Luz was alive. She had to be. He’d see her soon.
When Evan didn’t instantly respond, Richard jiggled his arm. “I said nothing was going to happen to you as long as the girl did her part, and I meant it. She probably tried to convince you otherwise, but I am your ticket home, son.”
“I don’t want to go home—this is home.” Keep Richard there so Luz could find them. Besides, he thought, the Lions were playing a home game this afternoon. Downtown would be a zoo.
Jesus. Scores of people jammed into a small area. Detonating another bomb in the crowded stands would compound the terror of the earlier explosion. The belt cinched around his waist grew hot. Evan tugged at it, then yanked away his hand. Richard wouldn’t do that to him. This … this contraption was only a threat to coerce Luz into cooperation. Richard had contorted his values into sacrificing her, but Evan was family, his sister’s only child. He would never do that.
Even if it’s only a threat, I don’t want to walk out the door.
“Time for us to leave,” said Richard.
“Why do we have to go anywhere?” Still leery of his uncle’s intentions, Evan would continue to question and frustrate, rather than defy.
But Richard kept moving, packing his briefcase, didn’t engage. Finally, he snapped at Evan. “Get your butt out of that chair. Now.” He shook the jacket pocket that held the remote control. “You have no idea how much is riding on this.”
Evan stood and tugged at the white canvas snugged tight around his waist. “Can’t I take this off now?” Delay, obstruct. Test the limits.
“Better not touch,” said Richard, brushing his hand away. “I need your complete compliance for a little longer. Until we’re on the helicopter.”
A helicopter. That sounded like he was wrong about being wired as a second bomb, but if Richard got him in the air, he would be miles away so fast that he and Luz would never find one another.
Evan moved slowly, clumsily—and only part of that was on purpose. His legs were stiff and cramping after so much inactivity. Finally, his stonewalling came to an end. Richard had Evan cover the explosive-filled belt with a sweater and marched him out to the car. Smiling and nodding, genial as always, but with an unsettling glazed brightness to his demeanor.
When Richard didn’t bother to lock the door behind them, Evan knew he was not supposed to be coming back. Ever.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Dominga’s fingers never wavered as her tiny sewing scissors inched through the tape. Luz had been afraid to breathe, afraid to have the tape move even a fraction of an inch. Martin sat, mesmerized.
Once the tape was separated and the knotted straps slashed, Luz walked to the far end of the rooftop terrace, where she inched the works from her shoulders and laid the vest at the edge of the open space. Then she and Martin wheeled Dominga to Cesar’s bedroom, which was on the opposite side of the house, about as far from ground zero as possible. There, Martin assembled his staff. Swearing them to secrecy, he began to make plans.
At 2:40, Luz was led to the roof by a soldier who was there to help her lay the line—and probably to make sure she proceeded as promised. Luz set a heavy oak chair on a cloth section of the vest to keep it in place. Then she gingerly opened the detonator box and began to attach a length of cable the way Evan had said.
Even on the far side of the house, the explosion sent them tumbling, except for Dominga who remained upright in her wheelchair, although the chair itself skidded against the wall. The row of windows above Cesar’s bookcase burst into a hard rain of shards. The roaring in her ears diminished in waves and then died. It was over.
Immediately after the shock wave dissipated, Martin dispatched Joaquín along with a detachment of household guards to take Bobby into custody. They were instructed to tell him they were escorting him to a safe location where a general had important news for him. The night nurse, wide-eyed at the drama, accompanied them. Her job was to finish watching the game with Cesar, keep him amused and away from news broadcasts, and, under no circumstances, return with him until called.
Luz sat behind the wheel of a brand-new black Cadillac, her foot pressed hard on the gas pedal. A bandage covered her left hand where a piece of flying glass had ricocheted, but that was her only injury.
“I could give you an escort,” Martin had suggested.
“Not a good idea. If Richard spots soldiers, he’ll know I betrayed him. He’s berserk enough to kill Evan at that point, rather than surrender.”
