The Descent From Truth (23 page)

Chapter 29

Alex arrived in Lima shortly before midnight the next day, after a bumpy, crowded flight. He registered at the Hyatt Regency under an assumed name, paid in cash for five nights, and crashed on the bed.

Early the next morning, he met with the U.S. Military Attaché and learned that the Pentagon had sent an encrypted message instructing the Attaché to provide logistical support but to get advance clearance before any operational assistance. An Army liaison officer dressed in civilian clothes, a major who Alex guessed was an intelligence agent, suggested that because they didn’t know who might be on Koenig’s payroll they should not involve the Peruvian government. The major stressed that no infringement of Peruvian law could be officially endorsed. Alex interpreted that to mean he was on his own if things fell apart.

His requests were two-fold: enough C-4 explosive to destroy the contents of the aluminum case, a radio-controlled, two-stage toggle switch to ignite it, and two snipers with night-vision scopes. The C-4 and the marksmen would be his life insurance during the switch.

The liaison officer assured him that the snipers and their equipment would be flown in but cautioned that they would fire only if Alex’s life was in clear and imminent danger, if no noncombatants were present, and if there was only minimal probability of return fire. “I understand you want to get the chips into the hands of the bad guys, not destroy them. So, why the C-4?”

“They’ve got to believe I’ll burn the attaché case if they try to take it from me. That’s why I need a two-stage trigger—a dead-man switch. And a light that glows when it’s armed.”

“If it’s just a bluff, why not fake the C-4? Work a little machine oil into a roll of off-white Play-Doh, you’d need lab analysis to tell the difference.”

Alex shook his head. “After the exchange, they’ll salvage the explosive and try using it. If it isn’t the real thing, they’ll wonder about the chips as well. Besides, if something goes wrong during the trade, the exploding case will give me a fighting chance.”

While waiting for the Army to deliver, Alex rented a minivan. He booked a room for four nights at the Hotel Antigua Miraflores, paying in advance with cash. He would stay at the Hyatt and use the Antigua Miraflores as a message drop. From a black-market contact arranged through the liaison officer, he bought a .45-caliber Colt semiautomatic with an extra ammunition clip. The weapon looked like U.S. Army surplus from half a century earlier but seemed in good working condition.

His next stop was the U.S. Embassy. Pretending to be a businessman, he asked for help in contacting Koenig or Faust.

“Every salesman from North America has the same request,” a low-level functionary said. “That’s not the Embassy’s job.”

The U.S. Chamber of Commerce’s Lima office proved more sympathetic but offered no hope of talking directly with Koenig. They gave Alex a list of officers in Variant Corporation and other Koenig-controlled companies. It was the size of a small-town telephone directory.

Alex decided on a direct frontal approach and had an official-looking routing slip crafted at a graphic-arts shop. The slip’s bold-print heading said, “Urgent—Time Sensitive Information.” In the memorandum space at the bottom, he scrawled, “I’ve got them—let’s talk,” and included his name and the telephone number at the Antigua Miraflores. He bundled the routing slip with a photo of a guidance chip and addressed it to Maximillian Koenig. A local parcel delivery service promised to deliver it to the Variant Corporation building within the hour.

His next-day call for messages at the Antigua Miraflores hit pay dirt. A lawyer from a prominent Lima firm had left a call-back number. To avoid a trace, Alex returned the call on a prepaid cell phone. The lawyer neither confirmed nor denied representing Maximillian Koenig. His client, he said, owned certain items that Alex had found, and the lawyer had been commissioned to retrieve them. He had no personal knowledge of the items and was not at liberty to disclose his client’s name.

“I deal with one of two people,” Alex said. “Maximillian Koenig or Theo Faust. If they want the items in question, tell them to call me. I’m in Lima for another forty-eight hours.”

Late that afternoon, he picked up a second message with a telephone number. He returned the call, and someone pretending to be Faust asked the price of his merchandise.

Faust had a distinctive voice—the speaker was a fraud. “Let’s cut the crap,” Alex said. “I’m not selling, I’m trading. Faust is holding a woman against her will. Koenig gets the chips when I get the woman. A straight swap.”

“I have been instructed to negotiate for a case of merchandise,” said the ersatz Faust. “I need to know your price and terms of delivery.”

“One man shows with the woman. I take her, he takes the chips. You tell them tomorrow is my last day in Lima.” Alex pressed the
end call
button.

The same voice answered when he returned a call the next morning. “We have what you want,” the man said. “And we have instructions for the transfer.”

Alex’s pulse double-timed, but he forced his voice to remain level and cold. “One man brings the woman. If I see anyone trailing them, the switch is off.”

“You’ll recognize the lady?”

“I know her.”

“On the
Plaza de la Concordia
, there is a statue of a
generalissimo
astride a horse. A man will be there with the lady today at noon. Bring the merchandise.”

