Payback

102

After Jackson got on the airplane, Dean went to a new hotel a mile away, got a room, and went to sleep. He slept so soundly that the Art Room became worried about him and finally had someone from the embassy go over and check on him. The woman they sent knocked on the door for so long that someone from hotel security was sent to investigate; the detective was just getting off the elevator when Dean finally opened the door.

“Charles Dean?” asked the woman.

“Yeah?”

“The embassy sent me. Are you OK?”

Dean saw the detective eyeing them suspiciously. “Come in,” he told her, pushing the door closed so he could undo the chain. He kept his gun behind his back as she came in, not sure who she was.

“What’s up?” he said to her, letting the door close.

“Someone back home wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“Who are you?”

“Lisa Tomari. I’m with the embassy.”

“Which means what?”

The woman glanced around the room, obviously trying to indicate to him that she was afraid it might be bugged.

“I got it already,” said Dean.

She was in her midtwenties, very pretty. Looking at her made him ache for Lia.

“I guess you should call home,” Tomari said. Her face blanched white; she’d finally realized he had a gun behind his hip.

“All right. Sit in the chair,” he told her.

He went and got the sat phone, using it rather than pulling on his shirt with the wiring for the com system. Sandy Chafetz answered immediately.

“You wanted me?” Dean asked.

“We hadn’t heard from you.”

“I was sleeping.”

“Can you talk now?”

“Somebody from the embassy is with me.”

“Tell you what — why don’t you go over to the embassy and we’ll update you there?” Chafetz said. “There’s a fresh ID and a credit card waiting for you. Don’t use the rental car; the Peruvian intelligence service has it staked out.”

“All right.”

Dean slapped off the phone.

“Can you give me a ride to the embassy?” Dean asked Tomari.

She nodded, her eyes still fixed on the pistol.

“Just a precaution,” he told her, putting it in his belt. “Let me take a shower first. All right?”

Dean was done in under five minutes. Tomari had flipped on the TV and was watching a news report. Dean went over and looked at the screen. Hernando Aznar was holding his hands over his head in victory.

“He won, huh?” said Dean.

“Yes, quite a surprise. This is from one of the celebrations last night,” Tomari said. “They had quite a celebration in Lima. People were partying in the streets. They really seem to like him.”

“Feel like some breakfast?”

“It’s six in the evening.”

“How about dinner then?”

“OK.”

“I’m not going to shoot you. Don’t worry.”

He could tell by the way she laughed that she was attracted or at least intrigued by him. If he was the kind of man who indulged in casual affairs, finding a way to bed her would not have been difficult. But he wasn’t that kind of man.

When they arrived at the embassy, the newly elected president was finishing a courtesy call to the U.S. ambassador. Aznar and the ambassador had just concluded a press conference, but the media continued to press him as he walked toward the door. Dean stood to the side, watching the politician make his way forward. He seemed even more tired than he had been the other day, fatigued, already weighed down by the office he had won. Yet when he stopped to give a statement and the television lights were flipped on, he straightened and seemed invigorated. His words were just as assured as they had been the other day when Dean saw him from the side of the stage.

“Peru’s election stands as an example to the rest of South America,” said Aznar in Spanish. “The people have been heard. My administration will work closely with the United States on economic issues, and to combat the spread of drugs. We will be more aggressive than our predecessors; I guarantee you that.”

Dean watched with a jaundiced eye, wondering how long it would be before Aznar fell back on the much easier line of America-bashing. The new president answered a few more questions, then pushed on.

He saw Dean as he came down the steps. After a moment’s hesitation, he came over to Dean.

“Tell your friend I won’t forget the service he’s done for me,” whispered Aznar.

Dean nodded, and Peru’s newly elected president moved on.

The embassy was packed with CIA officers, military people, and State Department experts. Dean collected his new ID and credit card, then called the Art Room using one of the secure lines in the communications center.

Telach filled him in, saying Jackson had gotten back safely and congratulating Dean on a good mission.

“What do I do next?” Dean asked.

“General Spielmorph is in charge of the task force that’s conducting the search. He’d like you to brief some Delta people at the embassy tonight; they’re heading north as soon as you’re done. They want to know about the area where the bomb was found.”

“I can go with them if they want.”

“At this point, they’re spearheading the search down there.”

“What about a recovery operation if there’s another bomb?”

“Again, that’s going to be a Delta mission most likely. Tommy and Lia are in country to help out. Mr. Rubens would like you back in the States.”

“Time to face the piper?”

“I’m sorry?”

“That’s all right, Marie. Tell me what flight you want me on, and then I’ll go find the Delta people.”