So Martin himself had walked Luz to the garage and had chosen a Cadillac for her. “Big and solid,” he said, “in case you need it.” And he gave his security team instructions to smooth her path past the police barricades so she would not be delayed.
He embraced Luz then. The hands that had murdered her father hugged her close, and he said, “Vaya con Dios. Once you have freed your friend, do with El Pelirrojo as you wish. His soul is forfeit. We both have many reasons to wish him dead.”
Luz sped through the quiet streets toward Calle Ocho, Evan’s street. It had been months since she’d driven, though, and that was a very small car in a small town on another continent. The quickest way to Evan’s house didn’t follow the bus route, but those were the only streets Luz knew well. Even so, idly gazing out bus windows was inadequate preparation for the free-for-all of urban congestion. Cars and buses streamed around her. Luz unerringly chose the wrong lanes. A hesitation and she was instantly cut off. A detour and she was lost. Sweat-slick palms and a pounding in her skull. Flashbacks to the blast when the house shuddered and the windows shattered.
Perhaps she should’ve accepted Martin’s offer of an escort, but she couldn’t trust his men’s restraint. More than anything, she wanted Richard to see her face and know—instinctively, as Martin had—that she had returned to exact retribution.
Finally, Luz reached the intersection where she could make a left onto Calle Ocho. While she waited for a rumbling dump truck approaching from the opposite direction, a pale blue sedan came up Calle Ocho, paused at the stop sign to let the truck pass, and accelerated behind it onto the avenue. Richard, intent on driving, didn’t notice her, but Luz and Evan made eye contact.
Instant change of plans. With a quick glance in her rearview mirror to make sure there was no one behind her waiting to turn, Luz let two oncoming cars pass before executing a tight U-turn. She pulled into traffic, returning the way she had come.
Richard tailgated the big slow-moving truck, repeatedly steering to the left to see around it, honking at it to pull over so he could pass.
Evan had seen her. He knew she was following. Luz had intended to cut through the yard of Evan’s Guatemalan neighbors, the ones who ran the bike shop, and creep into his house from the back, where the garden door was left unlocked during the day. Not that she had a firm plan beyond that. Sneak up on Richard and grab the detonator—something like that. Yell to Evan to strip the device and toss it away.
They weren’t at Evan’s house now, but the same element of surprise might work when Richard parked the car. Evan should be on the alert, knowing she was close behind. So much depended on where they were going.
The street became more congested. They passed the turn leading to the Benavides’ and continued into the central city. More cars, more people, and a sense of panic. The pantomime of rushing people with horrified faces told her that news of Martin Benavides’ demise was spreading.
Martin had been adamant that the confusion not continue for too long. Although resigned to the truth of Bobby’s perfidy and to the work ahead to repair his legacy, Martin still wielded considerable power in Guatemala, and he intended to hold on to it. At least, he told Luz, until he personally had seen to the destruction of the drug network and to his son’s part in it.
He’d agreed to let the misinformation spread until he confronted Bobby. Then he and Dominga would be discovered to have been—by a miracle—safely out of the building, enjoying an impromptu drive into the country. Martin planned to have the police chief a
nnounce the blast had been caused by a leak in the gas line. He would appear live on television in front of the burned-out shell of his home.
Luz had to subdue Richard before that happened.
Richard led Luz on a zigzag course through increasingly clogged streets. They reached the neighborhood of the football stadium. Groups of people gathered at street corners. Vendors laden with all manner of cheap souvenirs kept up a raucous patter as they rambled haphazardly along street and sidewalk.
Traffic came to a standstill. Horns blared. Richard’s head and shoulders appeared. He lifted himself onto the kick plate on the car door for a better view. How natural it had been to mistake him for Evan outside Dr. Guzman’s office—same rangy build, same close-cropped hair, same jawline.
