Blue Knight (3 page)

Josh rubbed his temple and sighed. Flores wrinkled his nose as he stumbled through the mental translation, then swore in Spanish.

Calli licked her lips. “You don’t know who, do you?” she said quietly, putting down her pen.

Duardo shook his head. “I do know the source was responsible for the bomb that killed General Blanco. Whether they actually set the bomb or just arranged it, that I don’t know.” Duardo looked across the table at the General Flores. “Sir, we must assume it was someone with military privileges.”

Flores’ face turned an interesting shade of pink. Flores was an unimaginative general, but he had been next in line when Blanco had died. No one had ever expected he’d be called upon to lead the Vistarian army, least of all Flores himself. Flores would have a hard time swallowing the idea that a military man would ever betray his country and a superior officer the way Duardo was suggesting. Duardo, who’d had to pose as Zalaya himself for weeks, had adapted to the idea with greater ease. Besides, he was younger.

“The bomb was meant for Señor Escobedo,” Flores protested. “You cannot say this person is army because General Blanco was killed instead.”

Nick saw Calli’s wince from the corner of his eye.

Duardo spread his hand, indicating reasonableness. “But the car meant to drive Señor Escobedo, or whoever was to attend the event in his place, was an army staff car, driven by army personnel and protected by army security. Apart from Señora Calli and the people in this room, there were maybe eighteen key people who were aware that Señor Escobedo was going to attend the function that night. They were all army personnel.” Duardo smiled a little. “Shall I interrogate Señor Escobedo’s wife, General?”

Nick saved the General from having to respond. “General, can you see now why we called this meeting so secretively and why we are conducting it in English?”

Flores cleared his throat and tugged at his tie. He nodded. “We will begin an immediate investigation!”

“You can’t!” Calli responded instantly, even before Nick could protest, or Duardo could raise his hand again.

Flore looked at her blankly. “
Excúseme,
Señora Escobedo.
¿Por qué no?
”

Nick felt fingers digging into his thigh and looked down. Calli was holding him down in his chair, her nails gouging crescents into his flesh through the fabric of his trousers. She didn’t even look at him.

“We are speaking English, General Flores,” she said, her voice flat. “And my name is Calli. Or you can call me ma’am, if you wish.” She gave the general no time to react, but held up her other hand, her palm out toward the general. “If you start an investigation, whoever this source is will instantly know we’re aware of them. They will shut up shop and leave Acapulco. Then we’ll never catch them.”

“That is no matter,” Flores said flatly. “He goes. Problem is no more.”

Calli shook her head. “No,” she said, her voice just as firm. “We must find who he or she is and question them thoroughly. We need to find out who else in this house is with the
insurrectos
and we don’t want them running back to Serrano with whatever they’ve learned about us while they’re here.”

Flores’ face darkened further. Intelligence and counterintelligence was not his natural talent. But then, the game had not come naturally to Duardo once, either. But he had seen the implications immediately, whereas Flores was still struggling with the very idea that there might be more of them, or that it might even be a woman.

Calli gazed at Flores, not sparing him. Nick waited for Flores’ response, hoping the general could overcome the cultural biases he’d grown up with and deal with Calli as an equal.

Flores swallowed. “Señora Calli—” he began and Nick let out his breath. Flores lifted his hand. “If we do not investigate, how else do we find this man? This person?”

“We watch,” Calli responded. “And we follow any trail the bastardo leaves. And he will leave one, General. They always do sooner or later. If there are enough of us watching for signs, we’ll spot them.”

“In the meantime,” Nick added, “we need to filter the information we distribute outside this room. It must be as innocuous as possible. Everything will be on a need-to-know basis until further notice. Most of the key information must be kept here, in this room.”

Josh scrubbed both hands through his hair. “Any Vice-President worth his salt would advise you, Nick, that your plan will fall over inside two weeks. You’re setting everyone up in this room to become the most overworked souls on the planet. You can’t operate that way in the long term. There has to be a better way to do this.”

Nick smiled. “That’s fine for the boardroom, but this is military intelligence—”

“And you’re still using the same basic commodity,” Josh overrode him. “Human bodies.”

