Chapter Five

Carmen found Garrett in his little monk’s cell, bent over patient charts on his desk. Despite it being seven in the morning, he had a gas lantern hissing on the corner of the desk, shedding a white glow over the desk. The lantern told her Garrett had not gone to bed.

“If you haven’t slept, perhaps you shouldn’t come to the rendezvous,” she said.

“And who would go instead?”

“I could. I started this.”

He snorted and turned back to his charts.

“What?” she demanded. “You’re laughing at me?”

“I’m laughing at your notion that you could lead anyone to do anything.”

Carmen swallowed her ire. “I’m trying to do something nice for you,” she said, her jaw tight. “My fucking mistake.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t do anything nice for me. Don’t pity me. Don’t make allowances for me. In fact, don’t think about me at all, okay?” His clear gray eyes skewered her and it was almost painful being pinned by his glare.

“I wasn’t making allowances!” Carmen shot back, although the relentless voice in her mind challenged her. Didn’t you spend most of your night wondering how damaged he was? “Look, Garrett, what happened to you was shitty. It was the worst luck in the world and I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy. I wouldn’t even wish it upon you. So yeah, there’s a little part of me that feels a smidgen of sorrow for what you went through. You’re not the only sad sack stuck in this war, though.”

Garrett’s eyes narrowed.

Carmen didn’t give him a chance to respond. “My father was a good and kind man and a brilliant leader. He was a moderate and he ran this country like Swiss clockwork for two decades. Then, because some deluded nuts with guns thought they could do a better job, they dragged my father out of the palace by the scuff of his neck and tossed him onto the earth. They stood around him and took pot shots with their hand guns, betting each other who could hit him and not incapacitate him. He crawled around on that dirt for two hours until he died from his wounds and the whole time they jeered and kicked him.” Her voice wobbled. She stopped, trying to repress the sadness and the fury that always rose whenever she thought about the report she had found on Nick’s desk, outlining exactly how her father died. Where Nick had got the report from was a mystery. She didn’t doubt it was true, because Nick had never shared it with her.

She swallowed the sense of helplessness that swamped her whenever she thought of her father and looked Garrett in the eye. “Everyone has a story, Garrett. Only, you’re not letting yours out to breathe. You’re holding it all in and brooding on it.”

Garrett considered her for a long, silent moment. “That’s where you get your hatred of the Insurrectos from.” He reached out and turned off the gas lamp. The room was washed in pale early morning light from the high window. “Do you know what a shaped charge is?”

Carmen narrowed her eyes. Why on earth was he talking about explosives? “C4 that is molded into a shape,” she replied. “Why?”

“Do you know why they shape it?”

“Because it’s more powerful that way.” She shrugged.

“Because the explosion is contained and directed,” he said. “That’s why it’s more powerful.” He stood up. “I don’t let my story out to breathe, because by holding it in, I’m containing it. Then I can direct it where I need it.”

He directs it at the Insurrectos. Carmen bit her lip. “That’s no way to live.”

“No one picked this life,” Garrett told her dryly. “They’re doing it to survive. The survival instinct is strong in people who have no choices. They understand in their gut what will give them the best chances of living. They follow me because they know they have a better chance of surviving with me. You are a rank amateur who has little talent at war. No man in this outfit would follow you to a town picnic because you’re an unknown quantity and you have weaknesses.” He picked up the hem of his teeshirt. “Get out of my office so I can change, Escobedo. I have a rendezvous to make.”

Carmen swallowed. The toxic taste in her mouth made her want to moan. How could she have felt any sympathy for him at all? He was cold, ruthless and calculating. There wasn’t a human bone in his body. “Sometimes, I hate your guts.”

“Feeling’s mutual.”

Carmen didn’t bother shutting the door behind her. He could damn well shut his own door.

* * * * *

Minnie said she would only be away for a few minutes, which was the only reason Téra could sit still and read. The book she was reading was The Once and Future King, in English. Reading English still challenged her, and it kept her mind on the story.

