final money transfers and a sizable withdrawal.
He had decided not to kill her for several reasons, all practical. She was what some people called simple and lacked the mental capability to betray them. More important, he did not think the general could withstand the shock. Here was a man who had probably killed hundreds during his military career, and yet he had been trembling after the taxi driver was executed.
As the attendant moved to the desk to announce the flight, Babin took up his crutches and went over to the girl.
“Calvina, here,” he said, taking the ticket for Quito from his pocket. “Your flight leaves in two hours. Go back into the terminal, past the shop with the shawls. Match the number of the gate to this number here. That is where you should go.”
She nodded as she took it.
“Why don’t you come with us?” said Tucume, looking up from his seat.
“I—”
“You want to go to the North, don’t you?”
“I’m not sure that would be the best for all of us,” said Babin.
“I think she should come. You had to buy a ticket for her to get to the gate area,” added the general. “It’s no more of an expense.”
“Money has nothing to do with it,” said Babin.
“I don’t know if I can,” said Calvina.
“You’re scared of the men who gave you the passport?” asked Tucume.
“Might I suggest we discuss this nearer to the aisle, where there are no ears to listen in?” said Babin.
Tucume got up and walked to the opposite end of the waiting area. By the time Babin reached them, tears were slipping from the girl’s eyes.
“Now what?” he asked Tucume.
“She was supposed to bring drugs to the United States. I told her what would happen in the North, when she arrived.”
Though she hadn’t said, Babin had easily guessed why she wanted to go to Quito. The general must have as well.
“Of course,” said Babin.
“She didn’t understand everything.”
There was little time to argue.
“Won’t they kill her family if she doesn’t go?” said Babin.
“Not if she hasn’t taken money from them. They are cowards.”
Tucume’s voice was forceful — not its old self but a shadow of it at least.
“Why not?” said Babin, hearing their aisle called behind him. “We’ll keep her with us, and perhaps she’ll be of some use.”
Calvina looked out the window of the airplane. Senor Oroya said they were nearing Mexico, but all she could see were the tufted gray tops of clouds — a wondrous, incredible sight, the sight angels would see when they looked down at earth.
Senor Oroya — she believed that was not his real name, though it fit him — had proven very kind. He and the other man, the one with the crutches called Stephan, had asked her to do almost nothing, and in return had fed her and bought her clothes, been so very kind. She felt she could trust Senor with her life. He seemed like a protector, a true godfather.
He told her the men who had given her the passport were evil. Not because of the drugs but because of what they did to souls.
Calvina believed him. He was the sort of man who knew many things and could make much happen. He was rich and wise, and if they came for her now, he would protect her.
Calvina’s thoughts went back to the school and the man with the balloons. And then she thought of the Chinawoman, the apparition that had appeared, talking in many tongues so Calvina could understand.
Like an angel would.
Just a woman. A kind woman.
Sent by the Blessed Virgin, perhaps. To find out how to help. Nothing occurred by accident.
Calvina continued to gaze at the clouds, wondering what the future would bring.
107
Lia gripped the side of the MH60G Blackhawk as it sped along the river west of Iquitos. The drumming rotor overhead numbed her head, mixing with the heavy fatigue of the last week. She knew today was Wednesday only because WE was underlined on her watch face.
She thought about Charlie, missing him. Every cross word she’d ever said to him came back to her, rumbling in the roar of the blades.
The helicopter banked sharply. It was at the end of a six-helicopter procession speeding toward a former Baptist missionary compound deep in the Amazonian jungle. The compound was occupied by a dozen natives the Peruvian intelligence service believed were part of a group called Sacred Right, dedicated to returning native land to native tribes. Though obscure, the group had issued a communique praising General Tucume eight or nine months before, calling him a “pure hero for the people.” The proximity of the river would have made it relatively easy to transport a warhead here. Beyond that, though, there was no evidence that this raid was anything but a long shot, one of several the Army had been on in the past thirty-six hours. Karr had been asked to come because of his expertise in nuclear weapons. Lia was simply backing him up; she herself knew very little about the weapon’s hardware.
“Up and at ’em!” yelled Karr as the helicopter shifted for its final approach. The big blond giant rising from the nearby jump seat, standing with Lia as the helo pirouetted toward the landing zone. The Air Force crewman manned a machine gun at the door, grim-faced and determined as he scanned the jungle. An AC-130U gunship was circling overhead, covering the landing area.
The special operations radio channel began buzzing with chatter. There were flares on the ground. The first team was down. No opposition had been encountered. The three Special Forces pathfinders who’d infiltrated into the area earlier that morning were reporting in — everything is good; everything is good; everything is good.
Lia flashed back to an incident when she’d been on a Delta mission before coming over to Deep Black. As a woman, she’d been part of the officially nonexistent “Funny Squadron”—an all-female Delta unit that mostly undertook undercover missions in foreign urban areas. On this occasion, however, she happened to have been part of a team assisting locals trying to apprehend terrorists who’d taken refuge at an African elementary school. One of the people at the school used that very same phrase, “everything is good,” to say they hadn’t meant any resistance and the hostages were free.
A second later, the school blew up.
“Let’s go, Princess,” shouted Karr, leaping from the helo as it touched down.
Lia jumped out after him, pistol ready, trotting behind him as he strode toward the buildings, laid out in a horseshoe. The captain commanding the unit met them near the opening of the horseshoe, signaling for them to wait while the Army Rangers and Special Forces troops secured the buildings.
There was a certain rhythm to entering a dangerous and unknown space. The soldiers didn’t take any chances, dropping flash-bang grenades through windows, blowing off the door hinges, moving inside quickly. Two Peruvian army officers were with them, acting as translators. Lia and Karr kept their distance from them, not wanting to have to answer any questions.
“Looks good,” said Rockman over the communications system. He was watching a feed from a Predator unmanned aerial vehicle that had been launched to provide reconnaissance earlier.
“It’s too easy,” said Lia.
Gunfire erupted from one of the buildings near the head of the horseshoe. Two, three men with automatic
