[Santa Olivia 02] - Saints Astray

by Jacqueline Carey

  “Loup…”

  “I do!”

  “Look.” Pilar spread her hands. “Maybe Senator Ballantine can negotiate knowing he’s got a sure witness. If he’s got me, he doesn’t need Miguel. Maybe he can persuade the skeevy hotel guy to let him go once he’s not that valuable.”

  “Maybe,” Loup said reluctantly.

  “Can we at least try it?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

  “Give me the phone.” Pilar put out her hand. “I’m calling him back.” She rang. “Hi, Senator? No, this is Pilar. Okay, this is what I’m thinking.” She told him, then listened for a moment. “Okay, thanks. Call us.”

  “Well?”

  “He thinks it’s worth trying. He’ll let us know. And he thinks we’d—you’d—better not do anything stupid and dangerous.”

  “What if it doesn’t work?” Loup asked.

  Pilar didn’t answer.

  “Pilar, please? It’s important to me.”

  She gave Loup a long, level look. “Baby, listen to me. You know I love your hero complex. But it’s one thing to risk losing you over the fate of all of Santa Olivia and maybe thousands of other people. It’s another to risk it for Miguel fucking Garza’s dumb mistake. If I say I don’t want you to have anything to do with this, will you go off on your own and try it anyway?”

  Loup was silent, struggling. “No,” she said at length. “I won’t.”

  “You mean it?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I did it to you once. I won’t do it again. I promise.”

  “Thank you.” Pilar kissed her cheek. “Now stop looking like a small thundercloud and help me think. Did Senator Ballantine say where they’re holding Miguel hostage?”

  “Huh?” Loup gave her a dumbstruck glance.

  “Did he say where they’re holding him?” she repeated patiently, turning on her Dataphone and entering the password for Global’s secure databases.

  “At the casino, he thinks. Hellfire Club. They’ve got him under guard in one of the suites.”

  “Hellfire Club, Hellfire Club…” Pilar smiled. “Yeah, here it is. I figured. All the big casinos are in the database, even the American ones.” She showed the screen to Loup. “Complete security specs. Do you remember anything from the chapter in Clive’s bodyguard manual on hostage extraction?”

  “Something about securing your avenue of retreat. Pilar, are you saying you’ll help me? Even if it means we could get caught?”

  “Of course. I don’t think I could handle it by myself, and there’s no way I’m going to let you go it alone if it comes to it.”

  “Then why did you…?”

  “Because I really, really wanted to know what you’d choose,” she said evenly. “And now I’m glad I do. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Loup said. “You’re really gonna help?”

  Pilar shrugged. “I figure we didn’t become secret agent bodyguards for nothing.”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  They broke the news to the band backstage while their manager was busy elsewhere.

  “I’m really sorry,” Loup said after they’d explained the situation. “Maybe it will all work out like Pilar hopes. But if it doesn’t… I can’t say for sure when I’ll be back.”

  “Or me,” Pilar added. “If we get caught and they do take you into custody, I’m sure as hell not going anywhere.”

  The band exchanged glances.

  “Vegas, huh?” Randall tucked his bangs behind one ear. “We might be able to use some R & R in Vegas, eh, lads?”

  “You can’t do that,” Loup said.

  “Sure we can.” Charlie grinned. “Viva Las Vegas!”

  “I’m serious!”

  “So am I.” Randall smiled sweetly at her. “And it’s not your choice.” He rummaged under a tattered notebook and pulled out a mock-up of the cover of next month’s Rolling Stone Australia. It bore a photo from the shoot in Sydney. The band was on a pedestal, framed by a battered tin warehouse cargo door—Randall in the center with his arms outstretched in a lazy Jesus pose, Charlie and Donny flanking him, slouching sideways. In front of them on the street Loup stood in her security togs with arms folded, looking enigmatic.

  The headline read KATE’S CRUSADERS.

  “It’s a thing, right?” he said. “Our thing?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “Shut up,” Donny said brusquely. “It’s not your choice. Just let us know, all right?”