The office they were in had once been a bedroom in the big house. Not a big bedroom, yet two small desks and filing cabinets were squeezed into it. Rubén Rey, the army’s quarter-master and Minnie, who was the civilian quarter-master, worked together to keep supplies flowing for the big house and the army quartered on the beach below. They had laptops hooked together to form a small network and used some sort of miracle purchasing system Minnie had invented that saved oodles of money.

The bedroom office was tucked away in a quiet corner of the house. Téra liked to sit in the corner and read, while Rubén and Minnie did their mysterious magic. The pair of them would comment to each other every now and again. The comments had no context for Téra because they were looking at figures and spreadsheets that Téra couldn’t see. The sound of human voices was comforting, though.

Minnie would be justified if she got mad about Téra constantly at her elbow. Téra didn’t need anyone to tell her she was clinging to Minnie for security. She knew it perfectly well. The need to always be in someone’s company would fade…or so the books assured her.

Not all her reading was fiction. She had read the few medical texts in the house and knew she was suffering a mild form of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Minnie probably knew it, too, for she never complained when Téra settled nearby. Duardo would have warned Téra if Minnie didn’t like it.

Rubén Rey didn’t complain either, although he never spoke voluntarily.

Twenty minutes went by before Téra lifted her head and noticed that Minnie wasn’t back. She had been lulled by the quiet click of Rubén Rey’s keyboard. “Do you think she’ll be back soon?” she asked, uneasiness touching her.

Rubén looked at her over the top of his laptop screen. “I hope so. I need her data to finish this order.”

Téra bit her lip. She closed the book. “Perhaps I should look for her.”

“You’re welcome to stay if you want,” Rubén said. “You’re quite safe here.”

Téra could feel her cheeks heating.

Rubén glanced at the door to the room, which was not quite closed. Then his gaze met hers. “I’ve never had the chance before to tell you how sorry I am about what Lucas De la Cruz did to you.”

Téra pressed her hand to her stomach, which was hurting. “Does everyone know about that?”

Rubén shook his head. “It’s not gossip. I was part of the debriefing so I got to hear the details.” His gaze behind the glasses was direct.

Téra was almost overwhelmed by the urge to get out the room now. She forced herself to stay seated. Her heart hurt, so fast was it beating. She had broken into a sweat. “Why were you part of the debriefing? You questioned people?”

Duardo had been relentless in his scouring of army personnel, their records, their backgrounds and histories. Those who needed a second look were given a complete, exhausting debriefing. Téra had been one of them, of course. Her debriefing had taken three days, while every moment she had spent with Lucas had been examined, prodded and poked for nuance and meaning. When it was over, she’d felt hollowed out and empty. She had been incapable of any emotion, including embarrassment that her brother had listened to her describe her sexual obsession with Lucas and how it had played out.

Over the three days of questions, the people doing the questioning and the listening had changed. Nick had been there for one day. Duardo for two days. There were others, always three at a time. She had at first resented the revolving roster of questioners, which forced her to repeat herself and describe moments painful to talk about. Duardo had pointed out that the repetitions and the different listeners were a way to unearth details she had forgotten, or that no one else had thought to ask.

She never wanted to go through that process again.

It was possible that Rubén Rey had been one of the questioners for other people. Even Duardo had been debriefed because he was her brother and Lucas’ unit had reported to him. Perhaps Rubén had questioned Duardo. Everyone in the big house seemed to trust Rubén, after all.

Rubén shook his head. “I was questioned.”

“You? What for?”

Rubén glanced at the door again. Téra hoped Minnie would choose this moment to step back into the room. Rubén would shut up if she did.

He spoke, his voice low. “Before Lucas De la Cruz set his sights on you, he tried another target.”

“You?” Minnie breathed, shocked. “Why didn’t you report him?”

Rubén’s gaze didn’t shift away from hers. “If someone tries to seduce you, you don’t automatically think they’re doing it because they want access to the computer networks you control. I didn’t make the connection until after…afterward,” he finished awkwardly. “Then I reported to Colonel Peña and volunteered to be debriefed.”

So many questions! Téra sat still, trying to sort it out in her mind. “He was trying to use you?” she whispered.

“He tried,” Rubén said flatly. “I don’t think you were just a target for him, Téra. I think in his twisted way, he was trying to protect you.”

