The sleepers hadn’t spilled out onto the road, so Calli stepped onto the tarmac and headed straight for the gate. She wondered if she would draw attention, although there was no other way to reach the gates without stepping over bodies and pushing through groups. She would most certainly be recognized if she did that.
The road ran straight to the entrance. Calli moved around the last of the sleeping people and up to the closed gates. She gripped the iron bars with a small sense of relief. Soldiers stood at parade rest behind the gates. There were five guards, each with machine guns still hanging at their sides. She peered at them through the ironwork, hoping she might recognize one of them. They were all strangers.
She recalled the Spanish phrases she had been rehearsing and called to them, her voice low. “Soldiers. Do you know Captain Peña?”
Not a flicker of reaction. They didn’t know her. She dredged up more shaky Spanish. “He is based in Pascuallita. Do you know Duardo Peña?”
The second man on the left slid his gaze sideways, to look at her. He didn’t move his head.
Encouraged, she moved along the gate to stand in front of him.
“I must speak to your captain. Please let me in.”
She heard a babble of Spanish behind her. Close behind. She looked behind her, hiding as much of her features as she could with her shoulder. Two men, unshaved, dirty, bleary-eyed, watched her.
She turned back to the fence, shook it and jerked her head toward the men behind her.
“She is not Vistarian!” came the cry from behind her, in Spanish. She had been spotted as a foreigner.
She looked at the soldier in front of her. “Do you know the Red Leopard?” There was no time to compose it in Spanish. The name would have to be enough. “El Leopardo Rojo,” she added urgently.
A hand came down on her shoulder and yanked, trying to turn her. She clung to the iron with a desperate grip. “I am la dama fuerte! Let me in. Please, you must let me in.” She had reached the limits of her weak Spanish.
“You, American!” The angry cry came from behind her. Another hand grabbed her arm. She couldn’t risk looking behind her and letting them see her features. She couldn’t let go of the fence, or they would pull her into the middle of the crowd her gut told her was forming behind her.
There were more mutters and murmurs around her. She kept her gaze locked on the soldier’s eyes, even as her grip on the fence weakened and her fingers uncurled.
Someone knocked the hat off her head and her blonde hair was revealed.
“Ella no es Vistariana! Ella no es Vistariana!” The angry cry echoed along the street. Taken up by one, then another, then another, it became a chant, a rally cry.
Callie swallowed and her throat clicked, completely dry. The fury in their chant...they were ready to boil over into violence.
The soldier next to the one she had been addressing took his machine gun in hand and cocked it. So did the other four soldiers, his action prompting them. The sound of cold metal slapping into place quelled the crowd around her, just as her strength failed and her fingers pulled away from the fence.
The hands on her shoulders and arms dropped away.
“¡Alejate de la puerta!” the soldier at the end of the row shouted.
Calli looked around. The men surrounding her sidled backward, easing away from the gate as ordered. As soon as they backed up six feet, one of the soldiers moved forward and slid the bar out of the gate, his machine gun still at the ready. He cracked the gate open ten inches.
“Come,” he said, waving to her. “Come.”
She picked up her hat, put it back on and slipped through the opening. The gate slammed shut behind her and the bar dropped into place. The soldier pulled her forward, between the other four guards. He hurried her over to the gatehouse, up the steps, and inside the small glass-enclosed building. There was a counter there and an officer standing at the window, watching the drama at the gate.
He turned as the soldier hustled her in. The soldier rattled off a stream of explanation while the officer studied her.
The soldier tugged at her backpack. “Show,” he said.
She pulled off the back pack, unzipped it and spread it wide so they could see inside. Then, obeying an instinct, she stepped back from the pack, giving them free access.
The officer and the soldier dug through the pack. The officer flipped through her passport and studied her, comparing her to the photo. She took off the hat again, giving him a better view. He spoke to the soldier, a quick word. The soldier saluted and ran back to the gate, where he took up his position once more. The other four had gone back to parade rest.
The officer examined her. “You have reached a superior officer, as you requested, Miss Munro. What do you want?”
“You speak English. Great. Please, you must tell me. Is Nicolás Escobedo in the city? I must speak to him.”
“Why must you speak to this person?”
“I know—you have no idea who I am. I mean, you may think you know—”
“I know exactly who you are, Miss Munro. After yesterday’s papers, most of Vistaria knows who you are.”
She winced. “If that is what it takes to convince you I have no evil purpose here, fine, I’ll own it. That was me. Normally I wouldn’t come within a hundred miles of Nick after this, only it’s about one of his...friends, an officer, Duardo Peña, in Pascuallita, well, not him exactly—”
He held up a hand, signaling she should stop.
She fell silent.
“What did you call him?”
“Duardo?”
“That is not a Vistarian name,” he said.
“Eduardo,” she amended. “He hates that, though. No one ever calls him that.”
“Except his superior officers,” the man replied. “Come here,” he demanded, beckoning with his finger.
She stepped closer to the counter. He leaned over and pushed aside her jacket with one hand, peering inside it. Then he smiled and picked up the telephone on the counter, dialed and spoke into it. After a moment he put the phone down. “Someone will be with you in a moment. They will take you to another place. A more secure place. Comprende?”
