“And every other western nation,” he agreed.
She thought some more then abruptly her frown cleared and she smiled. “You’re thinking too large,” she said. “You’re thinking on a national scale.”
“It is a whole nation we’re dealing with,” Josh pointed out.
“No, you’re not. You’re dealing with a lack of money. Bring it down to that. And find something to secure loans with. Any loans.”
Nick shook his head. “There is nothing.”
“Not at the level you’re thinking, of course there isn’t. But you have to change the way you look at it. What have you got going for you right now?”
Both men stared at her and she gave an impatient click of her tongue and turned to Josh. “Josh, your company, Eastcore Mining. How many billions in infrastructure, investment and research would they have sunk into the silver mines on Las Piedras Grandes before the revolution closed them down? How many millions in personnel relocation and training?”
“Plenty,” he said. “I couldn’t give you an estimate without a lot of thought, though.”
“Ballpark. Five billion?”
“Oh, easily.”
“Think they’d like it back?” Calli asked softly.
Josh snorted. “They’re a business, not a country,” he said dryly. “They don’t like red balance sheets.”
“Exactly,” she shot back. “Nick, you start up a dialogue with Eastcore Mining’s parent corporation--”
“Astra Corp,” Josh interjected.
“Right. Explain to Astra Corp how you’re guaranteed to win back Vistaria if only you have enough resources to do it. If you win back Vistaria, they get back their mine, their revenue and their big chunk of change in investment, plus whatever interest they care to charge Vistaria for the stake money they’re going to give you to raise your counter-revolution.”
“They’d never go for it,” Nick said. “It’s too big a gamble.”
“Bullshit they won’t,” Josh shot back. “This is exactly the sort of odds they gamble with in every venture they sink billions into every year. This is better odds, too—they get to reap profits from a mine that was already producing before they lost it and they get lending interest out of Vistaria. Oh, they’ll try to bleed you dry while they’re negotiating terms, but they’ll give you the money. Take Calli with you. She’ll pick off the leeches and spot the hairy clauses as they’re coming at you.”
Nick’s expression was an almost comical mix of astonishment and wariness, but beneath it was a growing excitement. He had studied economics himself. He understood the forces that worked on world economics and he recognized the accuracy of Calli’s assessment.
“But not just Astra Corp,” Calli added. “Keep it an open market and let the forces of competition work for you. Approach every other multi-national who had interests in Vistaria before the war and offer them the same sort of deal. Be careful to let them all know you’re shopping around.”
“It’s a matter of scale,” Joshua said softly. “You just have to pick the right scale to look at it.”
* * * * *
It was dark when he came back.
Minnie was awake this time and heard the door open. The subdued light from the office beyond flared before the closing door extinguished it. She heard him moving around the room. The blind at the window had not been drawn and moonlight and starlight made his silhouette glow in the dim light. He did not turn on any lights. There was a whisper of cloth, the metal clink of a belt buckle and her heart thundered. Duardo was back.
Then she remembered the microphone beneath the bed. She must still play the role.
The mattress moved and cool air bathed her back as he lifted the covers and slid beneath.
With a convulsive jerk, she surged from the bed. She threw the covers aside and slid from the mattress like an otter from a pool. As her feet hit the floor, she pushed off with one foot, heading for the door to his office.
Only to be yanked to a standstill by the chain around her wrist.
She hissed at the strain on her shoulder and wrist and grabbed at the cuff digging into her hand. He was pulling on it.
“Oh, no you don’t, my little spit-fire,” he said, in English. “You are staying on this bed.”
Slowly, relentlessly, she was drawn back to the bed, her cuffed hand held out before her almost in supplication. She resisted every inch, throwing her bodyweight into it, even though she knew he was far stronger than she. He reeled her in liked a fish, onto the mattress until she was kneeling before his dark outline. He reached for her other hand and wrapped the chain around both wrists. His movements were slow and deliberate. She sensed he was using just enough power to complete his task and no more.
Her bound hands were a reminder of that morning. She recalled being bent over the bed and her breath caught.
He lowered her hands to the mattress and they were pinned there by his hand on the chain, bending her over once more. There was a tugging on the chain and his hand lifted away. She tried to sit up and discovered that he had hooked the chain to both the head and foot of the bed, keeping her hands pinned to the mattress between the taut chain. It left both his hands free.
“If I didn’t know better, I might think that you enjoyed the lesson I gave you this morning,” he said.
She shuddered.
“Hm... Shall I repeat the lesson? Or teach you a new one?”
“Either way, you’re still an animal,” she hissed.
His long fingers brushed at her wrists, probing the chains and she realized he was checking to make sure the chains were not too tight and did not cut into her flesh—just enough to hold her and no more.
His fingers stroked her forearms, trailed up to her shoulders. In the dark she could see him rise before her, blocking the moonlight from the window. He remained silent until his fingers found her face and gently lifted her chin. If there had been enough light, she could have looked at his face. He leaned toward her, so close that she could feel his heat on her face.
“It is your turn to take,” he whispered. “Pretend your soldier has returned once more. Pretend he could not stay away from you.”
“How can I take if you’re the one who is free?” she shot back, tugging on the chains.