“From him,” she finished.

“From the damage he would cause if he didn’t.” Rubén gave a small shrug and a wry smile. “I don’t know if it helps at all, but in a small way, I know what you’re going through.”

“It does help,” Téra said. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Telling you what?” Minnie asked, pushing open the door and walking in.

“Why she can’t order from the Sears catalog,” Rubén said casually.

Minnie snorted. “The catalog is just a way to see what’s available. We can buy it cheaper and get it sooner if we go to local vendors. What is it you want, anyway?”

“Oh, nothing important,” Téra said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No, really,” Minnie insisted. “What do you want? It’s my treat.”

Téra glanced at Rubén helplessly. His gaze dropped to the book in her lap and back up.

“Just a book I would like to read,” she told Minnie and mentally thanked Rubén.

“Hell, we can get that on Amazon,” Minnie said, with a grin. “What’s the title?”

Téra grasped for a book title she knew wasn’t in the big house and Minnie pulled up the bookstore and found it, then set about ordering it for her. When Minnie’s attention focused on her laptop screen, Téra caught Rubén’s gaze again and gave him a small smile.

He touched his fingers to his chest and his head bent forward a little.

Téra opened her book once more and tried to remember not to smile.

* * * * *

Efraín found Carmen just after eight in the morning, barely an hour after she had left Garrett in his office. She had walked and taken a cold shower and walked around the monastery again. Yet she still shook with rage whenever she thought of the exchange in Garrett’s office.

Efraín held out a sack. “Orders. We go in like locals. No visible weapons. Nice and innocent, instead.”

“Garrett left innocence behind in his crib.” She took the bag and looked inside. Then she sighed and pulled out the multi-hued silk garment. “Fiesta clothes? I’ll stand out like a neon sign.”

Efraín shrugged. “It’s market day in Valle Leñosa. Probably why they set the meeting there.”

Carmen took the sack from him. “There’d better be shoes. I can’t wear army boots with this.”

Efraín grinned. “Barefoot works.” He winked and walked away, hitching his rifle over his shoulder.

All the older towns in Vistaria had a weekly market day. It was a long-standing tradition where local producers brought their wares and produce into town, for others to barter for and buy. It was one of the last traditional economic structures to survive the twenty-first century. Because of the war, it was one of the few remaining ways for anyone to acquire fresh food. The market would be well attended. Traditional clothing wouldn’t be out of place. There would be many others dressed in their Vistarian finery.

Carmen put on the silky skirt and the white peasant blouse that slid off one shoulder every time she moved. There were shoes in the sack. They weren’t traditional dancing shoes but flat black slip-ons that would let her move across terrain easily. They were a tight fit, but they would do.

She dug through her backpack and found her brush. She unpinned her hair and brushed it out, working the brush through tangles and knots, until it was falling about her shoulders freely.

No visible weapons, Efraín had said. She slid her Glock down the front of her shirt. The weight of the gun pulled the shirt until it threatened to slide right down her arm and expose her breast. She fished the gun out again and hefted it.

Llora, one of the elderly women who tended the cooking pots and a de facto mother to many in the camp, shuffled over to where Carmen was weighing her gun in her hand. Llora’s feet were swollen and painful to walk on, yet she smiled at Carmen and held out a thick piece of elastic.

Carmen frowned at her. “Elastic?”

“For around your leg. It will hold your weapon under your skirt.”

Carmen stared at her, startled that such a passive, gentle woman as Llora would come up with a way to hide weapons. “The skirt is silk. The gun is bulky. It will show under the silk.”

Llora shrugged. “A knife is flat. Take a knife.”

Carmen threaded the flat holster for her knife onto the elastic and tied it around her thigh. A knife was useless in a gun fight. However, the whole point of this expedition was to slide into town, have their meeting and slide out again, all without being spotted by the Insurrectos. With luck, the knife would stay strapped to her thigh, unused, until she came back to the camp.

When she was ready, she made her way through the monastery to the big courtyard where the three working vehicles were kept. They had creatively acquired all of them and let the monks use them when they needed horsepower. Most of the time, the vehicles sat unused. Roaring around in a vehicle drew attention they didn’t want.

