Betrayed (3 page)

Chapter One

“Señoras y señores, AeroMéxico Flight 621 is now beginning its final descent into Aeropuerto Aorora, international airport of Guatemala City.”  The intercom announcement coincided with a flashing sign overhead:
Abroche Cinturón
.

Halfway down the crowded cabin of the 727, Vicki Andrews obediently fastened her seat belt, slid up the shade of her window seat, and peered down. The landscape varied little from any one of a dozen developing nations into which she’d flown over the last few years. Admittedly spectacular scenery, followed inevitably by humanity’s impact on that splendor. In this case Vicki couldn’t tell if the white peaks of the hills and volcanic cones that ringed the highland basin in which Guatemala City squatted were snow or fog. 

The plane banked to line up for approach to the airport. Beyond its control tower and terminals, Vicki could see the celebrated Zone 10 of Guatemala City. Sparkling glass towers that were luxury hotels and banks. The gracious, tree-lined Avenida de la Reforma with its nightclubs, American chain restaurants, high-priced boutiques, and foreign embassies.  And terraced up hillsides, the mansions, bristling with security, where Guatemala’s wealthy elite escaped the third world. An attractive scene and all that many international arrivals would ever see of the capital. Vicki was not one of them.

The plane tilted its wings as it dropped farther, offering beyond the glittering Zone 10 an excellent panorama of the other Guatemala City where the overwhelming majority of its inhabitants lived and toiled. A warren of narrow streets. Crumbling adobe facades defaced by political graffiti. A sea of red tiles pockmarked with tin and Duralite roofing. Squeezed into every available opening and crawling up the steep sides of the mountain basin were the shanties of the poor, cobbled together from scrap lumber, tin, and even cardboard.

Far off to Vicki’s right, one of Guatemala’s less advertised landmarks slashed through the shantytowns—a deep and wide ravine, originally conduit for a major river tributary. Now a receptacle of a very different sort, its uneven and discolored surface reached within meters of the rim with what she knew to be thousands of tons of waste. Guatemala City’s municipal dump. Vicki’s destination.

If it was all depressingly familiar, it evoked no memories. So why had she been so reluctant to come back? Giving up on the scenery, Vicki flipped back to the country info she’d printed off, picking up where she’d left off. 

~The heart of the Mayan empire, Guatemala fell to Spanish conquest in the 1500s. Centuries of colonial rule led to a highly-stratified society with the indigenous Mayan majority relegated to a feudal-style peonage, a rising urban Ladino, or Spanish/Mayan, class, and a largely European ruling elite. . . . By the 1950s, US-owned United Fruit Company was Guatemala’s largest landowner, giving rise to the term banana republic. With coffee and banana plantations dependent on Mayan forced labor, the election of reform candidate Colonel Jacobo Arbenz was greeted with dismay by both the local aristocracy and international business interests. A CIA-sponsored coup ushered in a half century of military regimes, punctuated by populist uprisings and army reprisals. . .

By the time the 1996 Peace Accords marked a cease-fire of the civil war, more than two hundred thousand civilians had disappeared or been massacred . Though a UN Truth Commission found the Guatemalan army responsible for more than 90 percent of atrocities, the United States has maintained strong business and political ties, lauding Guatemala as one of their strongest allies in the war on socialism . . .

Lush rain forests, sandy beaches, and a colorful blend of Mayan and Spanish cultures make Guatemala an attractive tourist destination. However, with social inequities remaining unaddressed and a spiraling crime rate, the U S Embassy Watch advises caution for any of its citizens . . . ~

Tropical paradise!
Vicki began packing up her belongings as the plane landed and taxied to the terminal.

Vicki waited until the aisle was clear before sliding out of her seat and grabbing her purse and duffel bag—her only luggage.  Experience had taught her the value of being able to sling all her belongings over her shoulder and walk away from a plane, a bus, a riot.

