Chapter Twelve

Joshua groped his hand across the nightstand, reaching for his cellphone, which buzzed frantically. It was face-down, so no screen glow told him where the damn thing was and he was only half-awake.

He picked it up and glanced at the caller ID, then answered it. “Nick, what’s wrong?”

“What makes you think something is wrong?” Nick asked.

“It’s three in the morning for both of us. I sincerely hope something is wrong.” Beryl stirred next to him and Josh pulled himself out of the bed. “Wait a second, let me get somewhere I can talk above a whisper.” He trod out to the living room, flipped on the lamp and sank onto the sofa. “Okay, what’s up?”

“I need another favor,” Nick said.

“Does the time of day mean you need this done sometime yesterday?” Josh asked.

“Preferably. The safety goggles that your miners use. I need two hundred pairs of them in Acapulco before midday.”

Josh’s jaw dropped open. “You’re shitting me,” he breathed.

“They pack almost flat and two hundred of them would fit in one big carton. There’ll be a courier company somewhere in San Diego that will happily take the fee, although Astra Corp has three Cessnas and each of them could manage the load. The airport in Acapulco can handle all the way up to 747s. It’s a three hour flight from where you are. That gives you until sometime after eight am to get the plane into the air.”

The intense hard note in Nick’s voice told Josh he was very serious indeed. “Will this make a difference?” Josh asked.

“All the difference in the world.”

Josh didn’t press him for details. Cellphones were wildly insecure and if the Insurrectos weren’t tracking every cellphone in the big house they were more stupid than they had let on so far.

“I’ll bring them down myself,” Josh said, standing up. “Anything else?”

“Thank you,” Nick said. It was a heart-felt expression, gusty with relief. “I don’t suppose your company stocks climbing gear?”

Josh blinked at the unexpected question. He made himself not ask why on earth they wanted climbing gear. The quality in Nick’s voice, the hard and quick way he was talking, told its own story. This was urgent. Critical.

“I’ll knock over the nearest mountaineering store on my way to the airport,” he told Nick.

“Thank you again,” Nick said. “Although you might want to rethink coming down here yourself.”

“Why?” Josh asked sharply.

“Check a weather forecast for this area,” Nick told him and hung up.

* * * * *

Daniel felt one of his phones vibrate against his hip and shifted around under the blanket until he could haul it out of his pants pocket. It was stifling inside the little tent, hotter than he could remember Vistaria being in quite some time.

He didn’t recognize the number, but that didn’t mean anything. Now the phones and the Internet were untraceable conduits, any phone could be used to reach him, as long as the cloak had been installed.

“Hello,” he said shortly.

“Daniel. Mi amor.”

He drew in a heavy breath, happiness making his heart leap. “Olivia. Your voice is heaven to me.”

“I can’t talk for long,” she said. “I just wanted to hear your voice and know for myself that you’re okay.”

“I’m okay. Better than okay now,” he told her truthfully.

“Duardo wants to speak with you,” she said. “It’s urgent.”

“Put him on.”

Duardo got straight to the point. “There’s a Category 4 hurricane bearing directly for the south end of Vistaria. It’ll be here by mid-afternoon.”

The heat. Daniel sighed and nodded, even though Duardo couldn’t see it. “I’ll find somewhere solid to hole up. Thanks for the warning.”

“It’s not a warning,” Duardo said shortly. “I have new orders for you.”

Daniel could feel his eyes widening. He answered automatically, his mind racing. “What are my orders, sir?”

Duardo told him.

“You have to be fucking kidding me!” Daniel cried.

* * * * *

Calli woke with Nick’s hand on her shoulder. She sat up, scanning him for injury. “What happened?” she asked, alarmed, for it was still an hour before dawn and the operation should have taken another forty-eight hours yet.

Nick straightened up. “Get dressed,” he told her. “It’s an emergency. We have to move everyone in the house and camped on the beach as far inland as we can get by noon.”

“The hurricane? It’s going to hit us? The weather reports said it was veering away.”