They were useful for hauling heavy loads and when they needed to move camp. Carmen hoped they wouldn’t have to move for a while. They had shifted camp four times in the first three weeks she had been with the unit. Moving was uncomfortable, hard work and unsettling. It always took her a few days to get any decent sleep after a move. There were too many strange noises and objects around to relax enough to sleep.

If they were trying to look like locals, then arriving in a Jeep would be logical. Jeeps were everywhere on Vistaria, useful for their four-wheel-drive capabilities and because they could handle the steep mountain roads, too. They were cheap, reliable and as common as ants.

Efraín and Ledo were already there, leaning back against the open-topped Jeep. Neither looked armed. Both had washed and shaved and wore button-through shirts and the tight black trousers that made Vistarian men all look long-legged and slim hipped, especially if they were wearing traditional shirts over the top.

They both grinned when they saw her and Efraín gave a low wolf whistle.

“You want to keep your balls intact?” Carmen growled at him.

He grinned. “For you, Carmencita, I would risk my balls.”

“Luckily, you don’t have to. You’re not my type, Efraín. And I have a knife strapped to my thigh to back that up.”

Efraín threw his hands into the air. “My heart is broken!”

“This isn’t a party outing,” Garrett growled from behind them. “Efraín, get in the Jeep.”

Ledo was already clambering into the back of the Jeep, where two small jump seats unfolded.

Efraín shrugged and climbed in with him and took the other seat.

Great, Carmen thought. That left the passenger seat for her, right next to Garrett. She didn’t for a moment think Garrett would let her drive.

Garrett strode past her and dumped his heavy medical bag at Efraín’s feet. He looked very different from the scruffy, bearded man she had walked out on a few hours ago. He had shaved and washed and it looked as though he may even have trimmed his hair. It had been brushed and lay neatly against his head.

Nothing would remove the thick waves, or the pale color that would draw attention to him in this nation of black-haired men and women. Garrett hadn’t bothered trying to appear to be a local. He had brought his medical bag and he was wearing clean, almost-new jeans and a jacket over his V-necked teeshirt. He looked westernized. Even civilized.

“Get in,” he told her.

Carmen closed her mouth and climbed in, glad that the traditional skirts of Vistaria weren’t pencil skirts. She wouldn’t have been able to bend her knee enough to get up into the seat.

Garrett started the Jeep without looking at her. That was fine by her. If he ignored her the whole way, she could relax—as much as one could when driving into Insurrecto territory.

* * * * *

Once they were on the sealed road to Valle Leñosa, Garrett picked up speed, until he was just under the posted speed limit. The movement of the air around the open Jeep picked up Carmen’s skirt and blew it backward.

She fought with the silk, pushing it back down over her knees. She didn’t have enough hands to contain the voluminous yards of silk.

Garrett laughed. “Wrap it around your knees and sit on the rest,” he told her. “I won’t slow down just to preserve your modesty.” He had to speak loudly to be heard over the wind.

Carmen fought to gather the yardage together and do what he suggested. She tucked the excess under her knees and lifted her thighs to push it beneath and relaxed when it didn’t billow up into her face once more.

“The knife is a nice touch,” Garrett said.

She glanced at him and was startled all over again by his clean face. On this side, the scars were minimal. “I can’t hide a gun, wearing this.”

“I don’t want to be in a position where we need guns. This is in and out, as soft-shoe as we can manage it. It’s market day in Leñosa. There will be Insurrectos everywhere.”

Carmen looked away, out at the passing trees. It was going to be a long ride.

* * * * *

It was hard to find parking when they arrived in Leñosa. Most of the locals came on foot, although there were enough people living farther than walking distance from the town that cars choked the crossroads at the center of the valley. Garrett drove around slowly, as they all watched for a parking space. He had picked up a black Vistarian flat-brimmed hat from the back of the Jeep and put it on as they had entered the town limits. It shaded his face and eyes as his straw cowboy hat did yet didn’t look incongruous among all the other Vistarian hats.

“I don’t like driving around this way, exposed,” Garrett muttered.

Carmen tapped his arm. “There,” she said, as another Jeep backed out of a narrow stall.

