Payback

95

General Túcume did not like the news. Members of the general staff had spent the night calling every officer in his command, some four or five times, reminding them where their ultimate duty lay. As far as he knew — and Túcume had spoken to as many men as he could — no one had actually accused him of plotting a coup, but these sorts of calls were the first step; no one who had lived through the confusion and madness of the nineties could see it otherwise.

In today’s Peru, to be accused of plotting a coup was a great slander. The new generation of military men — Túcume’s generation and the colonels and majors they led — had grown up on the model of the U.S. military. They’d also learned from the failures of the past. His opponents were clever; he had anticipated jealousy but perhaps not with this vehemence.

Túcume had assigned one of his colonels to liaise with the U.S. Delta Force people, who were ostensibly here to help look for rebels. This was a major problem for the officer, since he had to check and double-check everything with the general staff. Túcume had no doubt that the U.S. soldiers’ real aim was to be close to the bomb, though so far they had not made a request to see it — or rather, if they had, he had not been informed of it.

The U.S. had aircraft flying over the units guarding the weapon, and other airplanes were steadily crisscrossing the region, ostensibly searching for other rebel hideouts. The Peruvian air force was flying its own missions as well. It seemed ironic — for years he had begged for more helicopters and attack planes to support his fights against the rebel slimes; now practically the entire air force was in his region.

By 10:00 a.m. Saturday, Túcume had put two calls in to General Maduro, asking whether the general would accompany him when he returned to the unit that afternoon. The general’s chief of staff was polite but could not say when the general would get back to Túcume.

When he hung up the phone after the second call, Túcume sat motionless for a few moments, contemplating the situation. Would the revelation that the bomb was not a real warhead diffuse some of the American pressure? If so, would that be enough to mollify Maduro?

It didn’t matter. Aznar would win the election tomorrow, and after that, he would be fine. He had only to wait out his enemies to declare victory.

There was a sharp rap on Túcume’s suite door.

“Come,” said the general.

“There are more newspeople downstairs,” said his aide, Chimor. “What should I do with them?”

“Tell them I don’t have a statement.”

“You ought to talk to them,” said Babin, entering the suite behind the servant pushing in breakfast. “Public relations are important.”

“Stephan. Good morning.”

Chimor, who had not yet met Babin, looked at him crossly. He took him as a rival, Túcume realized.

“Señor Babin is a consultant who knows about nuclear weapons,” the general told his aide. “He understands how they work. This is Captain Chimor, my most valuable officer.”

Chimor preened for a moment, then lowered his head slightly.

“Your voice is very gravelly today, Stephan,” Tucume said. “Did you stay up late last night?”

“I checked out the bar.”

“And you used a car.”

“I wanted to see the sights.”

Túcume interpreted this to mean that Babin had spent time with a prostitute. He’d been shut up in exile for nearly three years. A man needed to be a man.

“Have breakfast with us,” the general told him. “Captain, you, too. Please. Sit.”

“If I may be excused, General. The press is waiting,” Chimor explained. “What should I tell them?”

“Tell them that I do not have a statement now. I’ve told the story already, and there’s really nothing to add. The army will defend the people of Peru until the death. I will defend the people of Peru until the death. I’m leaving for the base at three,” Túcume added. “The defense ministry was to have arranged for experts from the International Atomic Energy Agency — perhaps they can join us. Contact the ministry.”

“Directly? Or through the general staff?”

Túcume hesitated. “Directly.”

“The American general, Spielmorph, is in Lima at the embassy,” said Chimor. “He landed last night.”

“If he calls, then we must share the request with General Maduro,” said Túcume. “Personally, I would have no objection, but that is the major general’s decision to make.”

Chimor nodded, then left.

“Very politic,” said Babin.

“Yes. Maduro is not pleased with me. He’s jealous.”

“The Yankees?”

“They are a problem. Nervous old aunts in the next room.” Túcume smiled.

“Those experts will know as soon as they’re close to the bomb that it’s not real.”

“That may be just as well now.”

Babin scowled at him, obviously not understanding his point, Túcume thought.

“You should have spoken to the press,” said Babin. “You need the people on your side, and the press will help you do that.”

“I don’t need a middleman. The newspeople are liars. Most are owned by the government anyway.”

Babin seemed as if he were going to say something more but instead changed the subject. “I’d like to use a car today. I’d like to get some new clothes.”

“I can send someone.”

“I’d really like to move around, if you know what I mean.”

“I have no objection,” said Túcume. “Be careful where you spend your energy.”

“I’m careful.”

“The CIA has been sending many people into the city. I fear for your safety.”

“I’ll be all right.”

“I can protect you after the election,” said Túcume. “But until Aznar takes office, things will be difficult. You must be careful.”

“Let me worry about that.” Babin struggled to his feet.

“You must have a hangover. You’re very disagreeable.” Túcume watched the Russian crutch his way to the door. “Be careful.”

“Good advice,” said Babin, opening the door. “You should take it, too.”