20
red white and blue
SOMETIME WHILE ALEJO WAS STILL UP ON THE ROOF, Wara fell asleep under the faded sheets and heavy blanket. She was startled, when her eyes cracked open, to see that the hostel room was filled with gray light, filtering through the sheer fabric of the cream curtains. A few fiery rays of sun poked out from behind a tall red brick building.
It was morning.
Wara jerked into a sitting position, flipping her gaze over to Alejo’s bed, half-expecting it to still be empty. His body was tucked under the covers, however, back towards Wara. At the sound of Wara’s movement, Alejo inhaled sharply and shot up on one elbow, rolling over onto his back at lightning speed.
He seemed relieved to see it was only her. Alejo groaned and sank back onto the pillow on his back, black hair sticking up wildly in all directions. He scrubbed both fists across his eyes, then swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up to look at her.
“Hey,” he said grimly.
Feeling the awkwardness, Wara didn’t respond. After the emotional encounter of last night, she didn’t know what to say. If his story were true, it made more sense how he could actually believe God would support killing a man like Franco Salazar. But the truth was, Wara still didn’t feel as if she could trust Alejo Martir at all. He could change personalities in an instant, one minute serious and morose, the next charming and convincing, seemingly able to manipulate anyone into doing what he wanted. She wasn’t about to trust his story about Salazar until she had talked with the Martirs and confirmed some facts. Wara threw off the covers and headed for the bathroom in Alexis’ wrinkled sweat pants and wombat shirt.
When she came out of the bathroom, he was waiting, pacing by the window, staring down at the alley outside. “Could you come over to the other room?” he asked. “We really need to talk about some stuff.”
“Ok.” Wara shrugged. She felt a little better than yesterday, after a quick shower. Soaking off the dried blood had hurt a lot, and she had washed her face without looking in the mirror, afraid of what she would see. Alejo had got her some ibuprofen, but she still felt like some foreign object was lodged on her face, twice the size of her own nose. At least the throbbing had died down.
Fighting the depression, Wara trudged after Alejo to the hall and the Martirs’ door. It was cracked open, and Alejo pushed the deadbolt into place after they slipped inside.
“Dad.” Alejo’s voice sounded unnatural saying the word. “Can you come here for a second? I need to run this by you.”
Pablo Martir looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink all night and he was staring out the window at the mountains. “Alright,” he said, and he and his son moved to one of the beds in the corner, each cautiously sitting down at the furthest extremes possible and beginning a hushed, strained conversation.
Wara plopped down on a bed next to Nazaret and Noly at the other side of the room. The kids were huddled on the beds, munching half-heartedly on cheesy empanada pastries and sipping chocolate milk from flimsy plastic cups. The thought of food made Wara want to gag. “Have you heard any more news?” she asked Nazaret’s mom.
She was terrified they might have heard more news. As long as there was no news, there was still hope.
Noly yawned and covered her mouth with one hand. “No,” she said, and Wara closed her eyes in relief. “I made a call really early—from the street, of course. Alejandro says no cell phones. The Bennesons from your mission say they still haven’t identified the body of any foreigners. So far, the confirmed dead are a government guy from Cochabamba and three of his staff: two women and one man.”
She was so glad they hadn’t found Noah. Dead. But a pang came along with it, because those people who died had been on the bus with her. Shed seen them whispering and laughing as they got on the bus. When Noah decided to get on his knees in the aisle and give her the ring, the people in the back had clapped. She searched for the right words, and finally said, “I made Alejo tell me why he did what he did. He was trying to kill the man who used to be mayor of Quillacollo. He said that you guys used to know him.”
“Ah.” Noly’s eyes grew sad, and she glanced over at Nazaret. “Franco Salazar?”
“Yeah,” Wara nodded, snatching a watermelon bubble gum from the bedside table and popping it in her mouth. Her body seemed to float inches above the bed, and she felt a desperate need for the sugar. “Alejo said that Franco Salazar was involved in all kinds of horrible stuff. And that he killed a friend of his from when they were little—Ruben.”
Nazaret’s face went pale. “I just heard last night. I mean, I remember when little Ruben died, but I didn’t know…”
“She didn’t know anything about Salazar possibly being involved,” Noly murmured. “That part of our history is a painful memory that marked our lives forever. The kids were so young they didn’t know what was really going on. Her father told her last night, because Salazar came up when he was talking with Alejo.” Noly pointed her chin towards Nazaret, who looked conflicted. “Did he tell you we didn’t report what happened to Ruben?”
Wara rolled her eyes and nodded, waiting for Noly to say that idea was ridiculous. But instead, Noly’s eyes crinkled as she said, “We’ve regretted that decision, made out of pride and reluctance to lose our place in the community, ever since.”
Wara was stunned. She blinked and turned her head towards Alejo, deep in discussion with his father.
