Red Jungle (36 page)

“Then we have to act soon. Tonight,” Russell said.

“We don’t have anyone to do it. There’s no one,” Antonio said.

“I’ll do it,” Russell said. “I told you. Before Blanco makes the announcement.”

“No,” Antonio said.

Russell turned around. He looked at De La Madrid.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s suicide. I won’t have it. Besides, I need you.”

“No. It has to be done,” Russell said. “It might as well be me. I can get near him. I have access.”

“Do you want to die? Is that it?”

“Of course not,” Russell said.

“Then what is it? You don’t owe this country your life. You’re not even really one of us.”

Russell grabbed Antonio by the collar and pushed him against the wall.

“Don’t ever say that again. Do you understand? Never. My mother died here, for what? Do you want the filthy communists to win? Is that what you want, you gutless shit? They will, you know. They’re just waiting out there, with their ignorant and stupid ideas, and as soon as it gets bad enough they’ll come out of their holes and win what thirty years of war couldn’t get them. Is that what you want?” Startled by what he’d done, he let go of Antonio. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . I’m sorry.”

Antonio looked at him. He turned his collar back where it had been pulled up.

“No. I understand. I had no right to say what I did. You are one of us. I knew your mother. She would be proud of you. Very proud. Your grandfather would be proud of you, too.” Antonio smiled at him. It was a strange smile, Russell thought. “You’re like a son to me, you know that. That was the only reason I said what I did. I apologize.”

“It’s okay,” Russell said.

“I promise you, you will have a place in the government.”

“Thank you. But I’m leaving. As soon as this is done.”

“I’ll make sure you are . . . I’ll make sure that if you want to come back some day, when this is over, that you’ll have a place here. We will owe you that,” Antonio said.

“I’m leaving with Carlos’s wife. I thought you should know that. I don’t want to keep anything from you. That’s why I have to go. I can’t stay here with her. It would be impossible.”

“I understand,” Antonio said. “You’re right, he’ll kill you if you stay here.”

“I’m going to do it there. When Blanco comes in to meet with the UN. I’m going to do it there, at the meeting,” Russell said.

“Do you want to see a priest?” Antonio said.

“No. I’m not going to die. He’s going to die.”

“God bless you,” Antonio said. “I have to go. Will I see you again?”

“No. I don’t think you should come tonight. Stay at home. If I fail, you’ll know it soon enough. If he’s dead, you have to move quickly and take power.”

“Do you think we can really win?” It seemed a strange question.

“I don’t know. Maybe. But you can’t if Carlos gets in. He won’t let go once he’s in. I know him; why should he?”

“Of course he won’t.”

They shook hands. There was nothing more to say. It was obvious that Antonio thought he was going to die. Maybe he would be successful, or maybe he wouldn’t, but nonetheless he was going to die.

“Let’s hope Rudy can hold out until tonight,” Antonio said.

“Yes. Let’s hope so,” Russell said.

•••

Important people, lifelong friends of Rudy Valladolid, had been warned. They were doing everything they could to intervene with Carlos, but Rudy had gone too far this time. Even President Blanco, who played cards with Rudy at the Club Alemán every Sunday afternoon, said that he’d gone too far, and refused to stop the inevitable. It pained him, he said, as he and the senator had grown up together. Everyone liked Rudy Valladolid, because he was charming.

The first rule in the torturer’s handbook is to leave the face alone, so that no photos can be leaked to the press. A beaten face says too much about what’s gone on.

So they had worked on Rudy Valladolid from the waist down. They’d used sand-filled garden hoses, as the handbook recommends. But he hadn’t cracked.

He’d come close. He’d lost control of his bodily functions at one point, but he held on, thinking about Isabella Cruz. It made him braver than he would have been otherwise. The men who beat him were surprised. He was an old man, after all, but he hadn’t cracked. He wanted to give Russell time. He owed him that much. He was very aware, however, that he would crack soon, and tell them everything.

“I’m sorry it’s come to this,” Carlos said. “I didn’t want this to happen.”

Carlos sat down. He had come back, after dinner with Beatrice and the children, stopped the beating and had his uncle brought to his office. He had told his men to go easy and make sure that his uncle could walk.

The office was on the military base, on the third floor, and had a view of the parade ground, that now, in the dark, was lit by stadium lights. “I truly wish you could see our point of view, uncle. I’m in an impossible situation.”

Rudy shook his head as if he were about to say something. His clothes were soiled, and he was shaking slightly. He had been given a glass of cognac, on Carlos’s insistence.

Carlos watched his uncle take a drink. Then, very carefully, Rudy reached over and put the empty glass down on the desk. Carlos noticed his uncle’s fingers had dried blood on them.

“The Americans are very concerned,” Carlos said. “Can you see my problem? I have to tell them
something
.”

“Could I have another? And would you mind pouring it for me? I’m afraid that would be beyond me.” Rudy spoke in the soft voice of a man that’s terrified and whose spirit has been damaged.

“Of course.” Carlos stood up, unscrewed the bottle, and poured out four fingers of brandy. He handed his uncle the glass, then put the bottle down and returned to his chair.

“This is an impossible situation, Rudy. Why don’t we find a solution?” Carlos said as Rudy drank the second drink.

Carlos looked out at the parade ground. A German shepherd ran across the grass with a sentry.

“They said there were riots. Is that true?” Rudy asked finally. There was brandy on his chin. He wiped it off.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. The banks. The people want their money,” Carlos said. “It’s natural.”

“Did you get yours out okay?” Rudy asked.

“Yes, thank God. Did you?” Carlos asked.

