of men holding station over the marker, over her shoulder.
Adán stripped off his jacket and shoes, then his sleeveless shirt. The medallion glinted in the starlight. He gripped it, hesitating, then took it off and bundled the chain in his palm. He reached over the top of the oars and dropped it into her shirt pocket. “I’ll get it back from you, later,” he said.
He hung his head and propped his elbows on his knees and took in a long, deep breath. He blew it out in sharp gusts of air.
“I’ve seen Navy divers do that,” Locke said.
“So have I,” Parris said. “It depletes the CO2 in the body. It’s the build-up of carbon dioxide in the blood that makes you want to take a fresh breath. If you have less of it in the first place, you can go longer before having to breathe.”
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