Karr ambled over toward him. “You’re not going to leave, are you?”
“I am going to leave.”
“How are you going to get there?”
“I’ll rent that airplane.”
“You don’t even know where you’re going.”
“Telach said the helicopter crashed eighty miles north of La Oroya. It’ll be in the same valley we took north with Fashona. I’ll look for it.”
“Come on, Charlie. Let the Art Room take care of it.”
“This is just a sneak and peak. You can handle it by yourself.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I have to go, Tommy.”
Karr stared at him for a long moment before frowning and shaking his head. “I really don’t think you should do this.”
“Come with me.”
“Aw, come on; I can’t do that.”
“We let her get raped in Korea, Tommy. We should have been there.”
Karr frowned but didn’t answer. As Dean started to step around him, Karr grabbed his shoulder. It was a strong, tight grip, and Dean worried that he would have to fight Karr to get by.
“I don’t think you should go,” said Karr. “But if you have to, all right. Just remember the Art Room is going to know right away.”
Dean nodded.
“Take the boat. Hire the geezer with the plane,” said Karr. “I’ll catch up when I can.”
73
The guerrillas took Lia over the face of a cliff about fifty yards from the trail, then almost straight down a chimney in the rocks where metal ladders had been anchored into the stone. She’d managed to conceal her pistol but had to give up the briefcase with her laptop and the replacement voter cards; it dangled precariously from the shoulder of one of the guerrillas as they descended to a ledge along the rocks. Every so often Rockman would say something he thought was encouraging; Lia would grunt in response. There were eight guerrillas, all armed with AK-47s.
She’d be able to get away eventually. It was just a matter of patience.
Unfortunately, patience was not one of her virtues.
Roughly three hours after her capture, they reached a hamlet about a half mile from the valley the helicopter had been flying along when it crashed. One of the guerrillas whistled loudly, apparently alerting a sentry, who responded with a similarly shrill call. The procession stopped for a moment to allow the group’s commander to pass to the front. He led the way off the trail through a small copse of trees and underbrush. Lia tried to memorize the surroundings, realizing that the footpath ahead must be booby-trapped. She saw ax cuts low on the trunks of the trees — obviously guides, but they’d be difficult to spot in the dark.
The group emerged at the end of a semicircle of eight small paste-gray houses built of some sort of masonry material or maybe even mud. They fronted an overgrown cobblestone street. There were ruins on the other side of the road, all overgrown by vegetation. Lia could tell from the lack of trees in the distance that the path extended down the mountainside.
The guerrillas led her to one of the houses with a large satellite dish in the side yard.
“You watch TV?” she said aloud, giving the Art Room a readily identifiable, landmark. “Satellite TV?”
“Television can be useful,” said the guerrilla leader, who’d stopped at the threshold of the house.
“You get pointers from reruns of Mao Knows Best?” snapped Lia.
“You have a good sense of humor for a UN employee,” said the man.
“And you speak English pretty well for a Peruvian Indian.”
“I studied at Cambridge. And I am not a member of the native tribes. Please, come inside.”
The interior was dark and dank. A small table filled almost half of the front room; six chairs were crowded around it, and another half dozen were pushed against the walls. There were two doorways to other rooms at the right. Blankets hung across them instead of doors.
“Did you shoot down the helicopter?” Lia asked.
“That was an accident,” said the man. “The army was conducting operations against us, and we believed your aircraft was a military one. Only after the weapon was fired was the mistake recognized. We were on our way to help.”
“I’ ll bet.”
“The army patrol that found you killed my men before they could rescue you. Our intentions were peaceful.”
“Rescue or kidnap?”
“You aren’t a prisoner. Our war is against the army. Not the people.”
“So I can leave?”
“You would not do well on your own here. We will arrange for transportation.”
“Maybe I ought to take my chances.” Lia glanced at the door. Two men were blocking her way.
“Let him play the magnanimous warlord,” said Rockman in her ear.
“We’re not against the United Nations,” said the guerrilla leader.
“What about the U.S.?”
“Why’d you tell him you were American?” asked Rockman. “Lay back, Lia. Lay back.”
Shut up, Rockman, she thought to herself. He knows I’m American.
“The U.S. exploits the entire world,” said the guerrilla. “I have nothing but disdain toward your leadership. The metals here are ripped from the ground for who? Yankees. But since you work for the United Nations, we will give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“Thanks.”
The guerrilla smiled. “Empty your pockets.”
“I pulled them inside out for your man on the trail.”
“Please do it for me.”
Lia took out her PDA and placed it on the table, along with some change. The guerrilla picked up the handheld computer.
“It’s a handheld computer. If you know what that is.”
“I told you I went to Cambridge.” He turned it over. “Is it a Palm?”
“Try and get a name,” said Rockman. “We’re searching the Peruvian intelligence databases.”
“It’s not a Palm. It’s a cheap knockoff,” she said. “I can’t afford the real thing.”
“It doesn’t seem to be working,” he said when it failed to boot up after he pushed the power switch.