“That will do.” He wheeled into the opening, cutting off another car, then shut down the engine. “Efraín, you’re with me. Ledo, Carmen, watch our backs.” He hauled the medical bag out of the back of the Jeep, then looked down at it to check that the red caduceus was visible. He turned the bag around so it was. Even in Vistaria, the US medical symbol was well known.

The market itself was at the other end of the block on which they had parked. Even from here, the noise from it was loud. It was a friendly sound. A beckoning sound.

As Carmen and Ledo trailed after Garrett, scanning to see if anyone took any interest in him, she turned her face up to the sun for a step or two, appreciating the mild, cloudless day and enjoying the feminine swish of skirt hem around her knees. She had been wearing jeans for weeks and weeks. The raw silk sheath dress she had worn to Calli’s wedding felt like a long time ago.

When they reached the market itself, Angelo wandered over to greet them. He had been waiting at the entrance to the town square. Garrett acknowledged him with a nod and everyone split up. The strategy had been decided back at the camp. They would wander the stalls by themselves, checking each other’s backs to see if anyone was following or taking an interest in them. At the appointed hour, Carmen and Garrett would head for the café where the meeting was to take place.

A big clock on a tower at the end of the market square showed the time. There was just over twenty minutes before the meeting.

Carmen made herself stroll, moving at the same speed as other shoppers. She lingered at stalls whose produce caught her eye, held up shawls for inspection and prodded tomatoes and peppers of all sorts. The fruit on display made her mouth water, only she had no cash with which to buy it. It had been weeks since she’d had any fruit.

Halfway around the edge of the square, she ran into Insurrectos. They were off duty, for they laughed and thumped each other on the shoulder. All three of them carried mugs of beer. They took up the space between the stalls, forcing people to step around them, or move to one side while they passed.

Carmen stayed behind them, slowing even more. If this was a typical small town market, there would be a beer “garden” somewhere in the market. It would be a roped off area where men could buy beer to offset the heat of the day. They were required to stay within the roped area while they drank their beer. The Insurrectos were making their own rules.

There would be even more Insurrectos in the garden itself. Carmen didn’t want to risk walking past it and be recognized by one of them. So far, no one had called out her name. It was possible that even if they recognized her, these locals would think she was someone who looked like Carmen Escobedo. After all, what would the daughter of the former President be doing wandering in this small town market all by herself, right in front of Insurrectos?

If only you knew.

At the appointed hour, Carmen made her way back to the side of the square where the café was located. With a last casual glance around, she spotted Efraín, who gave her a wide smile. The coast was clear, then. Satisfied, she went inside the café.

There was a booth at the back. It was one of two corner booths that could seat six people around the circular table. A lone man sat at the table, stirring his spiced coffee. He didn’t look up when she stepped inside, yet his was the only table with a single person sitting at it. Carmen walked over to the table. “Can I share your table?”

He looked up. He was English-looking, with clear skin and blue eyes and a soft tan. This was Nemesis? He looked like a mild-mannered accountant.

“I’m waiting for someone.” He gave her a small smile, as if he was sorry to disappoint her.

“My mistake,” she told him and dropped her voice. “Unless you’re Nemesis?”

He relaxed and nodded. “Have a seat. Is it just you?”

She shook her head. “The other will be here in a moment.” She slid onto the seat and moved around to give Garrett room when he arrived. She considered Nemesis again. “You’re not what I expected.”

“Good.” His tone was flat. His gaze flickered away as Garrett walked up to the table. His eyes narrowed as he took in Garrett’s appearance.

Without the hat, which Garrett held in his hand, and without the beard, Garrett’s scars were clear. The one on his left cheek writhed up into a white spot that made Carmen think of skin peeled away, layer after layer, leaving the dermis exposed.

Garrett sat next to Carmen, putting her between the two of them. He placed his medical bag at his feet so the red symbol faced the other diners. He looked up as the waitress appeared. “Another pot of spiced coffee, please,” he told the waitress.

Nemesis studied them both. “How good is your English?” he asked softly, in English.

“I’m American,” Garrett said.

“I’m fluent,” Carmen told Nemesis. “I spent years in the States.”

