“What are you doing, Shar?”
She blinked at me innocently, “Lucas said, ‘Give my love to Poppy.’ I was just trying to follow instructions.”
I rolled my eyes as I got to my feet and pulled on Roomie’s pack, but I couldn’t stop smiling. “Let’s go, you nutter. We have a lot of people to talk to today.”
11
We showed Mateo’s picture to a few groups with no recognition as Sharra led us to work our way into the small crowd surrounding the musicians playing against the far wall. It was the same group that had been playing last night. This was probably their regular spot, which could make them a good source for information about people who had passed through.
We stood near the front of the audience and I listened to the band with pleasure. They were very good. After a few instrumental numbers, the violinist set her instrument on a stand and began singing as she moved through the crowd with a small bucket in hand to collect any payment people were willing to offer. Most people dropped a coin or two into the bucket. A few tucked small bills inside. When the singer came close enough, Sharra stretched her hand over the bucket. She turned her hand just enough to let the singer get a clear view of the cash; the bill was large enough to ensure she would take notice of us, but not so large as to immediately make us a target for robbery by others in the market.
The singer saw the amount and turned to look Sharra in the face. Sharra smiled warmly at her, and she returned the smile with a gracious nod of thanks before continuing her walk through the audience in search of more tips. We stayed through the end of the song before beginning a full round of the market.
We visited stall after stall, showing owners and customers our sketch of Mateo and asking about him with no luck. A couple of people thought they might have seen him, but had no information about a current location.
We took a break for lunch. Roomie squirmed out of his pack and climbed into my lap, not for affection, but to try and steal my lunch. I pushed him gently to the ground but broke off a piece of my veggie patty for him. He looked quite pleased with himself until he took his first bite. His expression immediately registered regret and he walked away, leaving the rest of the bite on the ground. I imagined he was going to go looking for something better. I was sure he’d have no trouble finding us later.
After lunch we returned to asking around for sightings of Mateo. I was also keeping my eye out for anyone who might be there to represent Martín, but no one offered us the magic word. After a couple of hours, we bought a small snack and sat at a little table to rest. I was about to suggest that we start another round of the market when the third chair at the table scraped back. The singer we’d seen earlier dropped into the empty seat, ready to chat.
“It’s been a while, Sharra. I haven’t seen you in months.”
“We’ve been keeping to ourselves a little,” Sharra agreed, “but I’m in for a short visit. Looking for someone.”
“Mmm-hmm. Well, you know I see a lot of things around here. I just might be able to help you out.” The singer laid her hand palm-up on the tabletop, indicating that she would need to be paid for any information she shared.
“I’m not paying you just to ask a question,” Sharra informed her, “but I’m willing to pay for good info. I’ll ask my questions, and I’ll gladly pay if you can give me answers.”
“Fair enough,” the singer agreed, taking her hand off the table and leaning back in her chair with her arms crossed. “What are you looking for?”
“A man named Mateo Consuelas.” I pulled the small sketch from my pocket and showed it to the singer.
“Mateo used to work with us before he came to Goodland,” Sharra said. “We’re just trying to track him down and see what he’s been up to since he left us.”
Not by the flicker of an eyelash did the singer betray any recognition; nevertheless, I got the distinct impression that she knew something about Mateo. “I can talk to some people,” she offered. “They might be able to tell me more.” The hand came out again, and this time Sharra pulled a very small wad of bills from her pocket and dropped it into her open palm. The singer’s hand stayed where it was.
Sharra turned to me, “I’m tapped,” she told me. “Do you have anything left?”
I checked my pockets. We were running short on cash, but Sharra had assured me the pack had supplies stashed around the city, including cash, if we needed to get more, so I added most of my remaining bills to the small pile. The singer looked at it through narrowed eyes for a few moments and then closed her hand over the money. “Meet me here tonight when they start turning the lights down.”
She stood but paused before walking away. “What happened?” she asked me, tapping her finger against her face to ask about the bruise that darkened my temple.
I smiled fiercely. “Some guys thought we looked like an easy target. We taught them otherwise.”
“Oh? Did they survive the lesson?”
Sharra grinned. “I’m sure they’re a little sore, but everyone was breathing when we left them tied up in a tunnel to think about what they’d done.”
The singer looked pleased. “Good,” she said. “The Warren may seem lawless and dangerous, and sometimes it is, but we don’t put up with bully-boys attacking women. Sounds like they got what was coming to them.” With a satisfied smile, she turned and strolled away.
12
We moved to another section of the market for the rest of the afternoon, but had no better luck. As the stall vendors started packing up for the night and turning off their display lights, we headed back for the center market to meet the singer.
I was starting to feel like we’d been stood up by Martín’s people, but I kept my eyes peeled for anyone who might be my contact. If the singer came through with information about Mateo, we’d have to abandon the search for Martín’s group until we’d tracked down Mateo.