He shook his head. “They wobble like tops and their path is elliptical. I’ve just spent twenty minutes I can’t spare going over the United States’ National Weather Service data. Servicio Meteorológico Nacional says it will veer, only the data doesn’t support it. We have to prepare.”

Calli threw the sheet aside and reached for her jeans, already building in her mind a list of supplies they would need to take with them. “It will take hours to move the whole household,” she said. “There’s close to three hundred people looking to us now.”

“The army won’t be coming with us,” Nick told her. He handed her a teeshirt.

It was one of his. She took it anyway. “Where are you going to take the army, then?”

“I’ll be with you,” Nick said shortly.

Calli looked up at him, startled, as she drew the hem of the teeshirt down over her hips.

Nick’s mouth turned down. “I’m the head of the state right now. Flores and Duardo refuse to let me go with them. Besides, we may have to deal with the Mexican authorities and I can smooth the way.”

“Then the army is going somewhere else.” She gave him a small smile. “That means whatever they’re doing this time, it’s a much higher risk than occupying the Big Rock.”

Nick grimaced. “What Duardo has planned is so insane I don’t want to share it with you. You’ll have nightmares.” He glanced behind him. The door to the room was closed. “I won’t be sleeping until they get back.” He picked up her cellphone from the bureau and handed it to her. “Minnie and Rubén both think in systems. They should be able to come up with the most efficient way to move everyone the farthest distance possible. Do you want to wake them up, or shall I?”

“You do it,” Calli told him. “I’m going to wake Mama Roseta and stir the kitchen to life. We will all do this much better on coffee and an early breakfast.”

“As long as the breakfast is eaten with one hand and standing up,” Nick said. “Noon is our deadline and that’s pushing it. By then the winds will be howling.” He moved to the door. “There’s an old motel, ten miles east of us, on the other side of the highway. We’ll make for that.”

Calli shuddered and pushed her cellphone into her pocket, then headed for the door. She had never been through a hurricane and wasn’t looking forward to this one. Then she thought of the people on Vistaria, the refugees who were living in camps and lean-tos since the revolution had wiped out their homes and villages, or because the Insurrectos had taken their homes for their own use and turned them out.

Whatever Duardo was planning, she hoped it worked.

* * * * *

Once they had run out of options to consider, Garrett folded the blanket and settled on it with his back against the wall. He tugged Carmen’s hand, coaxing her off the chair. She settled next to him, her head on his shoulder. Her arm ached.

Garrett slid his arm under her injured one. His hand settled on her stomach. His lips pressed against her forehead.

Carmen didn’t sleep. She was too hot and uncomfortable. Although, she must have dozed, for she woke with a start and looked up at Garrett. “Did you say something?” she whispered, wondering what had roused her.

His head rested against the wall. He rolled it to look at her. “Listen.”

She heard the soft whistle of wind skirting eaves and scraping around corners, stirring sand and rattling anything loose. Her heart thudded. “It’s coming.”

“I think the Insurrectos have finally got a clue,” Garrett murmured. “I heard shouting a while ago and there’s a lot of activity for this time of night. Day, really. It must be almost dawn.”

“Evacuating?”

Garrett smiled grimly. “They won’t give up the mine. Not when the Loyalists are nearby and will take the mine if they leave. That’s why we were put on display last night.”

“The Loyalists will pull back to Acapulco and take cover on the highest ground they can find.” The instinct to head for the hills at the approach of a sea storm was ingrained in Vistarians from generations of practice.

“Ibarra will stay put, right here,” Garrett said. “I got a look at his face last night. I could see it in his eyes. He’s quite crazy. There is no humanity left in him. He’s mad but disciplined. If he’s been told to hold the mine, he’ll hold onto it with everything he’s got no matter what comes his way, no matter how extreme his actions. He’ll justify anything as following orders. That’s probably why Serrano put him in charge. The Insurrectos can’t afford to lose the mine.”

Carmen shivered. She didn’t doubt Garrett’s analysis. “When the hurricane arrives, he will realize his mistake.”

