“Blankets, cans of food, fruit and more. Bottled water, clothing. Most of it from our own kitchens and supply closets. An MP3 player that I recall was reported stolen by one of the palace security corps two days ago.” He glanced at the warren again. “Under the circumstances, I believe this is where Jose Escobedo’s daughter has been hiding.”
“This is only occurring to you now?” Serrano cried. “When Torrez brought word of the two women to us, why did you not comb the palace then? You already had one of them. An idiot could have supposed the other was not far away.”
“You didn’t,” Zalaya pointed out calmly.
“That’s what I pay you to figure out!”
Zalaya held up a hand, motioning for calmness. “We’ve been searching the palace since the early hours of this morning. I can assure you, she’s not here. Not any longer.”
“I have been informed of the security breach.” Serrano fumed, for the breach bothered him more than the idea of Escobedo’s daughter prowling the attic above him. “Facebook! What next?” He pointed a trembling finger at Zalaya. “You should have anticipated this. You should have had security in place to thwart it.”
“Then you should have given me a bigger budget,” Zalaya returned.
Serrano could feel his jaw drop and gritted his teeth together to hold it in place. “Who did she send a message to? The bastard Escobedo?”
“Unlikely.”
“Why not? He’s the only one with the means to help her.”
“Even Escobedo does not have the means to help her,” Zalaya answered. “Not yet, though that time draws near. She would not call to Escobedo for the same reason I assumed she would not be in the palace or anywhere near the American woman—she hates them both. Escobedo caused the death of her father and the American was too much like her for her own comfort.”
Serrano did let his jaw drop this time. The insight into the people in the big house astonished him. Why had Torrez not told him this? “You’ve been talking to Torrez?”
Zalaya lifted a brow. “Extensively. Haven’t you? It’s called debriefing. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
Anger surged again, but this time Serrano pushed it back, his mind working. “Why are you baiting me?”
“I don’t bait,” Zalaya said shortly. “If I wanted to challenge you, I would ensure you did not mistake my intentions. I’m pointing out that you may think you know my trade, but you do not.”
“I know enough to know that there are some curiously large holes in your effectiveness, Zalaya. Disappointingly large.”
“The holes correspond with the lack of support and resources I deal with on a daily basis.” Zalaya turned away and made his way to the joist that led to the nearest manhole down to the third floor. “The sooner you realize that the only way to get what you want is to trust me, the sooner your life gets easier.”
Serrano let him go, even though he had not formally dismissed him. He watched the man’s back as he walked along the beam, sampling the uneasiness in his gut.
No, he didn’t like the placement or shape of the holes at all, but Zalaya was right—he didn’t know Zalaya’s trade well enough. His mind was not made for intrigue. It was made for the strategy of an open battle and that was why he was an excellent chess player, for all the information was out there in the open.
Zalaya had the sort of mind that grappled better with the hidden, the intimated. Torrez was another, which partly explained what had drawn the two men together.
Serrano waved to one of the privates, who scurried over and quivered to attention.
“Find Torrez. I want him in my office in five minutes. I don’t care what he’s doing or who he’s doing it with. Tell him to wipe it off and report to me. I will think up a suitable retribution for every minute he makes me wait.”
* * * * *
Zalaya left the door between his office and bedroom open. For most of the morning, he went about his shadowy business while Minnie listened carefully and took mental notes. Breakfast arrived on two trays, one for each of them. Zalaya ate at his desk. Minnie put her tray at the foot of the bed and sat cross-legged behind it, where she could see into Zalaya’s office more clearly.
Then, shortly before ten, he was called away.
As soon as the door shut behind him, she hurried into the office and studied the screens, watching for him. He appeared briefly on one, traversing a corridor, then disappeared.
From watching all morning, she had learned how to switch the screens to different views—there were many more cameras than there were monitors and each screen could show what any camera anywhere was showing—it was simply a matter of selecting the right camera for that screen.