In a rush-hour crowd, they could plant as many men as they wanted. Alex wouldn’t be able to run, and he was too tall to hide in the crowd. Rules of engagement for his Army-supplied snipers’ would render them powerless to intervene. “You sound like an intelligent man,” he said. “You can’t really believe I’d do something that stupid.”

“You confuse me, Señor.”

“This is their turf. I’m not about to walk into a spot where they’ve had hours to set a trap.”

“My client is a rational man. We will accommodate any reasonable request.”

“Tell him to give his delivery boy a cell phone. I’ll call you back in an hour for the number. Have him circling
Plaza de la Concordia
at two a.m.”

Alex met with his Military Attaché contact to get approval to use the snipers, who for twelve hours had been cooling their heels in a second-class Lima hotel. His choice of a location for the switch easily gained the liaison officer’s approval: the municipal garbage dump. A massive expanse of rotting garbage and human detritus, the dump teemed with trucks, bulldozers, and scavengers by day but became a deserted wasteland at night. Alex estimated it to be the equivalent of sixteen city blocks. With no buildings or vegetation to obstruct their field of fire, and with their high-powered rifles equipped with night scopes, the marksmen could be stationed far away. They would have radiotelephones equipped with earplug receivers.

The liaison officer, the same major as before, reminded Alex that the snipers would fire only if they received an unambiguous signal and then only if in their judgment the situation met their rules of engagement. While Alex watched, the major lined the faulty guidance chips’ aluminum case with putty-like C-4 explosive and rigged it with a two-stage, radio-controlled trigger, a cylindrical, cigarette-lighter-sized device. He showed Alex how to trip the safety switch to arm it.

“When the safety’s off, this button will glow,” the major said. He tapped the top of the triggering device. “Depressing the button arms the trigger. Releasing it precipitates the explosion. For the dramatic effect you wanted, I’ve rigged a red light in the case on top of the chips. It will glow when you depress the trigger, so the black-hats won’t doubt you’ve got control.”

“Once I’ve depressed the button, how do I keep it from detonating?”

“Twist the safety back on before you release it.” The major disconnected the switch from its battery and demonstrated the tricky maneuver. It required both hands, one keeping the trigger depressed while the other twisted the safety ring a full turn counterclockwise. “Of course, it won’t detonate if the C-4 is out of radio range.”

“What’s the range?”

“With no obstructions, maybe a mile.” As he talked, the major reconnected the wires. “But it’s line-of-sight transmission. If the case is behind a hill or a building, chances are it won’t blow.”

Alex snapped the case shut. “You’ve been a big help. I don’t suppose we’ll meet again.”

“Only if I’m detailed to escort your body home. Good luck, young man.”

Chapter 30

Alex maneuvered his rented minivan around the broad traffic circle surrounding
Plaza de la Concordia
and checked his watch: two a.m. He dialed the cell phone number he had been given, and Theo Faust’s distinctive voice stunned him. He had expected his old mentor to remain a backstage player in the exchange.

Faust laughed. “Cat got your tongue, amigo?”

Alex directed him through an empty parking lot and fell in behind his vehicle, a black Mercedes. He gave directions that would take them by the municipal garbage dump. On the otherwise deserted road, he discovered two nondescript sedans trailing him. “I told you to come alone,” he said over the cell phone.

“You’re a follower, Alex, not a leader. You’re not a reliable follower, but that’s your role in life. Quit trying to be a commander. Just be a good soldier.”

“Dismiss your goons, or the deal’s off.”

Faust sighed audibly. “A lot of people are going to be disappointed if we don’t make the switch. But if it’s what you want, that’s how it has to be.” He chuckled. “Here’s one of the people you’ll disappoint.” His voice became faint, as if his mouth was farther from the telephone. “Say hello to Alex.”

“Hello, Alex.”

Alex’s heart skipped a beat. Pia sounded almost mechanical, but the voice was unmistakably hers.

Faust’s voice again became distinct. “Our little flower has her heart set on relief. That’s spelled C-H-I-P-S.”

They were nearing the turn-off to the garbage dump. “Take the next left,” Alex said. He trailed the Mercedes onto a spongy, garbage-strewn lane with the two other cars following close behind. Then he gunned the minivan and took the lead. “This is as good a place as any,” he said into the phone as they approached the spot planned for the switch.

The four-vehicle caravan slowed, then stopped. Alex circled with his minivan on the packed-down garbage so that he faced the others, with his Army snipers at his back, hidden behind a bulldozer some two hundred yards away. The headlamps of all the vehicles still glowed.

Two men, armed with Uzi submachine guns, climbed out of each of the trailing sedans. Faust, Pia, and a second man exited from the Mercedes’ back seat. As Pia slid out, Faust held her hand with an elaborate show of courtesy. The driver stayed inside.