Whatever Richard saw persuaded him to open the car’s back door. Evan emerged. The men walked away from the car. Luz bumped the big Cadillac onto the sidewalk, jumped out, and followed on foot. Although she was more mobile and more confident now that she wasn’t driving, so was Richard. He darted through the crowds, keeping a tight hold on Evan. And Evan looked back too much, trying to spot her, which meant he kept stumbling. Richard jerked him upright each time. Evan was going to give the game away if Richard turned to see what kept attracting his attention.
Richard’s usual languid body language had been replaced by intense focus. He buttonholed a city policeman attempting to direct traffic and apparently asked directions. The policeman flapped his arm to the right and air-tapped his index finger at an angle—over there. They hurried off.
Luz slid around the corner after them. In the center of a cordoned-off rectangle sat the silver and red helicopter she’d last seen carrying Bobby and Cesar to the stadium. It was guarded at ten-foot intervals by soldiers, their black carbines at the ready.
If her quarry passed through that line of defense, she was out of luck. Cursing herself for not having made a move before this, Luz considered her options. There were too many innocent people around. And too many soldiers. They would hardly stand idly by while a little native girl pummeled a well-dressed Anglo. Luz was fresh out of ideas. She couldn’t imagine any scenario where Evan could strip off the bomb belt and escape. Richard was going to get away with it.
She peeked from behind a ramshackle newsstand. Richard proffered an envelope. A soldier on the perimeter opened it, took out a folded paper, which he read and then called over another. They conferred. Evan used this time to look around. Luz stepped out into the open. He waved her back and shook his head—no—then raised the hand away from Richard. He pointed to the helicopter and slit his throat with an imaginary knife. He mouthed Help.
As other soldiers joined the huddle, Luz stepped into view again. She gestured frantically to Evan, praying he would understand.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The argument churned around Evan. Because of the destruction of the Benavides’ rooftop helipad, the captain had received orders to ground the helicopter. It was to be kept in reserve in case of further emergency. Richard’s letter giving him authority to use the helicopter, on official stationery and signed by Roberto Benavides, swayed the officer but did not catapult him into acceptance.
“Listen, Richard,” said Evan, tugging at his uncle’s arm. “Let’s not push this now. We can return when things have settled down.” He hoped he’d gotten the correct gist from Luz’s inventive charade. Now that Richard wasn’t going to send him into the stadium as Act Two of today’s destruction, he’d stay by his uncle’s side sounding pleasant and reasonable. And encourage the soldiers to continue denying them access.
Richard ignored him, but one of the soldiers picked up on the idea.
“That’s right, señor. In another hour or so, when the situation has stabilized, they will no doubt lift the travel ban.”
Evan recognized the beginning of the Latin mañana—do it later. “And we can go have coffee while we’re waiting,” he said, in his role as conciliatory, helpful nephew.
Richard glared. With eyes narrowed, he said matter-of-factly, “You can shut the fuck up right now. I see what you’re after.”
But Evan had given the soldiers the mantra they needed. Not no, but come back later. The captain was reiterating his polite denial for the third time when Roberto Benavides, walking inside a phalanx of security, rounded the corner. The helicopter guards stood to attention at his approach. Richard hailed him. Bobby detoured. He spoke first. “Apparently, there’s bad news. I’ve been summoned.” A tic worked at the side of his face.
Richard murmured some public platitudes before walking Bobby away from the guards. Keeping his hand glued to Evan’s bicep, he spoke in an undertone. “She did it, Bobby. I told you.”
“Fucking-A, man.” Bobby became momentarily unsuccessful in hiding his elation. “The hot little nanny came through.”
They were talking about Luz. Richard was working with Martin’s son. Richard—Evan’s mind rebelled against making sense of this new revelation—his uncle and Roberto Benavides were on the same side. Martin’s son was part of the plot to murder his parents. The cry that escaped Evan’s lips was the loss of his last illusion.
As he compiled his note, Evan fit his uncle’s actions into the framework of an overzealous agent who’d become determined to take the law into his own hands to get a job done. Now his assumptions tilted and came crashing down. Richard was not advancing the interests of the United States government; he was partnering with a drug dealer, murdering for profit.
