Chapter Thirteen

He came for her after fifteen minutes.

Minnie leaned against the foot of the bed, her arms crossed, with a bored expression. He unlocked the cuff secured to the foot of the bed without comment and made no attempt to catch her gaze with his own.

From the other side of the partly open door she could hear the murmur of male voices. Fast Spanish interspersed with low chuckles.

Zalaya carried the cuff through to his office, drawing the chain with him. The chain tugged her into motion and she strolled through the doorway, trying to make her stance and her bearing as careless as possible. It was difficult to pull off because she was shaking and her adrenaline was surging in sickly waves. With Duardo as Zalaya, she knew that no matter what Zalaya demanded of her, Duardo would find a way to protect her from the worst of it. He was already risking much by keeping her in his room. The other Insurrectos had been disappointed that he didn’t place her directly into the bordello, which meant keeping her had been a break with custom. Breaks in custom could breed suspicion, but he had taken the chance anyway.

Now he had to dangle her before this congregation of savages because that was also something that Zalaya would do. It was even more important that she keep up the façade when she was in the same room as these men.

As she stepped through, Zalaya was closing the cuff around the drawer handle. There were five officers, all sitting around Zalaya’s desk. They looked up at her and eyes widened, a jaw dropped. Soto was there again and his slow smile was the worst, as his eyes crawled over her.

There was a chuckle and a comment in Spanish. Minnie understood enough words to put together the intent of it. Is this the latest toy, Zalaya?

Zalaya shrugged, sat at his desk and brought his leg up to rest the booted heel on the surface. “I’ve yet to decide if she is worth the trouble,” he said in Spanish. He pointed to the communications console on the other side of his desk. “The tray there. Pour coffee for everyone,” he said in English. “And don’t spill any on the console.”

“She’s American?” one of the men said, sounding displeased.

Minnie slid past the back of Zalaya’s tilted chair, heading for the wide console where the big silver tray sat, loaded with a huge coffeepot and stacks of crockery and condiments.

“Australian,” Zalaya corrected. “Although we’re still confirming that.”

Minnie realized that Zalaya’s Spanish was clear and easier to understand than the others’. He used none of the metaphors and slang that peppered the others’ talk.

“Does she understand us?” came the cautious question.

“Enough, I think,” Zalaya answered. “Do not trouble yourself about security, Correa. What she learns will never leave here.”

A shudder rippled down Minnie’s spine. She understood that implication only too clearly. Zalaya was not bothering to hide anything from her because she would not survive to pass the information along.

She shook her hand to get the cuff out of the way and picked up the first bowl of heavily spiced coffee. She placed it in front of the closest officer—an unshaven, grossly fat man with wobbling jowls and sharp eyes that ogled her breasts as she leaned over to place the bowl down. As she straightened up he grabbed her rear and squeezed painfully.

She stepped back half a step and her spiked heel rammed down on his instep. As he grunted and grabbed at his boot, she turned away without comment and picked up the second cup. The officer she placed it in front of didn’t touch her, but he chuckled as she turned away and so did the others. She saw in one of the monitors on the console that he was holding his hands up as if he were weighing a pair of melons in each hand. He was silently describing her breasts to the rest of them, who were chuckling their appreciation.

She gritted her teeth harder and brought the third cup over to Soto. He was not laughing. Nor did he smile. There was sweat at his temple as he watched Minnie with the intensity of a cat watching a mouse.

She put the cup down carefully, just as Soto’s hand rammed its way between her thighs.

She jerked back, looking for his shoe with her heel and unable to find it. His other hand grabbed her breast and the rest of the men in the room chuckled, including Zalaya.

She tried to take another step back and this time the results were immediate and spectacular, for the chain around her wrist had somehow looped itself around Soto’s bowl of coffee. Her step backward jerked the entire bowl into Soto’s lap.

Soto clutched at his crotch and screamed. He pulled at the steaming, sodden fabric of his pants, squirming on the chair.

“Idiot!” Zalaya cried. He pulled on the chain to bring her around the table to his side then grabbed her arm and pushed her into the bedroom. Duardo was getting her out of the snake pit.

She turned in time to see him unlock the cuff from his desk with jerky, furious movements. His face was red with anger. How did he do that? He looked certifiable. He slapped the cuff back around the bed frame.

“You are useless,” he told her in Spanish, which meant he wanted the men behind him to hear. The door behind him was wide open and everyone but Soto was leaning to see into the room, their heads bobbing as they moved to see around Zalaya’s back.

The name of the game was humiliation, Minnie reminded herself.

He went back into the office, his cane thumping. The sound of the lock turning on the office door was another thud.

Minnie stared at the closed door. It wasn’t really closed. There was a whole bank of monitors out there at his command. His view of her out there was as clear as the view he’d had of her when he had sat upon the chair watching her shower that morning. His men could see her just as easily on the monitors.

