24
sea green
EVERYONE ELSE HAD LEFT THE HOUSE, and Alejo was left in the echoing entryway of some missionaries’ house. He hunched miserably on a polished wooden chair, listening to the rhythmic tick of a clock from the kitchen off to the left. Wara lay curled up on a black leather sofa in a smaller family room, and she hadn’t said a word since the rest of the funeral attendees had left. She seemed to sleeping.
One more hour and we can leave this place and get back to the motel.
Alejo groaned and clunked his head against the cool plaster of the wall, envisioning red silk and painted Cupids.
As if that’s going to be any better than being here.
Knowing the chances were fair to good that the guys had found out about the bus victim’s funeral and would be lurking about outside, Alejo had told Wara they needed to wait here at the house for two hours after the rest of the people had gone. Then maybe they could sneak out with no one following. The Bennesons’ house was in an upscale neighborhood, across the street from a long, shady park. Pretty soon, Alejo would call a radio taxi with dark windows to take them back to their hideous quarters.
The clock kept ticking and Alejo closed his eyes, remembering the face of Noah’s mother as she and her husband left with the woman from the U.S. embassy and the crew from a funeral home. Alejo had listened in enough to know that the Hearsts were going to ship the body back to the United States for burial, and that the embassy was helping them with all the necessary arrangements.
Wara’s haunting voice when she sang with the guitar had cut him to the heart. He hadn’t been around so many Christians since he was a kid, and the experience had been overwhelming.
He thought about what his father had said back at the Hostal Salta: Noah would have forgiven you.
It didn’t seem realistic to imagine Noah just punching him in the shoulder with a, Hey man, don’t worry about it. It’s all good.
But he was supposed to believe God would forgive him, just like that?
Another comment Wara had made sometime during their last few days flashed through his mind: “Jesus said to love your enemies.” That was very true—Jesus had even said to turn the other cheek when someone hits you. But did that mean standing there and watching while someone hit a helpless woman or child?
God, I need help, Alejo groaned out loud. I’m a mess. I don’t even know how to talk with you. I keep thinking I need to go wash the right way before praying and prostrate myself on the ground. But here I am, without washing, not facing the right direction, just talking to you, slouched on a chair at some gringos’ house.
I need help.
But the chances of Alejo meeting someone soon who could help him figure out who he was and why were pretty slim, since he and Wara were in the middle of running for their lives. The funeral was over, and it was time for them to leave Bolivia and go to Alejo’s family, so they could all start their lives over.
Just like that.
Alejo realized that the phone was ringing somewhere in the house, one of those annoying, electric sounds that beeped through the air in waves. It finally shut up, and Alejo leaned forward in his chair to peer into the room where Wara had collapsed on the couch. She was still there, facing the wall, huddled inside the long sleeves of her black sweater.
The phone started ringing again, only seconds after it stopped, and it was annoying as heck. When the caller rang a third time, then a fourth, Alejo’s adrenaline picked up. He rose from the chair on the balls of his feet, doing a quick sweep of vision around the windows of the house. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary in the empty yard. He had already made sure all the doors of the house were locked.
When the sixth, seventh, then eighth call came in, Alejo had a sinking feeling that the caller might possibly not be someone looking for the Bennesons. All the phones downstairs appeared to have been disconnected for the funeral, as the only ringing came from somewhere upstairs.
Just to be on the safe side, Alejo decided to answer the phone. Maybe he could just give some poor gringo directions and put an end to this. With a last glance at Wara, he bolted up the stairs, two at a time, and across a parquet wood floor to where a cordless phone was flashing on a desk. Alejo marched towards the desk and snatched up the receiver, punching the talk button.
“Alo?”
“Oh, good, thank goodness!” The cheerful voice on the other end appeared to be speaking around a mouthful of food. “Alejo, I’m so glad you finally did me the favor of answering, che. I was beginning to think I was going to have to come over the walls and risk getting bit in the rear by that yappy white dog in there. Those little poodle things can be quite mean.”
Alejo’s blood chilled as he recognized the voice of Gabriel. “Che,” he said calmly. “Where are you?” Alejo moved in a crouch towards a plate window overlooking the quiet cobblestone street in front of the house. A small dog, white curls graying where its belly scraped the grass, was trotting calmly around the spacious front yard. Nothing else in sight was moving.
