When Darkness Falls

by James Grippando

  It required only a cursory glance for the recognition to kick in. “It’s an Argentine banknote. Twenty pesos. But why is it torn in half?”

  Alicia took the bill, and with her elbows on the table, she held it at eye level. The smooth natural edge was between her right thumb and index finger. The rough edge, where the note had been torn down the middle, was in her left. “Six years ago, just a few days after my twenty-first birthday, a woman gave this to me.”

  “Who was she?”

  “I’d never met her before. She found me on campus after one of my classes and asked if she could speak to me. I had nothing else to do, and she seemed nice enough. So we sat down at one of the picnic tables on the lawn and talked.”

  “What about?”

  “At first, it seemed that we weren’t really talking about anything. She told me that she had a friend whose daughter was thinking about enrolling in the spring, and she wanted to know how I liked the university, what campus life was like, that kind of thing. It was all about me. Too much about me, actually, and after a while I started to feel a little uncomfortable with the personal nature of the questions. I came up with an excuse to leave, and that was when she admitted that she wasn’t just scouting out the campus for the daughter of a friend. She said she’d come all the way from Argentina just to talk to me.”

  Her mother suddenly showed more concern than curiosity. “Why on earth would she come that far just to talk to you?”

  “That’s what I wanted to know. She said she knew my family back in Argentina.”

  “Really? Your father’s side or mine?”

  It was a simple enough question, but suddenly Alicia was having second thoughts about this entire conversation. She’d avoided it for years, out of respect, love, and probably a host of other emotions that she might never fully sort out. Fear had certainly been part of it-fear of the truth. But it was too late to turn back now. She searched within and found the strength to say it. “Neither.”

  Her mother let out a little nervous chuckle. “What do you mean, ‘neither’?”

  “She told me that she didn’t want to ruin my life, that she was not trying to upset me, that she would not make me into another victim by turning my world upside down.”

  “Victim of what?” Graciela said, seemingly annoyed. “This woman sounds like she was crazy.”

  “I had the same reaction. I didn’t want to hear any more, but the interesting thing is that she never really came right out and said anything directly. Even so, I somehow sensed what she was implying. In hindsight, I think she wanted me to figure things out for myself, rather than dump a lot of painful information in my lap.”

  “Figure what out for yourself?”

  Alicia laid the torn Argentine peso on the table, facedown. “Before she left, she took this bill from her purse and tore it in half. She kept part of it for herself, and she made a point of giving me this half, the one with the handwriting on it.”

  Alicia turned the bill faceup. Directly on the bill, in blue ink, a message was handwritten in Spanish. The translation read: “The military is taking our children. Where are the Disappeared?”

  Alicia’s mother showed no reaction.

  “I kept the bill, and over the next few months I did some research on this.”

  “What kind of research?”

  “Being raised in Miami, I realized that I didn’t know much about the country of my birth. It turns out that I was born during Argentina’s Dirty War, which I had heard of but never really studied.”

  “Plenty has been written about it.”

  “I know. But it wasn’t until I met this woman and had this torn banknote in my purse that I started to learn about los Desaparecidos-the Disappeared. It was so amazing to me, how everyone was afraid to talk about what the military was secretly doing to people who opposed the regime. Some of the Disappeared were left-wing extremists.”

  “Terrorists. Like the ones who set off the bomb that killed your father’s first wife and daughter.”

  “Yes, I know about that. But others were just ordinary people who spoke out against the government: trade unionists, social reformers, human-rights activists, nuns, priests, journalists, lawyers, teachers, students, actors, workers, housewives, and on and on. Some were guilty of nothing. They were simply accused or suspected of being a subversive or conspiring to undermine the ‘Western Christian way of life.’ It was like Nazi Germany, except that in the case of Argentina, the rest of the world stood by until the very end and let it happen. Even within the country, practically no one had the courage to say or do anything, except for the mothers of the disappeared children. They met secretly in churches, they organized, they marched in the town plazas with little white nappies on their heads and carried photographs of their missing children. They put themselves at risk to make the public aware of the fact that people were disappearing and that the military dictatorship was behind it.”

  Alicia paused to catch her breath, then gestured toward the torn Argentine peso on the table. “And one of the ways they got their message across was by writing notes like this on money. It was a way to make sure that the word would spread from one person to the next, all across the country.”

  “That was all a very long time ago,” her mother said in a quaking voice. “And it has nothing to do with our family.”

  “It was probably the implication otherwise that got me so angry and made me tell this woman never to contact me again. And you know what? She promised to respect my wishes. She said I would never hear from her again. Unless…”

  “Unless what?”

  Alicia took the tube of lipstick from her purse. She opened it, but the lipstick was gone. Inside was another torn Argentine banknote. Alicia unrolled it and laid it flat on the table beside the other half. The ripped, jagged edges fit perfectly, like the pieces of a puzzle. Said Alicia, “She promised never to contact me again, unless she could prove all of the things that she wanted to tell me.”

  “What kind of proof is this?” her mother said, scoffing.

