The Infinity Tattoo (14 page)

“Well,” Meg said, “that is very generous of her. But . . . how can we repay her for such an unselfish act?”

“Justice,” said Isabella. “That is all she wants.”

“I see. Well, then, how do we meet with her?”

“You must give me your travel itinerary. I will contact her to coordinate the rendezvous.”

“Okay. We’ll let you know when we’ve finalized our plans.”

Meg hung up. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Of course not. But what are our alternatives? We need to get our lives back.”

“It’s just that . . . well, I’m not sure I can do it. Those last few weeks in Honduras after Alex disappeared, I was so . . . lost. If I hadn’t gotten news that my father was ill, I don’t know what I would have done.”

Jack stroked her back and looked at her with his solemn gray eyes. “There’s no shame in leaving a situation like that.”

“I guess not. I just feel like I failed. I failed to find Alex. I failed to follow up on the story. I was paralyzed with fear.”

“I think they call that the instinct for self-preservation. If you hadn’t been afraid, you wouldn’t be human.”

“I felt like such a coward.”

“Meg,” Jack said. “You are no coward.”

“You don’t think so?”

Jack kissed her gently. “No. And now you’re going to prove it to yourself by going back with me to Honduras. I’ll be watching your back. Nothing is going to happen to you. You know deep down that we don’t have a choice.”

Two days later they stood at the check-in counter of United Airlines in Phoenix. Jack could feel the sweat down his back and under his arms. He was counting on the fact that his official status at Luke Air Force Base was still authorized leave, but there was a chance that that had changed. If his status had been changed to AWOL, then he would be flagged in the system, which meant that he would be arrested the minute he presented his passport.

Not for the first time, he resented the hold that the military had over him. It hadn’t bothered him so much when he joined. He was young and willing to go anywhere, do anything. It was all new and exciting. But the longer he stayed, the harder it was. His civilian friends were getting married, having children. Having grown up in a large family, he always figured he’d be a dad someday.

And it was getting more difficult for him to accept the assignment system that, more often than not, failed to take into consideration either the commanding officer’s or the soldier’s needs and wants. Sure, on paper, you were allowed to express your preferences, but in practice assignments often seemed arbitrary.

How many times had he seen a colleague with wife and young family get uprooted and moved, wreaking havoc on home life and marriage? And as for assignments under his command, he seemed to have very little discretion. There were times when he would have given his eyeteeth to have a particular junior officer assigned to his team. But the army, in its infinite wisdom, would chose to assign that officer to a base on the other side of the continent or the world.

Now he felt the restriction more than ever, at any moment his status could turn to AWOL. So his hands were sweating when he handed his passport to the attendant at the check-in counter. The woman in a United Airlines’ uniform merely glanced at it, then at him, and handed it back without a second’s hesitation.

* * *

Meg nodded at him reassuringly. Now that they had set the whole thing in motion, her fear had receded. Maybe Jack had been right. Maybe they needed to go to Honduras, to find Alex and to get themselves out of the mess they were in. They certainly couldn’t stay on the run forever.

With tickets in hand, they proceeded through security. They had opted to fly to El Salvador and then take ground transportation to Honduras just in case Augusto was keeping tabs at immigration in Honduras. They really had no idea how long Augusto’s reach was, but they weren’t taking any chances and San Salvador was the nearest point to Tegucigalpa.

They had debated whether they should try to blend in with the locals but soon gave it up. They both knew from experience that gringos were easily spotted. For one thing, people of Jack’s height towered over the average Honduran.

Instead they opted for a Peace-Corps-style tourist look, respectable but a bit worn around the edges. Beyond that, they would have to rely on the good sister to guide them safely to the padre’s village. Meg had mailed home the suit she had purchased for her clandestine visit to the military base and purchased a couple of floral-print skirts at Goodwill along with several blouses.

* * *

There were no direct flights from Phoenix to El Salvador, so they had to make a stopover in Houston, therefore they didn’t land until early evening. Jack stood in the airplane aisle watching the slow exit of the passengers ahead of him. He felt the knot in his stomach start to tighten once again, although they did not anticipate any issues with immigration in El Salvador.

