“Al-Qaeda in the Maghreb, or AQIM, has seemed to be slowly retreating or losing power in the area,” Rupert continued. “We thought Lalo’s team would be able to leave Mali very soon and the danger for the kids was over. That plan all changed after the attack last week. Now we need to get the surviving kids out of there. Whoever wanted them dead is obviously not gonna rest until they succeed. But we can’t move the kids until they’re stable.” Rupert glowered. He was obviously outraged at what had happened to the kids at the school.
Wara felt herself slinking down in her chair, too. She stuffed her hands into the sleeves of her hoodie, feeling like dirt. Because of her, the kids from the school had lost one of the people who protected them.
Alejo.
It was her fault he was here instead of there in Timbuktu.
Rupert’s icy blue eyes flickered to her. Sometimes it seemed the guy could read her mind. “Lalo and Caspian are managing fine at the moment,” he said, “but it will be even better when you all arrive. Reinforcements. We’ll need you to work in shifts of two teams, guarding the hospital until the kids are ready to be transported out of there. We’re working on getting them asylum in a European country, as soon as possible. Amadou is helping us with the kids’ paperwork.” Rupert glanced at Wara and Cail. “Amadou is from Timbuktu, a Christian, and the director of the school. Lalo’s team and Amadou have all gotten close during this time they’ve worked together.”
When Rupert made them all get out their phones and look at files he’d sent them of major terrorist players in the region’s fighting, Wara didn’t really feel any better.
Her assignment in Rabat suddenly was not seeming very challenging. She kind of wanted to go back to the moldy little apartment and friendly roaches.
Alejo was pointing out the photo of a guy named Alexei Tsarnev. “That’s definitely him,” he told Rupert. “He was there.”
Wara found the picture on her screen and squinted. The guy was scrawny and pasty with a mop of curly black hair and thick Middle Eastern eyebrows. He looked about nineteen. Way too nerdy-schoolboy to be a terrorist.
“Tsarnev appears to have a lot of weight in AQIM,” Rupert said. “We didn’t know he worked in the region until Alejo ID’d him from Timbuktu the day of the bombing.”
What? This guy helped kill the kids at the school?
Wara shivered and swallowed, hard. Appearances could be deceiving.
This was all feeling a little unreal. A few days ago, Lázaro Marquez showed up all scarred with wild hair and no memory. Then he tried to kill her. Now she was sitting in a briefing about terrorist players in Mali.
And soon she’d be going there.
Timbuktu must be a great place to hide. And obviously it was a very important assignment, keeping the kids safe.
Wara had to admit her mind was not really there, though.
What about Lázaro?
“Alejo,” Rupert was saying. “Give us your best guess as to what the motive is behind the attack on the kids.”
Alejo’s lashes lowered and it took him a minute to start talking. “We think it’s because of Amadou,” he said. “Besides his work at the school, he’s the curator of one of the largest manuscript collections in Timbuktu. The manuscripts are a really valuable source of African history, priceless. Amadou’s always valued education, and he was even in a BBC documentary because he risked his life to smuggle manuscripts out of Timbuktu in 2012 when Al-Qaeda in the Maghreb, AQIM, took over the city for a little while. The French troops kicked them out pretty quickly. AQIM has hated Amadou ever since. They hate him worse, now, because Amadou is also one of the last Christians left in Timbuktu. Most of them got out in 2012, afraid for their lives. Amadou started a Christian school along with the last family of missionaries left in the area. Most of the kids have converted to Christianity, along with some of their families. Obviously AQIM isn’t happy.”
Cail took a long slurp of coffee. She’d had about six cups already, in a tall black beer mug that said “The Godfather.”
“So,” she narrowed a green eye at Alejo, “the school was a target because it’s Christian. I assume they also educate girls?”
Before meeting Wara, Cail spent a year in Pakistan guarding a girls’ school from the Taliban. The Taliban believed that girls who wanted an education deserved a nice splash of acid across the face. Cail and another CI agent rode with the girls on the bus, armed, and had to stand outside the gate every day just so those girls could learn to read and write, hopefully without getting disfigured in the process.