We sat at another small table, nibbling the sticky buns that were all we could afford tonight. Roomie had worked his way around the market to join us. For such a large cat, he had a great talent for staying unnoticed in the shadows. No one had seemed to notice the huge feline prowling through the marketplace. I petted Roomie as we sat waiting; from the feel of his bulging stomach beneath his sleek fur, he’d eaten better than we had tonight.
The band was playing in their usual location, but the singer didn’t so much as glance our way until two men approached the little group. They talked with her for a moment, and I saw her point us out. Money discreetly changed hands before the men started across the market toward us. Apparently, the singer had managed to collect a fee from both sides in this little transaction.
I nudged Sharra’s foot with mine and she nodded. She had seen them coming, too. The market was not crowded at this time of day, and it took only a few minutes for them to reach our table. They sat without asking permission or making introductions, and we regarded each other in silence.
My eyes widened in shock as I suddenly recognized one of the men in front of me. I could hardly be faulted for not placing him immediately. After all the last time I’d seen him, he’d been a stocky man with distinguished salt and pepper hair, anchoring the national nightly news broadcast.
Now that he was no longer behind the holo desk, he wore a battered sunjacket over a nondescript tee and jeans rather than his habitual three-piece suit. His face was gaunt from sudden weight loss, the stylish salt-and-pepper hair had gone over to gray badly in need of a trim, and his usually clean-shaven face sported an untidy beard.
“Martín?” I asked in surprise, careful to place the emphasis properly on the second syllable of his name rather than the first. He’d always been very particular about that. “It’s so good to see you! Let me introduce you to my Roomie, Sharra.”
Obviously surprised to be recognized, he stared at me intently, trying to figure out if he should know me. My inclusion of the code word gave him the clue he needed and his jaw dropped as he looked past my much sleeker physique, the wildly spiked hair, and the in
ked design covering half my face.
He turned to his friend, “Rob, wait over there and make sure no one can listen in on us, would you?” He watched until his companion had moved out of earshot, glanced around to be sure no one else was around us, and leaned in close.
“Poppy?” he breathed. “Can it really be you?”
“It really is me,” I assured him with a wide smile. “What are you doing here, Martín?”
He shook his head as he spoke, keeping his voice quiet so no one near us could overhear his words. “‘What am I doing here?’ she asks. As if my being here is any kind of surprise in comparison to finding the First Lady, who is dead by all accounts, hanging out in the Warren.”
He shook his head again, then reached out to clasp my shoulder with a strong hand. “My dear girl,” he said. “I very honestly thought you were dead. When we never heard from you after those messages from the library …”
“I destroyed my tablet so the messages couldn’t be traced,” I explained, “and I haven’t been in a position to pick up a new one.”
I turned to Sharra. “Martín, this is my friend Sharra. She has helped me hide and survive since I had to leave Goodland so abruptly. And Sharra, this is Martín de Silva. His daughter Letty was my good friend, and he was the head anchor for the nightly news holo. When I witnessed … what I saw … I messaged Letty to tell her what I’d seen and told her to get the information to Martín. I had hoped he would be able to release the information.”
His lips twisted in disgust. “I tried, dear. I tried to get it out over the air the next day, but President Rodriguez already had his hands everywhere. Before I got more than a minute and a half into my report, the feed was cut and there were mechs coming through the door to grab me. I ran for my life.
“I’ve been moving around ever since, spreading the word any way I can. It takes a lot longer without a national news holo at my disposal.”
I bit my lip. “I’m sorry. I never meant to put you in danger or ruin your life.”
“It’s worth it,” Martín assured me. “I’m a newsman to my core, and I believe in truth. I would rather be scratching out a living in the Warren while I spread the truth than living a life of luxury and perpetuating the lies of this administration. I’m honored that you trusted me enough to send me your story.”
“Thank you,” I whispered, touched by his words. “What about Letty? Is she living here, too?”
I couldn’t picture pampered, pretty Letty in her couture clothing and ridiculously elaborate shoes scraping out an austere life in the Warren. Of course, I imagined many people would have thought the same of me.
“She’s fine,” he told me with a reassuring smile. “Letty and her mother were on a flight to Berlin about five minutes after reading your messages, just in case the texts were traced. They’re living safely in Europe.
“I’ve tried to work through them to get the truth out overseas, but I’ve been blocked at every turn. That non-interference clause in the treaties that ended the war is interpreted very strictly, and even allowing me to release the texts via the news media in Europe was seen as a violation. The reports were scrubbed from every official newscast in the European Union.
“I have contacts in the major news orgs of every country in the world, and no one would broadcast it for fear of that clause and the penalties for violating it. I finally decided that the only way to accomplish anything was to come back here and work from within.”
I was relieved to hear that Letty hadn’t suffered for being my messenger but felt terrible for the enormous change in Martín’s circumstances. He had been a wealthy, respected professional, a celebrity even, since almost everyone in the country saw him nightly on the evening news. Now, he was scratching out a living in the Warren.
Seeing my remorse, he reached out to squeeze my hand on the table. “Don’t blame yourself for anything, Poppy. I’ve made my own choices to arrive at this place, and I’m happy with those choices.”
