Breaking Lorca (17 page)

TWENTY-SEVEN

H
OW HE YEARNED FOR PEACE
. Here he was in this great city—he could only compare it to visiting Rome at the peak of the Roman Empire—and instead of seeing the sights with his wife and children at his side, he was holed up in a hotel room with a thug.

“It looks like she’s gone out,” Tito said.

“She has not gone out. She is taking a shower, fixing her makeup, who knows. She has not gone out.”

“So, why don’t we pay her a visit right now. Give her the business. Take the rest of the night off.” Tito put on a waiter’s voice. “Good evening, señorita! Room service!”

Captain Peña shook his head, keeping his eyes on the corner room across the street. “We’ll stick to the plan. We do it outdoors.”

“Why that bitch is still alive I will never understand.”

“She is still alive because the former Corporal Peña is a world-class idiot. Not too many soldiers could miss a prisoner at point-blank range.”

“He is your nephew, Captain. Otherwise, I would cross the street and kill the little scum right now. On the spot.”

“Sergeant, we will stick to the plan, and you will follow my orders.” This constant reining in of thugs with guns, it got to be exhausting. How he hated the war.

“Where is that coward now? His light’s gone out.”

“He was writing at the desk for two hours. Now he is taking a nap. Gone out somewhere. It doesn’t matter. It’s the woman we want.”

“I still say we go over there, fix that bitch right now. Take care of it quick and dirty. Fuck this waiting.”

“It’s too early. There are people everywhere. We will visit Miss Viera in due time, sergeant. Take over for me now.” He handed the binoculars to Tito and went into the bedroom to use the phone. He called his embassy first and by prior arrangement had them patch the call through. That way, the Hilton’s phone record would show only a local call. “Hello, my sweetheart,” he said. “What are you doing up at this hour?”

“Mommy said we could stay up until you called.”

“She did, eh? Things have taken a liberal turn in my absence. I’ll have to talk to your mother about that.”

“Where are you, Daddy? Why don’t you come home?” The other twin was on the other line now. He smiled at his mental image of the two of them, their dark hair shining from the bath and smelling of shampoo. They would be in their matching pyjamas: elephants and leopards.

“Daddy’s working. You know I have to work long hours sometimes. I hope you’ve brushed your teeth.”

“Oh, yes.”

“And don’t forget to say your prayers. Put your mother on now.”

“Hello, soldier. Your little girls certainly miss you.”

“I miss them too.”

“All your girls miss you. How is the war treating you?”

“A little slow at the moment. I was thinking of you, wondering what you were up to without me.”

“I was hemming my new dress. The girls are impossible when you’re away. Such moods!”

“Like their mother.”

“It’s true. I wish they could be even-tempered like you. My life would be much easier. Where are you, Eduardo? I know I’m not supposed to ask.”

“No, you’re not. What’s happened to my army wife?”

“She’s fed up with being an army wife. It’s when you’re away that I worry the most. That’s when I think the worst. Are you far away?”

“Very far. I can’t tell you where.” Security, discipline, these were not usually so difficult for Captain Peña, and it surprised him how badly he wanted to tell his wife where he was. He wanted to tell her he had seen the Washington Monument today, and the Lincoln Memorial. More than anything, he wanted to tell her he had seen the White House. She would be so envious. But all he said was, “I wish you were here with me, darling.”

“Really? You never say that, Eduardo.”

“Usually there is danger when I am travelling. This place is different. Here, there is no danger.”

Tito rapped on the door. “Something happening, Captain.”

“Duty calls, darling. Kiss the girls for me.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful. I want you back in one piece.”

Captain Peña made his promises, sent his hugs, kisses and blessings down the telephone line, and joined Tito in the other room.

“She yanked the curtains suddenly. I thought you should know. It looked like something was up.”

“Her light is still on. Probably she just got out of the shower. Didn’t want nasty voyeurs like you looking in.”

“Hah. I saw her skinny little tits when she pulled the curtain. There! You can see her shadow when she moves in front of the light. What if she doesn’t go out, Captain? What if she decides to stay in?”

“We’re in Washington, sergeant. She won’t be able to resist going out.”

“She might play it safe. Stay in her hotel room all night.”

“Suppose a fire alarm were to go off? A diversion of some sort. Outdoors is best, but if we have to, we will simply cross the street and make a little social call.”

“I can’t wait to fix that bitch. Teach her to testify.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

A
S HE BACKED AWAY
from the windows, Victor’s knees shook beneath him. Still a coward, he thought, no matter how I spell my name. He went down the hall to Lorca’s room and banged on the door. “Lorca!” He tried to open it, but it was locked. He could hear the hiss of the shower.

A room-service waiter trundling a cart eyed him suspiciously, and Victor took the elevator to the ground floor.

Beyond the lobby, a corridor led to various business suites and conference halls. Two men in identical blue suits sat at a table, partially blocking the hall. From the suite of rooms behind them, eager voices issued. Victor told the guards he needed to see Bob Wyatt.

“You have some identification, sir?”

