Montega's Mistress (22 page)

Matteo leaped to his feet, almost tumbling Helen to the ground. He caught her and steadied her, reaching for his clothes in the same motion.

“What is it?” Helen gasped, grabbing his arm, craning her neck toward the camp a few hundred feet away. Figures dashed from their tents running, reaching for weapons and ammunition, yelling things she couldn’t hear.

He shook her off, jamming himself into his clothes as another, smaller burst incinerated one of the tents, shooting sparks, like fireworks, into the air.

“They’ve found us,” he shouted over the noise, helping Helen into her blouse and shoving it, unbuttoned, into her jeans.

“The government,” he said, seizing her hand and pulling her after him. “They’ve found us.”

Chapter 8

Helen ran at Matteo’s side, her feet barely touching earth as he pulled her along with him. They had almost reached the command tent when another blast rocked the compound.

Matteo threw Helen to the ground and flung himself on top of her, shielding her with his body. She remained motionless, his weight pinning her down, until the smoke cleared slightly and he raised his head to look around.

Alma was standing not five feet away, watching them. Matteo called to her and she answered in a flood of Spanish, gesturing wildly.

“Stay with Alma in Theresa’s tent,” Matteo instructed Helen, standing and helping her to her feet. “We’ll set up a base for the wounded here.” He glanced toward the hills, squinting, trying to see through the thinning smog surrounding them. “I can’t tell where it’s coming from,” he said, almost to himself.

“Matteo...” Helen began.

“Go,” he said, turning away from her. “You must help me now; you must do as I say.”

Helen watched as he ran to one of his comrades, firing questions, and the two men sprinted off together, leaving her behind. Another barrage started and she ducked into Theresa’s tent where Alma and the older woman awaited her. There were already three injured people there who required attention, and Helen got busy, making bandages for Theresa who was caring for the wounds.

The shelling seemed to go on forever; several times the hits were close by, and the women were forced to take cover under cots and behind boxes until it was safe to come out. Two people were brought into the tent dead, and one died before they could do anything for him. Helen prayed for dawn; Matteo had once told her that such attacks usually took place only in the dark. But the night was endless, and she kept looking for Matteo to arrive on a stretcher, maimed, or past hope. And the bombs kept falling, and the injured kept coming. Helen had never seen so much blood. She might have been sick if she’d had a chance to think about it, but she was so busy that all she could bear in mind was who was next and what needed to be done.

Finally the shelling stopped and they had a chance to catch up. She lifted her head from the last bandage and said, “Who’s next?”

“Nobody,” Theresa said. “Sit down.”

She shoved a folding chair under Helen, who collapsed into it thankfully.

“Do you think it will start up again?” she asked Theresa, who shook her head.

“No. Dawn comes soon. See the light?”

She pointed through the tent flap to the dark rim of the surrounding hills, just beginning to glow with the illumination of the rising sun.

“I have to find Matteo,” Helen said, getting up.

Theresa placed her palm flat against Helen’s shoulder and pushed her back into her seat.

“He’ll find you.”

“But what if he’s hurt? You know he won’t take care of it, he was shot just a short time ago and he...”

“¡Callate!”
Theresa snapped, and Helen shut up.

“Now,” Theresa said, leaning in close to Helen so that only she could hear her voice. “Do you want to set an example for these people, or do you want to behave like the spoiled little gringa
princesa
they suspect you are?”

Helen looked back at Theresa, and then glanced around at the group. All eyes were on her.

“That’s right,” Theresa confirmed, seeing the direction of her glance. “They are all watching you. You are the
jefe’s
woman, and they know it. If you dash all over the camp to find your man and be reassured, forgetting the job he told you to do, what will they think of you? What will they think of Matteo’s choice? We obey orders here, and that goes for you too. He told you to stay, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Helen whispered, settling once more into her chair.

“Then you stay. He will come when he can.”

They both looked up as Alma arrived with tin cups of black coffee. She handed one to each of them, smiling slightly at Helen as she did so. Helen stared back at her, wondering if Theresa was right about her, or if she should follow her own instincts. She decided on the latter and nodded gratefully as she accepted the drink.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” Theresa suggested. “We’ll take turns; Alma and I will watch the patients for now.”

“I
would
like to lie down,” Helen replied faintly.

“There’s a cot in the back, on the other side of the curtain,” Theresa said. “You’ll have some privacy. I’ll wake you in a couple of hours, all right?”

“Okay.”

Helen found the cot and stretched out on it, her whole body aching with weariness. She felt as she had when taking care of Matteo in her father’s house. That reminded her of his current peril, and she tried to stay awake to worry about him but she was just too tired. She was asleep within seconds and didn’t hear Matteo come in about twenty minutes later.

“Helen?” he said to Theresa, who nodded to the back of the tent.

“Sleeping,” she said. “She was up all night with the wounded.”

“She’s not hurt?” he persisted.

“She’s fine, just tired,” Theresa replied, indicating that he should sit so that she could change his bandage. He had a superficial wound on his forehead, which he had bound with a handkerchief; she removed it and washed the cut, covering it with clean gauze.

Alma walked up to him as Theresa moved away to work on someone else. Alma handed him a mug of coffee laced with
baciega
, the native rum, and a hunk of dark bread smeared with honey. He took them absently, his mind elsewhere.

“Your girl did well,” she said to him, using
nina,
the word for child, to refer to Helen.

“Alma, I am warning you, don’t start this now,” Matteo said darkly, his expression murderous.

“No, I mean it. She worked as hard as any of us; she was very helpful.”

He stared at her, his eyes narrowing, wondering what was coming.

Alma sighed and pulled up a chair next to him, leaning forward earnestly.