I squeezed Martín’s hand in return, silent as I fought back my guilt and struggled to put the blame back on Cruz and his co-conspirators where it truly belonged. I took a deep breath and let go of Martín’s hand before sitting back in my chair.
“So that’s what you’re doing here in the Warren … but what are you doing here in the market looking for me this morning? You weren’t looking for me specifically, because you were surprised to recognize me, so I’m thinking you’re here because you heard someone was looking for Mateo Consuelas?”
“Yes, well, I was killing two birds with one stone, as the saying goes. I had received a message that someone from the former administration wanted to speak with me, so I was going to send someone to make that meet. Then as word got around the Warren that someone was looking for Mateo, people started letting me know. Mateo has been a member of my organization for the last several months. So I decided to come myself and see who was looking for him.
“Mateo has been very valuable in helping me make contacts. As you know, I have a lot of contacts in the government and in professional communities, but he has been able to provide introductions to … hmmm … another level of contacts.”
“Yeah, my contacts,” Sharra muttered, scowling. “He only knows them from coming along on some of my scouting trips.” I patted her hand as Martín continued.
“A couple of weeks ago, Mateo became infuriated at the slow pace of our rebellion and insisted that it was time to send a strong message. He disappeared for a time and then reappeared with a supply of explosive gas and elaborate plans to take out President Rodriguez’s limo as it travels through the city. We attempted to talk sense into him, but he got angry and blockaded himself. He won’t listen to any of our arguments.”
His sigh was heavy. “It’s certainly not that I want to protect Rodriguez, but the plan has far too much potential for collateral damage. If the attempt were unsuccessful, Rodriguez would retaliate swiftly and brutally, again, probably impacting many innocent people. And even if the attack were successful in taking out Rodriguez himself, it wouldn’t eliminate the others in his core group. They would simply install someone else as the titular leader and carry on.”
I nodded. “We’re looking for him for pretty much the same reasons. We’re afraid that any attack might be traced back to … where we live. Cruz could kill everyone there without a second thought if he found out where Mateo had come from, and even more so if Mateo was captured and told Cruz that I’d been hiding there.”
Martín didn’t bat an eye at my reluctance to tell him where I’d been. He understood the need for secrecy, even with people I trusted.
“Well, my dear, why don’t I take you to Mateo, and you can try your hand at talking him down?”
Sharra and I exchanged looks. Diplomacy hadn’t really been our plan; I was much more comfortable with our original idea of capturing Mateo and kicking his butt all the way back to Denver.
“We can give it a shot,” Sharra offered. “And when he doesn’t listen to us, we get to go back to plan A.”
I nodded in agreement, already looking forward to plan A.
13
Martín waved to his companion to signal him to rejoin our little group. “Rob, go back to headquarters and let them know that I’m dealing with the Mateo situation. Do me a favor and don’t share any more detail than that, hmm?”
Martín gave Rob a few last instructions, then embraced him with one of those half handshake, half back-slap moves that guys use when they feel like a hug isn’t manly enough. Rob disappeared into the growing crowds in the market square as Sharra and I gathered our packs and prepared to follow Martín to Mateo’s last-known location.
Roomie joined us as we crossed the market area and headed into one of the tunnels that snaked under the city. Martín did a double-take when the big cat fell into step beside me but didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he gave us a rundown on what he knew about Mateo’s plans as we walked.
“Mateo has barricaded himself inside a stretch of tunnels r
unning beneath Goodland Boulevard. That’s a wide street that leads from the White House gates out to the rest of the city,” he added as an aside to Sharra.
“The Capitol building and the Supreme Court building are also located along the boulevard, though neither is really in use now that President Rodriguez has largely taken control of those functions for himself. But even with that, it’s a very busy street. It’s lined on both sides by various offices, small businesses, and restaurants, so it’s crowded throughout the day. Unlike most of the other districts, where people tend to stay inside and try to avoid notice, this area is still quite a hub of activity.
“Since Goodland Boulevard is the main route in and out of the White House, the Presidential limo travels the street every time the President leaves the White House. Mateo’s plan is to set off an explosion on the street as the limo drives through, eliminating Rodriguez from the picture.”
I was familiar with that street, of course, having lived in the White House for so many years. Picturing the scenario Martín described, I knew that it was entirely possible that Mateo could achieve his goal if he was able to set off a charge beneath the road as Cruz traveled overhead. The tunnels under the area near the White House were supposed to be secured, but obviously Mateo had found his way through the various barriers.
“How explosive is this gas he’s brought in?” Martín asked anxiously. “How much damage can it do?”
I exchanged a helpless look with Sharra; she had no better guess than I did.
“We don’t know,” I admitted to Martín. “Our group,” I motioned to Sharra and myself, “hasn’t experimented with bottling it, so I’m not sure how that affects the potency. I can tell you that the gas is very volatile; it ignites pretty explosively in open air. From what I remember from my chemistry classes, I think that compressing the gas enough to bottle it would just increase the explosive potential.”
Into Light (Shadow and Light Book 2) Page 7