“You would not do well on your own here. We will arrange for transportation.”
“Maybe I ought to take my chances.” Lia glanced at the door. Two men were blocking her way.
“Let him play the magnanimous warlord,” said Rockman in her ear.
“We’re not against the United Nations,” said the guerrilla leader.
“What about the U.S.?”
“Why’d you tell him you were American?” asked Rockman. “Lay back, Lia. Lay back.”
Shut up, Rockman, she thought to herself. He knows I’m American.
“The U.S. exploits the entire world,” said the guerrilla. “I have nothing but disdain toward your leadership. The metals here are ripped from the ground for who? Yankees. But since you work for the United Nations, we will give you the benefit of the doubt.”
“Thanks.”
The guerrilla smiled. “Empty your pockets.”
“I pulled them inside out for your man on the trail.”
“Please do it for me.”
Lia took out her PDA and placed it on the table, along with some change. The guerrilla picked up the handheld computer.
“It’s a handheld computer. If you know what that is.”
“I told you I went to Cambridge.” He turned it over. “Is it a Palm?”
“Try and get a name,” said Rockman. “We’re searching the Peruvian intelligence databases.”
“It’s not a Palm. It’s a cheap knockoff,” she said. “I can’t afford the real thing.”
“It doesn’t seem to be working,” he said when it failed to boot up after he pushed the power switch.
“It broke in the crash.” Actually, the unit would not activate without reading her thumbprint on the back. “Two hundred bucks up in smoke.”
He slid it back to her. “So what do you have in your bag?”
“A laptop.” Lia took it out. “When did you go to Cambridge?”
“Why?” asked the guerrilla. “Did you go there, too?”
“No. I’m afraid my family wasn’t rich enough to send me to Cambridge.” She just barely stopped herself from adding
The rebel turned on the laptop. The computer beeped and booted into a safe mode designed for exactly this sort of situation. It would operate exactly as a normal machine running Microsoft Windows XP; any serious attempt to access the hidden programs and data would erase them.
“What’s your name?” Lia asked. “Or should I just call you El Comandante?”
“What’s yours?”
“Li Shanken. I work for a company that supplies diagnostics for the voting machines.”
“You are one of the army of hundreds here to make sure the election is fair. According to the television, yes?”
“It will be fair.”
“You’re very naive, Li. The international corporations have already decided who will win the election. Will it be Imberbe, or Ortez, the Stone Age vice president? The dark horse Aznar? He is coming up from behind. That is an attractive story line, the underdog who comes from nowhere. Peruvians love such fairy tales. I predict he will be the winner. What does it matter? The corporations will still run things, with your country’s help.”
“He still hasn’t told you his name,” said Rockman.
“So when can I go?” said Lia.
“We will take you to the village when the time comes.”
“When is that? Five minutes from now?”
“You have a sharp sense of humor.”
“I try,
“You may call me Paolo. I am not a commander. Those sorts of titles are not of use among us.”
“How did you get to Cambridge? You don’t look English.”
“I’m not. I was born in Chala, Peru. This is my country.”
“Bingo,” said Rockman. “All right. We can get it.”
“Where’s Chala?” asked Lia.
“On the coast, south of Lima. A pleasant place to grow up. But if you recognize the struggle of the peasants, you cannot live with yourself there. Or anywhere.”
“And you’re on the peasants’ side?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why you were going to destroy Lima?”
“I wasn’t going to destroy Lima,” said the guerrilla.
“Your movement was. With a nuclear bomb.”
“No. Those reports are false. The government is trying to spread false rumors to discourage people from joining us. They’re lies. Terrible lies.”
“He’s a lot more important than he claims,” said Rockman. “One of the three or four leaders.”
“Prove that they’re lies,” said Lia, trying to shut Rockman out.
“There are many ways. We would not turn such a weapon against our own people.”
“You use bombs all the time.”
“Not such as this.” The guerrilla shook his head.
“That’s the best you can do?”
He slammed the table with his fist. “It’s a plot by the government. You’ll see.”
“Give me evidence to bring back to the people,” said Lia, sensing an opening. “I’ll spread the word for you. Give me proof.”
Still angry, the guerrilla leader slapped the laptop closed and stuffed it into her briefcase. He took it with him as he walked to the front door. Lia started to follow, but the guards kept her inside.
“I thought I was free to go,” she said sarcastically.
74
Dean untied the boat and jammed his hand against the throttle, pulling away from shore so quickly the hull seemed to soar above the water.
He left the communications system off; there was nothing the Art Room was going to tell him that he wanted to hear at the moment.
Eventually, he’d have to talk to them. But it would be better to wait until he was almost there.
Karr’s advice not to go gnawed at him gently, but Lia’s need overwhelmed it. As Karr had put it, the “sneak and peak” was easy enough for one person to handle on his own. Lia needed help.
Dean found the pilot sitting on the dock where he had left him, sipping a beer.
“You sober enough to fly?”
“Not a problem,” said the pilot. “Where?”
“There was a helicopter crash in the mountains about eighty miles north of La Oroya. I want to go there.”
The pilot’s expression immediately changed.
“I’ll pay five hundred dollars cash when we land,” Dean told him
“And fuel?”
“And fuel.”
“Let me see the money.”
Dean put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. “And don’t get any ideas,” he added, leaning forward not only to intimidate the man physically but also to show the shoulder holsters under his jacket.
“I am not a thief,” said the pilot. “I need sols for the petrol.”