  Loup glanced at Pilar, who raised her eyebrows. “Okay, okay!”

  “Good,” Randall said mildly. “Now bugger off and go hit your punching bag or something, will you? It’s the last concert of the tour and I want it to be a good one. Pilar, can we get some single malt back here?”

  “Right away!”

  The last concert was a good one. The band played well, old music and new alike. The audience was at once enthusiastic and respectful, obeying the rules laid down the night before. Loup caught them up and put them back, showing off every now and then to the delight of the crowd. She felt a nostalgia for something that might be ending, and a faint underlying hollowness where fear of what might come should have been.

  The last after-party was wild.

  It took place at a club called Mermaid with submerged swimming pools on opposite walls where topless women performed languid arabesques underwater. The entire place was suffused with an eerie subaquatic glow.

  “This is not what I authorized!” Geordie Davies said, flushed with anger.

  “Sure it is, man.” Randall smiled lazily. “You just didn’t look close enough at the fine print.”

  The band proceeded to get spectacularly drunk. Donny threw up and passed out in the bathroom and had to be carried to the limo. Randall and Charlie managed to stagger out on their feet, propped up by a bevy of female fans, at least one of whom appeared to be wearing a schoolgirl outfit.

  “We need exshtra girls,” Charlie slurred. “Case Donny wakes up.”

  “Gotta have at least one member of the security team in there,” Bill Jones informed Loup with malevolent cheer. “You’re the smallest.”

  “Great.”

  Pilar eyed the crammed limo. “I’ll ride in one of the taxis. See you back at the hotel.”

  “After-after-party in our suite.” Randall poked his head out of the sunroof. “C’mon! You’ve gotta come. You’ve gotta. Could be historic.” He put on his best wheedling voice. “Please? Half an hour?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “Ten?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay, ten. Fine.”

  Ten minutes turned into two hours of babysitting drunk rock stars, consoling sobbing extras left unchosen and calling taxis for them, confiscating illegal drugs, and cleaning up room service refuse.

  “Our would-be heroes,” Pilar commented.

  “They mean well.” Loup fetched an extra blanket from the closet and spread it over Donny, who was unconscious on the couch.

  “You really think they could help?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Loup, Loup.” Donny’s eyelids opened a crack. He plucked feebly at her low-slung track pants. “Promise we will. Can I have a kiss g’night? Puh-leeze?”

  She kissed his forehead. “Go back to sleep, Donny.”

  He sighed and did.

  Their day of rest found the band hungover and torpid. After checking in with Bill Jones, Loup and Pilar managed to get out and do a little sightseeing in the city, culminating at the famous Sensoji Temple in the heart of old Edo. They passed through a gate beneath a massive red lantern into a market thronged with people. Pilar browsed the stands while Loup gazed at the crowd. As they grew closer to the temple proper, fragrant smoke drifted. Loup stifled a cough, her eyes stinging and unable to water.

  “It’s supposed to be purifying,” Pilar informed her. “You want to get a fortune?”

  “Sure.”

  Inside the temple they paid two hundred yen to shake a metal canister until a numbered stick popped out. A group of friendly
Japanese tourists helped them match it to a drawer with fortunes written on slips of paper, explaining that if it was a bad fortune, all they had to do was tie it to a tree to let the bad luck blow away.

  “You pick, baby,” Pilar said, apprehensive.

  Loup pulled out a slip and read the English translation in fine print. “A million drops of water can wear down a mountain. A thousand tears can melt the hardest heart.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “It is not bad.” One of the tourists, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile, spoke up. “You face obstacles, yes?”

  “That we do,” Loup agreed.

  Her smile broadened. “Then it is good. Difficult, but good.”

  “Oh,” Pilar said with relief. “Thank you!” She attempted a polite Japanese bow. The tourists laughed and returned it.

  “Do you want to pick one?” Loup asked. “We can get another stick.”

  She shook her head. “I like this one. Can we share it?”

  “Sure.” Loup searched her face. “This scares you, doesn’t it?”