  “This was the tube of lipstick that was stolen from my purse. I got it back today.”

  “From who?”

  “The same woman who came to see me before.”

  “She stole your lipstick?”

  Alicia’s expression turned very serious. “Notice how the lipstick has been removed. Only the tube is left.”

  “Yes, I see that. Who would do something like that? She must be absolutely crazy.”

  “No. She actually did something smart.”

  “I don’t see how stealing lipstick can be smart.”

  “It was ingenious, actually-if the purpose was to collect my saliva.”

  Her mother halted, as if the big picture were suddenly coming clearer.

  Alicia said, “What kind of proof do you think there might be in my saliva?”

  The color seemed to drain from her mother’s face. Matters of biology had always been irrelevant in the Mendoza family, and it pained Alicia to watch her mother start to unravel emotionally. For an instant, it seemed as though the air had been sucked from the room.

  “People are sick. The things they say and do just to hurt others.”

  “No, Mom. That’s not what this is about.”

  Her mother swallowed hard, seeming barely able to speak. “This…I just don’t understand how this could be happening. I love you, Alicia. I love you with all my heart.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then what do you want from me, my darling?”

  “I want to know just one thing,” said Alicia.

  Her mother’s eyes welled, and she seemed on the verge of tears. “Tell me, please.”

  “Do you want to talk to me, Mom? Or do you want me to talk to her?”

  chapter 54

  T here were many things that Jack had yet to figure out about Sergeant Paulo. Jack was normally a quick study, but Paulo was a complicated guy by anyone’s measure, and Jack had known him only a matter of hours. A crisis, however, had a way of br
eeding a certain amount of instant familiarity, as it was difficult to conceal “the real you” when both the stakes and the level of tension were sky-high. At the very least, Jack understood him well enough to appreciate just how serious Paulo was when he told Jack to come inside the command center, meet the old woman who had Falcon’s cash, and hear firsthand what she had to say.

  Paulo was alone with her when Jack entered the room. She sat in a stiff, upright position, the fingers of each hand interlaced to form a tight ball in her lap. She was clutching a handkerchief, perhaps Paulo’s. Jack’s first impression was that she was younger than his abuela, but he could have easily envisioned her at his grandmother’s card table with a half dozen elderly Latinas just like Abuela, talking and drinking coffee for hours at a time, perhaps even pulling Jack aside and telling him about a beautiful niece that he should meet. Her hair was short, stylish, and mostly gray. Behind the wire-rimmed eyeglasses were big, dark eyes that were equally sad and sincere. Although her face was wrinkled, her healthy olive complexion had retained some of its youthful quality, as if the creases in her skin were more the product of worry than age.

  “So, you are the lawyer who represented this monster?” she said as Jack took a seat at the table.

  “I’m Jack Swyteck,” he said. “I was Falcon’s lawyer for a short time, but I’m not here on his behalf. I’m here because he’s holding my best friend hostage, and I’m doing everything I can to help Sergeant Paulo get him and the other hostages out safely.”

  Vince said, “She understands all that. We had a lengthy talk before I called you.”

  Jack said, “Do you actually know Falcon?”

  “Yes,” she said. “That’s why I contacted Sergeant Paulo.”

  “I don’t mean to sound like a doubting Thomas, but why did it take you so long?”

  “I tracked down Sergeant Paulo as soon as I saw Falcon’s face on television.”

  “The local news stations have been airing this hostage standoff all day long, and Falcon’s mug has been all over the media for at least two days, ever since that woman’s body was found in the trunk of his car.”

  “I just arrived in Miami a few hours ago.”

  “This has been on CNN and some of the other national newscasts as well.”

  “I was in Argentina. This wasn’t news there.”

  “No, I guess it wouldn’t be,” said Jack.

  “I was in my hotel room when I first saw a newsflash update of a hostage situation involving a man named Falcon. The name, of course, piqued my interest. When I saw his picture, I grabbed my bag and came straight here.”

  “You mean the bag with Falcon’s money in it?” said Jack.

  “Yes.”

  “How did you end up in Miami with all that cash?”

  Paulo interjected, “That’s getting a little ahead of things. Jack, I think you might want to start by asking how she came to know Falcon in the first place.”

  Jack was starting to sense that there were only certain things that Paulo wanted him to know. But as a member of law enforcement, Paulo didn’t have to share any of this information with an outsider, so Jack wasn’t going to pitch a fit about it. “Okay, tell me, ma’am. How do you know Falcon?”

  “He first contacted me several years ago. It was by letter. He identified himself only as Falcon. He said that I should get in touch with a twenty-one-year-old woman in Miami, named Alicia Mendoza. She could help me with my search.”

  “Your search for what?”

  “That is between Alicia and me.” Both her tone and tight expression conveyed that it was an intensely personal matter. Jack decided to move on rather than press the point, perhaps come back to it later.

  “Did you contact Alicia?”

  “Yes. I came to Miami and talked to her in person.”

  “Why?”

  “Like I said, that is between Alicia and me.” She glanced at Paulo and said, “Right, Sergeant?”

