The techies who had first checked him out on the machine about a year before had warned him that it was really an oversexed X-ray machine; standing in front of it for any length of time was extremely hazardous for his short- as well as long-term health. They had also told him that there was a distant but theoretical possibility that the radiation in the device could trip a fail-safe circuit in a cleverly constructed bomb, causing the weapon to explode. He tried not to think about that possibility as he slowly worked the beam over the walls and floor.
It didn’t help that he had recognized a mistake in the formula they showed him about the amount of radiation exposure from a ten-second blast by the machine. If they had made a mistake of the same magnitude on the probability of setting off a nuke, he might soon be a permanent part of the Peruvian hillside.
“Here we go,” he told Chafetz. “If you hear a boom, you’ll know I found something.”
Karr laughed, but he felt sweat running down the side of his neck. He worked his way slowly around the concrete floor, once more reserving the area around the steel door for last. Finally, he went over to the door and pointed the interrogator downward.
No beep.
“It’s a tunnel,” said Chafetz. “Goes in the direction of the house.”
“All right. I’ll check that next.”
Karr switched the interrogator off and started to whistle. He walked back to the rucksack, bending to put his gear back.
As he did, the lights in the barn switched on.
76
“It’s about time you checked in, Mr. Dean.”
“Hello, Mr. Rubens.”
“Why did you leave Mr. Karr?”
Dean cupped his hand over the sat phone, pretending to use it as he spoke to the Art Room.
“I’m going to help Lia.”
“That’s really unnecessary, Charlie. We’ve put the paramilitary unit that was stationed in Ecuador into the air already.”
“If they’re flying helicopters, they’ll have to stop and refuel at least once. I can get there first.”
“Your mission was to check the site of satellite telephone transmissions with Mr. Magnor-Karr.”
“He can handle that on his own.”
“That is not your decision to make, Mr. Dean. You cannot be privy to all information such judgments require.”
“I know enough to say the judgment was wrong.”
Dean glanced at his watch. They were about five minutes from the valley the pilot said was the most likely spot for the crash.
“It would be helpful if you could tell me where she is,” Dean continued. “Sooner or later I’m going to find her, but it would probably be better sooner.”
“Do not think this means I approve.”
There was a slight but audible pop on the line.
“Charlie?”
“Hello, Marie.”
“Lia is in a small settlement fifty miles to the northeast of where you’re flying. There’s a large pond four miles south of it that we think your airplane could use to land; Fashona says it’ll be tight but doable.”
“OK.”
“The paramilitary team has just landed to refuel. They’re about a half hour of flying time away, but our preference would be to conduct the mission after nightfall, which is seven hours from now. Lia doesn’t seem to be in any immediate danger. We’re in contact with her — well, you know Lia; she says she’s fine.”
“I’ll bet.”
“The rebels realize she’s here for the UN. They’ve told her they may release her. We’re not taking them at their word, but they have been fairly benign toward her.”
Dean scoffed.
“I’m not saying I trust them,” noted Telach. “We have infrared imagery of the area where she is from a U-2 overhead. In addition, she’s given us a good idea of the layout there. She believes that the area immediately outside of the settlement is either mined or booby-trapped in some way. It would be very useful if you could scout that for the rescue team. We’d like you to start by looking at two landing sites nearby.”
“OK.”
Dean told the pilot to change his course for the northeast, then unfolded the map. With prompts from the Art Room, he showed the pilot the mountainside where the helicopter had crashed and the lake where he wanted to land.
“I’d like to look at the area first,” Dean told the pilot. “I’d prefer not to attract much attention when I do so, though.”
“Let me ask you: Did the person you were talking to on your phone there say this was an accident? Or did someone shoot down the helicopter? Because there are guerrillas all through this valley.”
“He wasn’t sure.”
“It would be better not to get too close.”
“I agree.”
They flew about a half mile from the site, just close enough to make out part of the wreckage twisted against the hillside. Sunlight glinted off the glass, helping mark the location. The guerrilla camp was not very far away, no more than two miles, but the rugged terrain and thick vegetation made it invisible from the air, even when Dean looked directly at it.
“I can’t land on that lake,” said the pilot as they passed over it. “The sides of the mountain there are too steep, and with the trees I would be taking too big a risk.”
Fashona had said it was doable, but Dean wasn’t in a position to argue.
“Where else can you land?”
“There’s a stretch of that highway that’s long enough. It’s only a half mile away.”
“You’ll ruin your floats.”
“There are wheels at the bottom of them. But we get only one pass. And it would be a good idea to have your gun ready.”
77
Karr swung around as the light in the barn came on, but there was no one at the doors.
He pulled off the glasses, leaping back to his rucksack and grabbing his submachine gun.
“Lights are on here,” he told Chafetz in the Art Room. “Must be some sort of timing circuit.”
“In a barn, Tommy?”
“Good point. Anybody outside?”
“Negative.”