Nick hid the frustration that bit at him. “You have a better idea?”

“Sure.” Josh sat back. “You need to sniff out a rat, so put a cat on his trail. Pick out the best counter-intelligence officer still reporting to the loyalist army. Once you know they’ve checked out as clean, assign them to hunting down this guy. Give them free rein of the house, all information and records, whatever it takes to track the bastardo down, as long as it’s done discreetly and doesn’t set off any alarms. Meantime, everyone here goes about their normal duties like nothing’s changed.”

Nick nodded. “It’s a good idea,” he said. “There’s just one minor problem with it. General—” He turned to Flores. “Who is your best intelligence officer on staff?”

Flores frowned his way through a mental translation, then smiled. “If I knew the name of them, I would not tell you the name of intelligence operators. It would ruin their work, no?” He shook his head. “But I know we have none. All gone. Dead, or with
insurrectos
, or missing.” He nodded toward Duardo. “Colonel Peña is best at this than any of us. He has…er…training now.”

“Ten weeks posing as Zalaya doesn’t make me an intelligence officer,” Duardo protested. “What Josh is proposing is completely different.”

“Why?” Josh asked. “It just takes a sneaky mind that can outthink the rat you’re hunting and you’ve got a mind that works like a pretzel. That Mexican three-step you pulled off as Zalaya is proof of that.”

“Duardo can’t do it,” Nick interjected. “For the same reason that none of us in this room can. We’re all visible and high-profile in the house and among the army personnel. If we change our behavior patterns in any way, the rat will be alerted.”

Josh drummed his fingers on the table. “Something isn’t adding up here,” he said slowly. “Duardo has been back from Vistaria for nearly four weeks, but you’re only raising the fact of this rat now. Why only now?”

Nick caught Calli’s glance at him. He had wanted to avoid this subject, but she had insisted that within this room, it must be aired. Now Josh had skewered the topic neatly through the eye. Nick took a breath. “Mexico broke off diplomatic negotiations with us twenty-four hours ago—to give us time to reestablish our leadership base, they said.” The words tasted like ashes in his mouth.

There was a little silence.

Josh blew out his breath again. “Hell’s bells,” he murmured. “Are they talking to Serrano?”

This time, Nick winced. Calli’s hand curled around his under the table, even though her face was turned to Josh. “No,” she told Josh. “Not as far as we can tell.”

Josh leaned forward. “And how are we able to tell?” he asked. “We have no…um…intelligence operators, do we?”

Duardo shifted in his chair. “We do have my brother, Cristián. He has an unmonitored internet connection that is still working and a Facebook account with over a thousand friends. He uses open code and his friends use fictitious names and free email accounts. They report back to him from across the four islands. I have been receiving status reports on the movements of Serrano and his key personnel for about three weeks. It’s not as good as having someone inside the palace, but for now, it works.”

“And the
insurrectos
haven’t noticed all this news about their activities flowing across Facebook?” Josh asked, with a half-amused, half-baffled expression. The new generation of online social networking was a mystery to him.

“Serrano knows as much about the internet as you do,” Duardo replied. “And there were very few officers of Zalaya’s capabilities that would think to monitor the social networks. But even if they were to stumble over Cristián’s Facebook account, they would find he has a passion for independent professional wrestling. So do his friends. They discuss individual wrestlers’ latest matches, upcoming appearances and performances with much relish. They’re very big fans of a promotion outfit called International Wrestling United, that they spend most of their time obsessing over in minute detail.”

Josh sat back. “International Wrestling…” He considered that for a moment. “It’s a euphemism for the
insurrectos
?”

“Yes.”

“And the wrestlers are all
insurrectos
they’re watching.”

Duardo nodded.

“You’re on this Facebook thing, too?” Josh asked.

“That’s how Cristián and I talk,” Duardo replied. “Direct email is too easily traced.” He smiled. “I am a thirteen-year-old girl in Montana, nicknamed Amazonia13. She wants to be a professional wrestler when she grows up.”

Josh gave a low laugh that made his belly jiggle. “That must make for some interesting conversations.”

