went over and looked at the screen. Hernando Aznar was holding his hands over his head in victory.
“He won, huh?” said Dean.
“Yes, quite a surprise. This is from one of the celebrations last night,” Tomari said. “They had quite a celebration in Lima. People were partying in the streets. They really seem to like him.”
“Feel like some breakfast?”
“It’s six in the evening.”
“How about dinner then?”
“OK.”
“I’m not going to shoot you. Don’t worry.”
He could tell by the way she laughed that she was attracted or at least intrigued by him. If he was the kind of man who indulged in casual affairs, finding a way to bed her would not have been difficult. But he wasn’t that kind of man.
When they arrived at the embassy, the newly elected president was finishing a courtesy call to the U.S. ambassador. Aznar and the ambassador had just concluded a press conference, but the media continued to press him as he walked toward the door. Dean stood to the side, watching the politician make his way forward. He seemed even more tired than he had been the other day, fatigued, already weighed down by the office he had won. Yet when he stopped to give a statement and the television lights were flipped on, he straightened and seemed invigorated. His words were just as assured as they had been the other day when Dean saw him from the side of the stage.
“Peru’s election stands as an example to the rest of South America,” said Aznar in Spanish. “The people have been heard. My administration will work closely with the United States on economic issues, and to combat the spread of drugs. We will be more aggressive than our predecessors; I guarantee you that.”
Dean watched with a jaundiced eye, wondering how long it would be before Aznar fell back on the much easier line of America-bashing. The new president answered a few more questions, then pushed on.
He saw Dean as he came down the steps. After a moment’s hesitation, he came over to Dean.
“Tell your friend I won’t forget the service he’s done for me,” whispered Aznar.
Dean nodded, and Peru’s newly elected president moved on.
The embassy was packed with CIA officers, military people, and State Department experts. Dean collected his new ID and credit card, then called the Art Room using one of the secure lines in the communications center.
Telach filled him in, saying Jackson had gotten back safely and congratulating Dean on a good mission.
“What do I do next?” Dean asked.
“General Spielmorph is in charge of the task force that’s conducting the search. He’d like you to brief some Delta people at the embassy tonight; they’re heading north as soon as you’re done. They want to know about the area where the bomb was found.”
“I can go with them if they want.”
“At this point, they’re spearheading the search down there.”
“What about a recovery operation if there’s another bomb?”
“Again, that’s going to be a Delta mission most likely. Tommy and Lia are in country to help out. Mr. Rubens would like you back in the States.”
“Time to face the piper?”
“I’m sorry?”
“That’s all right, Marie. Tell me what flight you want me on, and then I’ll go find the Delta people.”
103
Calvina Agnese pulled the thin sweater tighter around her shoulders, more to move her stiff limbs than to ward off the early-morning cold. The Ecuador-bound bus wasn’t due for another three hours, but the line for spots already stretched well past the stones that marked the spot where people were usually turned away. Calvina was two people beyond the stones, but the veterans in the line around her said it was likely she would get in anyway. A small bribe to the driver might help, they’d added, and Calvina had allocated a few soles from her meager supply for that.
Calvina had had to pay for the boat and bus from Nevas and would have to spend her own money to get to Quito, the capital of Ecuador, and the airport, where the man with the balloons would meet her. She did not know which city she was going to and would not until she was at the airport. Nor had the details on what would happen when she arrived been explained.
The passport she’d been given had spelled her name wrong and gave as her address the school in Nevas where she had gone. They had not even bothered to ask her real address, and she thought it better not to question them about the name.
“What are you doing in Ecuador?” asked an older gentleman near her as she waited.
“I have a job,” she lied.
“A young girl like you should go to the North,” he said, meaning the U.S. “There are many rich people there, if you work hard.”
She smiled at him.
“You’re not so pretty,” the man added. “But a hard worker would make a good bride.”
Calvina felt her face flush red as she turned away.
“All the others I could accept, but to lose Rosalina as well — that is the final blow,” Tucume told Babin as they waited for petrol.
“I don’t think she would betray you,” Babin replied. “Not Rosalina. Why do you say that?”
“She did.”
Tucume threw his head back on the seat. Babin thought he wore the look of a man crushed by the world.
“She was a descendant of the people who had sheltered my ancestors,” said the general, his voice almost a moan. “Now even they turn against the Inca.”
Depression made Tucume compliant, but Babin worried that the general was sinking too deep. He had hardly said anything as Babin explained his plan to take the weapon to the North and extract revenge; the Russian had had to ask point-blank whether he would do it before getting a “yes.”
“Why would Rosalina give me up?” Tucume asked.
“I don’t think she did.”
“This is just like the natives — like all of our people. You see from the vote — no one came to the polls. Did you even hear talk of an election in any town we stopped in?”
“No,” said Babin. The news reports had said that turnout in the native regions had been low, running at about 10 percent — far under Tucume’s expectations, though actually in keeping with most elections in the past.
“This is how the conquistadors won,” said Tucume. “They used our people against us.”
“Perhaps you should sleep,” suggested Babin. “We don’t want to cross until nightfall anyway.”
“Sleep. I cannot sleep.”
“What do you think about getting another driver?”
“Who would we trust?”
Babin nodded. It would be risky to take someone with them, too tempting — even if the man could not see beyond the general’s ill-fitting clothes and realize who he was, he would know they had money, and they would have to be on their guard constantly.
But another helper, someone to get them food even, to buy tickets when they went to Ecuador and Mexico — above all, someone to distract the general even slightly — that would be