“No. I am a witness at tomorrow’s hearing. I have to speak with Mr. Wyatt. An urgent matter. Can you find him for me?”

“I’m not paid to find people. I’m paid to keep unauthorized persons out of this area. Now, unless your name is on my list—”

A small knot of people came out of one door and crossed the hall toward another. Wyatt’s booming voice filled the hall, even though he was almost hidden behind a glossy young man with very thick hair and a beautiful pinstripe suit. Victor called out over the heads of the security guards, “Bob! Bob, I must speak with you!”

Two lines of annoyance formed between Wyatt’s luxurious brows. “What is it, Ignacio? I’m busy.”

Victor motioned him away from the crowd, away from the security guards.

Wyatt cursed under his breath. “Ignacio, really. I don’t have time for this now.”

“Lorca is in danger. Men from the little school are here. They are watching us from across the street.”

Bob gave a short, skeptical laugh. “In Washington? Get a grip, Ignacio. I understand you’re nervous, but let’s not get totally paranoid. I’ll see you a little later. We’re planning strategy here.”

“Your strategy won’t be worth anything if your best witness dies. They are
here
, Bob. They are right across the street.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. How could they possibly know Lorca is here? How could they even know she’s alive?”

Victor waved his hands at the crowded hall. “Obviously because you told everyone in the world. We have to hide her, keep her somewhere safe until tomorrow.”

“I can’t leave now. We’re wrapped up in strategy here. If you want to take it up with the reception desk, go ahead.”

The pinstriped young man had been moving closer as they spoke. Now he laid a cautioning hand on Wyatt’s arm. “Couldn’t help but hear, Bob. If this man has legitimate security concerns, we should take them straight to Greg.” He shook hands with Victor. “Roger Carey, chief coordinator.”

Competence shone from the young man’s features; he had the smile of a Kennedy. Victor shook his hand with relief.

“Come on, I’ll take you through. It’s okay, guys,” he said to the guards. Then, to Victor: “Greg is our security wizard. Actually, he’s the Senator’s security wizard. State Department coughed him up.”

The three of them passed through a living room full of flowers and fruit, as if someone were in hospital. The bedroom next to it had been converted into an office where students typed at computers and talked urgently into telephones. Carey rapped on the next door. “Greg! It’s Roger!”

A voice told him to enter.

“Give me a second,” Carey said, flashing his Kennedy smile, and slipped into the room.

Wyatt turned on Victor. “How did you recognize these so-called hit men? I thought you were blindfolded at the little school. How did you see them, Ignacio? How can you possibly recognize them now?”

“They took my blindfold off for the land transfer ceremony. Believe me, I can recognize them.”

“From that one instance? Are you sure, Ignacio?”

“My name is not Ignacio.”

The furry brows contracted. A meaty paw rose to stroke the great beard. “Oh, really. Really. That’s interesting. That’s extremely interesting. Maybe you’d like to tell me—”

Carey appeared at the door again and beckoned them inside.

“So what the hell
is
your name?” Wyatt hissed as they went inside.

A man was on the phone, his back to them. He swivelled from side to side in a chair with a high back, so that all they could see of him was his hair—flat, blond, schoolboyish. It was the colour of corn and flashed each time he swivelled toward the desk lamp. “Is that so?” he was saying on the phone. “Is that what he thinks?”

Victor tried to get a better look at him, but Wyatt’s bulk was blocking his view. Wyatt turned to him now and said, “You’re going to have to explain yourself, you know.”

“Everything will be explained. Just now, Lorca is more important.”

Carey watched them quizzically. The blond man was still hammering at the same point on the phone. “Well, you ask him this,” he was saying. “You just ask that son of a bitch who does he think is paying the bills down there.”

His words flicked a switch in Victor’s memory. He could not immediately place the phrase, but it sent his nerves, already straining at the top notes of fear, up another semitone.

“No, you ask him,” the man was saying into the phone. “Just you ask him: who does he think’s paying the bills down there?”

The flat blond hair flashed again, and Victor remembered now. The American had said those same words to Lorca. They had echoed harshly off the tile walls of the little school:
“Who do you think pays the bills around here?”

The phone was slammed down.

The man swivelled around and introduced himself to Wyatt. “Greg Wheat. What can I do for you?”

Carey answered for him. “Gentleman here thinks he saw some personnel from El Salvador. Military personnel.”

“Who did?” He aimed a thin finger at Wyatt. “You? You’re personally familiar with the El Salvador military?”

“Not me,” Wyatt said. “Ignacio here thinks he saw them.” He turned to indicate his annoying charge, but the space where he had been standing just a moment ago was empty.

TWENTY-NINE

L
ORCA OPENED THE DOOR TENTATIVELY
, and Victor pushed his way past her. “Pack your things,” he said. “We’re moving.”

Lorca’s hair was still wet from the shower and clung to her neck in a damp tangle. She frowned at him. “Moving?”

“There’s no time to talk. Just pack. Where’s your suitcase?” He found the suitcase in her closet and threw it on the bed. He started heaving her clothes into it: her good shoes, a sweater, the dress she had chosen for her appearance before the committee. “Are there things you need in the bathroom?”

