Payback

27

After getting into the car, Fernandez had been shunted in a different direction by soldiers who arrived to quell the disturbance. Sure that he had lost Lia forever, he spent the two hours they were separated alternately roaming the streets and calling everyone he could think of to help look for her. By the time Lia finally caught up to him at the election commission’s temporary Lima offices, he was on the verge of having a nervous breakdown. He greeted her as if she had survived an earthquake, blaming himself for abandoning her.

The Peruvian army had moved in and shut down the center of the city. Order had been quickly restored — it had never really been threatened — but the police found themselves besieged on all sides. The media accepted the allegations that the police had fired into the crowd and another demonstration had spontaneously erupted a few blocks away from the first.

The UN delegation had decided to push up a scheduled tour of Cusco, the major city to the south. They had boarded a hastily chartered aircraft and left Lima, hoping to keep themselves from becoming the focus of any more attention. That left the local staff to try to deal with the press. Even Fernandez’s voice mail was overwhelmed with requests for comments.

“You should tell them it’s definitely a setup,” Lia said. “The police weren’t involved.”

“The gunmen were able to get very close.”

“So were we.”

After a few minutes of arguing, Lia realized that having him say nothing was better than the alternative. She watched TV accounts of the disturbances for an hour or so. Several thousand people blocked off Javier Prado Avenue, a main thoroughfare in the Lince section of the capital, but there was no violence. In the other parts of town the crowds were much smaller and just as peaceful. Traffic was hopelessly snarled, but that was a normal state of affairs in Lima.

By early evening even the most breathless television commentator was saying that the city had returned to normal. The incident’s effect on the election was already being measured; it was generally agreed that the disturbance would harm the vice president, who was seen as the government’s candidate and therefore connected to the police. Victor Imberbe of the Peruvian Centrists had already given a press conference denouncing the violence, though he was careful not to directly criticize the police force.

He had a round, almost cherry-red face, with slicked-back blond hair. He had the smooth patter of a host on an infomercial. Lia started shaking her head as she watched him talking to an interviewer.

“Don’t do that,” said one of the UN people.

“Don’t do what?”

“We have to be neutral.”

“I can’t shake my head?”

“Here, we are among friends, but elsewhere, you never know who may see you. We have to be neutral.”

“Three people died. Five were wounded,” said Lia. “We have to be neutral.”

“The election—”

“Fine.” She got up.

“What’s wrong?” asked Fernandez, coming over.

“I think I’m going to call it a day,” she told him. “I’m going back to my hotel.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I do. My work is done for the day.”

“What I meant was, you should stay here where we have some protection.”

The UN had hired security guards to protect the election workers; the men were from Spain and Portugal, to help ensure that they could be trusted.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Maybe we could have dinner first?”

“Another time.”