Payback

53

Stephan Babin laughed when he heard the news report. Túcume had added a delicious twist to his plan: not only had the army discovered that the terrorists possessed a nuclear weapon, but documents indicated that they had been in contact with the campaign director for Victor Imberbe — Victor Imbecile, as the general called him.

All across the country, people would be scampering through their garbage to find the government’s printed guides to the election. Vice President Ramon Ortez was unacceptable because he couldn’t protect Lima and had told the police to fire into a crowd of protestors. Imberbe was a terrorist.

Who could they turn to? Túcume’s chosen puppet, Hernando Aznar, of the Party of the Future.

Túcume had told Babin that Aznar would do much better than the polls showed, because he had strong support among the natives, who were rarely polled. Yesterday he had been within eight points of Imberbe officially; by the general’s rough estimate, this meant he was actually within four of the leader. By tomorrow morning, even the polls would show Aznar ahead.

Babin’s own plan was proceeding as well. The real warhead—his warhead — was aboard a ship that had left a few hours ago from Chimbote on the coast. Babin would meet the ship in Mexico. Then he would take the warhead on its final journey.

His satellite phone rang. Worried that the man who was to pick him up in the morning had been delayed, Babin answered quickly — and found himself talking to the general, not the soldier he had bribed to take him to the coast.

“Stephan, have you been listening to the news?” asked Túcume.

“Of course. Congratulations.”

“I owe you a great deal, my friend. After the election, you will have a villa, and a driver, and perhaps a girl or two to keep you company.”

“I’m touched.” said Babin.

“A driver is on his way. He’ll take you to the helicopter — we have a suite for you in Lima. No more exile. And I’ve arranged for new doctors. We are grateful people, Stephan.”

Babin didn’t know what to say.

“There were rebels in the area, and they struck just at the right time,” continued Túcume. “My ancestors protected me — I have never felt so optimistic. And you are the cause.”

“Perhaps I should stay here until after the election,” said Babin. “I don’t want the Americans putting two and two together.”

“Don’t worry about them,” said the general. “You’ll be safe with me in Lima.”

Babin had not foreseen this. Refusing the ride, that wasn’t an option; he couldn’t afford to do anything that would make the general suspicious. Shooting the driver or hiding — once Túcume realized something was wrong, Babin would have a difficult time escaping.

If he went to Lima, could he escape from there? Could he get to Ecuador and then Mexico, where the cargo container would land?

There was some leeway, but…

“Stephan, are you there?”

Babin heard a vehicle approaching. “I’m here, General.”

“My aide will take care of you. He should be there any minute.”

“I hear him.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you when I get to Lima.”

“Godspeed,” said Babin. “Godspeed.”