“So now we move on to the endgame, Bobby,” Richard said. “One last task and it’s all yours. Everything. But we gotta hit the remnants of the rebel group today, while tempers are frayed. Tell these men to let me go. We’ve only got ninety minutes of daylight.”
Bobby turned to the captain. In rapid-fire Spanish, he instructed the man to have his friends taken wherever they wanted to go.
“But my orders,” protested the captain.
“These are my orders,” said Bobby. He shoved the letter at the man’s chest. The captain took two steps backward and saluted.
The next thing Evan knew, they were ushered inside the perimeter. Time was running out. He couldn’t get on that helicopter. Evan looked around for Luz but didn’t see her. He saw only the back of his uncle’s head, a man he’d loved all his life, who’d helped him out of more scrapes than Evan could count. Today Richard was a stranger who’d dragged him from his front door deep into a world of evil.
Bobby shouted something about the pilot that Evan didn’t catch. The captain saluted again and spoke hurriedly to a minion.
“What’s that all about?” asked Evan.
“Damn pilot sneaked in to see the match,” said Richard. “They’re going to get him.” He loosened his hold on Evan as he checked his watch.
Evan ducked and spun toward the edge of the enclosure.
The next thing Evan knew he was falling, hitting facedown on the hard ground. Richard had tripped him. Bending to help Evan to his feet with ostensible solicitude, he leaned close. “Strike two,” he said.
Luz made her move when Evan ran. While Richard’s attention and that of the soldiers fastened on him, she dashed to the far side of the enclosure. It was momentarily unattended, and a web of metal struts descending from the wasp-like silver body gave Luz cover as she crouched and rolled under the copter.
Evan, with his foot-dragging, had come so close to success, but the second Bobby intervened, their path to victory narrowed. The guards were taking Bobby to an army base in central Guatemala City. It would appear to Bobby a safe location for his debriefing, but the base also housed Matamoros Prison. No one except Joaquín knew Bobby’s real destination, however, and Joaquín couldn’t countermand Bobby’s orders without tipping his hand. For an instant, she’d considered showing herself. She’d shout to Joaquín that the strangers hoping to board the helicopter were the men she was after.
Of course, then Richard would know she’d double-crossed him. Bobby would run. Too many guns. Too great a chance Evan would get caught
in the crossfire. While Luz hesitated, Bobby and the armed guard marched off, and his orders stood.
She hunkered, panting, near the rear of the helicopter, where intersecting shadows camouflaged her. The arc of metal above her, the fumes, the mere presence of the machine brought her back to the clearing in the jungle, fifteen minutes after her life had changed forever. Luz, her mother, and the other terrified survivors, after running a shadowy gauntlet of roots and vines, had emerged on a hillside pasture in the center of which was a snorting, fire-breathing bull. Strange men shouting strange words herded them to a gaping hole in the beast.
Bright lights from within created grotesque shapes that danced on the trees. Luz had gone rigid with fright as her mother surged ahead, and she fell a few yards from the monster, bringing her mother down with her. The others trampled them in their panicky rush to escape.
And then they were alone on the ground. Her mother rose to her hands and knees, screaming for Luz to get up, yanking her arm. Shouts from inside—some encouraging, some in terror—and then with a blast of hot air, the machine elevated and rocked. Relief that the scary apparition was leaving washed over her. Then Luz turned to her mother. Josefina was looking back into the woods. While the roar of the beast muted all other sounds, Luz saw the near future playing out in her mother’s mind; the death they’d temporarily escaped was going to overtake them. The soldiers were coming. Still, her muscles wouldn’t cooperate. They were going to bleed out into the rich volcanic soil like her father and, like him, remain forever part of the forest.
As the helicopter swayed a few feet from the ground, a man jumped out and scooped Luz into his arms. Hands pulled them in. The beast rose higher, over the treetops. Lying like stacks of kindling in the yawning hole, Luz and her mother watched their life shrink to nothing and disappear.
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