“Oh, just outside the wall, having a snack. Here, let me move a little bit, there, ok, do you see me?” A pale hand waved into Alejo’s line of vision from above the thick concrete wall surrounding the house, and then all of Gabriel came into view, backing up farther across the road so he wasn’t hidden by the wall. A cell phone was plastered to one ear, and he squinted up at the window where Alejo stood. “I figured it might take you guys a while to come out,” he said with a grin, “but I really didn’t feel like waiting any longer. It took me a little bit to get this number, though.”
“How’d you know the funeral was going to be here?” Alejo needed to kill time.
“Facebook,” Gabriel answered, matter-of-factly. “You wouldn’t believe how many friends this guy had. Makes me feel kind of bad. I only have 167.”
“So how did you know we were in here?”
Was only Gabriel outside? If that were the case, a dozen ways he and Wara could get out of here ran through Alejo’s head.
They surely wouldn’t be so stupid, though, as to send only Gabriel over to capture him.
“My thermal imaging goggles.” Gabriel’s voice was light. “There’re all kinds of poky plants in that park across the street. I think they never cut the grass over there. Great hiding spot. I can see up to 1000 meters with these things, so that was plenty close enough.” Alejo saw Gabriel, down below, pointing off to the park across the street, darkened with shady trees and deep green vegetation. “Anyway, I saw two people hiding on the floor of a van that drove in, and figured that wasn’t the usual way guests arrive at funerals. The rest, as they say, is history.”
“So,” Gabriel continued, blithely, “this is the way this is going to go down. Benjamin is over at the Hotel Diplomat, where the deceased’s parents are in their room right now. There’s an empty office space right across from their big plate glass window, which has the drapes wide open, and Benjamin has got all the equipment set up. If you don’t come out with the girl and come with me, he’ll have to take the guys’ parents out.”
Alejo swore under his breath. Now that he had chickened out about killing Wara, they assumed he wouldn’t let Noah’s parents die in the middle of this mess, either.
And he wouldn’t. “I’ll come out, but I can’t let you have Wara,” he told Gabriel. “I’ll go with you and talk to the Khan. She doesn’t know what’s going on. Leave the parents out of this—they have nothing to do with it. What’s gotten into you guys?”
Downstairs, something hissed, smooth wood scraping across tile. Alejo jerked, glancing out the window where Gabriel was still on the street. The sound of a door banging echoed throughout the house and Alejo panicked. Wara was going outside! The phone receiver crashed to the floor as he raced to the stairs and leaped down them, skidding at the bottom and sprinting towards the door. Metal grated and he saw that Wara had already opened the door that led to the street and was walking out like a zombie.
The space between the house and the outer wall was wide, and Alejo yelled, “Wara, shut the door!” as he ran across the grass to try to reach her. What was she doing?
Wara disappeared from view out the door, onto the street, and Alejo dug up clumps of dirt racing after her. He pulled up at the open door in the outer wall and took in Gabriel and Wara, several yards away from the house next to a white delivery truck, staring at each other. Gabriel seemed startled to see her, but then his eyes narrowed when he saw Alejo.
Wara turned around so her back was facing him, holding out her hands to what Alejo saw was a pair of handcuffs in Gabriel’s hands. Within two seconds, less then it would have taken for Alejo to cross the space between him and his friend, Gabriel had the cuffs around Wara’s wrists and pushed her inside the delivery truck. He slammed the heavy door shut with a clang, then Alejo heard a beep as Gabriel pushed something near the door latch.
Numb, Alejo started towards Gabriel, unable to believe that Wara had just disappeared into the truck while he just stood there.
“We’re friends, che, aren’t we?” Gabriel looked at Alejo and shook his head sadly. “Or at least we were. What happened to you?” His eyes flickered as if trying to read Alejo’s expression, and then he sighed. “Because we’re friends, you know that I have the door set to blow up if anyone but me, with the appropriate code, tries to open it. Did you hear that?” Gabriel called louder, banging on the metal side of the truck.
“Yes.” Wara’s single word answer came flatly from inside. Then she added, “Don’t do anything to Noah’s parents. Please.”