Alejo nodded seriously. “Yeah, the school has girls. AQIM hates that.”
“And Amadou was a target because of his involvement with the school and the manuscripts?” Rupert asked.
“Look,” Alejo said. “The Islamists bring a spirit of legalism and death wherever they go. Amadou believes in knowledge and education. He takes care of those manuscripts just like his ancestors did for generations. He teaches little boys and little girls, as equals. He fights against the spirit of the law that makes life hell for people there in Timbuktu. And AQIM hates him for it.”
“Doesn’t Amadou have a wife?” Cail asked. Alejo flinched and Rupert exhaled long and slow.
“She was killed in the attack last Thursday,” Rupert said.
They all sat there in silence.
How horrible.
It was awful that Amadou, who seemed to be doing such great things there in Timbuktu, had lost his wife.
And then there were the children.
And they couldn’t forget about Lázaro.
This was getting to be too much for her.
“Well.” Wara’s voice sounded jagged. She felt her shoulders rise, then slump. The muscles still ached. “Rupert, you said we’d talk more about my…problem when Alejo got here.” She felt her cheeks start to burn ruby-red.
Rupert stroked his mustache. “Yes,” he said. “Marquez. This is what we know about him: he came from Puerto Rico to study in Bolivia in 2010. Double masters in Tourism and Economics. While in Bolivia he converted to Islam and was recruited into the Prism, an organization some people at the table are familiar with.” Rupert flashed his eyes over to Alejo, then Wara. “Lázaro worked under Alejo in the Prism for only a few months, then the local cell was disbanded. The last place we have Lázaro in is Europe, where he did work for the Eastern Star, a radical Muslim group out of Georgia.”
“And now he shows up claiming to not know who Wara is,” Cail scowled. “But saying someone’s sent him to kill her.”
This was so awkward. Wara was starting to feeling frustrated.
“I can see how Timbuktu is a good place to hide out,” she said, “but I obviously don’t have experience in this kind of situation. I’m not really any help. Everyone will basically be my babysitters there.” Embarrassing, but true. “When the kids are able to be moved, Lalo and the rest of us will move out. Right? And then what do I do? Find a new place to hide out?”
Alejo was watching her. He looked a little less cold now that he’d downed coffee. “Right,” he nodded. Something uncertain flashed across his hazel eyes. Alejo tried to cover it up with a reassuring smile. It came across rather lopsided. “Timbuktu is just until we can figure out what to do next.”
Wara felt herself making a face. “You mean, like, until we work out some kind of deal? Get him to stop coming after me? Oh, maybe we could Facebook him and ask him to please lay off. Do assassins even use social media?”
Cail was grimacing and tracing wood patterns on the ceiling with her eyes. Alejo looked very disturbed. “Someone will have to track him down and get him to stop,” he said gruffly, “if you’re going to come out of hiding.”
Wara just stared at him. “That’s how it works? Just convince him to stop?”
Alejo’s eyes slid shut and his shoulders slumped.
"Alejo'll have to take him out, Wara." Rupert's gravelly voice broke the silence. “The Eastern Star Lázaro worked with are not small time players. After that, Marquez went off t
he grid. That means whoever he works for is bigtime. He’s not going to give up til he’s finished the job and you’re dead. It's either he kills you, or his bosses kill him."
Wara blinked at the empty dishes in front of her, horrified. She felt her armpits prick. “We’re talking about…Lázaro,” she croaked. She knew the eyes she locked with Alejo’s were much too frantic. “Weren’t you guys…friends? At some point? Alejo, he doesn’t remember who he is. What if he just needs…help?”
“He tried to kill you.” Alejo’s eyes narrowed and he looked away. “That’s all the excuse I need.”
Slow Students
IF ALEJO LIVED TO BE A THOUSAND, he might never forget the look in Wara’s eyes.
He’d thought about this. On the entire hellish trip here to Morocco. There really wasn’t another way.
But the sick sheen of Wara’s forehead drove home something he hadn’t really wanted to consider.
“Weren’t you guys…friends?” Wara squeaked. “At some point? Alejo, he doesn’t remember who he is. What if he just needs…help?”