“It broke in the crash.” Actually, the unit would not activate without reading her thumbprint on the back. “Two hundred bucks up in smoke.”
He slid it back to her. “So what do you have in your bag?”
“A laptop.” Lia took it out. “When did you go to Cambridge?”
“Why?” asked the guerrilla. “Did you go there, too?”
“No. I’m afraid my family wasn’t rich enough to send me to Cambridge.” She just barely stopped herself from adding or any college, remembering her cover story — she was supposed to be a computer expert.
The rebel turned on the laptop. The computer beeped and booted into a safe mode designed for exactly this sort of situation. It would operate exactly as a normal machine running Microsoft Windows XP; any serious attempt to access the hidden programs and data would erase them.
“What’s your name?” Lia asked. “Or should I just call you El Comandante?”
“What’s yours?”
“Li Shanken. I work for a company that supplies diagnostics for the voting machines.”
“You are one of the army of hundreds here to make sure the election is fair. According to the television, yes?”
“It will be fair.”
“You’re very naive, Li. The international corporations have already decided who will win the election. Will it be Imberbe, or Ortez, the Stone Age vice president? The dark horse Aznar? He is coming up from behind. That is an attractive story line, the underdog who comes from nowhere. Peruvians love such fairy tales. I predict he will be the winner. What does it matter? The corporations will still run things, with your country’s help.”
“He still hasn’t told you his name,” said Rockman.
“So when can I go?” said Lia.
“We will take you to the village when the time comes.”
“When is
that? Five minutes from now?”
“You have a sharp sense of humor.”
“I try, Comandante.”
“You may call me Paolo. I am not a commander. Those sorts of titles are not of use among us.”
“How did you get to Cambridge? You don’t look English.”
“I’m not. I was born in Chala, Peru. This is my country.”
“Bingo,” said Rockman. “All right. We can get it.”
“Where’s Chala?” asked Lia.
“On the coast, south of Lima. A pleasant place to grow up. But if you recognize the struggle of the peasants, you cannot live with yourself there. Or anywhere.”
“And you’re on the peasants’ side?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why you were going to destroy Lima?”
“I wasn’t going to destroy Lima,” said the guerrilla.
“Your movement was. With a nuclear bomb.”
“No. Those reports are false. The government is trying to spread false rumors to discourage people from joining us. They’re lies. Terrible lies.”
“He’s a lot more important than he claims,” said Rockman. “One of the three or four leaders.”
“Prove that they’re lies,” said Lia, trying to shut Rockman out.
“There are many ways. We would not turn such a weapon against our own people.”
“You use bombs all the time.”
“Not such as this.” The guerrilla shook his head.
“That’s the best you can do?”
He slammed the table with his fist. “It’s a plot by the government. You’ll see.”
“Give me evidence to bring back to the people,” said Lia, sensing an opening. “I’ll spread the word for you. Give me proof.”
Still angry, the guerrilla leader slapped the laptop closed and stuffed it into her briefcase. He took it with him as he walked to the front door. Lia started to follow, but the guards kept her inside.
“I thought I was free to go,” she said sarcastically.
74
Dean untied the boat and jammed his hand against the throttle, pulling away from shore so quickly the hull seemed to soar above the water.
He left the communications system off; there was nothing the Art Room was going to tell him that he wanted to hear at the moment.
Eventually, he’d have to talk to them. But it would be better to wait until he was almost there.
Karr’s advice not to go gnawed at him gently, but Lia’s need overwhelmed it. As Karr had put it, the “sneak and peak” was easy enough for one person to handle on his own. Lia needed help.
Dean found the pilot sitting on the dock where he had left him, sipping a beer.
“You sober enough to fly?”
“Not a problem,” said the pilot. “Where?”
“There was a helicopter crash in the mountains about eighty miles north of La Oroya. I want to go there.”
The pilot’s expression immediately changed.
“I’ll pay five hundred dollars cash when we land,” Dean told him
“And fuel?”
“And fuel.”
“Let me see the money.”
Dean put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “And don’t get any ideas,” he added, leaning forward not only to intimidate the man physically but also to show the shoulder holsters under his jacket.
“I am not a thief,” said the pilot. “I need sols for the petrol.”
“I got them.” Dean pulled out one of the maps he had folded into his pocket. “It’s somewhere around here, in one of these valleys.”
“Somewhere?”
“You think a crash is going to be hard to find?”
“From the air in a jungle, it may very well be, yes.” The pilot took the map. “Where were they flying from?”
“La Oroya.”
The man nodded. “This valley. But I have to tell you, it may be difficult to find a place to land where you’re talking of going. Those are the mountains.”
“We’ll worry about that when we find it.”
75
“I have great difficulty believing you told him to go, Mr. Karr.”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Karr told Rubens. He was zigzagging around the edge of the Inca ruins, walking through an area probably used as a cemetery five hundred years before. If there were any ghosts — and if any civilization was going to have ghosts, it would be the Incas — Karr hoped they would be friendly.
