Payback

99

Túcume’s first hint that the army had moved against him came when Captain Chimor failed to answer either the phone at the hotel or his secure satellite phone. Still, the general remained so focused on his morning tasks that he did not truly sense the danger until his three-car motorcade turned onto the road near the restaurant where he was to meet Aznar’s Argentinean speechwriter, Geraldo Stein. Túcume caught sight of two large olive-drab buses, typically used to cart soldiers around. He rapped his knuckles on the glass divider to the front of the car and told his driver not to stop. Then he called Stein on his civilian cell phone.

“Aznar’s denouncing you,” said Stein, who answered on the first ring. “The bodyguards you hired have been dismissed. Don’t call me.”

The line went dead.

Stein was on his payroll, and hanging up on him was an incredible insult. It was also completely out of character for the Argentinean, whose prose was florid but whose actions were normally timid. The only explanation was that things were much worse than Túcume could have supposed.

Aznar denounce him?

That seemed impossible. It was impossible. He told the driver to take him to Plaza San Martin, a large downtown park where Aznar was scheduled to hold a rally. As they approached the area, Túcume was amazed — the streets were packed with people rushing to hear the presidential candidate. Supporters with signs clogged the streets, and the daily gridlock was several times worse than normal. Finally there was no question of forging ahead and Túcume decided to get out of the car. With his six bodyguards — he’d decided on the precaution before he knew there was real trouble — he began threading his way forward on Jirón Belén, wading through the flood of Peruvians.

Ordinarily his uniform would have engendered a certain respect and distance, but today he might have been wearing a peddler’s rags for all the deference he received. They were still two blocks from the park and quite a way from the actual rally when the candidate’s high-pitched voice reached Túcume’s ears through a set of outdoor speakers set up on the streets nearby. The opening was pure Stein — thanking the people for their faith, invoking the past, and then looking toward the future, all in the space of two sentences. Even Túcume, who had heard the basic formula many times, was stirred.

But with the third sentence, the tone changed abruptly. For the first time, Túcume heard his own name mentioned.

Not as a hero but as a blackmailer and villain.

“He came to me not a week ago, threatening to ruin me unless I went along with him, which I would not do. And when I told him this, he hinted that all Peru would bow to him soon. He did not spell it out, but I realize now that he was speaking of this bomb he claims to have wrested from the guerrillas’ hands. I suspect he has made demands to all of the other candidates — let them come forward and admit it….

“I tell you what I believe, though as yet there is no proof: General Túcume has been working with these guerrillas all along. Tell me, friends: Why has a puny guerrilla group not been defeated despite two years of pursuit? How could a man who vanquished Ecuador not defeat a dozen lawless guerrillas? He must be stopped, and stopped now. I call on the other candidates to join me — I call on the government to join me. We stand as one against this general. If this is not a coup by one general, let the army prove its goodwill by arresting him and seizing his weapon. It belongs to the people of Peru, not a blackmailing general who clearly is planning a coup….”

Each word felt like a hot poker jabbed against Túcume’s temple. They were lies, incredible lies!

But the crowd sopped them up, roaring approval.

Túcume raged, but there was no place to vent his anger. Even the speakers were out of sight, a block or more away.

“We must seize this weapon as we seize the future,” continued Aznar. “We will not be blackmailed by the past. The people of Peru move onward!”

Túcume changed direction as the crowd continued to erupt with cheers. Fear mixed with anger, true fear — he had miscalculated badly; utterly surprised by Aznar’s betrayal, Túcume had no plan to deal with it. The only thing he could do was retreat.

As he reached the block where he had left his car, he saw a phalanx of green uniforms surrounding it.

Was he to be arrested? On what charges?

Maduro wouldn’t need charges. Any lie would be believed, as Aznar was now showing.

Cursing, Túcume quickened his pace and reached into his jacket for the small pistol he carried for protection; for the first time in his life he thought of using the gun on himself.

He dismissed the idea and continued moving. A half block later, his satellite phone rang. He took it from his belt, but then hesitated, wondering if it was a trap: the phone might be used to locate him.

I am not a coward, he told himself, and he pressed the receive button and held the phone to his ear.

“They’ve betrayed you. The Americans have pressured them, and they have betrayed you.”

“Stephan?”

“Try to get to Avenida Roosevelt where it meets Cotabamas. Don’t go to your hotel.”

“Stephan?”

The line went dead.

Babin hung up the pay phone, then crutched back to the cab. Soldiers and policemen were flooding all over the city. The radio in the cab reported that presidential candidate Aznar — now declared the “favorite” for president — had denounced Túcume, charging that he had tried to blackmail him by making illegal contributions without his knowledge. It was believed that this had happened to other candidates as well, the commentator added, but that Aznar was the only one with the courage to admit it.

This was only the tip of the iceberg for this general, continued the commentator, mixing speculation with malicious lies.

People would believe what they wanted to believe, Babin thought to himself. Once they had chosen a villain, they would weave whatever facts supported their view. Intellect followed emotion, not the other way around.

In his case as well, perhaps. Babin told himself that he was trying to help the general because he needed him to get out of Peru. Even if the situation had not been so chaotic in the city, Babin’s plan to get the gun and phone and leave the country was fraught with peril. Túcume would be grateful at worst, willing perhaps to give Babin money or the names of others who could help. And at best, Túcume would be a useful ally, certainly better than a driver selected largely by chance.

But Babin’s decision went beyond the logic. Not only did he feel that he owed the general a debt; Babin was sorry for him as well. Túcume had succumbed to the same flaw Babin had: he had trusted people he should not. He had failed to be paranoid enough.

“We’ll wait here only a half hour,” Babin told the cab-driver. But it was forty-five minutes before Babin spotted the general, and in truth he might have waited until nightfall.

“My men?” Túcume said as he approached the taxi, gesturing to his bodyguards.

“If you think they’re loyal to you, release them,” said Babin. “Otherwise, shoot them. Better yet, shoot them no matter what you think.”

Túcume frowned. He turned back and waved the men away before he got into the cab.