She changed views rapidly, hitting switches with a pause only long enough to assess if Zalaya was in that room or not before moving on. After three frantic minutes of stabbing at buttons, she knew that Zalaya was not anywhere within range of a camera.
Where was that place? It would be worthwhile knowing what appeared to be the one location in the building where Zalaya or Serrano could not see her.
When he returned, fifteen minutes later, she spotted him in the monitors she was watching and by the time he stepped back into the office she was back on the bed. He sat behind his desk, which put his back to her, raised his leg to the top of it and rubbed absently, staring ahead.
Thinking.
He sat that way for long minutes before picking up his pen and returning to work.
* * * * *
Sometime in the hot, early afternoon, Minnie fell asleep on the end of the bed. Pure boredom exhausted her, for Zalaya ignored her while he dealt with a steady flow of people calling on the telephone or stepping into the office in person.
Minnie watched and listened to everything he did and received an in-depth education on the ways of the Insurrectos, until idleness dulled her mind and sleep claimed her.
She was woken by a woman screaming. She sat up, alarmed.
Half a dozen well-armed Insurrectos dragged a struggling woman into Zalaya’s office. Serrano followed, a large smile on his face.
The woman was Vistarian, but Minnie could see nothing of her face, for her long hair whipped about it as she struggled. She wore a cropped T-shirt and low-rise jeans that showed off her trim waist and hips and the flat planes of her abdomen, highlighted by one of the large, elaborate silver buckles that Vistaria had begun to produce when the Garrido mine had first struck ore. That buckle, Minnie realized, would be a slap in the face to the Insurrectos, who had tried to take back their country precisely because of what they saw as American interference.
Zalaya got to his feet, putting the phone back down. He reached for his cane. Serrano stepped around the soldiers as they halted in the middle of the floor. He spread his hands. “I have a problem.”
“I can see that. She’s a little jaguar, isn’t she?”
At the sound of his voice, the woman stopped struggling and looked up. Minnie pressed her hand to her mouth to hold in her gasp.
It was Téra Alejandra, Duardo’s sister. There was blood at the corner of her mouth, proving that she had not come easily.
Cold fear touched Minnie. Would Téra give Duardo away? How would she have any idea that he was pretending to be Zalaya?
Téra’s expression was one of fury. She looked at Zalaya and spat. Relief trickled through Minnie. Somehow, Téra had figured out that she must not recognize or acknowledge Duardo as her brother.
Zalaya glanced at Serrano. “What is your problem?”
“I want to put her to work in the bordello, but I am afraid that any man who approaches her would be in danger of losing his balls.”
“At the least,” Téra growled. Without warning, she brought her knee up almost to her chest and rammed her booted heel backward and sideways, directly into the crotch of the soldier gripping her arm in both hands.
He wheezed, his face turned a sickly gray color and he collapsed in a tight ball to the floor, holding his crotch.
Téra spun, her free ar
m pistoning toward the private who had hold of her other arm, but aborted the movement when Serrano rested his handgun against her temple and cocked it.
“That’s better,” Serrano crooned. He waved to one of the other men, who stepped up and placed his own rifle against her temple, allowing Serrano to move away.
Zalaya gave a low chuckle. “Where on earth did you find this one?”
“We had to do a bit of digging,” Serrano admitted. “We ran her to ground in the market square—there she was, bold as brass, shopping.”
“Bold?”
Serrano lifted his brow. “Then you don’t recognize her?”
Minnie couldn’t see Zalaya’s expression, but his body didn’t move. “Should I?”
“Torrez swears this is one of Peña’s sisters.” Serrano grinned. “She won’t confirm it, of course. Either way, she’ll make fine sport in the bordello, don’t you think?”
Zalaya circled the group of soldiers holding her, taking her measure. When Minnie glimpsed his face it was impassive. “She could be considered a bit too stringy,” he said at last. “There’s lots of muscle there, though. Plenty of endurance, I should think.”