Duardo shrugged a little. “It allows me to speak to my family and assure myself they are safe and well. I would wear a tutu and pretend to be a ballerina for such a privilege. I am aware that very few others in this house can reach out and speak to their families as I can and my gratitude will not fade.”

Josh lifted his brow. “Of course. I apologize.”

Duardo nodded stiffly and turned to Nick. “We will continue to monitor as well as we can if Mexico approaches Serrano to open diplomatic channels. There will be signs we can pick up. Did they close the door permanently to us?”

“No,” Nick admitted. “But of course, they wouldn’t burn their bridges either way. They’re waiting to see how things shape up. We need a major coup, something to show Mexico we’re stronger than the
insurrectos
and will win back Vistaria.”

“But we cannot win back Vistaria without Mexico’s support,” Flores pointed out. “There is so few of us now.”

Calli strung her fingers together. “Actually the plan was bigger than that. We win over Mexico and that gets us the United States. The United States won’t commit to us without Mexico jumping first, despite the American companies working silver mines and other business interests on the island.”

“That’s quite a quandary isn’t it?” Josh asked. “You need Mexico to win Vistaria. Mexico wants you to win Vistaria before it’ll commit.”

Nick shook his head. “Mexico will commit to us before then,” he assured Josh. “We just need to demonstrate that we have the cojones needed to win. Losing Blanco was a blow and not being able to root out the one responsible they see as a sign of weakness. They want to see a strong leader emerge now. Plus they want to see action. Results.” He sat up straighter. “We’ve been drifting for too long. They’ve noticed it. This is the kick up the backside we deserve. We five will have to go short on sleep for a while in order to get the results we need to win Mexico back to our side.”

He laid his hand on the table in front of Calli. “Calli, I’ve never made it official, but now I will. You’ve just become my Chief of Staff. General Flores, do you want me to translate that for you?” He turned his head to look at the general. It was critical the man accept Calli’s formal position and the authority it gave her, because she would now be his superior.

The general took a breath. Then another. “No, thank you, Señor Escobedo. I understand perfectly.” He nodded his head at Calli.

Josh leaned forward again. “Excuse me, Nick. ‘Your’ Chief of Staff?”

Nick nodded. “Mexico wants a leader. We’ll give them one. Until we’re in a position to hold a full, democratic and proper election, and until the army has itself sorted out with a complete compliment of generals to offer up for that election, I’m stepping in as President pro tem. As everyone has been insisting I do this, I’m assuming there will be no protests now?” He looked around the room. Duardo was smiling. Flores actually looked relieved.

Josh blew out his cheeks. “About bloody time, son.”

Minnie glanced at her watch again. Only ten minutes late. She picked up her pen and tried to get back to the paperwork in front of her, but the vine leaves overhead rustled softly in the late afternoon breeze. It was so refreshingly cool under the trellis and away from people that she kept being disturbed by the lack of distractions. No one was calling her name or asking impossible-to-answer questions that usually involved going to Calli for answers.

How had she ended up with this job, anyway? In the last few weeks, since Duardo had come back—

She paused, as she always did, to savor that morsel of truth. Duardo. Here in the big house. Alive and with her every night. Her heart started to beat a little harder. If she had told herself two months ago that this was in her future, she would have had a hard time believing it. Even five weeks ago, she would have laughed in anyone’s face.

She glanced over at the patch of dirt where the patio under the formal trellis work ended. Six weeks ago, it was there she had crumpled to the ground and vomited after fighting Carmen Escobedo to a bloody standstill, because Carmen had told Minnie it was her fault Duardo had died.

Warm hands slid over Minnie’s shoulders, bringing her wander down memory lane to an abrupt halt. She rolled her head back so she could look up at Duardo. “You’re so damn sneaky!”

“You were miles away,” he said. He brushed his lips across her brow. “I could have been a passing army in hobnail boots and you would not have noticed.” He rested his hip on the table next to her notebooks and looked down at her. She felt the same tiny thrill she did every time she saw him. He was wearing one of the new very dark green uniforms. On his long legs, the double red stripe seemed to run forever. The four stripes on his jacket sleeve looked solid and thick after the two she was used to seeing. “Where were you?” he asked her. “You looked like you could cry with little encouragement.”