The immigration lines were still long by the time Vicki found the line marked
Extranjero
, “foreigner.” A stamp in her passport, and she moved on to customs, a row of wooden tables set up beyond the baggage claim. Unsmiling guards with automatic rifles hovered near as Vicki’s duffel bag was emptied out, the seams probed with the tip of a penknife. The same penknife dug into her deodorant, leaving white chunks like dandruff on her clothing.

Again, depressingly familiar.

It was also a routine part of her job, Vicki reminded herself sternly as she stuffed and zipped the duffel bag. So why was she being so sour?

I’m just tired
. This last assignment had overrun her calculations by more than two weeks, and she’d barely had time to write up and email off the final report before boarding her plane for Guatemala City.

Shouldering her maltreated belongings, Vicki headed for the Plexiglas wall that separated the baggage claim and customs from a milling crowd waiting for arrivals outside.

A trick of lighting displayed her reflection, and Vicki took in the image she was about to accord her reception party. Rumpled jeans and a T-shirt. Shoulder-length dark brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail. The fine coating of perspiration and dust that was her only makeup. An amber glare blazing behind her lashes. No jewelry of any sort. Where Vicki spent her days, that was a red flag for a mugging.

Not a prepossessing first impression.

The image dissolved, and Vicki dismissed it with a shrug. Travel from one municipal dump to another hardly called for haute couture.

Vicki showed her passport along with her hard-earned customs clearance to a final armed guard and was out the door.

Outside, a metal railing held the crowd back from the Plexiglas, but with every emerging passenger, bodies surged against the barrier, calling out names, many holding up placards.

Vicki found herself instinctively searching the crowd for a familiar face before reeling herself in to read the placards. There would be no one she knew waiting in that welcoming throng.

She had traversed almost the entire gauntlet of reaching hands and pressing bodies when she spotted the one she wanted. A hand-lettered square of cardboard read
Casa de Esperanza
, “House of Hope.”

Its bearer was as visibly expatriate as Vicki herself, an elderly woman not much shorter than Vicki but stooped and thinned with age to little more than a child’s size. She looked so familiar that Vicki found herself stopping midstep until she realized the woman was a living embodiment of any number of black-and-white historical photos of American missionaries abroad that Vicki had come across in her research. The bun still showing a few threads of its original auburn in the white. The shapeless cotton smock reaching modestly to the tops of dark knee socks. Sturdy walking shoes.

Vicki swallowed a laugh. Was this already a total waste of her time?

Then she caught a shrewd, bright gaze, a smile that held so much understanding, warmth, and youth that Vicki decided to reserve her judgment. Walking forward, she set down her duffel bag, then held out her hand. “Hello, you must be Evelyn McKie, who founded Casa de Esperanza. I’m—”

But now it was the missionary whose aged features held startled recognition. “Victoria?”

Chapter Two

“No, just Vicki—or so my birth certificate tells me. Vicki Andrews. From Children at Risk. My office did inform you I would be your contact, I hope.”

“Yes, of course they did. And that was the name they gave.” Evelyn McKie’s confusion dissolved into a welcoming smile. “You just look so much like an old friend; it took me back a couple of decades. Though you’re much too young to be that Victoria, if just as pretty. In any case—” she rejected Vicki’s hand for a quick hug—“welcome to Guatemala. And thank you for taking the time to visit our project. This is
such
a blessing. I can’t tell you.”

“It’s a pleasure, Ms. McKie.”

“Oh, please, call me Evelyn.
Ms. McKie
makes me sound like such an old woman.”

Vicki knew from her info packet that the founder of Casa de Esperanza was American by citizenship, but Evelyn’s firm tones still held a trace burr of her Scottish roots as she swept on, “Now, dearie, you must be very tired from your trip. Why don’t you let Alberto here—” she gestured to a slight, dark-skinned man Vicki hadn’t realized was with her—“take that bag for you.”

Alberto, at least five decades younger than his employer but already missing most of his upper front teeth, grinned at Vicki as he reached for her duffel bag.

“Alberto is one of our most valuable workers at Casa de Esperanza and is also my driver. Now if you’ll just stay close. The Jeep is just a short walk away.”

