Blue Knight (26 page)

Olivia’s hand fell away from Jenny’s.

Jenny screamed.

So did others in the room as the girl was brought struggling over to where Ibarra stood in front of the camera. There was a ratcheting sound of submachine guns being cocked, all around the room.

One of the guards pulled out his sidearm and put it against Jenny’s temple.

Olivia moaned, clutching the back of her chair. She looked like she wanted to surge out of the chair and go rescue her friend, but was holding herself back. Her knuckles were white.

Jenny stood very still between the guards. Her face was paper-white under the camera light, but her chin was up.

Solos was talking fast and softly into his cell phone now.

Hurry
, Daniel begged silently. He hoped Solos’ director understood the vast difference between politics and ratings.

“Tell them your name,” Ibarra said, pointing to the camera.

“Jenny,” she said softly.

“Speak louder,” Ibarra said. “Your full name, please. We know it all now. There is no longer any need to hide anything.”

“Jenny Egstrom,” she said, more firmly, but her voice shook.

“And your nationality?”

Her face crumpled. Tears welled in her eyes. Jenny had spent five weeks carefully preserving this secret.

“Your nationality!” Ibarra demanded, his voice strident.

“A…American,” she stuttered and began to sob.

Olivia closed her eyes and bowed her head.

“You work with the World Health Organization, yes?” Ibarra said.

Jenny nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“You came here as part of the diplomatic task force to determine if the Vistarian government was stable enough to be granted diplomatic status with the United Nations and the revolution that had been raging here could be officially called over, yes? Then all the aid and justice and trade could flow back to this wonderful nation once more. That was your role, yes?”

She nodded again.

Daniel glanced at Solos again. The man was talking hard, frowning. He looked up at the roof, rolling his eyes. Then he threw up his hands. “Just cut the fucking feed off!” he screamed into the phone.

Everyone jumped, except Ibarra, who was sweating. His hand was lifting, the finger up.

Daniel clenched his chair. His heart was pounding with the tension. It was coming. He could feel it coming and he couldn’t let it happen.

Then he saw Olivia looking at him again. There were tears in her eyes and running down her cheeks. She shook her head at him. Her lips formed silent word. “No.”

The gun fired.

* * * * *

“Oh my dear sweet Christ,” Calli breathed.

Minnie went staggering for the door, clutching her stomach.

“Everyone, just sit down and shut up!” Nick shouted as the room broke out in shouts and screams. “We have to see whatever else they broadcast, so shut up and watch.”

“Please tell me someone is recording this?” Duardo murmured.

“Yes.” Calli clutched at Nick’s arm. “He’s mad. He’s quite mad.”

“Yes,” Duardo said simply. He was staring at the screen, frowning. Absorbing it.

* * * * *

Olivia found herself on her feet, almost there in time to catch Jenny as she fell. She already knew it was too late. But that didn’t stop her body, her feet, from moving her forward to try to stop this awful thing from happening anyway.

She was brought to a halt by steel against her temple, a hand on her arm yanking her back with cruel fingers digging in almost to the bone.

Ibarra was watching her. Ibarra, whom she had always thought had held a small pocket of humanity inside him, protected from Serrano’s excesses. Somewhere in the last few days he had lost it. She looked into Ibarra’s eyes now and saw nothing but the same blank monster eyes that Serrano reflected back when she looked into his.

The corner of Ibarra’s mouth lifted. He looked into the camera. “If Vistaria is not given full diplomatic status and a seat at the United Nations in twenty-four hours, we will repeat this exercise again with another American citizen—perhaps Ms. Davenport here. That is all.”

He ripped the clip-in microphone out of his dress uniform shirt and threw it at Solos. Solos made no move to catch it and it fell to the floor. The battery pack Ibarra unclipped from the back of his jacket and tossed onto the table in front of Daniel and Hans.

Then he strode away.

Whoever had a grip on Olivia’s arm let go. The gun was removed. Olivia fell forward onto her knees next to Jenny. The girl was lying huddled on the floor. A pool of dark blood was forming around her head, but she seemed so very peaceful.

Olivia wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry, throw up, or lock herself in a padded room for a month. But none of those things would help Jenny right now or anyone around her. There was enough screaming, enough hysterics. It was making what guards were left far too edgy and jumpy. They’d had to watch this happen, too.