“I know,” he told her. “I bring greetings from your uncle. Directly from your uncle.”

Carmen caught her breath as pleasure shot through her. “Really?” Then the questions surged. “Are they all right? Is Minnie…did she…?” She pressed her lips together. It wasn’t good to speak names aloud. Perhaps the single name among the English would be missed.

“She’s fine,” Nemesis said. “She’s also married.” His mouth quirked up into a one-sided smile. “And pregnant.”

Carmen sat back, relief washing through her. It was so strong it felt as though it was drawing all her energy as it passed through her limbs. “She found him,” she breathed.

“She did, indeed,” Nemesis said. He paused as the waitress brought the second pot of coffee and two more cups and left again. “I’ve been instructed to tell you that if you want to go home, arrangements can be made.”

Garrett tensed, next to her, but didn’t speak.

“Acapulco isn’t home. There’s no place for me, over there,” Carmen said.

Nemesis gave her a small smile. “That’s what your uncle said you’d say. We were uncertain of your circumstances. There was a possibility the big house would be a haven for you. It’s good to know you don’t need it.” His gaze flickered toward Garrett.

“She’s free to leave if she wants. No one signs a contract with me,” Garrett said stiffly.

“Is she a good soldier?” Nemesis asked.

“Yes.” His response was flat and without hesitation.

Carmen looked at him, surprised.

“Then I suggest you hang on to your good soldiers. You’re going to need them,” Nemesis said. “Can you get hold of a short wave radio transmitter?”

“Probably,” Garrett said, sitting back. “Codes?”

“Very good,” Nemesis replied. “Here.” He didn’t move.

Instead, Garrett pulled his hand out from under the table. There was a flat square object in his hand, which he placed on the seat between them and opened one-handed. He glanced at the open page. Carmen could see rows of letters, in pairs.

“Is there a schedule for changing codes?” Garrett asked.

“Random and rotating,” Nemesis said. “After acknowledgment, your first code pair is the page number.”

Garrett nodded and closed the book and slid it into his jeans pocket.

“Don’t use the Internet anymore,” Nemesis added. “It’s too insecure and too many people know about it. The general population can use the chat group to report in. Their observations are useful. Real data must be coded from now on.”

“Something is going to happen?” Carmen asked carefully.

Nemesis nodded. “Soon,” he added. “I’ve spent the last four days meeting groups like yours. Everyone is on the same page. Just as everyone at the big house is, we’re waiting.”

“Waiting?” Garrett asked.

“For Serrano to make his move.”

Garrett smiled. It was a knowing expression. “You’re waiting for him to flinch.”

“Exactly.”

Garrett glanced around the café, making it seem casual. “He may be flinching already,” he said quietly. He dipped into his medical bag. Then he straightened and placed something between Carmen and him. He kept his hand over it. “Give that to him,” he told her.

She slid her hand underneath and paused to adjust to the weight. It was heavy and cool to the touch. Metal.

Silver.

Her heart thudding, Carmen let her gaze flicker around the room to see if anyone monitored them.

She put the bar in her lap, then picked it up with her other hand, all while keeping her gaze up and moving around. She didn’t look at Nemesis as she put the ingot on the seat next to him.

His hand came down over it. “Where did you get it?” he demanded.

Carmen looked down at the seat. The ingot had disappeared.

Garrett told Nemesis about the train they had hijacked, the armed guards and the box of silver, using lots of idioms and metaphors. Even if anyone did understand English in this café, the chances were good they wouldn’t be able to follow the jargon and slang.

Nemesis stared at the table top.

Carmen sipped her spiced coffee, which was excellent, and waited.

Nemesis took in a big, slow breath. “This could be something,” he agreed. “It marries up with information I got from one of the Nuevo Sevilla groups.”

“The Insurrectos have reopened the silver mine on The Big Rock,” Garrett said, using the English rendition of Las Piedras Grandes, so it wouldn’t catch anyone’s attention.

Nemesis nodded. “The smelter was damaged in the first wave of fighting that broke out on the rock. Sabotaged. Now the Insurrectos are bringing silver into the city to work it. They’re using the original, small test smelter on the grounds of the university. There are many reasons why they might want to get their hands on stamped ingots of silver.”