“Look, Matteo, I hated her when she first got here. I admit it. I was jealous. I saw that you had her under your spell. I’ve been there myself and I know what it looks like.”

He started to protest, and she held up her hand to silence him.

“Don’t argue with me. You used her to get back here, which is exactly what you should have done, but now you’ve put her in terrible danger.”

“I’ll protect her!” he said fiercely, the futile cry of a man who knew he could do no such thing.

“From this?” Alma said, making a gesture to encompass the rubble that was once the camp. “You are Matteo Montega, but as far as I know you can’t work miracles. You have to get her out of here.”

“There is no way,” he said despairingly. “I’ve thought of everything.”

“Maybe not everything. My brother has a helicopter.”

“Since when?” Matteo said, sitting up.

“Since last week when he deserted the army and took it with him.”

Matteo eyed her thoughtfully, his mind calculating while he sat in silence. Alma came from a divided family, common to Puerta Linda, with some members loyal to the government and others agitating for change. Her brother had been a pilot, trained at the national military academy, with a future in the current regime.

“Why did he leave?” Matteo asked suspiciously.

“He got passed over for a promotion again, this time for the nephew of a cabinet minister. He finally realized that no matter how hard he worked or how well he did he wasn’t going to get ahead with corrupt politicians making all the decisions.” She shrugged. “He got fed up.”

“Does he want to join us now?”

Alma nodded. “And he can get your girl out. All you have to do is meet him where I say.”

“You’re doing this because you want to get rid of Helen,” he said.

She smiled roguishly. “Maybe. But are you willing to take the chance on keeping her here?” She looked down, not meeting his eyes. “I saw what happened when the shelling began and you were running back from the woods. You covered her body with yours, Matteo. Her life is more important to you than your own safety.” Her voice dropped an octave and it was husky when she added, “You love her.”

Matteo didn’t answer for a moment, then said, “I can’t move her with this going on. It won’t stop now; they’ll begin again at nightfall.”

“What are you going to do?” Alma asked, aware that he wouldn’t wait around for that to happen.

“I think I know where the rocket launchers are. I’m going to go up there and take them out.”

“And the gringa?” Alma asked, standing up as Theresa signaled her for help.

“We’ll talk about her when this is over,” Matteo concluded, taking a sip of his coffee and putting the cup down. He headed for the rear of the tent where Helen lay.

He pushed aside the curtain and saw her. She was sleeping on her stomach with both arms trailing to the ground, one cheek pressed against the cot. He reached out and touched her hair gently, then withdrew, not wanting to wake her.

Helen sensed his presence and opened her eyes just as he was leaving.

“Matteo!” she said, struggling into a sitting position and blinking the sleep from her eyes.

He turned and bent toward her, catching her in his arms.

“I was so worried about you,” she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder as he sat on the edge of the cot.

“Nothing ever happens to me,” he said quietly, sliding his fingers under her hair to cup the nape of her neck.

“You’re saying that to the wrong person,” Helen reminded him. “I know better.”

“I made out a lot better than some of my people,” he said flatly.

“Is the damage very bad?”

He nodded grimly, pulling back to look into her face. “The worst we’ve ever sustained, by far. They didn’t stumble on us the usual way this time. This was planned.”

In answer to her questioning glance, he added, “They never launched a full scale attack on us like this before. They didn’t have good enough information on where we were to come so well prepared.”

“But how...” Helen began, and then the answer presented itself. “Olmos,” she said miserably.

“He had to have told them,” Matteo agreed. “He was the only one who could have given them our location.”

“Oh, Matt, if you hadn’t fought with him over me none of this would have happened.”

“Don’t say that. It isn’t true. The problem between Olmos and me wasn’t about you; it had other causes, other roots. Something would have brought it to a head sooner or later; you were just handy, that’s all.”

“He picked me because I was unpopular,” Helen said bluntly.

“Then he was mistaken,” Matteo said soothingly. “Everyone has seen how you’ve taken hold here. Even Theresa, who would have thought Saint Joseph was lazy, has nothing but praise for you.”

“He told them you were here. That’s why they’re pouring it on,” Helen said, returning to the subject of Olmos.

Matteo didn’t contradict her. “Our camps are scattered all over the country. I could have been in any one of them, and it would have been a waste of energy and ammunition they don’t have for them to firebomb them all trying to hit one man.” He let her go and got up, pacing in the small enclosed area. “But they’re not shooting in the dark any more. This attack was intended for me.”

“Cut off the head and the animal dies,” Helen murmured.

“So they think,” Matteo said softly, and the look in his eyes frightened her.

“What are your plans?” She struggled with the words, afraid to hear the answer.

“My men and I were able to pinpoint their nest on the ridge just above us. They’re launching the rockets from there. If I can hit them with a couple of grenades, it’ll break the back of their assault.”

“You’re going now?” Helen whispered, horrified. “In daylight?”

“We can’t survive another night like the last one,” he answered simply.

Helen jumped up, grabbing his arm. “Why do
you
have to go?”

He stared at her, puzzled. It would never occur to him not to take the risk himself.

“You’re the leader, you said it yourself. You’re more important than the others. Let someone else go.”

He took her fingers and gently disengaged them from his arm. “Helen, you’ve seen the people in this camp. You know how they reacted to this attack. They’re scared, and with good reason. We’ve never been in a position like this before. They’re guerrillas; they’re used to being the aggressors, hitting and running, not being picked off like sitting ducks. They need to be shown that we can endure an assault like this and come back from it. Will any of them fight if I hide? They know what has to be done, and they have to see
me
do it. Otherwise they’ll run off into the jungle, scatter like the loners they were before I organized them. And that’s exactly what the government would like to see. Do you understand, Helen?”