“Yes,” she said. She looked inside her jacket, puzzled, and saw the St. Christopher’s medallion lying against her tee-shirt. She looked up at him.
“You know Nicolás, don’t you?”
“Yes, Miss Munro. He and I went through officer training together.”
“Gracias,” she told him.
“De nada.” He pointed to the door. “Your escort.”
Another soldier, this one without a machine gun, held open the door for her. She zipped up her backpack and followed him across the tarmac toward the legislative building. He took her around the back, slipping under the covered walkway and into the drive-through tunnel at the base of the building. The walls on either side of the tunnel were pierced by double doors and light spilled from them.
The soldier opened the right-hand door and waved her inside. Stairs ran up and down from the small foyer. He indicated she should go down the flight on the right. The corridor at the bottom was lined with anonymous doors featuring frosted glass panes. The floor was a sea of dark green linoleum, the walls a somber gray. The basement felt like every government building Calli had ever visited. That reassured her.
The soldier opened a door to a room, showing her a wooden table surrounded by four folding chairs. The wall on the right had a large expanse of mirrored window. The one-way kind, she assumed. There was no other furniture and the floor was the same dark green linoleum. The room was as soulless as a tax interview office. Almost cheerful, Calli sat on the table and dropped her backpack beside her. It was the first time she had felt safe for hours.
Two hours later, she still felt safe. Also bored and exhausted. No one had looked in on her. When she looked along the passage she saw no one. She considered going to look for people in case she had been forgotten. Then she remembered the officer in the gatehouse, his recognition of the S
t. Christopher medallion and knew she would not be ignored.
Forty minutes later Calli heard people in the passage outside and saw a shadow on the glass panel in the door.
She held her breath, her nerves prickling to the alert.
The door opened and Nick stepped into the room. He shut the door behind him and stood looking at her.
“Nick, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have come here if I’d had any other choice. I’d have stayed away forever. It’s Minnie, Nick. She’s gone to find Duardo—”
He crossed to the table and she braced herself, wondering if he would vent his anger in closer quarters.
Instead his arms enveloped her and crushed her against him. He kissed her thoroughly, deeply, until her thoughts scattered and her body tingled with thick, warm arousal.
She groaned beneath his lips. He pushed her hat off and held her head in his hand and rained kisses on every inch of her face and finally her lips again.
“Sweet,” he said, his lips against hers.
“Nick—”
He made a small sound. “I dreamed of you whispering my name last night,” he said, his voice rough. “Just as you did then.”
Her heart gave a tiny leap. She had expected Nick to be angry when she stood before him. She had braced herself for it, even while in her heart, deeply buried, was the hope that he would be pleased to see her. She had not expected this. She had not dared hope he might speak of missing her, even indirectly.
“I dream of you. Still.” His voice was the gravelly one from her dreams, from the first night they’d met, and from every moment when he spoke of something close to his heart. His low rumble sent a shiver through her. She had not thought she would ever hear it again.
He spoke by her ear. “Two mornings now, I have woken in my lonely bed and cursed myself for wasting all the moments I had with you. I crave with an addict’s need for just one moment more. Just a single moment. Seeing you here, when I did not expect to ever see you again... I am weak, when it comes to you.”
She smiled. “Nicolás Escobedo and ‘weak’ are mutually exclusive,” she teased. “You just know what you want, that’s all.”
His arms tightened about her in response.
With her cheek against the soft cashmere of his dark sweater, she felt the beat of his heart and heard his breathing. His unique, masculine scent washed over her.
He let her go at last and stepped back enough to look at her face. He smiled. “I certainly didn’t think I would see you again, with all this madness around us.” He pushed a stray wisp of her hair off her face.
“It’s a horrible disaster, Nick. It hurts to watch. It’s all because of—”
“No!” He said it quickly and put his finger against her lips. “Don’t ever say it,” he said. “Not ever. What has happened, happened, and what will happen, will be. No regrets, no guilt. That’s what we agreed, remember?”
She nodded.
“Tell me about Minnie. Duardo. What has happened?”
Calli told him quickly. Just the facts. He would figure out the rest for himself. “You phoned him, Nick. You have the number. I can find out if she made it that far. It must have been his family’s house you phoned. That’s where she’d head, I think. If I could talk to her, arrange a place to meet her and pick her up, then...”
Nick shook his head. “Pascuallita has fallen. It’s in the hands of the rebels. Any resistance there is being dealt with. We can’t go in.”
“Then Minnie could not either,” Calli said. “What will happen to her?”
“She will be forced to abandon the car because traffic out of Pascuallita will be too heavy. If she tries to go further on foot, she will have to fight her way through refugees. If she continues she will collide with the fragments of the army, making its way south, escaping the guns of the rebels. The army is broken. The base abandoned. They’re on the run.”
“Is there nothing I can do?”
“You?” Nick’s smile was small. “You would take on two armies by yourself?”
“There is no one else.”
He studied her.