“They’re already taxing the people to death,” Carmen said hotly. “They’ve hiked basic taxes up fifteen percent in the last few weeks. Why would they want more?”

“Bribes. Persuasion.” Nemesis shrugged.

“To back international loans,” Garrett said.

Nemesis leaned forward and dropped his voice. “The top dog needs to prove to the world that Vistaria has a viable economy. If he can do that, then he can get loans, invite investors, support local businesses. It will stimulate the economy in a way that will make Vistarians think he’s doing just great, because money and goods and services will flow. It will entrench the Insurrectos like dried concrete.”

“Except it’s propped up by smoke and mirrors,” Garrett said, his voice flat, even angry. “Six months, a year from now, the economy will collapse through its own weight and they’ll be even worse off than they are now. Vistaria will be mired in national and international debt, with no economy to pay it off with.”

“Besides, the mine isn’t theirs,” Carmen said hotly. “It belongs to the corporation in that other country.” She couldn’t say America or Astra Corp aloud—it would be noticed, amongst their English.

“I don’t think the top dog cares about that,” Nemesis told her.

“Spoils of war,” Garrett added. “If it comes out he’s using the mine, he’ll claim it was nationalized when he freed the nation from the Loyalist yoke.”

“The corporation paid billions for those mineral rights,” Carmen said. “It was going to keep Vistaria on its feet for years.”

“That Vistaria already had an infrastructure,” Garrett pointed out. “The stimulation to the economy was real and sustainable. It just hadn’t kicked in when the bad guys took over. Now, there’s no industry, no businesses at all and no one has any money. An economy propped up by a nationalized mining industry that uses military labor instead of local labor will topple because even though the silver is floating corporate loans, nothing flows back to the people.”

Nemesis smiled in a way that held no mirth at all. “It will look good on paper, though.”

“Why were the ingots going back to The Big Rock?” Carmen asked. “Surely they need them in the city, or to be shipped out of the country, to show to the corporations they want to tap?”

Both men were silent, looking at each other.

“To make it look like the mine is fully functional,” Garrett said, as if he was finishing a sentence that hadn’t been spoken.

Nemesis nodded. “Fly in the money men, show them around. Everything squeaky clean and running smoothly.”

Carmen put her cup down. “Not just the money men,” she added softly. “Diplomats and politicians, too.”

“Mexico,” Garrett said flatly. “They need them as allies now that they’ve alienated the States.”

The silence that gripped the table was thick with tension.

Nemesis leaned forward again and dropped his voice. “You took one shipment from them. I guarantee a replacement shipment will be arranged. You need to stop that train, no matter what.”

“We could blow the line,” Garrett said. “Slow them down.”

“Not certain enough,” Nemesis said. “They could fly it down if they know the tracks are compromised.”

“They don’t have any aircraft left,” Carmen said.

Both men looked at her.

“How do you know that?” Nemesis asked.

“I spent nearly twenty-four hours studying the back of the palace, about six weeks ago. There used to be a fleet of helicopters and a small Cessna kept there, for anyone to use as needed. They were all gone. The army had a small fleet of helicopters, too, only they were all brought down and destroyed in the first wave of the revolution.” Carmen grimaced.

“The Insurrectos stole all the ground-to-air missile launchers from the bases, before the fighting broke out,” Nemesis added.

Garrett’s brow rose. “So they can’t take it by air.”

“Road?” Carmen asked.

“I’ll worry about the road,” Nemesis said. “You worry about the train. If the groups in the city hear anything about a shipment, I’ll get word to you.” He glanced up and around. “Time to leave.”

There were five Insurrectos hovering outside the café, reading the menu in the window.

Nemesis got to his feet. He had no pack, no bag. He must have put the ingot into one of his jacket pockets. It was an ordinary leather jacket, with tabs and zippered pockets. It didn’t hang lower on one side.

The Insurrectos pushed in through the door, making the little bell chime, just as Nemesis reached it.

He didn’t back up. Instead, he seemed to melt around them and to one side. He slid into an opening between them, through the door and out, in about four steps. It looked like he had flowed right through them, invisible. None of the Insurrectos even looked at him.