Minnie made herself stretch like a cat, long and luxuriously. She ruffled her hair to portray total indifference as she thought swiftly. She would not give them a second’s more entertainment than possible and if they were watching the monitors, she knew they would be ogling her again and making crude comments to each other.

She gave another yawn, climbed into the bed and pulled the covers over herself. Let them watch a shapeless mound under the blankets instead.

But beneath the blankets she could smell Duardo. It reminded her of the night of abandoned entertainment she had indulged in. It brought images and sense impressions zinging back into her memory.

She shivered and curled into a ball under the blanket and let the mindless peace of sleep take her.

As she slipped into sleep, her mind returned instead to the moment the bowl of spiced coffee slipped from the table. She had made sure the chain did not tangle with the bowls as she’d slipped the cuff high up on her forearm to keep it out of the way. How had it fallen over Soto’s bowl?

Duardo must have slipped it over when the men were all watching what Soto was doing to her. The spilled coffee had given him the excuse to scream at her and throw her back into the bedroom, out of their reach.

He had been protecting her all along.

* * * * *

“God, I can’t stand it!” Nick cried, clutching his hands to his head.

Josh glanced over his shoulder to make sure the office door was firmly shut, then crouched to pick up the spill of folders and paperwork Nick had thrown up into the air to accompany his declaration.

“What makes you so special?” Josh asked carefully. “Plenty of other heads of government put up with it.”

“Christ, they have money for a start.” Nick lifted his head from his hands and shook it. “Everyone has this sublime faith that I can just figure this out, but I can’t fight physics. I can’t fight facts.”

“Don’t, then. Go around them,” Josh said, pretending a blitheness he did not feel. It had taken a while, but Josh only now understood that Nick kept him close was because Josh was one of the few non-Vistarian people Nick trusted enough to disgorge his doubts, fears and hesitancies.

Nick rolled his eyes. “How the hell does one launch a beachhead assault without a beachhead?”

“You’ve got a beachhead—it’s three hundred yards from here.”

“And the equipment?”

“Buy it.”

“Landing craft don’t come cheap.”

“Use credit. Every other freaking country in the world does.”

“They have security.”

“And you’re a bellyaching old woman,” Josh said calmly.

Nick grinned.

Josh cleared his throat. “You’re just letting the scale get to you. Running a country and organizing a counter-revolution is just like running a business and a hostile take-over. Just a whole lot bigger.”

Nick’s smile faded. “It’s not the scale that’s the problem,” he said. “I’ve been thinking on that sort of scale all my life. It’s the impossible-to-solve stuff that’s bothering me.”

“At a high enough level, nothing’s impossible to solve.” It was Calli’s voice that interrupted. She stood at the private door that led to the master bedchamber, which everyone had insisted she and Nick continue to use after their wedding, a DVD disk in her hand. “Basic world economic theory. You should know that as well as me, Nick.”

Nick grimaced.

“She’s the economics professor,” Josh reminded him.

“Almost professor,” she added. She came into the room, kissed Nick’s temple and stepped over to the small TV and DVD player on the sideboard behind his desk and shoved the cassette into the maw of the player and switched the TV on. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I thought you’d both like to see this. General Blanco brought it to me.”

Nick took a deep breath and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Go.”

She hit play.

It was the breakfast news and business show of one of the Acapulco television networks. Because the majority of the population in Acapulco were tourists and inclined to sleep in late, the news show was a low-ratings one. As a result, it was free to provide hardcore news of interest to real Acapulco residents and the antics of Mexico’s near neighbor formed part of that interest.

The footage concerned some sort of official visit by Serrano to the poorer communities along the eastern coast. In fast Spanish the commentator exclaimed over Serrano’s generosity as the camera captioned him dolling out the big Vistarian currency in fistfuls to happy family members gathered around him laughing and crying tears of gratitude.

Josh winced. “It’s so melodramatic I want to puke. Surely anyone with half a brain can figure out he’s doing it purely for the PR?”

“The families getting the money don’t care about that,” Nick said quietly. “What I want to know is how the Acapulco station got this footage. Vistaria has been sealed tighter than a drum for the last three weeks.”

Calli clicked her tongue and stopped the tape. “You’re both missing it,” she said and set the clip back. She played it again. “Watch the background,” she warned.

They watched again and this time Josh lurched to his feet at the same time Nick breathed, “Jesus Maria!”

Calli paused the playback and backed it up a few frames at a time until the image was back in frame. They all stared at the ocean view the sweeping camera shot had included. The lone yacht in the bay stood out like a sore thumb.

“That’s your boat, Nick,” Josh murmured.

“What’s that flapping from the sheets?” Nick asked, narrowing his eyes. “The image is too small.”

