a terrible mistake. About twenty of us were engaged in trying to neutralize the threat of the Palestinian terrorists, when the feud flared up again. Those twenty people became so involved in settling personal scores, they neglected their assignments. And as a result a terrorist plot to plant a nuclear device in Tel Aviv was carried out.’
‘Jesus!’ Mingolla started to say more, but sarcasm and insult seemed unequal to the enormity of the folly.
Ruy appeared not to notice his outburst. ‘We renewed the accords after Tel Aviv, but even so there continued to be flare-ups of trouble, especially among the younger generation. At last it was determined that all those who were keeping the feud alive—along with those of you from Sombra and Psicorps who were strong enough to help us shape a new world—would take up residence in Barrio Clarin and negotiate a separate peace. Once the peace was successfully negotiated, then and only then would we begin the takeover.’
‘What if you fail?’ Debora asked.
‘Then we’ll die, and the takeover will go on without us. I’m not sure how the sentence will be carried out. Carlito’s in charge of that. An air strike, I presume. But we
‘Who’s Carlito?’ asked Mingolla.
‘Dr Izaguirre,’ said Ruy. ‘My uncle.’
‘Right,’ said Mingolla. ‘We’re going to Panama so that crazy son of a bitch can blow us up. Sure we are.’
Ruy shrugged. ‘If you run, you’ll be tracked down. And besides’—he looked at Debora — ‘you want a voice in making a new world, don’t you?’
‘I’ll pass,’ said Mingolla. ‘What you’ve made so far doesn’t seem much of an improvement.’
‘You know nothing of what we’ve done.’
‘I know this goddamn war!’
‘We didn’t start the war! You did! What we’ve done over the past few years is to reduce it to a fraction of its previous scope. We’ve had to maintain it to an extent to cover our operations, and we don’t have enough people to influence specific battles, only the command structure. But once the peace is achieved, we
‘Y’know,’ said Mingolla, ‘I believe you’re sincere, man. I really do. That’s what scares me. You’re so goddamn sincere, you think sincerity excuses everything. Every whim and atrocity.’
‘Your problem’s not with us, man.’ Ruy drew up his knees, rested his arms on them. ‘It’s with me. Debora here, she understands that the world has to change. She understands that no matter how bloody the path, things can’t go on as they have. But you’—he jabbed a finger at Mingolla—‘you can’t see that. You haven’t lived down here. You haven’t seen your country violated by development bankers, by corporations and their little Hitlers. Sooner or later that lack of understanding will split the two of you.’
‘And that’s when you move in, huh?’
Ruy smiled.
‘I wouldn’t count on anything,’ said Debora stiffly.
‘I’m counting on your commitment,
Mingolla snorted at that.
‘You think we’re dishonest because we’ve been cautious with you?’ said Ruy. ‘Don’t you know how hard it was for us to place trust in people too strong for us to control? But for the sake of the revolution, we did it.’ He lit a cigarette, blew a bluish plume of smoke that gave his comments visible pause. ‘The kind of power we’ve enjoyed… being able to take whatever you want. After a while it instills an inviolable morality. The things of this world lose their desirability, and work becomes the only passion. That’s why our revolution will be pure.’
‘What happens to that morality,’ said Debora, ‘when it encounters something it can’t have?’
‘You’re talking about you and me?’ Ruy asked.
‘Just about you… about the lack of seriousness implicit in a person who contrives a passion over something he can’t have. It’s childlike.’
Ruy stubbed out his cigarette on the sole of his shoe. ‘You figure that’s how it is with me?’
‘I know it.’
‘What’s it matter the way a passion begins?’ he said. ‘Believe me, Debora. I’m serious.’
‘We can’t deal with these people,’ said Mingolla.
‘No, he’s right about that much,’ she said. ‘We have to.’
‘What the hell for?’
‘I think,’ she said, ‘it makes more sense to be a part of this revolution than to deny it’s happening. I’ve always thought so… you know that.’
‘They’re lunatics, they’re…’
‘And your president isn’t? No, we have to deal with the families. But we may not have to deal with Ruy.’ She said this last coldly and then reached into Ruy’s pack and removed his handgun.
‘It would go hard with you if you killed me,’ said Ruy, undismayed.
Mingolla took the gun from Debora and let the barrel droop toward Ruy’s groin. ‘It’s likely to go hard with us anyway.’
Ruy couldn’t take his eyes off the gun.
‘Tell me some more about Panama,’ said Mingolla.
‘You’re being a fool,’ said Ruy. ‘Kill me, and they’ll never stop giving you pain.’
Mingolla essayed a deranged laugh. ‘Call me irresponsible.’ He cocked the gun. ‘Talk to me, Ruy, or I’m gonna blow away your spare parts.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Back on the boat you mentioned something ’bout armies in Barrio Clarin. Armies that did the fighting whenever the families had a squabble. Let’s hear ’bout them.’
Ruy’s words came in flurries, his eyes fixed on the gun. ‘The armies, yes… there are about a thousand, maybe more. We had no choice, you see. We couldn’t keep killing one another, and passions were running so high. We had to do something.’
‘Calm down,’ said Debora. ‘Take your time.’
‘Is he going to shoot?’
‘You can never tell what he’s going to do,’ she said. ‘Now what about these armies?’
‘They’re the damaged, the hopelessly damaged. The ones whose minds are almost gone.’
‘Damaged how?’ Mingolla asked.
‘Damaged by people like you… like me. Their minds disrupted by too many interactions. You know. Like the people at your hotel in Roatan. Except these are even more deteriorated. They can barely feed themselves.’ Their stares unnerved Ruy further. ‘We had no choice, don’t you see? If we didn’t use them, we’d be killing one another and there’d be no chance for a peace among us. We’re not proud of it, believe me! But it’s working. I swear it! There hasn’t been a battle in over a month.’
‘God,’ said Debora.
‘We don’t give them guns,’ said Ruy weakly. ‘No guns are permitted in Barrio Clarin.’
‘Gee, that’s swell of ya.’ Mingolla sighted along the barrel at Ruy’s chest.
Ruy’s voice broke. ‘Don’t do this.’
The gun seemed to be getting heavy in Mingolla’s hand, and he was tempted to lighten it by a bullet. But Ruy had value alive. If they could hide their power from him, he would make a good witness when they reached Panama, would testify to Izaguirre and the rest that Mingolla and Debora were strong, but nothing that couldn’t be handled. Mingolla was surprised that he hadn’t argued more with Debora against continuing their journey, and he realized that what was motivating him was anger at the Sotomayors and Madradonas. It puzzled him that he should give so much weight to anger, but the strength of the emotion was enough to satisfy him, to stifle the need for self-analysis.
‘I’m gonna let ya live, Ruy,’ he said. ‘Happy?’
Ruy maintained a hostile silence.
