Read The Devil's Footprint Online
Authors: Victor O'Reilly
Zarra's laughter was joined by that of the crowd, and the cameras picked
up little vignettes of slapstick comedy a landowner had his pants ripped off
and only just made it to cover, while the bull turned and chased an unpopular
mayor.
It was the best day of the campaign so far, in Dan Warner's opinion.
18
"Shadow Four," continued Fitzduane, "is a mainly British
SAS team with Oga for seasoning, Bob ‘Brick’ Stephens and a guy called Hayden.
"In principle, I like to mix up the nationalities and make the unit
rather than nationality the focus, but with the professionals on this mission,
it really has not proved necessary.
Also, Stephens and Hayden have worked together so long and so well, it
would be a waste.
They don't have to
speak to each other.
A gesture, a look,
and they all seem to understand.
They
love the Guntrack.
It's right in the SAS
tradition.
They say changing a clutch in
a Guntrack compared to the Land Rover is sheer pleasure.
Minutes as opposed to
hours."
"Do they know your father was a founding member of the SAS in
"Sure," said Fitzduane with a smile, "and it doesn't
hurt.
On the other hand, trying to
explain to the British why the Irish, while willing to fight with the British,
prefer an independent country has been hard work."
"Which leaves Shadow Five," said Kilmara.
"One of our lads from the Rangers," said Fitzduane, "plus
two
Delta
.
Harty, Ernesto Robles, and Ross Gallini."
"Tell me more about Calvin Welbourne?" said Kilmara.
"Calvin flies," said Fitzduane, "in the kind of aircraft
that you might expect to fall out of a Christmas cracker.
It's a frightening little machine, but it
works.
They drag it around in a tube
behind their Guntrack.
I do not
recommend it unless you are a masochist."
There was a pounding on the door.
Fitzduane looked up at the security monitor.
It was Lee Cochrane looking very
agitated.
He let him in.
Cochrane had been running.
He was
breathing more heavily than normal, but he was very fit.
There was only a slight sweat.
"You alone?" he said to Fitzduane.
Fitzduane ushered him in.
"Shane is here.
No one else.
You can
speak."
Cochrane sank into a chair.
Fitzduane handed him a glass of water, which he drank greedily.
"It's not secret," he said.
"The whole fucking world knows.
The did
it on television.
You could see them killing him.
They put a bull in the ring as a distraction,
and when people were looking the other
way,
two of his
bodyguards drew their guns and killed him.
The camera came back on him as they were still firing.
"You could see the blood spewing out over that white suit.
And then one of them blew off the side of his
head to make sure.
You could see his
skull coming to pieces."
"Who was killed?" said Fitzduane, who already had a suspicion.
"Dan Warner and Zarra," said Cochrane.
"Valiente Zarra."
He suddenly looked defeated and aged.
"Dan tried to intervene.
He
was close and he made a grab for one of them.
The Mexicans would not let him carry a piece.
Dan got one of the killers' guns, but the
other just stepped forward and let him have it in the back of the neck.
They butchered him like some animal."
Cochrane put his head in his hands.
"Oh, Jesus!
We're up against some bad, bad people."
Kilmara took Fitzduane to one side.
"Zarra was your reserve," he said.
"If things had gone wrong in Tecuno, he
could perhaps have helped you.
Now
you're on your own.
The PRI will do
nothing.
Quintana has too much of a lock
on them."
There was a question in
the statement.
"We go anyway," said Fitzduane.
"But there'll be one change.
We'll cut the
"Why?" said Kilmara.
"Quintana has killed Zarra.
He'll be feeling cocky and invulnerable, and so will his people.
I want to hit them while they still feel like
that.
Cocky makes you careless."
Kilmara shook his head.
"People gravitate towards success," he said.
"Quintana will now pick up support.
He may even get the Mexican Army on his
side.
After this, he stands a good
chance of making president if he wants to.
Either way, he will be stronger."
"We're going to spend three days in the Mojave at the NTC,"
said Fitzduane, "and two days doing a final check.
Then we'll go."
"You'll be on your own," said Kilmara.
"You fuck up and there will be nobody to
help.
You'll be in the middle of nowhere
in bad company.
They'll cut your balls
off and your skin off in strips.
These
are evil fucks."
"Faith and firepower are great equalizers," said Fitzduane,
"and good people help, too.
Believe
me."
He smiled grimly.
"Besides, you may recall a promise.
I'm getting Kathleen back.
No matter what.
No matter what!
"
He walked across to Lee Cochrane.
"Do you think it can be done, Lee?"
"I don't know," said Cochrane, his voice tired.
"I don't know anything anymore.
But we've got to try.
Damn it, we've got to do something, or else
they win.
We can't just make
speeches."