This guy pinned Wara down in the middle of the night and tried to kill her with poison arrows.
But Alejo did know him. He’d worked with him.
Wara had dated him.
“He tried to kill you,” Alejo felt himself growl. “That’s all the excuse I need.” But inside he just withered a little bit more. He was sick of this, felt rotten to the core from all the violence and brokenness.
“If we capture Marquez and turn him over to the authorities,” Rupert was explaining, “he will be on the loose again before you know it. Bolivia and the other countries where he’s committed crimes have corrupted legal systems. We have to assume the people Marquez works for are powerful. Organizations like that invest a lot of money in their assassins. They’re not gonna leave him to rot in jail.”
Alejo wanted to finish this discussion before he had to see Wara’s stricken eyes again. “I know Timbuktu,” he said to his empty coffee mug. “It’s my turf. Lalo and Caspian and I know it like the back of our hand by now. When Marquez comes after you, we’ll have the advantage.”
“What if he doesn’t?” Cail frowned. “Come after her? Doesn’t he think she’s dead?”
“We’ll leave a trail for him to follow,” Rupert said. “Wara’s tickets to Mali, the visa, credit cards. All in her real name. Obviously Marquez isn’t after Wara for personal reasons, because he doesn’t even know who she is. My guess is this is some kind of test from whoever he works for. When Lázaro finds out she’s still alive, he’ll have to do whatever it takes to finish the job. He can’t let the people he works for find out he failed. Guys like him usually don’t have anywhere else to go.”
Everyone was frowning now. Wara had crossed her arms tightly in front of her and was staring vacantly at the leftover couscous.
This appeared to be the end of the briefing.
Not exactly ending on a happy note.
Alejo still felt very, very cold. It was about a hundred degrees colder here than in the Sahara.
“Wara,” he broke the silence. “Can we take a walk?” They really needed to talk.
She looked at him with wide eyes. “I…I need to go upstairs and rest awhile first. If you still feel like it…maybe…later.”
She looked so sad. It made Alejo angrier.
“Ok, thanks,” he said. “I’ll be awake. I drank a lot of coffee.”
Silvia said she’d do dishes. After Wara disappeared upstairs to her room, Rupert found Alejo staring out the porch door at the white stars. He clapped a hand on Alejo’s shoulder, making him wince. Every muscle Alejo had was aching.
“Aren’t you worried?” Rupert asked.
Alejo frowned. “Of course. I’ll feel better when Marquez is dead.”
“Worried she’s gonna hate you, Alejo.”
Alejo blinked at him. “She knows the guy has gone psycho,” Alejo said slowly. “Yeah, she used to know him, but he tried to kill her.”
Rupert looked disgusted. He flashed Alejo the look he reserved for especially slow students. “She didn’t just ‘used to know’ Marquez.”
Alejo did not want to think about this. “They were together for a few weeks,” he said, waving the time away into thin air with one hand. “She was just lonely. It was one of those things she regretted later.”
“That’s what she told you?”
Alejo scowled. “Yeah, that’s what she told me.” Rupert was still frowning. “It’s not like she was in love with him,” Alejo snapped. “Wara is quite clear about that.”
“Look, sometimes pride won’t let us admit we cared for someone we think we shouldn’t have,” Rupert started to say.
“What’s your point?”
Rupert exhaled loudly. “It’s getting too late for this. I’m off to sleep.” He waddled off in the ugly cardigan, probably to get more coffee.
Even though earlier he’d felt like he was about to pass out on the table, now Alejo really didn’t think he could sleep. After months without coffee, he’d gulped the stuff down like there was no tomorrow. He was now officially wired.
Seeing Wara again was great, and the coffee was making all sorts of ideas do crazy dances around his brain. For the first time in months he was thinking of a future that might involve something good, hopefully Wara.
Yeah, the idea of killing Marquez was ugly, but the guy had only brought it on himself.
Alejo wanted out of the violence and death, and Lázaro had to be the last one. Because until he was dead, the faraway peace Alejo was dying for was just going to be a ridiculous dream.