“Third cup,” Garrett murmured.

Carmen picked up the cup Nemesis had been using and held it between her knees, below the level of the table.

Garrett turned on the seat so his whole body was facing her. It put his back to the Insurrectos.

“Keep your gaze down,” he said, his voice a murmur. “Don’t meet their eyes.”

Her heart was thudding, abrupt adrenaline overload making her feel sick. She shook her hair forward, so her features were disguised and looked down at her coffee.

The Insurrectos were looking for a place to sit, only all the bigger tables and booths were full. There were only tiny tables-for-two left.

Carmen was uncomfortably aware that her blouse had slid down one shoulder again. She reached for it, intending to pull it up.

Garrett grabbed her hand. “No, don’t draw attention.” He pulled her hand away, bringing it back between them.

Carmen looked up at him. The Insurrectos could recognize her at any moment. There would be a shout and guns would be cocked. People would start screaming and in the panic that came after that, any of the Insurrectos could shoot her and claim her to be an enemy of the state.

She let out a breath that shuddered.

“Breathe,” Garrett told her. “Slow and steady. Keep looking at me. I’m shielding you.”

The Insurrectos were heading toward their table.

Carmen kept looking at Garrett, trying not to react to the Insurrectos’ approach.

Garrett’s gaze was steady, his gray eyes deep pools of limpid calm. How had she not noticed his eyes before? Of course, she had seen them, yet now with his clean-shaved cheeks, they stood out. They beckoned.

She wasn’t aware of leaning toward him until his mouth met hers. His lips were soft. There was a firmness beneath them. He pressed against her lips and Carmen gasped into his mouth. Her entire body came to high alert, all her nerves sizzling. Her adrenaline surge was nothing in comparison.

Her heart kept thudding, this time with an unexpected, powerful need.

“Excuse me, Doctor…?”

Garrett let her go. His gaze met hers. “Now you’re embarrassed,” he murmured in English, then turned to face the Insurrecto. “Yes, officer?”

The man was a mere sergeant. He was unshaved, overweight and Carmen thought she could smell him from across the table.

She covered her face with one hand, as if she was dying of embarrassment over having been interrupted kissing in public.

“We want your table, doctor. It is the only one that will seat us all. You can find a private room for your seduction, instead of sullying the world with your distasteful conduct.”

Carmen lowered the coffee cup between her knees to the floor, then pushed it under the seat with her foot, while she hid her face against Garrett’s shoulder, her humiliation complete.

Garrett slid along the seat, pulling her with him. “Of course. Of course. Let me just…” He leaned down and picked up the medical bag.

“Show me your bag,” the sergeant demanded.

Garrett stood with his back to Carmen. She was blocked from sight of all but one of them, standing behind the others. The Insurrecto was reading a menu, not at all interested in the little drama happening right in front of him.

An unearthly hush gripped the café. Carmen glimpsed white, strained faces and wide eyes as she slid farther along the seat until she was just behind Garrett and hidden by his body.

Garrett put the bag on the table and opened it up so it gaped, showing all the contents in one glance.

The Insurrecto pawed through the bag and picked up a bottle of tablets and shook it. “What is this?”

“Antibiotics. For infection.”

“What sort of infection?” The intensity in his question made Carmen wonder if it was as idle as it seemed.

“All sorts of infection,” Garrett said.

From just beyond the edge of Garrett’s body, Carmen could see the sergeant’s hand holding the bottle. He pushed the bottle into his pocket. “Get out of here and take your whore with you.”

Garrett picked up her hand, took his bag with the other and stepped around the Insurrectos, bringing her with him.

It cleared the way for the Insurrectos to slide into the booth, their rifles clattering unmusically against the table edge.

With her back to them, Carmen straightened up, as Garrett dropped Vistarian currency in front of the cash register attendant. He picked up her hand again and pulled her out of the café.

She breathed in deep lungfuls of air. Trembling started up, making her breath shake.

“Ten minutes more,” Garrett told her. “Then you can fall apart.”

She nodded. She was glad he didn’t let go of her hand.