Following them across the terminal and outside to the street, Vicki immediately understood her host’s suggestion. If the arrivals hall had been crowded, the street was a seething mass of people and vehicles, the air noxious with exhaust fumes and a cacophony of honking and raised voices.

Evelyn simply walked into the crowd like the biblical Moses into the Red Sea, Alberto right behind. And like that biblical patriarch, the sea of humanity seemed to part effortlessly for her.

Vicki was finding it more difficult to maneuver. A beggar thrust his remaining withered arm under her nose. A small boy with a wooden tray around his neck offered gum for an exorbitant price while an even smaller one reached to pull her purse from her shoulder. Whether would-be bellhop or pickpocket, Vicki had no idea, but she frowned and shook her head at him.

“Vicki, there you are. I was afraid I’d missed you. Wait up!”

The familiar impatient demand spun Vicki around. “Holly!"

The young woman pushing through the crowd was bigger than Vicki by several inches and at least thirty pounds, strawberry blonde hair tied back from round, freckled features, pale blue eyes blinking with irritation as she fended off venders and beggars alike to reach Vicki’s side.

“What a wonderful surprise.” Vicki gave her a hug, then looked at her two companions, who were halted just a few feet ahead. “I wasn’t expecting to see you. I thought you said you couldn’t get into town to meet me.”

“Actually, I just put a volunteer on a flight. In fact, I’m at the airport for the afternoon. We’ve got a work team coming in from London and a couple more volunteers heading out. We’re just getting their farewell party going here in the airport restaurant. I was hoping you could join us. I mean, I haven’t seen you in
forever
.”

“Well, it was only three months ago in Cancún on your way to Guatemala,” Vicki reminded dryly. “And I don’t know how many country-to-country phone calls, according to my cell-phone bill.”

“I really need to talk to you now. If you’ve got your luggage—”

“I can’t do that,” Vicki protested. If this wasn’t just like Holly. “You told me you couldn’t meet me, so I made my own arrangements. Not to mention, I’m hardly dressed for a party.”

“No more than I am.”

Yeah, right!
If Holly was dressed as casually as Vicki, her safari outfit and hiking boots were top-of-the-line, while the gleam of gold around her neck would have drawn a mob in any of Central America’s more marginal neighborhoods.

Vicki turned. “Holly, I’d like to introduce you to Evelyn McKie, my hostess and the founder of Casa de Esperanza, where I’ll be spending the next few weeks. And Alberto, who is handling my transportation.”

Vicki saw Holly’s dismissive glance at the elderly missionary and her driver. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind sparing you for a few hours, would you, Ms. McKnee?” Holly smiled at Vicki’s companions. “I haven’t seen Vicki for such a long time. I promise she’ll get to her lodgings in plenty of time for . . . well, whatever it is she’s doing.”

“Holly, I can’t ask Ms. McKie to rearrange her—”

But arguing with Holly was something in the nature of blocking a tornado, and Vicki wasn’t surprised when her hostess tapped her shoulder and said quietly, “If you’d like to stay, please don’t hesitate on our account. Alfredo can take your bag along, and we’ll meet up at the project. You should have the directions we sent with the schedule, though any cabbie in the city knows Casa de Esperanza. In any case, here is our card.”

Vicki tucked it into her purse.

“We  have a team meeting this afternoon, and we try to finish before dark. So have yourself a nice visit until then.”

“If you’re sure—”

Holly was already pulling Vicki away.

Giving in, Vicki waved an apologetic farewell at Evelyn as she said to Holly, “I’m happy to see you too, but what’s the rush?”

“We don’t have a lot of time. The others are waiting for us to order.” Holly clutched a pendant at her throat as she eyed the same urchin who’d grabbed at Vicki’s purse, still dogging them. “Besides, it’s dirty and hot out here, and I don’t trust these street brats. Come on.”

Reentering the airport rid them of their shadow as well as the noise and dust. As Holly dropped her hand, Vicki studied the pendant, an exquisitely-formed gold jaguar with emerald chips for eyes. “Cute. Is that new?”