  It was apparent that she and Paulo had reached an understanding about the things that she would and would not share with Jack. Paulo said, “Jack, why don’t you ask about the next time she saw Falcon?”

  She was quick to correct him. “I didn’t see him on either occasion.”

  “Okay,” said Jack. “Tell me about the next contact.”

  “I didn’t hear from him again until just recently. A little more than a week ago, I received a package by international courier. Inside was a key and enough money for a plane ticket to Nassau. He told me to go to the Greater Bahamian Bank and Trust Company and open safe deposit box number two sixty-six. He said that I should take everything that was inside the box, and that I should be sure to use the name Marianna Cruz Pedrosa.”

  “And you just dropped everything and went?”

  “When he mentioned Marianna’s name, of course I went.”

  “So, you are not Marianna Cruz Pedrosa?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know her?”

  “Sí.”

  “Do you know where she is?”

  Her voice was so laden with sadness that even one-word responses took considerable effort. “No.”

  Jack treaded lightly, sensitive to her heavy heart. “What can you tell me about her?”

  She drew a breath, then let it out as if it were her last. “Era mi vida.”

  She was my life.

  The words chilled Jack. His own abuela often used the same term of endearment to convey how much he meant to her, so he had some appreciation of the depth of this woman’s feelings. Still, Jack realized that he was barely scratching the surface of this mysterious triangle-the woman, Marianna, and Falcon. It was obviously a triangle filled with pain and born in Argentina, though it somehow intersected with Alicia Mendoza’s life in Miami. The trial lawyer inside him wanted to ask a thousand follow-up questions and sort everything out immediately. Who was Marianna? What happened to her? Why did Falcon give this old woman so much money in her name? Why did the woman bring it to Miami? But with each passing moment, the old woman was showing signs of increasing distress, and Jack could only begin to sense the breadth of her personal loss and suffering. It seemed only humane to shift gears for a moment, albeit slightly, and let her collect her wits.

  Jack said, “Can we take a step back and clear up something you mentioned just a minute or two ago?”

  “Sure,” she said as she used the handkerchief to dab away a tear from the corner of her eye.

  “You made a point of telling Sergeant Paulo that you never actually saw Falcon in either of the two communications you had with him.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then how did you recognize Falcon’s picture on the television this afternoon?”

  The sorrow drained from her face, replaced by a surge of strength and stoicism that could only spell anger. “At first I didn’t recognize him, because he has aged so much. But it was in the eyes. I looked into those eyes on the TV screen and realized that I’d seen that monster before, in his younger days. I had just always known him by another name.”

  “What name is that?”

  “I knew him as El Oso.”

  “The Bear?” said Jack. “What kind of a name is that?”

  “A nickname,” she said. “None of those men in his position used their real names.”

  “So, who is El Oso?”

  Her eyelids flittered as she struggled to keep her whole body from trembling. “That’s the reason I’ve come to you,” she said in a voice that faded. “You are dealing with such a very dangerous man.”

  chapter 55

  T heo could feel it in his bones that something big was about to break loose.

  He’d overheard Falcon’s end of the last telephone conversation with the negotiator. As best he could tell, they’d cut a deal that somehow involved Jack coming to retrieve the injured girl. Theo was all for getting the girl out safely from that hot, stuffy motel room. He just hoped that Jack wasn’t stupid enough to try and be a part of any rescue effort.

  Falcon, f
or his own part, was proving to be anything but stupid.

  “You two slobs,” he said, pointing at Theo and the weatherman. They were seated next to each other on the floor, their backs to the wall, bound at the wrists and ankles.

  “Are you talking to us?” said Theo.

  “Yeah, the both of you.” This time he pointed with his gun, which drew a whimper from the weatherman. It was everyone’s biggest fear that Falcon would shoot a hostage, but no one wore it more plainly on his face than the weatherman.

  Theo said, “What do you want?”

  “You’re going to carry the wounded girl outside and lay her on the stoop.”

  “Is that the deal you cut?”

  “It’s none of your business what deal I cut.”

  “I just didn’t hear you mention anything over the phone about me and lover boy stepping outside the motel room.”

  “All I can tell you is that it ain’t gonna be me who opens that door. You think I don’t know there’s snipers out there?”

  “Snipers?” the weatherman said nervously. He leaned closer to Theo and whispered, “What if they shoot us by mistake?”

  “Then you don’t have to tell your wife what you and those girls were doing in here last night,” said Theo.

  The response almost seemed to satisfy him. Almost.

  “No talking between prisoners!” shouted Falcon.

  Prisoners? Here we go again, thought Theo. Next he’ll be telling us we can’t drink any water. “You’re going to have to untie us if you want us to carry the girl anywhere.”

  The look on Falcon’s face suggested that he hadn’t considered that part of the plan. His eyes darted across the room, as if he had no idea where the solution lay. “Okay, forget what I said about it being both of you. One of you is going to carry her.” Again, he pointed with his gun, this time only at the weatherman, which made him gasp. “You carry her,” said Falcon.

  “I can’t carry her by myself,” the weatherman said.