“That might be when we can make a move,” Garrett said. “Sleep,” he told her. “I’m going to keep listening. If anything interesting happens, I’ll wake you.”

Carmen shook her head, her chin rubbing against his shoulder. “No, I’ll stay awake with you. I can’t sleep now.”

Five minutes later, as she listened to Garrett’s heart beat under her ear, she realized sleep was stealing over her again. She marveled at the change. When she had been hiding in the palace, up in the rafters where the Insurrectos couldn’t find her, she had spent three days so terrified she would be discovered and so distraught over her inability to help Minnie, who had been captured by Zalaya, that she hadn’t been able to sleep at all. She had grown up in the palace, yet with Insurrectos living in it, the building had become a foreign land to her. That had been a minor thing compared to this.

Garrett made the difference. Because he was here, she could sleep in complete confidence that nothing would get past his guard. Garrett…whom she loved. How strange the way the world worked. What would it throw at her next?

* * * * *

The west side cliffs of Las Piedras Grandes were considered the most dangerous cliffs in all of Vistaria. They were called, poetically, Salto de los Amantes. Many lovers had thrown themselves over their steep sides, to tumble to the exposed rocks and wild waves that smashed up against the base of them. Others had made promises, standing on the edge, gripping each other’s hands. Gulls and other seabirds rode the soaring thermals above them. Tourists would come each summer to toss coins into the wind and make a wish.

No one had ever thought of climbing the cliffs. They were inaccessible thanks to the thundering waves and unclimbable, rising one hundred and sixty-three feet to the sharp edge at the top.

An hour after dawn, Duardo took a good grip with his left hand and rested against the rope, letting his right arm relax. He looked down at the sea surging below his feet. He was twenty yards above the water and was no longer being sprayed with every wave that rolled up against the wall. The only things holding him was his left hand gripping a small, jagged rock, his boot thrust into the crease that Emile had found and the rope around his waist, held taut against the piton Emile had driven into the rock.

Emile was ten feet higher, hammering at the rock to widen a vent to drive in a piton. He was a private. He was also a world-class mountain climber and had tackled Everest only a year ago. Duardo spent a few nights a month playing poker with his men, so he could get to know them better when they were off duty and had their guard down. Three weeks ago, Emile had tried to explain to him how the cold and thin air made Everest such a challenge, so Duardo had known at least one man in his unit could tackle these cliffs.

There were five other men strung out behind Duardo. Each of them was watching the man ahead of him, placing his hands and feet exactly as the first man had and moving precisely like the first man. All of them except Emile were complete novices at climbing, including Duardo. Emile had been confident he could get them to the top as long as they did exactly what he did.

Emile looked back over his shoulder and down at Duardo. “Sir?” he asked. His voice was all but snatched away by the wind. It was picking up speed.

“I’ve got it,” Duardo assured him and flexed the fingers of his right hand. He was glad he had improved his fitness and cardiovascular conditioning in the last few weeks at the big house. If he had been in the physical shape now he had been in when posing as Zalaya, he couldn’t have done this.

The five men below him had all been chosen for their similar physical condition. He had also questioned them on their ability to handle heights. He had weeded out those who would choke during such a high-risk challenge, leaving him with a seven man team, including Emile and him.

Flores had been outraged when Duardo laid out the plan. “No! I will not consider it! You would put every man in this army at risk. You would put them all in the way of a hurricane, when we should be returning to safe ground.”

They were standing on the heaving deck of the launch Flores was using as his command post and it was just past two a.m. The sea was inky black, rolling away into the black night sky. There had been barely any moon and no wind.

Nick stood between Flores and Duardo, the third man in their conversation. Nick had only spoken once or twice because this was a military operation.

“Risks must be taken in war,” Duardo replied. “I’ve considered the odds. They’re not as bad as they seem. There’s an experienced climber in my unit. And there are precautions we can take that will minimize the risks.”

Flores shook his head before Duardo had finished, then he chopped his hand sideways. “I will not consider it,” he said flatly. “It is utter madness.”

Nick stirred and cleared his throat. “It is my decision, General.”

