Payback

79

Lia stood near the door of the house, straining to hear what was going on outside. The guerrilla leader was saying something to two men about the military patrols in the area. As she leaned close to the door to hear, the floor squeaked slightly and one of the guards turned around. He angrily shooed her back toward the center of the room.

“I just wanted to know if I could get some food,” she told him. “I’m hungry.”

The man replied in Spanish that she would do as she was told or she would have a diet of lead. Lia went back and sat at the table.

“Could you make anything out?” she whispered to Rockman.

“They were talking about the military unit by the crash site. Your friend the commander is sending more men to reinforce the people tracking the soldiers. The guards don’t seem to understand why the army doesn’t surrender and join the revolution,” said Rockman. “They killed most of the small unit that rescued you near the helicopter because they wouldn’t give up. The commander used a lot of Maoist rant Called each other ‘comrade’ and all that crap. I thought I was in a time warp.”

“They say anything about me?”

“Not that we could pick up. They don’t seem to think you’re important.”

“Story of my life.”

“We’ll take you tonight. Ought to be pretty easy. Charlie’s headed in your direction.”

“Charlie?”

“He’s going to scout for the paramilitary team. He’ll be on the ground any minute now. We’re going to set up the paramilitary team so they can come in quickly if there’s a problem, but like I said, we’ll wait until nightfall, when things will be easier to pull off.”

“I thought he was way up north with Tommy?”

“Charlie heard what happened and was worried about you, so he decided to help out,” said Rockman. “Tommy said he didn’t need him.”

“I don’t need him, either.”

I should never have told him I was scared, she thought. The panic in the bank vault was a freak thing. She didn’t need to be rescued or looked after.

Especially by Charlie Dean. She could take care of herself.

“Lia? You sound like you’re mad at him.”

“I’m all right.”

She could get out of here herself, whenever she wanted. She still had her pistol. It would not be difficult to shoot the two guards at the door, grab one of their rifles, and then run into the woods nearby.

The gunshots would alert the others. And she didn’t have the voter cards, which were still hidden in the briefcase.

As she pondered a way of retrieving them, a man she hadn’t seen before came into the hut carrying a basket. He set the basket at the edge of the table and pushed it toward her. Then he quickly retreated, as if he might catch germs from being in the same room with her.

“Wait!” said Lia in Spanish.

The man froze.

“What is this?”

“Food.” The man was large, nearly as big as Tommy Karr, but he seemed puzzled, as if he didn’t quite understand her simple question.

“I want to speak to Paolo,” Lia told him. “The commander. You understand?”

He nodded hesitantly.

“Go ahead; you can go,” Lia said.

The basket contained two small loaves of bread. Though she was hungry, Lia didn’t trust the guerrillas enough to eat it. Five minutes later, the guerrilla leader appeared in the doorway.

“There’s a problem?” he asked.

“My computer. I would like to work.”

“We can’t spare the electricity. We have to generate our own.”

“It has a battery.”

“I’m sorry.” He started to leave.

“You’re stealing my laptop?”

The accusation of theft apparently stung, for the guerrilla turned around swiftly. “The revolution must make use of the resources it needs.”

“To do what? Blow up Lima?”

“That bomb is not ours,” he said. “This is a plot by the army to discredit us. The general of that unit — he is a notorious reactionary. He’s the one you should denounce.”

“Ask him how he knows it’s not a guerrilla weapon,” said Rubens, coming on the line from the Art Room.

“You told me you weren’t very important,” said Lia. “How would you know whether the bomb was real or not?”

“We don’t have nuclear weapons.”

“Tell him it came from Russia,” said Rubens. “See what he says.”

“The bomb is Russian, isn’t it?” said Lia. “The UN people think so.”

“Russia gave up the revolution long ago.”

“There are still communists there. And people who would sell anything.”

“Where would we get the money for it?”

“Ask him for some definite proof,” said Rubens. “Tell him you’ll tell the world — that the guerrillas are being libeled and you want to help.”

Come here and tell him that yourself, thought Lia. “The world thinks you’re murderers.”

“I can’t do anything about that. This is another government plot.”

“What about the post office takeover in Lima the other day?” asked Rubens.

“You tried to take over a post office in Lima—”

“I did? No. And no member of our movement did. That was a government plot as well.”