“My thoughts, too. There’s just the matter of preserving gonads.”
Zalaya circled again. “There’s a number of ways it could be done,” he began. “We could use heroin or morphine. She’s guaranteed to be hooked and then will do anything for her next fix, but then there’s the problem of responsiveness. I prefer them live and wriggling. No matter. There are a number of other chemicals.” He described different drugs, physical bonds and psychological holds such as blackmail. As the list lengthened, Minnie’s astonishment grew.
Téra’s gaze found Minnie where she sat on the bed and her eyes widened.
Minnie clutched her hands together convulsively. She could think of nothing she could do to save Téra. She was too bound and restricted and too closely observed to be able to do a damn thing. Her own helplessness was a bitter weight.
Zalaya stopped before Téra again. “I do have some gamma hydroxybutyric acid here. That would do it.”
Serrano wrinkled his forehead. “What the hell is that?”
Zalaya moved back to his desk. “GHB? It’s what the Americans call a date-rape drug.”
Serrano grinned. “That would do it.”
Zalaya dug around in his drawer and withdrew a small bottle of colorless liquid and tossed it to one of the guards surrounding Téra. “Give that to Rosa. Tell her two ccs twenty minutes before a client. It’s supposed to be taken orally so Rosa will have to be inventive about how they make the girl take it. She might add it to a good belt of rum. Alcohol enhances the effect.”
Serrano jerked his head and the guards moved Téra toward the door again. Minnie gripped the bed frame, her heart hammering and her pulse surging sickly. Now was the time to do something. Now. Quickly.
Only, she could think of nothing that would save Téra. Every glimmer of an idea ended with both of them dead from submachine gun fire. She clutched the bed frame, her fingers digging into the wood and watched them drag Téra away.
As they moved, Téra struggled. Not for release, but to delay her departure enough to speak her mind. She addressed Zalaya, her tone venomous. “I know what you did to my brother Eduardo, you pig. The doctors from the hospital told me everything and I have told my family. Do what you will with me, you will not turn aside my vengeance. My brother Cristián will come for you and he will make sure that you pay for what you did.”
Zalaya waved her away with the casual flick of the hand.
Téra struggled harder and raised her voice as they reached the door. “These others, they fight because they believe in something. They’re just misguided fools. You—you fight because you are a coward and you fight like a coward! You haven’t the courage to face your opponents in open battle. You move in the dark. You’re a worm and a blot on Vistaria’s honor!”
They had her to the door now. Despite being five to one, they were making heavy going of it. Minnie felt a flare of warm admiration for her. Téra—just like her brother—was fighting the good, honorable fight to the bitter end.
“I spit on you!” she screamed as they yanked her through the doorway, dislodging her fingernails from the frame. “I spit on you and your bad blood kin!”
Serrano headed for the now open doorway.
“Shut the door after you. It will muffle the noise,” Zalaya said, for despite being out in the hallway now, Téra still screamed her insults and curses and it sounded like she was screaming even harder to ensure Zalaya heard every word.
“Perfectly understandable,” Serrano assured him and shut the door. The sound was muffled, yet Minnie’s heart still thundered anyway. Her lack of power made her sick. Calli would have thought of a way to save Téra. Even Carmen. Minnie was just as much a useless, dishonorable blot as Zalaya. Tears stung her eyes and hurt her throat.
Duardo reached for the console, his fingers manipulating the controls. From the speaker, Téra’s shouting again jumped in volume, the words of dishonor and vengeance as clear as if she were back in the room again.
“...my family will remember your name. Every last one of them, down to my dear little sister, will work to purge your seed from the earth!”
The tears spilled down Minnie’s cheeks and each one was like hot acid on her flesh. Minnie knew that Téra spoke nothing but truth. Every single member of Duardo’s family had more honor in their little finger than she had in her whole useless body. They would know what to do to avenge him and they would never stop.
