Payback

35

By the time General Túcume arrived at the house under the Inca ruins, it was nearly midnight. He had stopped earlier at his divisional headquarters and was very tired from the long day. But the sight of Stephan Babin standing before the house filled Túcume with energy. The crippled Russian arms dealer looked like an Inca wraith emerging from the Spaniards’ mansion — the ghost of Tupac Amaru, just after he slaughtered the inhabitants in revenge.

“You return, General,” said Babin, crutching his way toward him. “Later than I expected, but good evening nonetheless.”

“And to you. Everything is ready?”

“Yes. The mock warhead is in the barn. Be careful who sees it. It may not fool a well-trained eye — or a sophisticated radiation meter. Three meters. Remember. And your devices must not be given up; anyone recalibrating them is very likely to realize they have been tampered with.”

“I intend to be most cautious.”

When Túcume had discovered the warhead along with Babin in the wreckage of the plane three years before, he had sensed it would allow him to fulfill his dream of taking his rightful place at the head of a restored Inca Empire. But within a few hours he realized something else — the bomb was as much of a liability as it was an asset. There was no possibility of using it as a weapon; his enemies lived too close to his own people, and in any event Túcume knew that no leader who destroyed his own country would be followed. The weapon could be used as a bargaining chip only, and even then the circumstances had to be just right.

Once the warhead was revealed, any number of things would happen. Questions would be asked about where it came from. The general staff would assert their authority to take control of it. The Americans, who according to Babin did not know it existed, would realize their mistake and try to recover it. So Túcume had to construct exactly the right scenario for its “discovery”—one where he would not be responsible for its past.

The plot he had arrived at, with Babin’s help, solved many problems. The weapon would be “discovered” in the rebels’ possession in a remote area. Its discovery right before the election would help Túcume’s candidate win. After the election, Aznar would appoint him to head the military — a natural appointment, given his record against Ecuador and the guerrillas — and any other complications could be smoothed out.

However, the plan put the warhead at risk. First because the area where it would be “discovered” had to be a dangerous area, and in order for the operation to appear authentic he could not send troops to guard the bomb ahead of time. And second, because there was bound to be at least some jealousy among the Spaniards who controlled the general staff, who would eventually order the warhead delivered to them.

It was Babin who had supplied the answer. He had crafted a dummy warhead, which to Túcume at least looked precisely like the real one. That would be the one discovered and transported. The genuine bomb would stay hidden in the barn where it had always been; at some point in the future when it was safe — and necessary — the warhead would be brought out from hiding.

“How is your election going?” asked Babin.

“We will win,” said Túcume. “Events are moving. The people will see the way they must vote.”

“You’re an optimist, General. Democracy is rule by the mob, the lowest of the low. I’d never trust them.”

“One uses what one can,” said Túcume. “Just as the Spanish made use of disease, I make use of democracy. A wise man finds weapons at his feet.”

“Is that one of your Inca proverbs?”

“It could be, couldn’t it?”

Túcume smiled at the Russian. Túcume did trust the people, the natives, his people — he trusted them because he trusted their spirit. He’d told Babin this before, but the Russian did not understand.

“I’m going to take a nap now, Stephan. The truck for the warhead will be here in a few hours. Good night to you.”

Túcume turned and walked toward the main house, aware that Babin’s eyes would follow him until he disappeared into the blackness.