Olivia closed Jenny’s eyes.

She heard Daniel’s voice, low and dangerous, on the far side of the room from where they had been sitting. “Turn off your fucking camera now.” He was speaking Spanish and he was clearly speaking to one of the film crew, or perhaps the journalist.

“Of course, of course.” The man seemed dazed. Bewildered.

The blazing camera light suddenly cut out.

Olivia looked up and saw Hans sitting, stunned, on his chair. She reached over and tugged on his trouser leg. “Hans,” she called loudly.

He stirred and looked at her. She saw the track marks of tears on his face.

“Go and get a cloth for Jenny. A big one. Perhaps two.”

He wiped at his face. “I…all right.”

“Make them dark cloth, Hans, okay? So the blood doesn’t show.” She gave him a big smile and patted his knee as he stood up. “Ask the hotel staff, if you can find anyone.”

Hans nodded, his jowls wobbling. He tottered away, looking relieved to have something to do. Olivia looked around. “Theresa,” she called.

The brunette was huddled in her chair, hugging her arms around her. She, like Hans, had been crying. Now she lifted her brown eyes up to look at Olivia, careful not to look at what was lying at her knees.

“Can you find me a pillow for Jenny’s head? A cushion, anything soft?” Olivia knew it didn’t matter for Jenny, or even for many people here, but it would give Theresa something to do and it would help some people look at Jenny’s body more directly, until they could move it away.

Olivia picked up Jenny’s hand. It was already cooling. That surprised her, that the body lost heat that quickly. But she held onto her hand anyway and she wiped her own tears away as they fell, which they kept doing regularly as she sat quietly waiting for the requested items to arrive, while the hysteria around her swirled and frothed.

She watched Ciro Solos carefully rebutton his suit jacket and smooth back his hair. His hand was shaking. Then he stood up. “Well, time to blow this town,” he declared. The rest of his crew stood with him.

Daniel laughed. “You don’t think they’re just going to let you walk out of here, do you?” he asked, in English, heading toward him.

Solos fidgeted with the knot of his tie. “I’m an investigative journalist and a member of the press. They must let me go.”

“Speak English, Solos. Or French, or anything but Spanish. You know English?” Daniel asked.

Solos was looking confused. “Why must I speak English?” he asked in halting English.

“Because the guards here aren’t so hot on English, especially idiomatic English. They’re even worse on anything else,” Daniel said, flicking his eyes toward the sentries with their machine guns.

Solos smoothed back his hair. “Why would they not let me go from here?” he asked again.

“Because they figure you will turn around and lead the United States and the United Nations straight back here.”

Solos shook his head. “There must be freedom of the press, or we cannot do our job.”

Daniel stopped in front of Solos and pointed down at Jenny. “You really think Ibarra and Serrano care about freedom of the press, Solos? You think they’re operating with any sort of mental clarity right now?”

Solos swallowed. “But this is…this is outrageous!”

“Welcome to our world,” Daniel said softly. He put his arm around Solos’ shoulder. “Come and have a drink. You’re going to need it.”

Solos wrenched himself out of Daniel’s grip. “You’re wrong!”

Daniel smiled. “Oh yeah?” He pointed behind Solos. “Here’s my proof coming right now.”

One of the more senior guards, Ibarra’s Lieutenant Gomez, hurried into the lounge. He was very short, barely five feet tall, with a sharply receding hairline and luxuriant moustache. From the few hints that some of the woman had given, Olivia knew he was a cruel man that would take any advantage he could if he was alone with them.

He marched straight up to Solos. “Mr. Solos, I must request that you give to me your cellular phone.”

Solos’ face turned a bluish gray around the lips. It was a very sick color. His hand pushed against his chest, over his heart. “Why?” he asked and it was a hoarse whisper. But Olivia could see from the expression in his face that he already knew why.

“Your phone, Señor,” the little lieutenant demanded, his hand out. “And I must demand that you not leave the property, you or your men. You will be given rooms at the hotel as accommodation and supplies found for you.”

Solos’ eyes met Olivia’s over the top of Gomez’s head. There was fear in Solos’ eyes and Olivia felt a touch of pity. She’d had weeks of this and got used to it. He was just starting from the beginning.