“Alejo ran the day Ruben was found dead, just after he turned fourteen,” Noly continued, swallowing hard and swiping at mascara running down one cheek. “It took years for us to understand how wrong we were. We started the children’s center in Villa Candelaria to try to repent, somehow. It’s all true, Wara. I know why he wanted Salazar dead.”
Wara was still in a daze when Alejo’s voice cut into their conversation. “You guys are involved with the Children’s Center in Villa Candelaria? I’m…surprised. And glad. I’ve heard of that place---it’s famous all over the country. I just didn’t know…that you were involved.”
“We are, son,” Pastor Martir said from behind him, and Alejo nodded slowly, seemingly confused by this new development.
“I talked with…Dad,” Alejo said. The word still seemed to taste bitter in his mouth. “He thinks it would be good for you all to try to go to the United States. To visit Aunt Wendy. I have plenty of money, and I’m going to go get as much as I can out of the bank now, before you go.”
Alejo’s family all stared at him with expressions of disbelief that clearly said: Go? You mean like right now?
“Won’t they be watching the bank? All your buddies?” Wara demanded, imagining Gabriel and scary Benjamin staking out the bank with rifles from a crumbling apartment window across the street.
Alejo shook his head. “There are ten branches of my bank here in Cochabamba, and they don’t have enough manpower to watch all of them at the same time. Today I can get enough to take care of you all for quite awhile, and the rest is in a Cayman Islands account only I have access to. I’ll get all that to you later.”
Pastor Martir stood frowning at his son, burly arms crossed in front of his chest. Alejo grunted and turned to Wara. “None of the family have passports, except Dad. I want to see if the U.S. will give them visas and put them in protection, in exchange for the information I have. We also need to let the embassy know you’re alive.”
He took Wara back to their room, and Alejo dialed the embassy number on a brand-new cell phone he had picked up across the street. Wara took another handful of Ibuprofen from the bedside table and forced herself to sip water while Alejo talked with someone for quite a long time. By his frustrated expression, Wara could tell the conversation didn’t go well.
“So?” she asked as he punched the End button a little too hard and slammed a fist into the bedpost.
“They agree with you,” Alejo scowled at the little gray phone. “I don’t think they bought most of what I said, but from the little I told them now, they have decided that I am a terrorist. And,” Alejo hurled the phone onto the bed, obviously using less force than he would have liked, “the U.S. government does not help the family of terrorists.”
“What!?” Wara squawked. “They won’t help them because you’re a terrorist? But that’s why they need help!”
Alejo’s mouth twisted into a grim smile. “I guess you’re right. Robert Cole at the embassy told me to tell you that you should contact them so they can pick you up immediately to send you home, by the way. They are going to call your family right away and confirm that you are alive and well.”
Both Alejo and Wara flinched at that expression. “They haven’t found the bodies of any Americans,” he added after a while, then looked away.
Wara’s heart revved. They hadn’t found Noah’s body. Which meant he could still be alive.
He had to still be alive.
“So now where will you send the Martirs?” she asked shakily. “Since the good old U.S. of A has been so helpful?”
Alejo grimaced and massaged his temple, feet planted on the tile floor. “Everyone I know who could be any help in hiding them is connected to the Prism. Without all those contacts, I can’t get passports, visas, anything.” He let out a frustrated breath and then sat up, looking at Wara.
“We’ll go to plan B,” he announced. “I’ll put them on a bus to Lima this afternoon. They won’t check passports at the border, since they don’t look like tourists. We’ll take a taxi to Sacaba, that little town outside the city, and take a bus from there. The guys, hopefully, will only be watching the main terminal here in the city. They can get passports at the embassy there and take a flight to another country. It’s all so sudden, but we have enough money and I can make a new life for my family.” Alejo sighed slowly, watching Wara. “You should call the embassy to come pick you up,” he said.
Wara’s mind was reeling. Those guys she had seen on the mountain---they would forget about her soon though, right? She could go home, see her parents, find a new place to live and work? Come back to Bolivia someday?
At the moment, Wara didn’t care at all what she did or where she lived. Only two thoughts consumed her mind: Seeing the Martirs safe and out of this nightmare, and finding Noah Hearst.
“I can’t go without Noah.” The words slipped out before Wara realized it. Alejo looked at her sharply, mouth open as if about to protest but she cut him off. “I won’t leave Bolivia until I know.”
His mouth snapped shut, and he got up quickly and paced to the other bed, lowering himself down cross-legged on top of the unmade covers. He closed his eyes and massaged his temples even harder.
“I’ll stay with you until they know,” Alejo said finally. “My family can go on ahead, and we can meet them. I’m not going to leave you alone.”
“But…” Wara tried to protest, but couldn’t come up with anything reasonable to say.
No, you go on. I’ll just ward off all of those killers myself. I did such a lovely job of it last time.
Alejo’s very presence in the room caused a veritable host of unpleasant sensations in Wara’s brain. So why did her heart flood with something like relief at his plan?
“Thank you,” was all she finally said, fighting hard not to cry.