“They’re dresses,” Calli said quietly. “One red, one green.”

He looked at her. “You’re sure?”

“I’ve seen more dresses hanging loose than you have. I’m sure.”

Josh pushed his hand through his hair. “Then Calli guessed right. They’re over there.”

Nick was still staring at the television. “Is this a message?” he asked of no one. “A message for us?”

“From whom?” Calli asked. “And saying what?”

“From Minnie and Carmen,” Josh offered. “‘Na-na, we’re over here’.”

Calli gave him a gentle look. “Neither of them are that stupid. Whatever the reasons they went over there, I guarantee they know the risks they’re taking. They wouldn’t indulge in a childish gesture.”

Nick punched the button that ejected the DVD and the television turned to snow. He flicked it off with another impatient jab. “I can’t deal with this right now,” he said, thrusting the disk at Calli. “Please.”

She nodded. “I’ll look into it. I’m better at recognizing dresses than you anyway.” She smiled.

Josh recognized that she was trying to lighten the moment, to assure Nick he could at least let go of that one responsibility. “All that almost-professor training, right?” he said to Calli.

“Absolutely,” she agreed. Then her eyes narrowed and she looked at Nick. “What was impossible, by the way?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about—”

“Don’t tell me don’t worry,” she said swiftly. “What’s impossible?”

“According to you, nothing.”

“Try me.”

Nick took another deep breath. “Well, for a start, everything’s impossible without money.”

“Credit?” she countered in a thoughtful tone, her forehead wrinkling.

“Personally, I’m already extended so far I’m in danger of tipping off the end of the world. I’ve liquidated anything that is worth it, except this house as I assumed people would like shelter from the sun.”

She frowned harder. “National debt.” It was again a soft suggestion.

“We’re a nation without a country,” Nick said. “We have nothing to secure the loans against. Most of the countries that have the cash to lend us won’t deal with us on diplomatic levels. That means they can’t deal with us on economic matters either.”

“You’re thinking of the States,” she said.

“And every other western nation,” he agreed.

She thought some more then abruptly her frown cleared and she smiled. “You’re thinking too large,” she said. “You’re thinking on a national scale.”

“It is a whole nation we’re dealing with,” Josh pointed out.

“No, you’re not. You’re dealing with a lack of money. Bring it down to that. And find something to secure loans with. Any loans.”

Nick shook his head. “There is nothing.”

“Not at the level you’re thinking, of course there isn’t. But you have to change the way you look at it. What have you got going for you right now?”

Both men stared at her and she gave an impatient click of her tongue and turned to Josh. “Josh, your company, Eastcore Mining. How many billions in infrastructure, investment and research would they have sunk into the silver mines on Las Piedras Grandes before the revolution closed them down? How many millions in personnel relocation and training?”

“Plenty,” he said. “I couldn’t give you an estimate without a lot of thought, though.”

“Ballpark. Five billion?”

“Oh, easily.”

“Think they’d like it back?” Calli asked softly.

Josh snorted. “They’re a business, not a country,” he said dryly. “They don’t like red balance sheets.”

“Exactly,” she shot back. “Nick, you start up a dialogue with Eastcore Mining’s parent corporation--”

“Astra Corp,” Josh interjected.

“Right. Explain to Astra Corp how you’re guaranteed to win back Vistaria if only you have enough resources to do it. If you win back Vistaria, they get back their mine, their revenue and their big chunk of change in investment, plus whatever interest they care to charge Vistaria for the stake money they’re going to give you to raise your counter-revolution.”

“They’d never go for it,” Nick said. “It’s too big a gamble.”

“Bullshit they won’t,” Josh shot back. “This is exactly the sort of odds they gamble with in every venture they sink billions into every year. This is better odds, too—they get to reap profits from a mine that was already producing before they lost it and they get lending interest out of Vistaria. Oh, they’ll try to bleed you dry while they’re negotiating terms, but they’ll give you the money. Take Calli with you. She’ll pick off the leeches and spot the hairy clauses as they’re coming at you.”

Nick’s expression was an almost comical mix of astonishment and wariness, but beneath it was a growing excitement. He had studied economics himself. He understood the forces that worked on world economics and he recognized the accuracy of Calli’s assessment.

“But not just Astra Corp,” Calli added. “Keep it an open market and let the forces of competition work for you. Approach every other multi-national who had interests in Vistaria before the war and offer them the same sort of deal. Be careful to let them all know you’re shopping around.”

“It’s a matter of scale,” Joshua said softly. “You just have to pick the right scale to look at it.”

* * * * *

It was dark when he came back.