Zalaya was switching cameras, tracking Téra’s progress as they dragged her to the south wing and the basement where the officers’ bordello was located and still she screamed her promises and curses.
It was too much. Minnie scrambled to the doorway and clutched it, feeling sick. “Turn it off!” she cried. The hot, hard lump in her chest broke from her as a sob. “Turn it off, God, turn it off! Have you no feelings at all?”
He swiveled in his chair to look at her, the brow lifting, Zalaya’s mask firmly in place. “You’re only just discovering this?” Yet he turned the camera off.
Minnie staggered back to the bed and climbed deep beneath the covers to lie in a ball, shivering and weeping. Another casualty for the Peña family and both of them the direct result of her own selfish decisions. Plus she had every reason to believe Téra’s threats—the rest of Duardo’s family would not give up the fight.
How many others would Minnie add to her tally before this all ended?
* * * * *
The call that changed it all was the first one to reach the big house via the newly restored telephone line that Telmex had struggled to install as quickly as possible.
Nick reached out his hand for the phone in a purely automatic motion then looked up at the burring instrument. Calli looked up from her laptop and Josh cleared his throat. “Guess the phone line is working again,” he said.
“I can cross that off my list,” Calli murmured, scrolling through the document she had open—a long, long list of repairs and tasks needed to restore the big house to something like normal.
Nick picked it up. “¿Hola?” He listened, frowning, then sat up straighter. “From Carmen?” He spoke in English and glanced at Calli and Josh to make sure he had their attention. “Who did you say you were?” He scribbled the name down. “And your company? No, don’t give me the number. I’ll research it for myself and call you back.” He put the phone back gently, staring at it.
“Who was it?” Calli prompted.
Nick stirred, clearing his thoughts. “A man called Richard Menzies who says he’s a friend of Carmen’s. Calli, do you still have web access on that?”
“Now that the phone line is restored, yes. Why?”
“Look up Cameron Economics Corporation, Boston, Massachusetts. See who’s listed as Vice President of Finance.”
She entered the search and scrolled. “Yes, here. They’re a research and development company, whatever
that means. Hang on, here’s a list of executives...yes, Richard A. Menzies, the third.” She looked up. “Vice President and Chief Financial Officer,” she said. “There’s even a picture of him and contact information. Do you want the number?”
“Wait.” Nick looked at Josh. “He says Carmen contacted him early this morning. From Vistaria. He has an urgent message from her.”
Josh frowned. “There’s a good chance he’s legitimate. It would be too elaborate a scheme to build a website and plant someone in Boston. The Insurrectos have never shown that much imagination.”
“Zalaya might,” Nick growled.
“Not without a lot of resources,” Calli objected. “This website is no slapped together HTML thing. It’s scripted and polished. Besides, the search popped up three hundred and forty-five thousand hits on the corporate name—the site would have to have been there a long time—years—to build up that many links.”
Nick considered for a minute. “What is the phone number on the website, Calli?”
She read it off and Nick dialed. “Richard Menzies, please...he’s expecting my call. Nick Escobedo.” While he waited, he glanced at them. “We need to hear what he has to say. Carmen spent five years in Boston and because of her Harvard experience got to meet some of the most influential people in the city. It’s possible she knows this man.”
“He looks quite young,” Calli said, turning her laptop so that Nick and Josh could see the picture there. “I’d say she knows him on a personal basis. Nothing to do with business.”
Nick grimaced then spoke into the phone. “Richard. I have two trusted family members in the room with me. I’m going to put you on loud-speaker.” He hit the switch and sat back. “You say you received a message from Carmen, from somewhere inside the Presidential Palace on Vistaria?”
The voice that filtered through the speaker was rich with the rounded vowels of an upper class Bostonian. “Carmen is one of a handful of people I have as friends on Facebook.” The slight hesitation lifted Nick’s brow as he glanced at Calli. She smiled knowingly back.
Prisoner of War Page 20