Flores grew still. Then he straightened to attention. “It is your order we do this, sir?”

“It is,” Nick said mildly. “Use volunteers for the higher risk elements we’ve talked about, but no one gets to stay home for this. We will need everyone.”

Flores considered Nick. “Fuck me stupid!” he breathed. Then he smiled, showing crooked teeth. “I still say it is madness. Perhaps that is what we need, yes?” He clapped Duardo on the shoulder. “I will take the men in overland. You, the mad one, you can take the cliffs.”

“Thank you, sir,” Duardo said, although it had been his intention to do that, anyway. He climbed down into the cabin to retrieve the roster of personnel. He could pick his team from anyone suitable.

Nick stepped into the cabin behind him. “I’ll come with you, if you’ll have me.”

Duardo straightened up, the file in his hand. “You can’t.” Then he tacked on belatedly, “Sir.”

“I can’t?” Nick raised a brow. It was a mild reaction, although Duardo knew he had gone on alert.

“Sir, Flores was right, this is as high risk as it gets. Only, that’s my job. Now you’ve told him the decision is out of his hands, the General will throw himself into executing the plan, too. You can’t be a part of it. You’re the temporary president and the spokesman for every Loyalist here. You have to go back to the big house and get everyone there to shelter. You have to talk to the United States and keep that dialog going. I can’t do that and the General can’t. It has to be you.”

Nick stared at him, then rubbed the back of his neck. “You have a point,” he said reluctantly. Duardo relaxed.

Then Nick smiled. “I thought you might play the family card. Tell me that Calli would castrate you if you let me come along.”

Duardo grinned. “I was going to try that next.” He waved toward the door. “This is the fastest boat we have in the fleet. Flores and I will move to the next fastest and you can use this to get back to the house. If you leave in the next five minutes, you’ll be there by three.”

Nick nodded and held out his hand. “It’s going to be a long night for all of us. I want to be able to take your hand again, come the dawn.”

Duardo shook it and held Nick’s gaze. “I’ll do my best.” He paused. “Minnie….” he began.

“I’ll know what to say, if it comes to that,” Nick said quietly.

“Thank you.”

Nick surprised him by pulling him into a hug. “Take care,” he said roughly, then turned and leapt up the stairs to the main deck.

The next three hours were a blur of frantic preparation and detailed briefings. Equipment was the biggest challenge, although Emile was sanguine. “Any steel wedge will do for pitons. We can split the heads and bend them to take rope. It’s rough, but it’s effective. Hell, we used ice pitons once or twice in a crunch, on Kilimanjaro. If it can be driven into a crevasse and will hold tight, it will do.”

Someone discovered a bag of fishnet repair needles. The little runabout taxiing between boats brought them over to the dory Duardo and Emile were using to pull the team together. Duardo looked over Emile’s shoulder as the private turned one of the six-inch long metal needles over and over in his hand. One end was a blunt point. The other was a large eye, about an inch wide.

“It’s almost perfect,” Emile declared. “If we split the eye at the side here and bend the metal up slightly, it will make a hook. The climbing rope can be slipped into it.”

Duardo whistled sharply and his aide snapped off a salute. “Sir?”

“The sergeant who made the tent poles, the one who repairs the stairs to the big house,” Duardo said.

“Macias, sir?”

“Did he bring his tools with him?” Duardo asked.

“I will find out, sir.”

“Bring Macias and his tools here. We need these pitons made pronto.”

“Yes. sir!”

Fifty minutes before dawn, the team assembled and the equipment was parceled out, along with Emile’s detailed instructions, with many repetitions of the advice to do everything the man above did.

They used an inflatable dinghy with an outboard motor to circle the island and come to the cliffs from the sea. From the little dinghy, the cliffs looked huge. So did the waves. The inflatable sides and lightness of the boat would help cushion the impact with the rocks.

The private steering the engine moved them closer, watching the waves behind him. “Now!” he called, as the waves subsided after the big seventh one. He revved the engine and the boat leapt forward, right up to the base of the cliffs.