Minnie was awake this time and heard the door open. The subdued light from the office beyond flared before the closing door extinguished it. She heard him moving around the room. The blind at the window had not been drawn and moonlight and starlight made his silhouette glow in the dim light. He did not turn on any lights. There was a whisper of cloth, the metal clink of a belt buckle and her heart thundered. Duardo was back.

Then she remembered the microphone beneath the bed. She must still play the role.

The mattress moved and cool air bathed her back as he lifted the covers and slid beneath.

With a convulsive jerk, she surged from the bed. She threw the covers aside and slid from the mattress like an otter from a pool. As her feet hit the floor, she pushed off with one foot, heading for the door to his office.

Only to be yanked to a standstill by the chain around her wrist.

She hissed at the strain on her shoulder and wrist and grabbed at the cuff digging into her hand. He was pulling on it.

“Oh, no you don’t, my little spit-fire,” he said, in English. “You are staying on this bed.”

Slowly, relentlessly, she was drawn back to the bed, her cuffed hand held out before her almost in supplication. She resisted every inch, throwing her bodyweight into it, even though she knew he was far stronger than she. He reeled her in liked a fish, onto the mattress until she was kneeling before his dark outline. He reached for her other hand and wrapped the chain around both wrists. His movements were slow and deliberate. She sensed he was using just enough power to complete his task and no more.

Her bound hands were a reminder of that morning. She recalled being bent over the bed and her breath caught.

He lowered her hands to the mattress and they were pinned there by his hand on the chain, bending her over once more. There was a tugging on the chain and his hand lifted away. She tried to sit up and discovered that he had hooked the chain to both the head and foot of the bed, keeping her hands pinned to the mattress between the taut chain. It left both his hands free.

“If I didn’t know better, I might think that you enjoyed the lesson I gave you this morning,” he said.

She shuddered.

“Hm... Shall I repeat the lesson? Or teach you a new one?”

“Either way, you’re still an animal,” she hissed.

His long fingers brushed at her wrists, probing the chains and she realized he was checking to make sure the chains were not too tight and did not cut into her flesh—just enough to hold her and no more.

His fingers stroked her forearms, trailed up to her shoulders. In the dark she could see him rise before her, blocking the moonlight from the window. He remained silent until his fingers found her face and gently lifted her chin. If there had been enough light, she could have looked at his face. He leaned toward her, so close that she could feel his heat on her face.

“It is your turn to take,” he whispered. “Pretend your soldier has returned once more. Pretend he could not stay away from you.”

“How can I take if you’re the one who is free?” she shot back, tugging on the chains.

He was moving around her, moving behind her. She stiffened, waiting for the tug on her feet that would bring her to that mortifying position bent face-down over the bed. But the tug did not come.

Instead, his hands stroked her with shocking gentleness. She shuddered in reaction.

“You understand perfectly,” he whispered back. “I knew you would.” His fingers continued to play, to tweak and coax from her the responses he sought.

He was right. She did understand how it was she could take from him. She merely had to reach for her own pleasure and indulge herself as she had last night.

He used nothing but his hands on her. They roamed across every available inch, stroking, teasing, nudging. Her toes were not spared, nor was her head. As his fingers buried themselves in her hair, they moved with firmness and banished tension there before moving down to her shoulders to knead and loosen the muscles. But the kneading evolved into stroking, to the lightest teasing that drifted over the surface of her flesh. It was light. She felt nothing but the heat of his touch. Minnie arched in reaction.

He sensed her submission.

She felt tugging at her wrists, the clink of the chain and her hands were free.

“Now, you take,” he murmured.

She closed her eyes. That was Duardo—the old Duardo, using the odd constructions that Duardo had once used, rather than grammatically perfect English.

The memory tore through her, bringing powerful arousal with it. Minnie shuddered as Zalaya had his way with her and when he was done, she fell forward, all the strength draining from her. She sprawled across the bed.

He followed her down. She heard the chain rattle as it slithered to the floor on the other side and didn’t care. Her whole body quivered and nerve endings zapped with little hitches and spurts.

“Duardo,” she sighed.

He froze. “Duardo?” he repeated. She felt him move, so he was next to her again. “This is your soldier? Duardo?”

The microphone...she had forgotten about the damn microphone. Duardo had not. He was reacting as Zalaya would.

She winced. How to cover this up? How to keep Duardo safe from discovery?

“Don’t speak his name, animal,” she said hotly. “It sounds foul on your lips.” And her fear was so thick and hot in her chest that she wept with it. Had she made the mistake that would kill him? Again?

The thought made her cry harder.

His hand touched her shoulder, curled around her waist and she was pulled up against his hard chest. The whole hot length of him cradled her from behind. Gently, he stroked her cheek, wiping away the tears. “Your tears are wasted,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear. “Your soldier, your Duardo, would have understood the choices you have made here.”

She turned her face into his chest, her fear undiminished.