Solos reached into his pocket for his cell phone. Then into the other one. With a sigh, he unbuttoned his jacket and reached into the inner pocket. He frowned and reached into the outer pocket again.

Then he started patting himself down all over. “I don’t have it,” he told Gomez.

“Then where is it?” Gomez said impatiently.

“I don’t know. I had it a moment ago. I swore I put it in my outer pocket just after…after the thing. I’m certain of it.”

Olivia couldn’t help it. Her gaze swept around the room in a fast, all-encompassing look. Daniel was nowhere in sight.

Immediately, she dropped her chin down to hide her expression as excitement and fear swamped her. He’d taken the phone and gone. Somewhere.

Perhaps even as Jenny was executed he had been planning this. Certainly as he had been talking to Solos about his confinement here.

Olivia struggled to keep her face still and not reveal anything.

Gomez pulled out his pistol. “I want your cell phone, Mr. Solos. Pretending you have mislaid it will not work with me.”

“But I don’t have it!” Solos cried.

Gomez jerked his head at the guards. Two of them slung their machine guns and walked over and roughly ripped Solos’ jacket off his shoulders and started patting him down.

“Oh my god!” Solos moaned. From the cottage cheese complexion of his face, Olivia suspected he’d never been manhandled in his life.

When the phone did not appear the guards pushed Solos to his knees. Gomez slapped his face and Solos stared at the little lieutenant with an open mouth and very big eyes.

“Where is that phone?” Gomez screamed.

Olivia wished she knew, too.

The White Sands was old enough to have a tiny cupola on the roof, although it was so filled with dust and dirt that Daniel knew no one had been inside it for decades. The decorative sides hid him from view as the sun set and if he was still up here when the floodlights set up, well, he’d be safe from those, too. Coming down again was a different set of problems he’d figure out later.

He pulled out Solos’ phone and familiarized himself with the layout and controls, then flipped over to the internet browser and looked up the Pascuallita number he hoped would be there. It was.

He dialed it. For the longest time it didn’t answer. Then a male voice answered suspiciously and cautiously. “Hello?”

“I’m looking for a way to reach Duardo. I’m wondering if you can connect me.”

“Who are you?”

“A very old friend.”

“Prove it.”

“I called him Duardo, didn’t I?”

“That’s one point in your favor. Keep talking.”

“Is this Cristián? You sound way too old, but there can’t be another man in the house, unless…. Did your mother remarry?”

He could feel the caution pouring through the phone.

“If I were Cristián, I would have sisters. Tell me about them.”

Daniel rested his head back against the fencing, smiling. He couldn’t help it. “Téra Alejandra, Trini Juanita and Pía Isabela. Ah, god, I haven’t thought of them in years. Do they still fight like cats and dogs? Do they still dress you in skirts?”

“Shit. I know who you are. Fuck.” The disgust and distress in Cristián’s voice made Daniel laugh.

“Are the three girls still there?” Daniel asked, letting him off the hook.

“Two,” Cristián amended. “Téra is elsewhere, all moony-eyed over some Captain De la Cruz she can’t quite trip over—”

“Lucas De la Cruz?” Daniel said sharply.

“That’s the one,” Cristián confirmed. “She won’t shut up about him, although she thinks she’s being discreet.”

The world was roaring in his ears, Cristián’s words fading under the pressure.

Daniel felt the phone slipping out of his hand and grasped it tighter. “Wait,” he croaked into it. “Wait.”

He could feel his own pulse throbbing in his head. Beating and receding. Is this what a stroke felt like? Or the start of a heart attack? He tried to breathe but his lungs wouldn’t cooperate.

“Cristián,” he whispered into the phone. “She has to get away from him.”

The memory was crowding him, dimming his hearing. He could hear Cristián talking, but not what he was saying.

Instead he was immersed in the memory.

* * * * *

Over a year ago now, just before the revolution broke out in Vistaria, he was coming back to the studio apartment he had rented in Boston. He was walking fast, because despite three years in New England he still wasn’t used to the cold.

He heard someone call his name and looked up to see Lucas De la Cruz across the street, muffled up to the chin in a dark coat and scarf, the black eyes and hawk-like nose the only things showing under the hat pulled down low against the cold. Fog fingers curled around his legs as he crossed over the footpath.