Payback

125

Túcume pulled the van to the side of the street. They were near or inside the city borders, but he had no idea where precisely they were. Babin’s directions were confused and confusing.

“I need to rest,” Túcume told Babin. “Let’s stop here awhile.”

“No.”

“I need to rest,” he said. The voice seemed loud even to him. And stronger.

It was his voice. He’d lost it but now had it back.

A deep anger welled up within him. When he looked down at his fingers on the wheel, he saw that his knuckles were white.

“Relax,” said Babin. “We can rest. Let’s find a place for coffee.”

He should have gone with the girl, Túcume thought. She’d been his chance to escape.

Hadn’t he made that same decision years before, when he chose to pursue his dream of leading the people? He had given up everything for it.

What did he have to show for his decision now? Bitterness. The sum of who he was.

No. He was the leader he had hoped to become. He had made mistakes — fatal mistakes, errors that came from his own character. He had trusted people who should not have been trusted. But in every other way, he had made himself the leader he had wanted to be. He was an Inca.

Would an Inca have sought blind revenge, even in defeat? In triumph they were generous. In defeat…

Would his namesake have called on the sun god to obliterate the earth so that his wrath might be appeased?

“General, coffee and something to eat,” suggested Babin. “We passed a small restaurant not too long ago. A diner, the Yankees call it.”

“Coffee would be a good idea,” Túcume said. “Direct me.”