Karr pulled his bag with him to the trapdoor. He was thinking about using it as a hiding place when he realized there was light coming through the cracks from below.
“OK, now I think I know what’s going on,” he told Chafetz. “This is a tunnel to the house. Somebody must be coming.”
“Then get out of there.”
“And miss all the excitement?”
Karr pulled his pack on his back so he wouldn’t have to worry about retrieving it if he had to retreat. Then he stepped behind the hinge to the door, so he could surprise whoever was coming out A minute later, the door creaked, and the metal swung upward slowly. Karr waited a second, then pitched his arms back, wielding the submachine gun like a club.
He stopped it just short of the small gray-haired skull that popped into the opening.
“Whoa!” said Karr, reaching down and grabbing the diminutive woman from the stairwell. He threw her aside, then scrambled over the opening.
The tunnel, its sides lined with closely fitted stones, was empty. Karr ran down about halfway and stopped. He took a video bug from his pocket and slapped it onto the tunnel ceiling, barely six inches above his head. Then he trotted back up the steps. The woman lay in a heap on the floor, still dazed.
“Jeez, I’m sorry, ma‘am,” he said, raising her head and trying to revive her. “Scusa. Like, really, I’m sorry. You all right? Ma’am?”
The woman opened her eyes, then jerked back in fright.
“Oh man, I’m really sorry. It’s OK,” he said. He slung the gun over his shoulder and pulled her up. “Chafetz, get those translators online here. Help me out. This poor old lady looks like she saw a ghost.”
78
“You should have stopped him,” Rubens told Telach as they stood under the large screen at the front of the Art Room.
“I don’t have a magic wand,” snapped Telach. “Frankly, he’ll be o
f considerable help scouting the camp.”
“I don’t wish to argue that point, Ms. Telach. It’s the principle of who is running the mission.”
“Which is more important? Principle or results?”
Rubens took a step back. “Well put. But we must be mindful of both.”
“Mr. Rubens, Marie — you want to listen in to Tommy Karr,” interrupted Sandy Chafetz. “He found a housekeeper at the site where the Russian phone was used. She’s telling him about large crates she saw, and mechanical equipment.”
“Switch it on,” said Rubens.
A brittle voice filled the room, its words a mixture of Spanish and another tongue Rubens wasn’t familiar with. Rubens heard her describe large crates that had once been stacked at the side of the barn. One of the Art Room translators repeated what the woman had said in English. He was interrupted by Tommy Karr, asking for another piece of “whatever this great stuff is I’m eating.”
“She works for a general,” Chafetz said.
“Túcume?” asked Rubens. The area here was under his command.
“Tommy hasn’t had a chance to ask her specifically, but it has to be. She thinks he works for him.”
“So what happened to these crates?” Karr asked in English. The translator gave him the words in Spanish, and Karr repeated them.
“Perhaps Senor Stephan took them with him. He left a note saying the general sent a car for him Thursday night.”
“Señor Stephan?” asked Karr.
“Sí.”
“Did he have a last name?”
The woman began explaining that he didn’t use one.
“Tell Mr. Karr a last name isn’t crucial,” Rubens told Chafetz, guessing this had to be Stephan Babin — Sholk — regardless of what name he might or might not be using. “But a physical description would be most useful.”
79
Lia stood near the door of the house, straining to hear what was going on outside. The guerrilla leader was saying something to two men about the military patrols in the area. As she leaned close to the door to hear, the floor squeaked slightly and one of the guards turned around. He angrily shooed her back toward the center of the room.
“I just wanted to know if I could get some food,” she told him. “I’m hungry.”
The man replied in Spanish that she would do as she was told or she would have a diet of lead. Lia went back and sat at the table.
“Could you make anything out?” she whispered to Rockman.
“They were talking about the military unit by the crash site. Your friend the commander is sending more men to reinforce the people tracking the soldiers. The guards don’t seem to understand why the army doesn’t surrender and join the revolution,” said Rockman. “They killed most of the small unit that rescued you near the helicopter because they wouldn’t give up. The commander used a lot of Maoist rant Called each other ‘comrade’ and all that crap. I thought I was in a time warp.”
“They say anything about me?”
“Not that we could pick up. They don’t seem to think you’re important.”
“Story of my life.”
“We’ll take you tonight. Ought to be pretty easy. Charlie’s headed in your direction.”
“Charlie?”
“He’s going to scout for the paramilitary team. He’ll be on the ground any minute now. We’re going to set up the paramilitary team so they can come in quickly if there’s a problem, but like I said, we’ll wait until nightfall, when things will be easier to pull off.”
“I thought he was way up north with Tommy?”
“Charlie heard what happened and was worried about you, so he decided to help out,” said Rockman. “Tommy said he didn’t need him.”
“I don’t need him, either.”
I should never have told him I was scared, she thought. The panic in the bank vault was a freak thing. She didn’t need to be rescued or looked after.