Still seated in his minivan, Alex dialed Faust’s cell phone again. In the glare of the vehicles’ headlights, he saw Faust reach to pull the ringing phone from inside the Mercedes.

“You a little puzzled, boy?” Faust asked.

“If you intend to make the switch, why all the hardware?”

A chuckle. “For all I know, you have that van packed with armed thugs.”

Alex turned off his headlamps so Faust could see the minivan more clearly in the illumination of the Mercedes’s lights. “Send over one of your goons. He can check my vehicle. Tell him to leave his weapon there.”

Faust spoke to one of the gunmen. The man passed his Uzi to a comrade and advanced slowly. He saw that Alex was alone, mumbled something too low for Alex to understand, and hurried back to his comrades.

Faust tossed his phone into the Mercedes’ front seat and raised his voice to speak across the space between the vehicles. “Bring me the chips. Let’s get away from this stink hole.”

“Send your sidekicks home.”

Faust spoke briefly with the gunmen, and three of them left in one of the sedans. The man who had ridden with Faust and one of the others, without his Uzi, stayed.

“All of them,” Alex said.

“So you can blow me away?” Faust shook his head. “I’m going to keep some firepower.”

Alex turned his headlights back on. In their glare, he saw Pia more clearly. He shuddered at her haggard appearance. She stared in his direction, and he thought her lips formed his name.

He forced himself to concentrate on Faust and the two gunmen. “I want everybody’s hands where I can see them.” Gripping the aluminum case, he began walking. He set the case on the ground midway between the facing vehicles. “Send Pia over.”

“How do I know the chips are in there?”

“Check it for yourself.” Alex opened the case and backed away.

Faust stayed where he was, with Pia at his side. The other two men walked to the case.

Alex backed still farther, until he was near his minivan, and twisted the circular valve that freed the safety on the incendiary’s remote trigger. The trigger button illuminated, and he felt newly empowered. He depressed the button as the men approached the case. The red light on top of the chips glowed dimly at first and then brightened. “Look, but don’t touch.”

One of the men bent close and inspected the case’s contents in the glare of the headlights. Both men walked back to Faust.

“As I said, Alex, you’re a good soldier.” Faust hooked a thumb toward Pia. “Now I suppose you want this.”

“Let her walk over. Then you or one of your flunkies can pick up the case.”

Holding Pia’s hand and swinging it like a teenager on a stroll with his girlfriend, Faust walked her to the open case. “She’s here. Come get her.”

They wanted him away from the van, his escape vehicle and possibly his arsenal. “Look inside the case, Theo. I’m sure you know how a two-stage trigger works. The chips are resting on C-4.”

Faust stared at the glowing red light for a moment, then back at Alex. “You’re being difficult. I don’t like difficult soldiers.”

“And you won’t like having your guidance circuitry barbecued. Pick up the case, leave Pia there, and return to your vehicle. I’ll keep the trigger depressed until you’re out of signal range, providing you take your goons with you.”

“We have a problem, Alex. I can’t trust you.”

“I want Pia, and I want out of here alive. I don’t give a damn about the chips.”

“I’d like to believe you wouldn’t detonate the C-4 the moment you felt safe. But I just can’t.”

“Like it or not, that’s the deal.” Alex held the trigger high in the air. It made his button-pressing thumb conspicuous in the headlights’ glare.

Faust closed a fist in Pia’s hair and jerked viciously, causing her to gasp and stumble sideways, her head at an awkward angle. “I’m going to leave this and drive away with the case, but my men are staying. If you fry the chips before I’m out of detonator range, they’ll waste both of you.”

He bent slowly, closed the lid, and picked up the aluminum case. Without taking his eyes off Alex, he spoke to the men behind him. “Wait ten minutes. Then give him the girl but take his van. Call me on his cell phone.” He climbed into the Mercedes—the driver was still behind the wheel. The big car turned in a tight circle and accelerated back down the trail.

Pia started walking toward Alex, but one of the gunmen grasped her arm. Looking at Alex, she mouthed something that he couldn’t make out.

Distraction would be deadly; Alex concentrated on the two men facing him. Faust had left them there to capture or kill him. Alex assumed they had handguns, and he noticed for the first time that they wore body armor. The Mylar vests weren’t visible, but the bulk underneath their shirts could be nothing else.

His Army sharpshooters would have the gunmen in the crosshairs of their scopes. At closer range, the rifles’ high-velocity rounds might penetrate the vests. From this distance, it was dicey. The snipers were monitoring his words on their radios. He had to make them conclude that his life was in imminent danger and let them know about the Mylar. Their sights would be centered on their targets’ chests. They should be aiming higher.

