Germ

'Gracia,' Julia said.

Ernestina had given her a cursory lesson in Guarani. So far, Julia's repertoire consisted of four words: yes, no, thanks, and bathroom. What more did anyone need?

Fatima nodded at Julia. She swung her head around, tossing her hair over one shoulder. She flashed emerald eyes at Stephen and gave him a smile measurably bigger and brighter than the one Julia had received. 'Okaru.'

Stephen stared dumbly at her. Julia couldn't tell if it was the word or her stunning beauty, so flirtatiously displayed, that left him speechless.

'Okaru,' she repeated and pretended to pick something out of one of the bowls with all five fingers and put it into her mouth. 'Okaru.'

'Eat!' Stephen said, snapping out of his daze. 'Yes, thank you . . . gracia.'

Fatima pursed her lips into a coy smile and sauntered off.

No chef in Paris or New York could have made a dish better tasting than the asodos and chipa. The two ate leisurely and watched their hosts move about the big room, discussing points, studying maps, cleaning and re-cleaning guns. A few wandered over, nodded solemn greetings, grabbed oranges, and returned to their business. Julia became aware of an almost palpable sense of apprehension hanging in the air, a musty odor of fear.

A shifting shadow caught her eye, and she spotted a man sitting high on a stack of crates, peering out one of the windows that lined the top of the twenty-foot-high walls. In the shadows, only his dark shape was visible against the dull-iron luminance of the world that lay beyond the glass, but she could clearly make out his rifle. She was scanning for other lookouts when Fatima came by with two mugs made from bull horns.

'Terere,' she called the drink. They thanked her and she left, swishing her simple cotton dress to and fro as she did.

Julia smelled the concoction and sipped. She made a face and set the mug on the table.

'You better like that,' Tate warned, plopping down on the sofa next to Stephen. 'Everybody drinks that stuff here. Everybody, all the time.' 'It's bitter,' she complained.

'You get used to it.' He surveyed the remaining food on the table, peeled off a strip of bread, and pushed it into his mouth. Chewing slowly, he leveled his sad, perceptive eyes at her. He was not smiling. 'Wanna tell me why you're here and why Nana-ykua doesn't want you to be?'

'Nana . . . ?'

'Nana-ykua. It means 'Demon of the pit.' The townsfolk believe that place is evil, and for good reason. Long as most can remember, people would go out that way and never come back. Or they would—with tales of the guards shooting at them. What are you here for?'

Stephen answered. 'They kidnapped my brother.'

Tate nodded. 'That's what they do. That bloke over there, the one with the scar on his face? That's Emilio. His papa disappeared ten years ago, right off the streets here in PJC. Emilio went to the local tahachi, the police. Said they'd look into it, but they didn't. One of our men, who used to be on the force, said a drive out to the gates of the air base was good for a 100,000-guarani banknote—a couple days' wages. Emilio even went to Asuncion, to the federales. Nothing ever came of it. He got together with others who'd lost someone, a wife, a child. They'd go out and take potshots at the guards, the buildings, try to sabotage the vehicles heading out there. Eventually Nana-ykua installed heavier security, some really nasty stuff, and that ended that. Emilio and his mates started patrolling the streets at night. They interrupted a couple kidnappings. Beat them good. After a few of those, the disappearances stopped. Then they began in Cerro Cora, about fifteen klicks west. We helped set up patrols there too. Then in Antonio Joao. Kept pushing the kidnappings farther and farther away. Where'd they get your brother?'

'Chattanooga.'

'In the States?' Tate's eyes flashed wide. 'Whoa.'

'Not the same kind of kidnapping,' Julia said. 'But they have him, and we want him back.'

Rosa came over and sat on Tate's lap. She spoke to him.

Tate nodded at Stephen. 'Your clothes are ready. They're in the back room, where the baths are.'

Stephen left, and Rosa began running her fingers over Tate's head and neck.

Julia watched for a moment, then said, 'You've made this your home.'

'Rosa's my home.' He closed his eyes, feeling her gentle massage. Then he looked around the room. 'These are wonderful people. Kind-hearted. Generous. They don't deserve what's been happening to them. Husbands, wives, kids—just gone. Stolen. At first I wanted to expose the problem the only way I knew how, by writing about it. Then I found Rosa, and all these mates found me. Now I want to help in more tangible ways.'

'That's admirable, fighting their cause.'

'It's my cause now too.' He smiled up at his lady. 'Rosa won't go back to England with me. She won't leave her family. So this is my home, as long as Rosa will have me.'

Rosa kissed the top of his head, then his ear.

'Looks like the feeling's mutual,' Julia said. She paused a moment. 'You're handy with guns.'

'SAS, in a previous life.'

She cocked an eyebrow at him, seeing more in his weathered face and firm body than she had before. SAS was considered the first and still the best special forces unit in the world.

'This ragtag bunch,' he continued, 'farmers and ranchers mostly, needed my kind of help.'

'To protect themselves from the kidnappings?' A former SAS member seemed like overkill. Start taking people where she came from, and a good two-by-four would put an end to that quick enough.

'They have bigger plans, if they can ever—'

He looked up and nodded appreciatively.

Stephen was heading toward them, dressed in clean clothes and looking thoroughly pleased by the fact. As he walked past a cluster of men, the man Tate had identified as Emilio stepped up to him. The two spoke words and continued heading toward the oasis of furniture set to one side of the expansive room.

Stephen plopped down and held up something for Julia to see. It was a big revolver.

'He wants you to inspect it,' explained Tate. 'It was his father's.'

'Yes, my papa's. A nice gun,' confirmed Emilio, standing by the couch and grinning down at Stephen.

Stephen hefted the weapon and sighted down the barrel.

'Very nice,' he said. He handed it back to Emilio, who lofted it proudly, then shoved it into his waistband.

'Well, look at you,' Julia said, eyeing Stephen's fresh appearance.

Stephen tugged at his collar and brushed the front of his clean and apparently ironed shirt. 'Yes, yes,' he said. 'I am myself again.' He plucked some meat out of the bowl and folded it into his mouth.

Emilio pulled a lawn chair closer and sat.

'Thank you for your hospitality,' she told him.

'You feel better?'

'Much, almost human. I'll feel even better with my clothes on.'

Emilio blushed, the blood giving his dark skin a cinnamon hue. 'Soon, I think.' He spoke to Rosa, who glanced at Julia and laughed good-naturedly. She slid off Tate's lap and walked toward the back rooms.

'I'm fine, really.' Julia pulled the quilt tighter and tucked the edges under her legs. She turned to Tate. 'You said they have bigger plans that could use your SAS background. What?'

'To crush Nana-ykua!' Emilio said. He yanked the pistol out of his waistband and pumped it in the air. 'Aikoteve peikoteve che rehe, Nana-ykua!'

Cheers and hoots sprang from the men around the room.

'Well . . .' Tate said, patting the air to calm Emilio and urge him to put away his weapon. 'Someday.'

'Someday? No someday!' Emilio said. He smiled at Julia. 'We get them now, no?'

Stephen was nodding. Julia didn't know how to respond. Was Emilio offering this group's help? Could they really go in, guns blazing, and get Allen?

Emilio said, 'Bad people out there. Who is gone? Who they take?'

'My brother.'

'Oh, eme'ena.' He stood and yelled at the others, an obvious rallying cry.