“Just picked it up when I got into town this morning to celebrate three months in Guatemala. At least that’s the excuse. At the rate conservation efforts are going in this country, it’ll soon be the only jaguar left. If that UN grant had just come through. We’re hoping this team coming in from Hamburg, Germany, gets excited enough to go back and do some fund-raising. They’re all pretty green over there, so we’re keeping our fingers crossed.”

All those calls that had run up her cell-phone bill allowed Vicki to interpret the monologue. Still finishing up her veterinary studies, Holly had spent the last three months in Guatemala as resident staff at the Wildlife Rescue Center, or WRC, an endangered species rehabilitation program located in the mountains of a nature reserve.

At least Holly received room and board and a small living stipend for the privilege of overseas experience and an internship in her chosen field of animal medicine. The volunteer teams to which she referred, both American and European, actually paid for the privilege of spending a month or two feeding animals and cleaning out cages in a rustic rain forest environment.

“And now they’re talking more budget cuts. Including personnel. Roger and Kathy leaving is putting us in a real bind. And with this other thing . . . let's just say I’m glad you’re here.”

As Holly led the way up an escalator and across a tiled landing, Vicki surveyed her. She was still rambling on, but she looked preoccupied as her glanced around in search of something—or someone. Her rapid blinking completed the illusion of a ruffled, blue-eyed owl.

A worried one.

“Hey, it can’t be that bad.” Vicki touched Holly’s arm reassuringly as Holly pushed open an ornately-carved mahogany door. “Let’s just forget work for now and enjoy your party.”

The door swung closed behind them, cutting off the noise and bustle of the airport. The restaurant with its rich wood paneling, sparkling chandeliers, and white-coated waiters was a world away from the dirty, congested street, and Vicki was conscious again of her disheveled appearance.

With reluctance, Vicki followed Holly through the crowded tables. Few here looked to be local, which was no surprise when the cheapest menu item would cost more than the average Guatemalan made in a week. A table of men wearing suits and ties stood out like overdressed crows at a lawn party of macaws. Embassy or big business, Vicki judged. One of the men had just pulled out a chair at the table when Vicki and Holly approached. He was younger than his companions, in the vicinity of thirty, with excellent height and build, brown hair several shades lighter than Vicki’s, and a tan that hadn’t been acquired behind a desk.

Vicki’s glance had already moved on when Holly stopped. “That’s him. I thought I saw him walking through the lobby when I went looking for you.”

The words were barely above a murmur, but her subject had the hearing of one of Holly’s endangered species because the man turned leisurely, one hand still on the chair as a steel-gray appraisal swept over Vicki and Holly. “Hello, Holly.”

Holly was pale enough under her freckles for Vicki to see her blush. “H-hello, Michael. What a surprise to see you here. I-I didn’t know you were back in town.”

Holly was actually stammering. Not that it was difficult to understand why she was flustered. The man was attractive, more so because he showed no consciousness of his looks.

Embassy or business, I’ll bet he’s done military service—and not too long ago.

The man glanced at Vicki, and she dropped her gaze. His tone was grave as he turned to Holly. “I managed to thumb a flight heading this way. As you can see, I had guests to see off.” He nodded toward the crowded table before he looked back at Vicki. “So, are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Oh, of course.” Holly’s flush deepened. “Michael, Vicki. Vicki, this is Michael Camden from the DAO.”

So Vicki’s assessment had been right. The Defense Attaché’s Office staff was part of the embassy’s military contingent.

Holly didn’t add more in the pause that followed, breaking instead into hurried speech. “I was planning to call you, Michael, but I thought you were still out on some operation. If we could maybe get together to talk . . .”

“Sure, why don’t you give the embassy a buzz and have my secretary pencil you in. My schedule’s pretty crazy, but you are definitely a priority. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d love to talk more, but I have guests to attend to.” He slid into his seat, dismissing them.

Holly lingered so long that Vicki felt uncomfortable for her, so she urged her away from the table.