When they reached the front of the visitors’ line, their passports were stamped, a photo was taken of each of them, and they entered the country without a hitch. Good to go, they proceeded past the luggage claim area. They bypassed the carousels loaded with baggage as they’d only brought backpacks small enough for carry-on.

They exited the airport and looked around at the bustle of travelers. Some waited for taxis or friends to pull up to the curb to pick them up. Some lugged their bags to the parking area. Still others stood with cell phones pressed to their ears.

They flagged down a cab. Meg had arranged hotel accommodation before departing. They faced so many uncertainties that she wanted a little safety and comfort before embarking on the journey to Honduras.

When they reached the hotel, Meg flopped on the bed and exhaled slowly. “Well, Jack,” she said, “I hope you’re ready for this.”

Jack lay down next to her. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” He kissed her gently. She returned it with passion. Jack pulled away for a moment and searched her face. “I know you’re scared.”

“Petrified,” Meg said.

“But we have each other,” he said nipping at her lower lip. “And I think we make a damn good team.”

In response, Meg pulled him even closer. Slowly, tenderly, they caressed each other, explored each other’s bodies without restraint. Tomorrow would come soon enough. Just now, it was only the two of them hidden from the world. When they finally came together, it was with a new level of emotional and physical intensity.

Afterwards, sated and finally relaxed, Meg said, “Let’s order room service.”

They opted to stay an extra day in El Salvador, just to get things in order before entering Honduras. They had to find a cell phone that worked in Honduras, change money, and purchase provisions for the bus trip.

* * *

Early in the morning, they caught a bus to Tegucigalpa. When they reached the border crossing several hours later, they handed their passports over to the bus driver along with the entrance fee. Meg was uncomfortable about giving up her passport, but she knew it was standard procedure. She experienced an anxious hour until the bus driver returned with their passports.

Then they resumed their journey, passing through the lowlands of Honduras’ southern coast before turning north and winding up hill and vale to get to Tegucigalpa.

As they approached the Honduran capital, Meg stared out the window at the dry, mountainous terrain. The rains had only just started and the scruffy bushes that marched up the hillside were withered, clinging to life with dogged determination, reminding Meg of the farmers in the campo, struggling in a land with few resources, waiting for the rains to come.

It was a strange feeling to return to the country where she had made such a life-altering decision, to the place where she had lost one of her best friends.

She loved the Honduran people she had met during her time there. They were gracious and down-to-earth, with warm hearts, both in the city or the countryside. But the bitterness many of them directed at the deposed president during and after the coup was palpable.

There was no doubt that their president was fiscally completely irresponsible. He should have known that joining up with the organization of leftist countries of Latin America was an invitation to disaster. And did he really have to thumb his nose at the American ambassador, refusing to accept his credentials when he landed?

The Honduran congress had been so sure that the coup was the right decision. They were fighting communism. Just like they had in the past, like supporting the Contras against the communist regime in Nicaragua. They expected support from their close allies like the United States.

Meg remembered seeing a panel of Hondurans being interviewed on local TV. When she saw their faces, she saw the Honduran people—earnest, hardworking, no-nonsense. Each one took their turn to implore the world to understand their actions. Don’t be so fast to judge us, they said, until you know the whole story. But the world had condemned their actions as illegal and unacceptable. Sadly, the ruling elite of Honduras didn’t seem to know that the cold war had ended.

But of course, not everyone in Honduras supported the coup. Immediately, protests broke out and continued right up until a new president was elected six months later. It was a wonder that such protests were as non-violent as they were. Meg knew that, in fact, there was plenty of intrigue going on under the surface. The lack of violence was in large part due to the stranglehold of the ruling class and the military on protesters, a suppression that resulted in numerous violations of human rights.

That’s what Alex had doggedly continued to ferret out. And now she knew he had lost his life to make these violations public. Jack was right. They had to set things right. Alex deserved at least that much from two of his best friends.

* * *

They arrived at the bus stop in Comayaguela mid-afternoon. Meg and Jack looked around the small, dingy area that served as the bus station. Small crowds were gathered here and there waiting to board buses. The buses spilled spumes of exhaust into the air.

Meg called Sister Reina’s cell-phone number.

“Welcome to Honduras,” the nun greeted her cheerfully. “Are you at the bus terminal?”