He was moving around her, moving behind her. She stiffened, waiting for the tug on her feet that would bring her to that mortifying position bent face-down over the bed. But the tug did not come.
Instead, his hands stroked her with shocking gentleness. She shuddered in reaction.
“You understand perfectly,” he whispered back. “I knew you would.” His fingers continued to play, to tweak and coax from her the responses he sought.
He was right. She did understand how it was she could take from him. She merely had to reach for her own pleasure and indulge herself as she had last night.
He used nothing but his hands on her. They roamed across every available inch, stroking, teasing, nudging. Her toes were not spared, nor was her head. As his fingers buried themselves in her hair, they moved with firmness and banished tension there before moving down to her shoulders to knead and loosen the muscles. But the kneading evolved into stroking, to the lightest teasing that drifted over the surface of her flesh. It was light. She felt nothing but the heat of his touch. Minnie arched in reaction.
He sensed her submission.
She felt tugging at her wrists, the clink of the chain and her hands were free.
“Now, you take,” he murmured.
She closed her eyes. That was Duardo—the old Duardo, using the odd constructions that Duardo had once used, rather than grammatically perfect English.
The memory tore through her, bringing powerful arousal with it. Minnie shuddered as Zalaya had his way with her and when he was done, she fell forward, all the strength draining from her. She sprawled across the bed.
He followed her down. She heard the chain rattle as it slithered to the floor on the other side and didn’t care. Her whole body quivered and nerve endi
ngs zapped with little hitches and spurts.
“Duardo,” she sighed.
He froze. “Duardo?” he repeated. She felt him move, so he was next to her again. “This is your soldier? Duardo?”
The microphone...she had forgotten about the damn microphone. Duardo had not. He was reacting as Zalaya would.
She winced. How to cover this up? How to keep Duardo safe from discovery?
“Don’t speak his name, animal,” she said hotly. “It sounds foul on your lips.” And her fear was so thick and hot in her chest that she wept with it. Had she made the mistake that would kill him? Again?
The thought made her cry harder.
His hand touched her shoulder, curled around her waist and she was pulled up against his hard chest. The whole hot length of him cradled her from behind. Gently, he stroked her cheek, wiping away the tears. “Your tears are wasted,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear. “Your soldier, your Duardo, would have understood the choices you have made here.”
She turned her face into his chest, her fear undiminished.
Chapter Fourteen
She was woken once more by the rattle of the window blind and the flood of hard sunshine. There was no disorientation. She sat up, bringing the sheet with her, knowing exactly who it was that stood beside her bed. The chain clinked softly. It had been returned to her wrist. Of course.
Zalaya leaned heavily on the cane. He was dressed and looked fresh and clean. He had showered and shaved while she slept.
He pointed to the bedside table next to her. “There is food. I advise you to eat it. It is better you keep your strength, for now.” He was standing next to the closet and reached down to tug open the first drawer at the foot of it. He withdrew a garment that he tossed on the bed. “I will also allow you to wear this. I have meetings most of the day and will have no use for you. You may use the shower.”
He made his way to the door leading to his office then turned to face her. “Captain Eduardo Peña y Santos,” he said flatly.
It was so unexpected that Minnie couldn’t halt the slither of shock that ran through her. When Zalaya’s one good eye narrowed, she knew she had given herself away.
“Then I have the right Duardo.” Zalaya sounded pleased. He put both hands on the cane, studying her. “I knew this man.”
Minnie was already shaken, making it easier to ride out the surprise and keep her face stiff. She stared at Zalaya, daring him to make something of her lack of reaction.
His smile broadened. “Very good,” he said cryptically and left, moving heavily and slowly.
Minnie gobbled down the food, every last crumb. She was ravenously hungry. As she showered afterward, she considered the implications of Zalaya knowing about Duardo and realized with a sinking sensation that when those around Zalaya put it together, as they would most certainly do, it would place Minnie far too close to Nick for their comfort. She would become either a pawn or a danger in their eyes. Either way, her cover story about being a lost Australian, or a member of the harmless Knights Errant would not hold up.
The garment Zalaya had tossed on the bed was a simple floral dress in a light cotton fabric, with little ties over the shoulders and buttons up the front. She slipped it on, pleased to have some protection against the ever-present camera and found it came only to upper-thigh.
As she fastened the buttons, she focused on the low sound she could hear from Zalaya’s office. It was a murmuring of voices. Yet Zalaya had implied he was going elsewhere.
Minnie crept to the door, carrying the chain so it would not clink. She tried the handle. It turned without resistance. She eased the door open a few inches and saw the room beyond was empty. She opened the door fully, checking the rest of the room. No one was there.
The voices issued from the control console. Zalaya had obviously been monitoring something before going to his meeting and had failed to switch off the sound feed before he left. The voices coming from the speaker were in Spanish, but loud and clear. She crept closer to the console and found the chain was long enough to let her reach at the closest corner.
She examined the banks of screens, searching for the one that matched the conversation she was listening to. The black and white image showed a magnificent room with a huge, carved and polished table. A boardroom?
Serrano sat in the big chair at the head of the table. Zalaya sat in the chair next to him. There was no one else.