“Yes. Weeks ago.” Rudy smiled slightly. The second drink was doing its work. “Did Pablo do it for you? I mean, at the bank. He’s my cousin, you know,” Rudy said. He sounded very far away.

“Yes. It was him,” Carlos said. “I want you to know I didn’t want this.” He looked at his uncle. “Why don’t you tell me what you know, and I will personally put you on a plane for Miami. Then we can put this unpleasantness behind us.”

“He’s a good boy,” Rudy said. “Pablo, I mean . . . I’d like to get this over with now.”

“Good,” Carlos said, smiling. He was relieved.

“No, you don’t understand. I’d like to end this now.”

“I would, too. If you could give me one or two minor names. People who are not important, but who might show up on the lists the Americans have. That would be enough, uncle.”

“I cannot. They are all people you know. Some are people I’ve known since I was a boy. Anyway, I want you to leave that pistol you have on your belt. I’m asking as your uncle, your mother’s brother. You cannot deny me this. You have a duty to your family,” Rudy said. “No one will blame you. Everyone will understand that it was your uncle, and you had no choice.”

“Perhaps,” Carlos said. He knew immediately that he couldn’t refuse. That was the code. It was that damn Latin code, the Americans would say later. They didn’t like it, but they would understand, and they couldn’t do anything about it. “But there’s no reason. There must be a name you can give, one that doesn’t matter,” Carlos said.

“Everything matters, that’s what I’ve learned after all these years of living. Now, are you going to honor my request, boy?” He knew he would break. Carlos could see the fear of breaking in his uncle’s eyes. It was a look he’d never seen his uncle give before.

“Do you want to use the phone?” Carlos said, unholstering his pistol.

“No. I think if I spoke with anyone, I’d lose the courage. I can’t waste the courage. I never had much anyway.” He smiled, and his nephew smiled back. Carlos put his pistol on the desk.

For a moment the old man’s spirit had returned, and it was as if none of this had happened.

“When you’re President, you’ll make sure your aunt is protected,” Rudy said.

“Of course,” Carlos said, standing up. “I will make sure. I promise you.”

“Good. Well, that’s it, then,” Rudy said.

The two men looked at each other. Carlos came across the desk and the old man stood up and they gave each other the
abrazo
, the Latin embrace that goes back centuries. It was formal, yet warm. The old man sat down again.

“I’ll go out for a moment then,” Carlos said.

“Yes. Go out. It’s a beautiful night,” his uncle said. Carlos nodded and closed the door behind him.

He walked down the long corridor, with its trophies and green linoleum and photos of past commanders of the Army, when he heard the gunshot and stopped. He pulled out his cigarettes, took one out carefully, and then looked at his watch. It took several moments for a young lieutenant to come running. It was one o’clock in the morning, almost exactly.

He would be named President today, he thought, as the young man ran past him. He had always liked his uncle. He lit the cigarette and went home.

THIRTY

Russell had been calling Mahler at
Tres Rios,
but wasn’t getting through. When he finally got an answer, Mahler told him his cell phone had been damaged and he’d been unable to call out.

“I’ve been hurt,” Mahler said. “I can’t move it—the jaguar— by myself.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” Russell said.

“You’re sure? We don’t have much time. The news about the jaguar will get out, it always does.”

“Yes. Tomorrow at the latest. Are you alone?” Russell asked. “Where are the men?”

“Yes. Alone,” Mahler said. “I thought it best.”

Russell held the phone a moment. The words were chilling.

“Carl’s dead. I’ll explain later,” Russell said finally. “I’ve called his brother in Paris. It’s all arranged. The brother is to meet us at Puerto Barrios in a week. He’s flying in from Paris and making arrangements. He’ll take delivery there at Barrios. He’s arranging it all.”

“What happened to Carl?” Mahler asked.

“I can’t say now.”

“Hurry up, then,” Mahler said.

“Yes. I just have to finish up here in the capital. A few loose ends,” Russell said.

“It’s very big. Much bigger than I expected. But I can’t move it,” Mahler said again. “I don’t know how the bloody hell we can get it out of the temple. And it’s too big for the river.”

“We can take it through Bakta Halik,” Russell said. He didn’t want to talk so much on the phone. It was dangerous.

“Maybe. That’s twelve kilometers of jungle. You haven’t seen it. It’s big. Taller than I am,” Mahler said. Mahler sounded exhausted. “I guess it’s four meters high.”

“Jesus,” Russell said, and they were suddenly cut off.

•••

“Why are we here?” Katherine asked.

He looked at her. He’d rented the penthouse suite at the Camino Real. It had a fabulous view of the
Volcan de Fuego
.

“Because this is where you’re going to meet with President Blanco.”

“No, it isn’t. The delegation is scheduled to meet him in the ballroom,” she said.

“I want you to change that,” Russell said.

“You want me to ask the President of the republic to come up here?”

“Yes,” he said. “I do. It won’t be difficult.”

“Russell, what in God’s name is going on?” she asked.

Katherine was wearing a blue pants suit. He’d never seen her in that kind of formal business wear. She looked the part of UN delegate now, almost severe-looking, he thought, and older.

“You’re going to tell him that the delegation has special information about human rights abuses in the country. That Blanco has been named personally, and that you want to give him a chance to clear his name before the delegation goes to the press. That you are concerned for the delegation’s safety if they leave the hotel, and that the delegation would appreciate it if he came here, in a more private setting,” Russell said.

“That’s absurd. There is no such report. And we aren’t concerned about our safety. We have the UN Commissioner of Human Rights with us, for God’s sake. No one would dare do anything to her.”

“Do you want Carlos Selva to be president of the country?” he asked. He was sitting down in the huge living room. The maid had just opened the curtain, ignoring their conversation in English.