“Do you have a car I could use, Nick?” she said at last. “Minnie took my Uncle’s car. I could follow her up the coast, see if I can find her that way.”
“You would not have lasted five minutes outside the gates here once the people realized who you were. Do you think you would have an easier time of it with people on the run from their homes, from violence?”
“Damn it, Nick, I have to do something!”
“I know.” He touched her cheek. “I would not have you running into the same boiling cauldron as Minnie.”
His cell phone rang. He cursed and reached for his back pocket. “Only the most critical people have this number. I can’t ignore it.”
“It’s okay,” she assured him, with a sigh.
“Sí?” He listened, then looked at her sharply. “Duardo, where are you?” he said into the phone.
Calli sat up straight.
Nick listened for a long time. “Wait,” he said into the phone and looked at her. “I must speak Spanish. It’s quicker for us, okay?”
She nodded.
Nick spoke rapidly, with few pauses. “Do you know for certain that Minnie would go to Duardo’s house in Pascuallita?” he asked her.
Calli shook her head. “Minnie already knew Pascuallita had fallen. That was why she left. She went to find Duardo. I think she would go to the base, or try to.”
He nodded and spoke to Duardo again. Then he shut down the phone and tucked it in his back pocket. “Come with me,” he said briskly.
Chapter Fifteen
Calli scrambled to keep up with Nick as he hurried up the long passage. “Where was Duardo?”
“I’ll tell you all of it in a while,” Nick promised. “First, we must hurry.” He took her up the same stairs she had come down, then back to the gatehouse where the same officer stood watching. He straightened to attention when Nick entered.
“Fernando,” Nick acknowledged.
Fernando nodded. His reply was terse.
Nick raised his hand. “Gracias,” he finished. He turned and strode outside again, and Calli trailed after him, puzzled and feeling useless.
“Where now?”
“Behind the palace,” Nick said. He angled for the covered walkway.
“Why there?”
“That’s where we’ll find transport to Pascuallita.”
“We?” Calli repeated.
He glanced at her. “You don’t think I would let you go there alone, do you?”
“Nick, this isn’t your concern. You’ve got enough problems to worry about.”
He came to an abrupt stop. She almost ran into him. He caught her arms to steady her. “No one gets to choose what to worry about, have you noticed? I have made promises, both spoken and unspoken. If I do not do everything in my power to help Duardo and retrieve Minnie for you, I would not be living up to those promises.”
“As long as you’re not doing it for me.”
He kissed her quickly, then moved on. “That’s exactly why I’m doing it,” he said over his shoulder.
Five breathless minutes later Calli found herself on the other side of the palace. They had hurried through the building, giving Calli glimpses of stairs, empty rooms, elegant foyers, before emerging through French doors into bright daylight. It was not yet noon.
A patio extended for twenty feet, edged by thick balustrades identical to those on the second floor of the building—the balustrades she had climbed and sat upon, only four nights ago. Nick strode toward stairs in the middle of the stone railing. She paused on the top step, her eyes widening. An expanse of concrete stretched out below. On it was a neat row of cars and trucks. Two helicopters crouched behind them.
Nick reached the concrete and headed for the cars. Calli followed him. A soldier stood at parade rest at the end of the row of cars. As Nick approached him, a second soldier emerged from a metal door set into the foundations of the balcony and saluted Ni
ck.
Nick held up his hand. The soldier threw something metallic and shining. Keys. Nick caught them with a downward flick of his wrist and turned on his heel, just as Calli reached the end of the row of cars. “Which one?” she asked.
“That one,” he said, nodding over the top of the cars. He threaded his way between two of them, right past them, heading for the smaller helicopter.
Her heart jumped. She hurried to catch up with him. “The helicopter?”
“There’s nothing else that can get us there faster today.” He opened the rounded glass door of the helicopter and indicated she should do the same.
“You can fly these?” Calli asked, as she fumbled at the catch on the door and opened it.
“I thought I’d just wing it.” He settled into the seat behind the controls.
Even as her jaw dropped, she realized he was teasing. She scowled at him and sat in the other seat. There was a bench seat behind them. It was narrow but would seat two people, perhaps three. There was room for Minnie and Duardo.
“Strap in. This will be a rough trip.” Nick buckled the H-style belt over his chest.
While her heart skittered, Calli fought with the belts to fasten the buckle. Nick inserted the key into something that looked like the ignition slot on a domestic car and turned the key. Nothing happened.
“Flat battery?” she asked sweetly.
He grinned and prodded a green button. The engine coughed and revved up. Shadows moving overhead caught her attention. The extended bubble of glass showed the sky above and the rotors turning slowly as the engine cranked.
Nick tapped her knee and held out a pair of headphones. A curly lead attached them to the console. He already wore a similar pair. She slipped them on. The noise of the engine muffled to almost nothing.
“Can you hear me?” Nick’s voice sounded in her ear.
“Yes.” She adjusted the voice pickup, so it was closer to her mouth.
The blades above became a blur. The helicopter shivered beneath her.
Nick had his hands on the controls. He listened and watched his readouts. He adjusted the stick between his knees and played with the pedals under his feet, then looked down at the ground.
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