“Yes, we’ve just arrived.”

“Good, good. There’s a small café near there called Jose’s. Ask for directions, everyone knows it. When you get there, order a cup of coffee or a coke or something. I will meet you there.

They found Jose’s, a humble place with a few tables covered in faded floral plastic table clothes. They sat down at a table near a wall so as to be as unobtrusive as possible and keep an eye out for the nun. Just as the server arrived with their drinks, a woman in her mid-fifties with short-cropped dark hair sprinkled with gray approached their table. She wore jeans and a short-sleeved cotton sweater. “Jack? Meg?” she said.

“Yes,” Meg said, standing.

“I’m Sister Reina,” she said.

Jack stood and offered his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

They sat down again and Sister Reina ordered a coke.

“Well, I see you both made it to Tegus in one piece. How was your journey?”

“It was good,” Meg said. “Uneventful. Everything worked like clockwork.”

“So, you were lucky, then,” Sister Reina laughed. They chatted as they finished their drinks. Then Sister Reina said, “I think it is too late to set off for Olancho today. It’s not a long trip, but you never know what delays we may encounter. We don’t want to be traveling after dark. So I’ve arranged rooms at the Hotel Maya. They gave me a special rate. It should be comfortable enough and is very safe.

“That was very kind of you,” Jack said.

“It was my pleasure. Now, if you’ll grab up your stuff, I’ll take you to my vehicle.”

It was a very old, dinged up, double-cab Toyota pickup. They threw their luggage in the back seat. Meg sat beside their stuff in the back and Jack sat in the front. Meg felt somewhat reassured about the reliability of their transportation when the pickup started the moment Sister Reina turned the key in the ignition.

As they drove over the river, out of Comayaguela, renowned for its high crime rate, into Tegucigalpa proper, Meg immediately felt some of the tension leave her. Even though it was broad daylight and the odds of anything untoward happening were slim, she felt more comfortable on the familiar streets of Tegucigalpa with its abundance of cars and trucks and pedestrians going about their business.

Soon Sister Reina turned off the main thoroughfare and began to navigate the winding streets that ran higgledy-piggledy up, over, and around Tegucigalpa’s hilly terrain. Finally, she arrived at the hotel and got them checked in.

“Now,” she said as she prepared to leave them, “I will pick you up at nine tomorrow morning. We should give ourselves plenty of time to get there and talk to the padre.”

* * *

Sister Reina arrived the next day wearing a habit, the traditional black head covering of the Catholic nun. “It will help us pass through the region. The church is still respected even by the drug cartels.”

The journey began along a twisting road that wound its way through the mountainous region north of Tegucigalpa. Traffic was heavy and Sister Reina had to contend with vehicles of every vintage and state of repair. Some crawled up the hills while others dodged impatiently and dangerously around slower-moving traffic.

Eventually, the highway straightened out and began meandering its way through the rolling plains of central Olancho where vast swathes of land were planted to crops, and cattle grazed here and there. As they passed through sparsely populated villages, Herman Reina instructed them to roll their windows down.

“Why do we do need to do that?” Jack asked.

“People in these towns are very cautious these days. They want to know who is coming and going. With our windows rolled down they’ll see we’re a nun and a couple who are clearly gringos. We won’t set off any alarms.”

The deeper they got into Olancho, Meg noticed, the more reserved the people of these remote villages became. Rather than smile in welcome, they observed Sister Reina and her two passengers with stoic expressions. Eyes followed them from the time they entered a tiny village, made up of a few small buildings strung together in a line along the road, until they departed it.

The drive gave them plenty of time to learn about Sister Reina. She was an active member of the resistance front against the coup. To her, the deposed president had been a champion of the poor.

“Look at everything he did,” she said. “He raised minimum wage, introduced free education for all children, gave subsidies to small farmers, provided school meals to more than a million children from poor families, and promised to bring roads and electricity to remote villages.

“Let’s face it, our usual rulers aren’t, and never have been, concerned about the poor of this country, which is itself the poorest in Central America. The resistance front, at its heart, is opposed to our corrupt and deeply conservative political system, a system that is tightly controlled by the country’s wealthiest families.”