Forbidden Kisses
Bolivia
Six years earlier
MIST ROLLED OVER THE SAGE-COLORED hills, weeping with long Andean grass and white flowers. It was three in the afternoon, but the sun still played behind the mist, barely warming the soggy air here at the edge of the lake, thousands of feet in the Andes. Sixteen giggling ten-year olds pushed along the trail in front of Wara, winding around the midnight blue water fringed in reeds. Their tennis shoes sucked at the moist dirt and their coffee-colored faces glowed under wide-brimmed hats.
"Hey, counselor!" One of the boys planted his shoes wide in the mud and grinned at Wara. He was trying to stand taller in a faded red hoodie that said, "Bubba-Gump Shrimp Company." This one definitely had a crush on her. He'd been trying to get Wara's attention the entire week of camp.
Just as long as he doesn't try to kiss me tonight at the bonfire.
Wara almost snorted at the ridiculous idea. "Yeah, Pablo?" She flipped her braid over one shoulder and scratched at the red bandana covering her unwashed hair. The water in the cabin showers at Camp Kewina was beyond frigid. She hadn't taken a shower since leaving the city.
But Pablo didn't actually want anything. He just kept grinning at her with a row of very uneven teeth, then took off at a run. He shouldered a few of the scrawny girls out of the way as he tried to get to the front of the line in a show of ten-year-old speed. Wara rolled her eyes and turned to the guy at her side, good-looking as always in shades of honey and tan. Her co-counselor was looking mighty fine in a faded flannel and olive green shorts.
Wara wasn't about to deny that she'd been going through a hard time since she came to Bolivia as a missionary five months ago, but being assigned to work the week at camp with this guy from another church had cheered her up significantly. The guy was a cutie, and amazingly enough, he liked her. Campers or no campers, he was always flirting with her. Just as bad as Pablo, but significantly more sexy.
"Lázaro?" Wara punched him in one muscled shoulder. "He's getting away again."
Lázaro's eyes widened at her, then shifted towards the escaping camper. He frowned and pulled the brown checked wool cap down lower over his eyes. "Hey! You, Pablo! Get your butt back here on the double!" Lázaro's booming voice cut through the lakeside peace, scaring the crap out of a few slim brown birds nesting in the reeds. Skinny Pablo threw another huge grin in Wara’s direction and pulled to
a stop at the front of the line of campers, waiting for the rest to catch up.
Lázaro winked at Wara as the path opened up into a clearing full of spiky plants and boulders. "This is where they get to play," he said, then yelled an announcement to the group that they could spread out to climb the boulders. Everyone shrieked and ran towards the rocks as if they were mounds of candy fallen from a birthday piñata. Wara watched them in puzzlement, then jerked as hands pressed into her eyes, leaving everything dark.
"Counselor, will you sit by me at the bonfire tonight?" Pablo said into her ear.
Oh my gosh! These kids! All week, the teasing never stopped. She liked them, but tomorrow it was totally time to go home.
Pablo still wasn't taking his hands off the eyes. "And I'm gonna add you as my friend on Facebook, ok?" he rambled on. "Maybe when I let you go you can spell me your last name?"
The hands pulled away and Wara reluctantly turned towards her ten-year-old tormentor, only to find Lázaro's gorgeous eyes right behind her. She did a double take, peering around his shoulder for the kid. The question was forming on her lips when her co-counselor placed a hand under her chin and tipped her face towards his. Wara was five foot five, and Lázaro was a few inches taller, just tall enough to make her have to tilt her face upward to look into his eyes.
She heard herself swallow, loud and squeaky.
"Counselor, when I grow up will you marry me?" Lázaro asked her, but the voice was Pablo's.
Wara grinned nervously. "Oh my gosh. How do you do that?" She could have sworn it was the kid, right behind her. This Lázaro Marquez was like the perfect outdoor guy, always making fires from sticks and carving wooden birds for the campers with his red MacGyver Swiss Army knife. This morning he had thrilled the kids by imitating a whole slew of forest animals. And now he was copying voices.
Ok, she had a crush.
And holy cow, Lázaro was going to kiss her.
He leaned in, ignoring the kids screaming and unpacking their little lunches of egg sandwiches and fresh lima beans.
Burn (Story of CI #3) Page 4