  “To pieces.” Pilar kissed her lightly. “But I am going to be muy macha and not let fear control me. C’mon, let’s find you an interesting snack to try, then we have to head back to the hotel to pack.”

  “Okay.” Loup folded their fortune and stowed it carefully in her wallet.

  They had dinner that night with the hungover band and their concerned manager in one of the hotel’s very excellent restaurants.

  “So,” Geordie said when they’d finished. “This geemo business. Ms. Dunbar sent me a preliminary draft of her article for approval. She’s done some digging. She found correlations between unconfirmed accounts of a Chinese program in Haiti that was shut down by the Yanks, unconfirmed experiments in the U.S. Army, and confirmed accounts of rogue geemos in Mexico. That’s supposed to be you, right?”

  “Maybe,” Loup said.

  “And yet you hail from Canada.” He smiled wryly. “At least that’s the story Mr. Lindberg told me. Somehow I don’t think that’s the story the lads are covering up for you. And now there’s this business about the States?”

  She shrugged.

  “Look, sweetheart.” Geordie leaned forward. “If I’m guessing right, you need me. Mr. Lindberg was very clear that you had an exclusive contract with Global. I don’t know why one or both of you has to go to the States or why the lads are hell-bent on going with you if you do, but if Kate doesn’t keep you on retainer—”

  “Geordie, man.” Randall took off the sunglasses that had been obscuring his eyes throughout dinner. “You’re fired.”

  “What?” He blinked.

  “Yeah?” Randall glanced around at the other two. They nodded. “Fired.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No, man.” He shook his head. “This is not cool. Not cool at all.”

  “You signed a contract, too, boyo—”

  “Yeah.” Randall gave his lazy smile. “One with an opt-out clause that kicked in, oh, about two weeks ago. You’ve really got to read that shit more closely. Look, man. We’ve done everything you said and you were right, everyone got rich. Now we’re gonna do what we want to do, and you’re either with us or against us.” He glanced at Pilar. “You’re good at arranging stuff. Think you could manage a band?”

  “Sure,” she said with false conviction. “How hard can it be?”

  Geordie snorted. “You have got to be joking!”

  “We’re not,” Donny said.

  The manager looked at Charlie.

  “Don’t look at me.” Charlie thrust his fist in the air. “Fight the power! Viva Las Vegas!”

  “So that’s the deal,” Randall said. “Do you want the job or not, man?”

  He gave Pilar a sour look. “I sure as hell don’t want you to turn your career over to some inexperienced tart to screw up.”

  “Hey!” she said, indignant. “What have I ever screwed up?”

  “My life, apparently.” Geordie stared at the ceiling. “All right, all right. I want to hear the whole story, the true story.” He raised his hand. “I won’t tell a soul or interfere, I promise. My hand to God, swear on my mum’s grave. But I want to know what load of codswallop these girls have been selling you before I make any decisions.”

  “That’s fair,” Randall agreed. “You cool with it?”

  “You trust him?” Loup asked.

  He nodded. “To keep his word? Yeah.”

  So they told him. By the time they got to the part about escaping through the smugglers’ tunnel, Geordie’s mouth was hanging open.

  “Are you having me on?” he demanded.

  “No,” Pilar said. “Don’t you ever watch the news? That’s why we have to go back, or at least I do. The congressional hearings. You can call Senator Ballantine if you don’t believe us. We have his private number.”

  “Have you sold the rights?” Geordie gestured impatiently at their blank looks. “To your life story! You haven’t sold the rights, have you? Book? Film?”

  “No,” Loup said. “Nothing like that.”

  He leaned back in his chair. “You’re a fucking gold mine, you are.”

  “Told you,” Randall said mildly. “So you want the job?”

  The manager gave him a sharp look. “The timing’s tight, but I know a few people. What would Kate say to playing a free concert on the Mall in Washington D.C. to call attention to the hearings? Raise awareness for GMO rights and freedom for all Americans?”

  He grinned. “I’d say you’re hired.”