The whole team was already roped together. As the dinghy nudged up against the cliffs themselves, Emile stepped over the gunwale and thrust a boot into a crevasse Duardo hadn’t seen until that moment.

The rope leading from Emile to Duardo held the boat steady. Duardo waited until Emile climbed out of the way and waved to him, then Duardo hauled on the rope, bringing himself and the boat closer to the flat wall of the cliffs. As soon as he was close enough, he thrust out a hand and a foot and grabbed the same piece of rock Emile had. He transferred his weight and found himself hugging the cliffs, the sea surging around his boots.

He reached up for the handhold Emile had used and climbed. Behind him, the team repeated what he had done, until they were all clinging to the cliffs. The boat drifted away, pulled by the backwash of the waves, then the motor fired up and the dinghy turned and headed back for the fleet. They were on their own.

Duardo lifted his chin and studied Emile’s movements, blanking out any thoughts about the rocks below, the unforgiving sea and how far above them the top was.

The next three hours were a test of mind, sinew, nerves and muscle. As the day grew, the wind picked up force and speed. It whipped at them from the side, trying to peel them from the cliff, tearing at their exposed flesh and making their eyes water, blurring their sight. The high screaming one-note song the wind made blanketed thoughts.

Shortly before the two hour mark, Adjuno, the sergeant just behind Duardo, slipped and fell. He was brought to a halt, dangling in mid-air, held up by the rope, which yanked heavily at Duardo’s torso.

Duardo gripped the rock, gritting his jaw, as he took Adjuno’s full weight, for there was no piton between them. Rickardo, behind Adjuno, reached out to help Adjuno swing back toward the rocks and find grips once more. After what felt like a year, the weight on the rope lessened and Duardo looked down. “Sergeant?”

“Fine!” Adjuno screamed back, his voice hoarse. He climbed again.

They went on, Adjuno’s near-miss stirring their adrenaline and making them even more cautious. Duardo copied Emile’s movement even more carefully, testing each hand and foot hold before moving on. The pack on his back, which was a conservative thirty pounds, pulled him outward. The lactic acid build-up in his hamstrings, quads, biceps and triceps was murderous, turning his limbs into heavy iron appendages that didn’t want to work properly.

The rope connecting him to Emile tugged. He looked up. Emile laid on the edge of the cliff, looking down at him. Duardo was six feet below the top.

“Take care!” Emile called. “The edge is powdery.”

The warning was well-judged. Finding himself so close to the top gave Duardo a spurt of adrenaline and spiked his pulse. It was too easy to grow careless in the last lap. Forcing himself to move slowly, he climbed up to the edge. He put his hand over the top…only to have the earth crumble under his grip and shower him with sediment and pebbles. He turned his face away and waited.

Emile picked up his hand, guided it to a sharp rock and curled his fingers over it. Duardo hauled himself over the edge and rolled away from it. The pack halted his roll, leaving him on his side.

“Help the others,” he told Emile. He gave himself a mere twenty seconds to recover, then got stiffly to his feet. It was incredibly good to stand and walk.

He picked up the rope that connected him to Adjuno and took up the slack, reeling in the inches as Adjuno got closer to the top. Then Emile reached over and guided him over the edge.

Twenty minutes later, all seven of them lay or stood on the cliff edge. Duardo let them rest for a few minutes while he studied the sky. The bright day had disappeared while they climbed. Overhead, the cloud was thick and gray and moving fast. The air he pulled into his lungs was warm. Even if he had not studied every forecast for the area he could find, the scaly clouds and the air pressure would have told him a bad storm was coming.

He glanced at his watch. “Ten-forty-three,” he pronounced. “We move out at ten-fifty-five, gentlemen. We have to make the compound by eleven-forty.”

The compound was seven kilometers away. If they kept up a steady jog, which was do-able on the flat wind-swept ground ahead of them, they would make it with time to spare for reconnaissance before heading in. All of his team were among the fittest men he knew. He had confidence they would make it now. The worst of the physical challenges was behind them.

He studied once more the rate the cloud was moving and his gut tightened.

Perhaps the worst was still to come, after all.