“You boys expecting trouble?” he said to the thugs, and waved the detonator’s trigger mechanism to impress them with the threat to their boss. “I see you’re both wearing armored vests.”

One of them grunted and looked toward Faust’s departing car. It had turned onto the highway. In another minute, it would be out of range. That would be their cue to grab or shoot him, using Pia as a lure.

“It’s clear you have orders to kill me as soon as your boss is out of detonator range.” Alex spoke slowly and distinctly, to make sure his Army marksmen understood. “If I were going to shoot you before that happened, I’d—”

He was about to say, “I’d do it now,” a signal for his marksmen to take them out. But why kill needlessly? “I’ve planted enough snipers here to handle a dozen like you, and those vests aren’t going to do you any good. But I’m going to give you a chance to live. I want you to move very slowly and look behind you. Pay close attention to the headlights on your vehicle.”

The gunmen stared at him. He had about decided they weren’t believers, but they finally turned enough to see the car.

“Imagine those lights are your heads. Will my fine marksmen please demonstrate to these gentlemen what will happen if I give the word?”

The request was barely out of Alex’s mouth when the car’s headlights erupted in a shower of glass. Rifle shots echoed across the garbage dump.

“Night scopes,” he said to the startled thugs. “My snipers can still see you as if it were high noon. You’ve got to choose now between life and death. If you want to live, put your guns on the ground. Do it slowly, and step back.”

He waited while the gunmen complied. “Smart move. Lean forward against your car, legs widespread. Let’s make sure those are your only weapons.”

As Alex frisked the gunmen and bound their wrists with plastic ties, Pia spoke for the first time. “Is Frederick . . . where is Frederick?”

“He’s safe. Hidden away.” With the gunmen securely tethered, Alex gave her his full attention. He pulled her close, kissed her, and nuzzled her cheek. “You’re also safe now. You’ll see him in a couple of days.” Alex kissed her again and bundled her into his rented minivan.

He no longer needed the message-drop room at the Hotel Antigua Miraflores, and it was his for two more nights, so he made a deal with his Army snipers. Like his, their room had been paid for in advance. They would leave the captured gunmen there, bound and gagged and with the Do Not Disturb sign hanging on their door; he would give them the key to his room in the Antigua Miraflores, a distinct improvement over their downscale digs. They could live in relative luxury while sampling Lima’s nightlife. By the time the hotel staff found the gunmen and released them, Pia and Alex would be on their way home.

Pia seemed to be in a trancelike state during their drive to the Hyatt Regency. In his room, Alex filled the bathtub with warm water and slipped off her skimpy shift, her only clothing. Steadying her with his hands on her arm and waist, he urged her into the tub. While she soaked, he washed her filthy garment and hung it on a coat hanger to dry. On his knees by the tub, he bathed her.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he eased the washcloth over her back. “I shouldn’t have been so careless up in that cabin. Should have tied Jake more securely.”

She kissed his hand, resting on her shoulder. “Will you take care of Frederick? When he’s older, tell him about me? Tell him I love him?”

“You’ll do that yourself. I’m taking you to him.”

“I can’t get out of Lima.”

“Nonsense.” He helped her out of the tub, patted her dry with a fluffy towel, and urged her onto the bed. He pulled the sheet up to her neck and kissed the stitches on her forehead where his knuckles had split the flesh. “Nobody’s going to hurt you anymore. I’ll take care of you.”

“Theo is too powerful.”

“We got away before, didn’t we? Took Freddy?”

She shivered so hard the bed shook. “He always wins.”

“Not this time.” Alex slipped off his boots and stretched out by her side. “I’m powerful, too. And I want you more than he does.” Holding her close, Alex told her over and over that he loved her, that he prized her beyond all people, all things. He assured her that Frederick was waiting for them, that they would make a life together.

Silent, limp, she let herself be cuddled. For a long time she seemed little more than a rag doll. Then her composure broke. Twice before he’d seen her tears overflow, but always silently, almost as if they were independent of her body. This time she shook with giant, wracking sobs.

He held her and murmured reassurances. His own tears blinded him.

She slept, finally, in fits and starts interspersed with moaning and occasional shrieks that jerked her awake. Each time, she drifted back to sleep only to snap awake with another scream.

When she seemed settled into a deeper slumber, Alex called LAN Airlines. He held tickets to Mexico City with an open departure; he confirmed an early-afternoon reservation. Then he called his father. The elder Bryson had provided Alex with documents for Pia, realistic enough to get her into Mexico. From there, he had a boat standing by to smuggle them into the U.S.

After the calls, Alex sat in a chair by the bed with the Colt .45 resting in his lap. He watched over Pia for the rest of the night.

* * *

“Is Frederick really safe?” Pia asked. Dawn had turned the darkened hotel room a dirty gray. Though she frequently shifted, tossed, and moaned, she had not spoken for several hours.