“This was completely unnecessary,” continued Rubens. “We are quite capable of dealing with the situation here. Your assignment is more important.”
“Yeah, well, I really didn’t need him. This is routine, you know?”
Rubens clicked off the line. A few yards later, Karr caught sight of the sentry post on the road thirty yards away. Two Peruvian privates were standing near the road, guns dangling from their hands. He watched them for a moment, gauging their boredom. As soon as one of the men walked off to the left, Karr scrambled down the embankment of stones, trotting down a short hill and continuing on for a few hundred paces. The thin air made even the short run a strain, and he finally had to stop and take a rest.
“You shouldn’t have lied for him, Tommy,” said Chafetz.
“Who’s lying?” Karr got to his feet. “You don’t really think I need help here, do you?”
“That’s not the point. We have other assets, and the mission set is determined—”
“Keep an eye on the road for me, all right?”
“You’re clear.”
A half hour later, Karr came to the edge of the small compound where the satellite phone calls had been made from. There were two large buildings, both made of stone and dating to the colonial period. One was a large barn, the other a three-story house. The infrared sensors on the Global Hawk, which was orbiting above him at sixty thousand feet, had not seen anyone outside. Karr took his binoculars from his rucksack and scanned both buildings before going closer.
“Tracks from a heavy truck,” he said, looking at the dirt in front of the barn. “Can’t tell how old they are. When was the last time it rained?”
“Tuesday night,” said Chafetz. “Can you get a close-up?”
“Anything for you, darlin’” Karr took out his handheld computer and slid a camera attachment on the end. Then he walked over and took three pictures. “Biggest tourist attraction in Peru.”
The large side-by-side doors at the front of the barn were secured with a chain that ran through the handles and was held in place by a combination lock. The steel shop door next to them had a padlock. Either could be easily picked, but if he went in that way he had to leave the locks off and it would be obvious someone was inside. Looking for a less conspicuous way to get in, Karr walked around the side of the building away from the house. The windows were relatively new aluminum replacements for whatever had originally been there. He scanned one for burglar alarms; when he found none he tried to open it but found it locked. The same was true on the other.
Karr took out his night-vision glasses and held them up to the glass to peer inside. The interior of the barn had been stripped of stalls or whatever dividers it had once had. It had a poured concrete floor and steel beams across the ceiling. Thick electric conduit and industrial-style outlets ran along part of the wall and crisscrossed the ceiling. There were tools and a workbench on the far side.
“I think I’ll break the window and go in,” he told Chafetz. “This side can’t be seen from the house, or the road up front.”
“Go for it.”
Karr broke the window with his elbow, then reached inside and undid the lock. The window was a surprisingly tight fit, but he got in smoothly, pulled it shut behind him, and crouched near the thick wall, surveying the wide space.
A metal door covered an opening in the floor at the northwest comer, and a few pieces of wood were stacked near the large doors; otherwise the barn was empty.
“Got a trapdoor in the comer here.”
&n
bsp; “Interesting.”
“Could be a bunker or something. How deep can the Global Hawk see?”
“It has infrared and optical, no radar,” said Chafetz. “Radar” would have been a ground penetrating device specially designed to look for bunkers and other underground facilities. “The Air Force has a U-2 with radar en route to Peru. We’ll check with its mission tasking and see if we can have it fly overhead.”
“OK,” said Karr, examining the locked door. He pulled at it gently; when it didn’t budge, he decided to save it for later. He walked through the rest of the building.
“Brought a truck inside,” said Karr, kneeling near the tire tracks. “Probably the one that made the tracks.”
A large truck had backed in through the double doors; dirt and grit were caked in little mounds from the treads. He saw black skid marks just beyond them.
“Check these out,” he told Chafetz, taking out his PDA with its camera. “Maybe they’re from a forklift.”
“Why don’t you run the interrogator on the area near the door?” she suggested. “That will give us an image. The U-2 is at least an hour away.”
“Good idea.”
“Are you going to try it?”
“Hold your horses,” said Karr. “I’m getting some images of the work area for you first. You’re getting as bad as Rockman.”
“I’m sorry, Tommy.”
“Rubens is breathing down your neck, right?”
“That’s not it.”
“Oh yeah, right.”
The work area had the makings of a decent metal shop, with a multi-tester and an old, large oscilloscope. Karr walked around the large room, occasionally dropping to his hands and knees to look more closely at the floor or wall. The floor was rather clean; it looked like it was regularly swept.
Not that he was a real expert on barns.
Satisfied that there were no hidden rooms anywhere or trick panels in the concrete, Karr went back to his rucksack for the radiation detector and the interrogator. He started with the detector in the work area; it was clean. Then he made a series of slow passes across the floor, holding the detector below his waist. When he was done, he went back and turned on the other machine. As LEDs at the side began blinking, he reached into the ruck and took out the wire to connect it with his communications gear. He slipped it into the socket at the side of his belt, then attached an ear set directly to the device; a tone would sound if the machine’s rays encountered anything thick enough to be interesting.
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