“I have to take you back now, che,” Gabriel told Alejo, and his voice was really pained. “If we’re not there in another hour, Benjamin gets to do his little op. So don’t try anything on the way, ok? Do I have to cuff you so you’re not tempted? I know you could take me out like a fly.”
“Let’s go,” Alejo ground out, stalking to the passenger side of the truck and ripping open the door. He slid inside and closed it, waiting for Gabriel to come around and stick the key in the ignition. Without a word, Gabriel revved up the truck, guided it around the corners of the peaceful neighborhood, then circled a round-about to merge onto a main avenue.
“I didn’t want to leave all of you, che.” Alejo decided to start the conversation. There was probably not much time until they got to wherever the Khan and the rest had hidden themselves, and there was so much he wanted to say. “I always did what I believed was the right thing, what God would want. So have you. Well this time, I couldn’t let her die.” Alejo knew Gabriel understood who he was talking about. “It was an accident that she was there. The right thing was to let her live.”
“That’s where I think you are wrong,” Gabriel stated firmly. “When we were up there, I told you there could be people on-site who were unrelated to Salazar, and you said, and I quote, ‘Then let them be collateral.’ Unquote.” Gabriel cleared his throat and jerked the steering wheel to the right, leading them along a less traveled road towards the outskirts of town. “I kind of freaked out a little, too at the idea of slitting her throat—not a pleasant idea for me, you understand. But there was no other acceptable option, che! You know what you’ve done.” Gabriel’s voice turned dark and Alejo saw that he was gripping the wheel with white knuckles. “She knows everything. If she’s not dead, she’ll tell. We don’t even know if you have already tattled and gotten us in a heap of trouble.”
“I don’t want all of you to get into trouble,” Alejo said quietly.
“Yeah, well, then you should have not let your emotions get away with you and let Ishmael take care of her. Now he’s mad as a hornet. He can’t trust you—and you’re the most important cog in the Prism in the continent! I don’t even think I could trust you anymore.”
Gabriel turned his eyes on Alejo for a moment, and they flashed the anger of betrayal.
“Gabo, there’s a lot I have to tell you, and since this seems like it could be my last chance, knowing the Khan, let me talk, ok?” Alejo sank back into the vinyl of the seat and waved one hand as he said, “I assume you still remember our trip to the Tribal Area? All the Bolivian guys, huddled up there near the skirmish zone?”
“Yeah,” Gabriel nodded, “With all that… happened before I came home from Pakistan, we never really talked about that. I thought it was amazing, so many guys ready to follow God.”
“Well I thought it was just plain wrong. The Khan is offering these poor guys scholarships to study, and then they’re just being used as fodder for religious wars. They’re being blown to pieces, and their families will never even know where they went! Allah loves the poor, so don’t you think it’s wrong to offer the poor a version of Islam that will only get them fired up so that someone can send them off to be mujahedeen?”
Gabriel frowned, opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Finally he said, “I can’t criticize the men who know a whole lot more about our religion and pleasing God than I do, che. Besides, what could be more pleasing to God then doing what those poor guys from the countryside are doing? If they stayed here, they’d live out their lives in poverty, never making a difference at all, not knowing God. But now they’re getting a chance to make their lives really count. God’s going to reward them for that. What’s the big deal if they die? They’re going to paradise.”
Alejo glanced sharply at his friend and then back at the road. “Well, I can’t just accept what others tell me about religion, because I’m responsible to God for what I do. Me. The last few months I’ve been reading the Bible, and I’ve decided it’s not corrupted. I’m going to live like what it says is true, and that means following the teachings of Jesus.”
Gabriel hit a pothole in the worn gravel road they were following and swore, not even looking at Alejo. “You can’t do that.”
“I am,” Alejo said evenly.
“If you believe all those books say, you are not a Muslim anymore,” Gabriel sighed. Adobe brick houses with scrawny chickens pecking the grass outside passed by the window, and overhead the truck was shaded by rows and rows of eucalyptus trees, lacy branches swaying in the wind. Gabriel shook his head and then drilled Alejo with a serious stare. “You’re an apostate?”