Especially by Charlie Dean. She could take care of herself.
“Lia? You sound like you’re mad at him.”
“I’m all right.”
She could get out of here herself, whenever she wanted. She still had her pistol. It would not be difficult to shoot the two guards at the door, grab one of their rifles, and then run into the woods nearby.
The gunshots would alert the others. And she didn’t have the voter cards, which were still hidden in the briefcase.
As she pondered a way of retrieving them, a man she hadn’t seen before came into the hut carrying a basket. He set the basket at the edge of the table and pushed it toward her. Then he quickly retreated, as if he might catch germs from being in the same room with her.
“Wait!” said Lia in Spanish.
The man froze.
“What is this?”
“Food.” The man was large, nearly as big as Tommy Karr, but he seemed puzzled, as if he didn’t quite understand her simple question.
“I want to speak to Paolo,” Lia told him. “The commander. You understand?”
He nodded hesitantly.
“Go ahead; you can go,” Lia said.
The basket contained two small loaves of bread. Though she was hungry, Lia didn’t trust the guerrillas enough to eat it. Five minutes later, the guerrilla leader appeared in the doorway.
“There’s a problem?” he asked.
“My computer. I would like to work.”
“We can’t spare the electricity. We have to generate our own.”
“It has a battery.”
“I’m sorry.” He started to leave.
“You’re stealing my laptop?”
The accusation of theft apparently stung, for the guerrilla turned around swiftly. “The revolution must make use of the resources it needs.”
“To do what? Blow up Lima?”
“That bomb is not ours,” he said. “This is a plot by the army to discredit us. The general of that unit — he is a notorious reactionary. He’s the one you should denounce.”
“Ask him how he knows it’s not a guerrilla weapon,” said Rubens, coming on the line from the Art Room.
“You told me you weren’t very important,” said Lia. “How would you know whether the bomb was real or not?”
“We don’t have nuclear weapons.”
“Tell him it came from Russia,” said Rubens. “See what he says.”
“The bomb is Russian, isn’t it?” said Lia. “The UN people think so.”
“Russia gave up the revolution long ago.”
“There are still communists there. And people who would sell anything.”
“Where would we get the money for it?”
“Ask him for some definite proof,” said Rubens. “Tell him you’ll tell the world — that the guerrillas are being libeled and you want to help.”
Come here and tell him that yourself, thought Lia. “The world thinks you’re murderers.”
“I can’t do anything about that. This is another government plot.”
“What about the post office takeover in Lima the other day?” asked Rubens.
“You tried to take over a post office in Lima—”
“I did? No. And no member of our movement did. That was a government plot as well.”
“Why do you say that? Are post offices off-limits?”
The rebel leader didn’t respond.
“The post office takeover would have to be approved by the rebels’ governing council,” said Rubens. “And he’s on it.”
“You think of yourself as Robin Hood, don’t you?” said Lia. “Take from the rich, give to the poor.”
“That’s not a bad philosophy,” said the guerrilla.
“So you did rob the post office?”
“First of all, the post office was not robbed. It was taken over. It was a political action. So you can’t accuse whoever did it of being thieves. Second of all, the men there surrendered. That on its face shows they were not members of the New Path. We would never surrender. We don’t have to steal,” added the guerrilla. �
�We have better ways of getting money.”
“Like selling drugs?”
“That was our fathers’ mistake.” The rebel leader turned on his heel.
“I’d like my briefcase back at least. You can have the laptop.” said Lia. “My mother gave me it when I left for college. Or does the revolution need that, too?”
The guerrilla left the hut without answering.
“Very good, Lia,” said Rubens.
“He could be lying,” she told him.
“Yes, certainly. His name is Paul Servico. He did go to Cambridge, incidentally, but dropped out three years ago. He came back to Peru and organized the New Path. His father was a member of the Shining Path, as was his uncle. Both were executed by the government.”
Lia leaned back in the chair. “What do you want me to do?”
“Stay safe, at the moment. Mr. Dean is nearby. The assault team is prepared to retrieve you as soon as it’s dark, sooner if necessary. Please, do not put yourself in any greater danger,” he added. “I mean that sincerely.”
She knew that he did, but she’d always thought it curious that his tone became even colder and more formal when he said it. Rubens was not a “touchy-feely” kind of guy. This was reassuring in an odd way; his emotional distance somehow made him seem more reliable.
“I’m fine, Mr. Rubens,” she told him. “Or I wouldn’t be here in the first place. Right?”
“Very well.”
The guerrilla who had brought her food reappeared at the door, carrying her briefcase. Lia got up from the chair to take it; the man held it out to her tentatively.
“I’m not going to bite,” she told him, but as soon as she took hold of the strap, he fled.
The laptop wasn’t in the case, but the card reader and her notebooks were. Lia opened the case and ran her hand down the lining; it hadn’t been ripped open and the cards were still inside.
Payback db-4 Page 23