Payback

40

Drinking her coffee in the hotel’s balcony restaurant while waiting for Fernandez to meet her, Lia watched through the window as the rest of Lima woke. The city reminded her of Los Angeles, mixing tall buildings and highways against the backdrop of the sea nearby. The contrasts were much sharper here, the colors riotous; the wall on the building across the way jammed a violent pink against the brightest yellow she’d ever seen. But the same wild mix of dreams, wealth, and desperation that made Los Angeles such a vibrant place filled Lima’s streets. From where she sat, Lia could see seven or eight cranes rising in the distance, towering over new buildings. On the street below, men and women recently arrived from the highlands to the east walked swiftly past, bundled in clothes that could have been woven four hundred years before.

Why were these people struggling for democracy, Lia wondered. Why were their governments so chronically corrupt? Was history to blame? Had the Spanish planted some irredeemable seed here that prevented men from doing the right thing?

“Lost in thought?” said Fernandez, startling her as he arrived.

“Good morning,” said Lia coldly.

“Yesterday’s storm has blown over, at least for the moment,” said Fernandez. “The president is holding a news conference this morning to ask for a full investigation and to pledge free elections. We think that will help. There’s a march to the main police station scheduled for this afternoon. I guess that will tell us how this is going to go.”

“The police were set up,” Lia told him.

“Latin America is different than your country and mine,” said Fernandez. He nodded as the waiter came with his coffee. “They don’t have the same traditions here.”

Lia didn’t feel like arguing.

“We’ll visit warehouse number two to test the voting machines after breakfast,” she told him. “Then we’ll go back to the vault and finish the checks on the voter cards.”

“Oh.”

“Problem?” asked Lia, pretending to be surprised.

“We decided to rearrange the shipment schedule because of the, uh, problems yesterday. The cards are being shipped out right now.”

“Peachy.”

“Excuse me?”

Fernandez didn’t understand the expression, and Lia didn’t bother translating it.

“It’s not a problem,” she told him. “I’ll finish the machines here and then go to the regional centers. I’ll need a list of the sites and where the envelopes are going so I can use the same test pattern.”

“I don’t know if we have that,” said Fernandez. “Let me check.”

He took out a cell phone and called over to the commission’s headquarters. Lia knew that they did have a list — the Art Room had already obtained it. She wondered what it would mean if he told her it didn’t exist — would the logical conclusion be that he was somehow involved in a scam?

“We can get it,” he told her, glancing up from the phone. Then he went back to talking with his co-worker in rapid Spanish, complaining about all of the bureaucratic problems they had to deal with.

“Arranging transportation may be a problem,” said Fernandez when he hung up. “Depending on where you’re going. Near the coast isn’t a problem, but once you’re up into the mountains, it can get rather tortuous.”

“I thought there were helicopters available.”

“There are, and we will try to get one for you. But between the weather and altitude, they sometimes can’t physically make it there and back, not safely.”

“Well, hopefully we can figure it out,” said Lia. “Should we order? I’d like to get going.”