Fitzduane studied the chief of staff.
"I would be honored, Lee, if you would come with us."
Cochrane looked up and his face was transformed from fatigue and sadness
into a resolution that damn near glowed.
"Are you sure, Hugo?"
Fitzduane smiled.
"Positively," he said.
*
*
*
*
*
There was a difference in the sound of Rheiman's footsteps, thought
Kathleen.
Something as simple as different shoes?
She considered this carefully.
No, this was more an eagerness as if he had
news to impart.
Good news?
In his terms, probably yes.
She would find out soon enough.
There was scant conversation with the guard today.
This time Rheiman was in a hurry.
Of course, he had missed a day.
Now he wanted to make up for lost time.
A by-product of the Rheiman visits was that
she was now fed regularly if not well, and could monitor the passing of the
days with reasonable accuracy.
She heard him sit down.
He almost
always sat before he spoke, curious behavior now that she thought of it.
Given the friendly tone he adopted, it would
have been more natural for him to call a greeting as he entered.
But normally he did not.
He would enter the room, sit down, and then look at her for some while
before he spoke.
As if he was contemplating a prized possession.
It was an unsettling thought.
Kathleen never spoke first.
This
was not a deliberate strategy but had developed naturally from her original
silence.
It had seemed appropriate
then.
It still seemed like the correct
way to handle things.
If someone wanted
to speak to her, then they had to acknowledge her as a human being first.
In her soul, Kathleen was terrified.
She lived every moment in fear so great she now regarded it as a living
force.
Something you could touch and
feel like fire or water.
Something so
horrible and yet so familiar, she almost regarded it as a friend.
Fear I
can trust.
But nothing
else.
No one else?
Rheiman?
Pleasant, warm, concerned.
Could Rheiman be trusted?
Would
Hugo trust him?
Would
Hugo Fitzduane trust him if he was chained and blindfolded and hungry and
thirsty and desperate for human contact.
Would he?
Would he?
She could see Fitzduane as she thought.
God, I love you, Hugo.
Our baby!
I wish.
Oh, how I wish.
Oh, how I yearn.
"Kathleen," said Rheiman in a pleased voice.
She had felt so close to Fitzduane, she could hear him.
It could not just be imagination.
There was a bond between them.
It was not physical, but it was there
nonetheless.
Fitzduane was focused on her
—
in her
— in some way.
She could not, would not.
Tears welled unbidden and stained her cheeks.
"Good news!" said Rheiman.
His voice was like an invasion.
She could see nothing, feel nothing, and then there was this sound that
cut through the silence like a jagged knife.
The voice of a man who sounded trustworthy — but whom
she did not trust.
The voice of a man who by his own admission had murdered.
"But, Kathleen, you're crying," he said, his voice suddenly
concerned.
"You missed me.
I'm so sorry.
I try and get away every day, but sometimes it is not possible.
There is so much to do and we're near the
first test firing.
Everyone has one
question:
Will it work?"
"I missed you, Edgar," she said, and it was true.
Good or bad, trustworthy or not, Rheiman was
company.
He brought news.
He was her only link to the outside world.
Rheiman took her hand without speaking.
He almost never touched her except for the occasional fleeting
caress.
This time he took her hand as a
lover might, the back of his hand resting against her breast.
He moved his hand very slightly, as if accidentally, stroking her nipple
through the material of the rough shirt she had been given.
She could sense his mounting excitement, but
then he pulled away and sat back in his seat.
She was playing a dangerous game, she knew, but there was not an
alternative.
Rheiman was all she had
right now.
Rheiman was what she had to
use.
If it took sex, she would use sex,
whatever was required, however bizarre.
If it took violence, she would use that too.
Without hesitation!
Fitzduane had taught her.
Violence should be a last resort, but where
it was required,
it must be fast and
deadly and delivered with total commitment.
Never hesitate.
Never pull
back.
Do it to them before they do it to
you.
Or you will die.
She shuddered.
Despair swept over her, and then as suddenly as it had hit it was
quelled.
I will live.
Our baby will live.
Hugo will come
.
It seems impossible,
but he will come
.
Rheiman had been silent.
The watcher playing with her.
He reminded her of a cat.
She was the mouse, chained and blindfolded.
It couldn't be much fun for the cat.
A real mouse could still move, could try and make a break for
freedom.
It was hopeless, but it kept
the game alive.
Restricted as she was,
she could do nothing.
He could not even
see her properly.
Her eyes were still
taped over.
It was as if Rheiman had been reading her mind.
"Kathleen," he said.
"I said I have good news.
I have been negotiating with Oshima.
She has agreed that your blindfold may be
removed subject to certain conditions.
There is something she wants you to see.
And some things that she does not want you to see."