“Why do you say that? Are post offices off-limits?”

The rebel leader didn’t respond.

“The post office takeover would have to be approved by the rebels’ governing council,” said Rubens. “And he’s on it.”

“You think of yourself as Robin Hood, don’t you?” said Lia. “Take from the rich, give to the poor.”

“That’s not a bad philosophy,” said the guerrilla.

“So you did rob the post office?”

“First of all, the post office was not robbed. It was taken over. It was a political action. So you can’t accuse whoever did it of being thieves. Second of all, the men there surrendered. That on its face shows they were not members of the New Path. We would never surrender. We don’t have to steal,” added the guerrilla. “We have better ways of getting money.”

“Like selling drugs?”

“That was our fathers’ mistake.” The rebel leader turned on his heel.

“I’d like my briefcase back at least. You can have the laptop.” said Lia. “My mother gave me it when I left for college. Or does the revolution need that, too?”

The guerrilla left the hut without answering.

“Very good, Lia,” said Rubens.

“He could be lying,” she told him.

“Yes, certainly. His name is Paul Servico. He did go to Cambridge, incidentally, but dropped out three years ago. He came back to Peru and organized the New Path. His father was a member of the Shining Path, as was his uncle. Both were executed by the government.”

Lia leaned back in the chair. “What do you want me to do?”

“Stay safe, at the moment. Mr. Dean is nearby. The assault team is prepared to retrieve you as soon as it’s dark, sooner if necessary. Please, do not put yourself in any greater danger,” he added. “I mean that sincerely.”

She knew that he did, but she’d always thought it curious that his tone became even colder and more formal when he said it. Rubens was not a “touchy-feely” kind of guy. This was reassuring in an odd way; his emotional distance somehow made him seem more reliable.

“I’m fine, Mr. Rubens,” she told him. “Or I wouldn’t be here in the first place. Right?”

“Very well.”

The guerrilla who had brought her food reappeared at the door, carrying her briefcase. Lia got up from the chair to take it; the man held it out to her tentatively.

“I’m not going to bite,” she told him, but as soon as she took hold of the strap, he fled.

The laptop wasn’t in the case, but the card reader and her notebooks were. Lia opened the case and ran her hand down the lining; it hadn’t been ripped open and the cards were still inside.

She adjusted the strap and tucked it under her arm like an oversize purse. Then she went to the doorway, hoping to overhear Servico talking to her guards. But he was gone; only the sentries remained, and when she bent her head close to the opening to see beyond them, one of the men turned and asked what she was doing.

“Nature calls,” she said in English, sarcastic at first, then more diplomatically in Spanish. The guard frowned but beckoned for her to follow. Lia felt a twinge of fear as she passed the second guard — it would have been easy for him to hit her with the butt end of his gun. But the moment passed.

They went all the way across the compound to the last hut in the semicircle. The man put his hand up and ordered her to stop. He leaned inside and yelled, checking to see if there was anyone else inside.

The house had been converted into a shower and latrine. The toilets consisted of a row of plywood boxes over a pit in the ground; fortunately, she really didn’t have to use them.

Lia looked around the room. The showers — there were two, with no curtains, on the right — had some sort of running water, because one of the faucets was dripping. There were windows at the side of the room and another pair at the rear; they held screens but no glass. The screens hung on hinges at the top and were secured by simple hooks at the bottom.

“I’d like to take a shower,” Lia announced in Spanish, stepping out of the latrine building. “Can you get me a towel?”

Her minder seemed perplexed by the request.

“A shower, to wash,” she told him. “I need a towel.”

“I understand what you said,” replied the guard.

“So?”

“What are you doing, Lia?” asked Rockman.

“You would need permission from Comrade Paolo.”

“For a towel?”

“Yes.”

“So let’s ask him.”

“No.”

“Is he in here?” asked Lia, starting toward the next cottage.

The guard ran in front of her and blocked her way with his rifle.

“Well, if you don’t want me to ask him, you do it,” she said. “Can I take a shower or not?”

The man frowned and gestured that she should go back to her cottage.

“Are you going to ask?” she insisted.

“Maybe.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Lia, don’t push it,” warned Rockman.

“All right,” said the guard. “But you go back first. I will ask.” He gestured with his rifle. “Back with me, and then I will ask.”