Lorca stood frozen in the middle of the room. Shadows he had not seen for weeks darkened her face. She opened her mouth to speak, the jagged tooth visible.

Victor grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “Lorca, now!”

“They have come for me,” she said dully.

“Yes. They have come for you. For both of us. The Captain and one of the men. There may be others.”

“I knew they would come. I knew from the beginning.”

“Lorca, get your shoes on. We have to move.”

She sat on a chair and reached blindly for her shoes. She started to put one on, stopped, and looked up at him. Then the question came, as he had known it must come. “How did you recognize them, Ignacio?”

“I saw them at the deed ceremony. It does not matter. The point is, they are in the hotel across the street. Right this minute. Watching this room.”

“They allowed you to see their faces?”

“Mother of God, Lorca, we have to go!”

“You were blindfolded. All of us were blindfolded.”

“Lorca, I was not blindfolded at the deed ceremony. Will you please tie your shoes?”

“You saw their faces, and they didn’t kill you? This I don’t believe.”

“Fine. Stay and die.”

Still she did not move. Behind the dark, frightened eyes, facts and suspicions were clicking into place. Victor could almost hear it, the sound of her world reconstituting itself.

“My name is not Perez,” he said at last. “Ignacio Perez is dead. He was shot a few days before you were taken to Puerto del Diablo.”

He had said it now. It could not be unsaid. He felt no sense of relief, only—once again—the sensation of stepping off a cliff. He tried to prepare himself to receive her hatred, the way a fighter prepares to receive blows. “My name is Victor Peña. I was a soldier. A soldier at the little school.”

Lorca remained staring up at him from her seat on the chair, one hand still gripping her shoe. Her face had gone pale. A terrible silence flowed from her, as if a knife had entered her ribs but the pain had not yet registered.

“These scars?” Victor showed her the knuckles of his right hand. “I got these scars when I punched you. It was me who punched you in the mouth and broke your tooth.”

From Lorca, a sharp intake of breath.

“The Captain was screaming, ‘Hit her, hit her, hit her.’ I had to obey. They would have killed me. Everyone had to take part—otherwise, how could they trust you? I should have refused. That would have been the right thing, but I could not refuse. I was too afraid. I was not brave like you.” The memory of her bravery brought tears to his eyes, but he repressed them. He had no right to tears.

“No,” Lorca said. “I don’t believe you. Why you are telling me these lies? It cannot be true. I won’t believe.”

“It’s true. It was my hand on the General when they questioned you. You remember they were instructing someone? ‘First you turn it no higher than two. Gradually you make it stronger.’ It was me they were instructing.”

She shook her head. “Why are you saying this? You are not capable of such things. All right, maybe you were in the room. Maybe they forced you to do some things …. Where are you going, Ignacio? Come back!”

Victor went down the hall to his room. He didn’t switch the light on, he didn’t have to. He reached under the mattress and found the two items he was looking for, one small and light, the other dark and heavy. He crossed to the window. The lights were out across the street, he could not make out any shadows on the balcony. They would be closer now.

Lorca was sitting as he had left her, except that one hand shaded her eyes now, as if from a terrible light.

“For the first three days, I threw cold water on you. I fed you a meal full of salt. A meal full of cockroaches. One day I watched you sucking water from your shirt.”

Lorca’s hand moved from her eyes to cover her mouth. Her eyes went dark as pits.

“Then they raped you.
We
raped you. I lay on top of you myself.”

“No,” she said behind her hand. “No.”

“I was the last one, that first day. The fourth one. I could not do anything because I was so sick and afraid. But I would have, Lorca. I would have. I am not like you.”

“No. No, please. It’s not true.”

“It is true. That’s how I recognize these soldiers, Lorca. I was one of them.”

“It’s not true. You were a prisoner.”

He took hold of her hand and opened the fingers like a child’s. He thrust into her palm the watch that had been ripped from her wrist. “This was my reward for hitting you that day. For breaking your tooth. Remember how they cheered? The Captain pulled this off your wrist and gave it to me.”

The watch lay ticking in her hand like a bomb. Lorca stared at it dumbly for a moment, then turned it over and looked at the inscription.

Suddenly exhausted, Victor sank to the edge of the bed and hung his head. He could no longer bear to look at her. He stared at the carpet as he spoke. “Your courage changed me, Lorca. Seeing how you bore your pain. Seeing how you cared not for yourself but only for others. Ever since we hurt you, I have wanted nothing but to make it up to you. To take back the wrongs I committed. Probably I wanted your forgiveness. Not probably, definitely. I wanted your forgiveness.”

“I hate you,” she said softly.

“So do I, Lorca.”

“I hate you more than I have ever hated anybody. I hate you more than the man who ran that stinking place. I hate you more than any of them.”

“Yes. I don’t blame you. But now you must run. You must run, before they come for you.” He was still on the edge of the bed, his head hanging down. There was a sudden movement, and then a white light exploded in his skull.