Minnie leaned close and concentrated, listening hard.
* * * * *
Zalaya pushed his chair back from the table, brought his ankle up to the other knee and rubbed at the thigh, his fingers digging in.
Serrano realized he’d been doing that more often lately. In all other respects, the man was a machine. He barely slept. He did nothing but work, except for occasional bouts of his peculiar form of self-indulgence. Was his body finally protesting at the driving pace he set? Serrano rubbed his chin thoughtfully. If Zalaya self-imploded it would be devilishly difficult to replace him. Men of his caliber and odd talents and tastes were rare. On the other hand, it might solve a few problems that had set in.
“Is there anything else?” Zalaya asked, glancing at his watch.
“In a hurry to get back to your little toy?”
Zalaya smiled. “There’s plenty of life left in that little toy. Why waste it?” The smile faded. “Relax, Serrano. Your latest production is not in jeopardy.” He tapped the folder in front of him. “You just heard the progress report.”
“I still see no reason why this could not have been provided to me during a full council meeting. There’s nothing delicate in any of it.”
“It’s all delicate,” Zalaya shot back. “You of all people should know that within these walls there is more than one agenda at work. Why give anyone ammunition and ideas by discussing this subject in front of them?”
Serrano nodded shortly. Zalaya was right, as usual.
The tap at the door was peremptory. Demanding. Zalaya glanced at the door, his eyes narrowing. “You told someone we were meeting here?”
“Only my secretary. He would not have handed the information out to anyone unnecessarily.” He lifted his voice. “Come!”
The door immediately opened and a man strolled into the room. He was wearing one of the brand new uniforms that were now emerging from the garment factories in Mejia, on the western coast of Vistaria. He was upright, crisp, pleated...everything a proper soldier could be, except Serrano knew for a fact that Torrez was anything but a proper soldier.
Torrez’s hair was completely white, though he was not an albino. Serrano sometimes wondered what had created that coloring, for in every other respect, Torrez was genetically an average Vistarian.
Torrez saluted Serrano. “I’m sorry to interrupt you when you’re busy, General, but it is important.”
Serrano waved away the apology. “You know Colonel Zalaya, don’t you?”
Torrez spun to face Zalaya and his face shifted, surprise flickering there just for an instant. “My God. Bruno...” Torrez took a step toward him. Another one. Strong emotions made his face work. “Who would have thought I would see you again? Here, of all places?”
Serrano pressed a finger to his lips, watching closely.
Zalaya showed shock, swiftly followed by a warm pleasure. “Jose Torrez. I did not know you had traded teams.” He got to his feet, grasping for the cane. “It has indeed been too long.”
Torrez brought his hand up to curl it around Zalaya’s neck. “Too long,” he murmured and kissed him, his lips firmly against Zalaya’s.
* * * * *
Minnie staggered in shock, her back slamming up against the wall of file cabinets, making them rattle and rock on their bases. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the monitor as the white-haired man kissed Zalaya with open passion. It was unmistakably the kiss of a lover.
Her heart thundering, she found her own fingertips touching her lips.
What was more frightening was that Minnie knew the man who kissed him. The
white hair was just as unmistakable as his passion for Zalaya. He had been one of the men General Blanco had gathered around him in the big house. He’d sat at the table with Nick’s officers.
What was he doing here?
At Serrano’s cough, the man stepped back, embarrassed. Zalaya rested his cane against the boardroom table. “I suggest you avert your gaze, Serrano,” he told the general. He took Torrez in his arms, his hand holding the back of the man’s head and kissed him again, thoroughly.
Serrano politely kept his eyes averted but couldn’t fail to hear the soft moan. It didn’t matter who had uttered that moan. That it had been uttered was enough.
After sixty seconds he cleared his throat again and gave it another ten seconds before looking up again. The two men had separated and Zalaya was seating himself, the customary hard expression back on his face. He glanced at Torrez as the man made his way around to the other side of the table and his expression softened just for a fleeting moment. Then he looked back at Serrano and the emotion was wiped from his face.
“Jose Torrez does not appear on any payrolls or duty rosters. I would know if he did.”
“Your memory does not fail you,” Serrano assured him. “Torrez has been doing some work for me. What the Americans call ‘going undercover’.” Serrano turned his chair to face Torrez. “You would not have left without dire news. Tell me.”
Torrez glanced at Zalaya. “Given your proclivities, Bruno, I assume that you are running Serrano’s security and communications now?”
“That is correct.”
“Then you both need to hear what I have learned. Escobedo’s household is in turmoil. Two of their women have disappeared. One of them is Jose Escobedo’s daughter. They believe both of them are here on Vistaria.”
Zalaya spread his hands on the table. “Then I know who the other is,” he said.
Serrano put it together swiftly, aided by the expression on Zalaya’s face. “That little split-tail spitfire you’re keeping in your room?” he said. “I told you she was not Australian.”
“You have her?” Torrez breathed, sitting upright. “She is the daughter of one of Escobedo’s American business associates, a man called Benning. Actually, she’s more than that. She was the lover of one of Escobedo’s favored lieutenants, just before the war broke out.”
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