Alejo exhaled and leaned his head back into the seat. “Listen, che, you are like a brother to me. I wanted to tell you, but I knew if I said too much I’d get kicked out of the Prism and I might never see you again ”
Gabriel bit his lip and looked over at Alejo, annoyed. “Che, I’ve heard all this Christian stuff before, ok? I don’t need some man who made the insane claim that he was God to bring me close to God. That’s blasphemy, anyway—I can’t believe you would even…whatever.” Gabriel wrinkled his nose, then said, “The Quran tells us everything we need to please God. And I’ve been doing it all. We are the best of the best, che. Why would we need some person to take away our sins? We are serving Allah every day. We’re not unbelievers who don’t follow his laws. He’s got to accept me.”
Alejo’s heart felt heavy as he heard the last statement come out as an unsure hope. A picture flashed through his mind of Gabriel and himself, lounging lazily on some park bench in the plaza on a sunny Coroico afternoon, licking mocha ice cream cones and grinning at the little Quechua girls who sang for coins in their red plastic buckets. Alejo was going to lose one of his best friends. The chances of Alejo surviving this next encounter with the Khan were slim. Would he ever see Gabriel again?
Alejo’s head buzzed, and his throat tightened as he turned to stare at the cows and tall white grass whizzing by outside the van.
Gabriel was silent, then jerked the steering wheel hard to the right, veering the delivery truck off the gravel road onto a narrower dirt path under a thick canopy of lacy trees. Alejo knew where they were: Pairumani, a country estate that had belonged to Simon Patiño. Patiño had been one of the wealthiest men in the world during World War II, making his fortune through tin. This house and its gardens and lands were his retreat from his mansion in Cochabamba.
Farther along the path, a low waterfall gurgled along the edge of the road, running over mossy boulders. The tree canopy suddenly dropped away, opening up to the breathtaking sight of a spacious field under a sapphire blue sky, white fluffy stalks of wild grain waving in the gentle breeze. Towering over the crops, two stately rows of ponderous palm trees lined a neat dirt road against a backdrop of mountain peaks, right up to an ornate metal gate that was the entrance to the Pairumani estate.
Alejo raised an eyebrow at his friend, who only turned the truck towards the gate, frowning unhappily. When Alejo had visited this place once before, the fields had been dotted with various volunteer students working on experimental agricultural projects sponsored by Patiño’s charitable foundation. A few mornings a week, the caretakers of Pairumani opened its gates, with permission from the Patiño family who now lived outside Bolivia, for tourists to visit the beautiful grounds.
Now no one was in sight. The fields were empty and seemingly overgrown and abandoned; no uniformed guard waited near the gate.
Wait…there is a guard here.
Inhaling sharply, Alejo recognized those glinting eyes, malicious when they needed to be. Sauntering over to open the gate, dressed in the olive uniform of a private security guard, was Benjamin Torres.
“What have you guys done?” Alejo raised an eyebrow, bracing himself as Gabriel floored the accelerator and the truck raced inside the gate.
“Oh, no one uses this place anymore,” Gabriel shrugged. “They haven’t worked on those agricultural projects here in a couple of years, and the Patiño family isn’t scheduled to come stay here for two more months. You know the Khan—always likes to stay in style. It was either this or some dumpy hostel. Believe me, this is better.” Gabriel glanced in the rearview mirror as Benjamin shut the gate. “Looks like Benjamin is back. He made good time.”
“The guards?” Alejo was peering out the window, looking for any sign of the rest of his team.
“They’re fine,” Gabriel waved away his concern. “There were only three, and they’re tied up in a nice cozy room. We bring them food. They didn’t see our faces, so after a few more days we’ll let them go and they’ll chalk it up to armed robbery. We’ll take a few little treasures with us to make it look authentic.”
Alejo sighed and put one hand on the door, really anxious to get out of the car. His mind raced back to Wara, still handcuffed in the back of the truck, and he tried to think how he was going to get her out of this mess…again. He deserved to be here; after all, he had broken the rules and it was only fair to have to pay. Panic wanted to mess with his head, however, about Wara. Alejo tapped his foot compulsively against the floor of the truck, waiting for Gabriel to park.
Benjamin had latched the gate behind them, and he and Stalin stared solemnly at the truck as it drove slowly across the manicured lawn. Alejo’s visions of gaining the advantage through his fighting skills died down as he saw what Benjamin and Stalin gripped casually by their sides. Two silver guns with silencers, glinting in the afternoon sun.