  THIRTY-SIX

  At the band’s insistence, once they returned to England, Loup and Pilar accompanied them to a rented estate in Surrey that had been owned by a famous musician of years gone by and had a professional recording studio.

  There, they waited for news.

  Geordie Davies made an offer to keep them on retainer for the next six months.

  Magnus Lindberg and Sabine flew in to negotiate.

  They started by taking Loup and Pilar out to dinner at an expensive restaurant with a private dining room. Before drinks had even been served, Magnus nodded to Sabine, who opened her briefcase and placed a copy of Rolling Stone Australia on the table.

  “Kate’s Crusaders,” Magnus observed. “Seems you’ve made a connection with the client. Very good article. Very political.”

  “Thanks,” Loup said.

  “Sabine here has been following the news out of America. Something about hearings? A missing witness, rumors of a new mystery witness?”

  Pilar winced. “Yeah, about that—”

  “And this absurd business about a concert,” Magnus continued. “You do realize, Ms. Mendez, that such an appearance on American soil would put Loup in considerable jeopardy? A prospect you seemed so anxious to avoid?”

  “She knows,” Loup said softly.

  Pilar nodded. “It’s complicated.”

  “I see.” He steepled his fingers. “Too complicated for my tastes, I fear. Too… indiscreet. I’d be well advised to insist that Mr. Davies buy out your contract, wouldn’t I? Wash my hands of the two of you?”

  “Probably,” she agreed. “You’ve been fair with us. You ought to get your money’s worth. If everything works out, we’d be happy to work for you again. But if it doesn’t…” She shrugged. “I’m sorry. At least Kate will probably make up their money in merchandising.”

  Magnus regarded her. “Or I could put an end to this with a single phone call. You risk exposing some of Global Security’s more dubious machinations.”

  “The passport thing? I won’t.”

  “She won’t,” Pilar agreed. “Me neither. If it comes up, we’ll say we got ’em in Mexico from some guy who sells stolen and forged passports. There are guys like that out there, right?”

  “There are.”

  “And you could probably get your Canadian connections to back us up, right?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “So will you let us go?” Loup asked. “Please?”

/>   He glanced at Sabine, who returned his gaze impassively. After a long, long moment, he let out his breath in a sigh. “Yes, fine. I’ll allow it.” Magnus touched his steepled fingers to his lips. “Let us say that I am not entirely a cynic. I’ve witnessed many very unpleasant things in my lifetime. I’ve profited from the paranoia and greed of others. But I never completely abandoned hope, and I cannot help but admire the heroic impulse, no matter how absurd it may be.”

  “Loup,” Pilar said softly.

  “Loup?” His gaze slewed round at her. “No, my dear. Loup is Loup. She is exactly what I hired her to be. You are what surprised me.”

  “Me?”

  “You.”

  Pilar flushed. “Thank you.” She shot a suspicious look at Sabine. “Aren’t you going to snort or roll your eyes or mutter something?”

  “No.”

  “You sure?”

  Her lips twitched. “Yes, you little twit!”

  The following day they met with Geordie and the band and hammered out an agreement that was acceptable to all parties. Kate the band bought out the remainder of Loup and Pilar’s contract for half a million euros. Geordie grimaced as he poised his pen over the contract.

  “You know there’s still a chance we could be pissing this money away?” he warned the band one last time. “This could get ugly.”

  Randall glanced at Pilar. “How many of the Loup T-shirts sold?”

  “A little over twenty-three thousand.”

  “If it gets ugly, we’ll sell a million,” he predicted. “Two million, maybe. Sign away, man.”

  He signed. “Done.”

  Charlie cheered and popped open a bottle of champagne. They passed it around for everyone to have a swig.

  “Ah, no. Thank you.” Magnus declined the bottle politely, looking amused. Sabine merely looked horrified. “The deportment and etiquette lessons turned out to be rather a waste, eh?”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Pilar offered. “I have a feeling they’re gonna come in handy in these hearings. Don’t you think, baby?”

  “Yeah. Um, yes. I do.”

  Magnus consulted his watch. “We should be off.”