Alejo’s shoulders tensed and he waited as Gabriel parked the truck in a cluster of a pomegranate trees. How did everything come to this?
A few months ago the Khan loaded me with presents and I was an honored guest in his house. Last Thursday, the guys and I were eating brownies in the café together, ready for another day at work.
Images of the thousands of times Alejo had prostrated himself to Allah on the ground, barefoot, filled his mind, and he found his heart repeating the prayer, You are great, Lord, You are great.
Please let me honor you, oh God.
He heard Gabriel yank the key out of the ignition and saw him reach for the door. His friend hesitated, then turned to Alejo with a pained look in his eyes. “I shot Wara back along the road, ok? In a little while, I’m going to have to take this truck out again. Ok, che? She can get out and run away.”
Alejo couldn’t help himself. He grabbed Gabriel’s skinny shoulders and pulled him into one of the manly bear hugs that only true Latino men can share, then let him go. Reaching back to rip open the tiny sliding door between the back of the truck and the cab, Alejo said, “Wara! Don’t make any noise, ok? You’re gonna be alright.” Then he pushed the little door closed and climbed out of the truck to whatever was waiting for him.
Stalin and Benjamin were standing behind the truck, weapons obviously loaded and pointed casually in Alejo’s direction. Neither of them looked particularly happy; in fact, Stalin looked downright miserable.
Alejo nodded in greeting, then looked beyond them to where Ishmael Khan was waiting, sitting on a bronze-colored bench in the center of the garden, shaded by a lilac flowering tree. The rest of the neatly-trimmed lawn was dotted with giant bushes that were trimmed to be absolutely round in form, like ridiculous sea-green pincushions.
Behind the front yard, the imposing country house rose to the sky, painted cream with an opaque golden trim, windows framed by intricate colonial plaster designs. A stone path began near the house, leading to a shimmering pond with emerald waters and a circular wooden hut with thatched roof in the center of the pool. Stately snow white swans glided on the surface of the water, skimming the scales of mammoth orange goldfish.
The Khan was calmly flipping through a book, which Alejo recognized as his Bible. Of course Ishmael had found it in Alejo’s tent. In light of Alejo disappearing with Wara, the Bible must have only given the Khan one more clue as to the reason for Alejo’s desertion.
“And the American?” Benjamin’s eyebrows were raised at Gabriel.
Gabriel waved away his concern and put one hand on his hip, crossly. “If the Khan wanted her here you should have told me beforehand, because it’s a little late now. She’s in Lake Alalay with a couple holes in her head.”
“I told you it wasn’t about her,” Benjamin said to Stalin, shooting an amused glance at Alejo. “There’s something else going on here besides just a sudden case of true love. He doesn’t seem to be too disturbed that she’s dead.”
Stalin sighed, glumly, and Alejo felt bad for him. “He wants to talk to you.” Stalin jutted his chin in the direction of the bench where the Pashto man sat, and gripped his gun tightly, still pointing it at Alejo. Then, quieter, he hissed, “How could you do this, che? Of course you know what you’ve done?”
Alejo saw Benjamin shake his head, face unreadable as usual, hand pointing the gun steady.
“So, you left the gringo couple alone?” Alejo asked calmly, meeting his eyes.
“As promised,” Benjamin’s mouth tipped up in a dry smile. “That wouldn’t have been an extremely pleasant experience for me. You’re the one who’s in trouble.”
Gabriel’s voice cheerily interrupted them. “I’m coming in a sec, guys. I’ve gotta get my gun out of the truck.”
Thank God he said he’ll let her go.
Alejo let Stalin and Benjamin frame him and walk him towards Ishmael Khan. He kept up the quick pace gladly, because every step took them farther away from the white truck that held Wara. “What about Lázaro?” he asked. “Haven’t seen him around.”
“He asked for time off,” Stalin said tightly. “He wouldn’t admit it, but this whole thing had him upset. She being his old girlfriend and all. You’re an idiot to do this to us, you know that, che?” Stalin continued, whispering, sweat trickling down his temple. “You compromised everything.”
Then he fell silent as the three of them pulled up in front of Ishmael Khan, waiting with the Bible across one knee and a gun and silencer resting on the other.