Bride of Fortune (46 page)

      
“As long as he's surrounded by rebel generals fighting over the spoils, he cannot interfere with our plans, nor can they,” Encarnación added. “I have had my own small army assembled and ready for years, and I'm making plans to hire and arm more soldiers.”

      
“Just think of it,” Mariano said fervently. “We will carve out our own kingdom of the north. There will be no one strong enough in Mexico City to stop us!”

      
“It will mean the breakup of the nation,” Patrico said, his voice uneasy.

      
“Yes, but it will also assure the preservation of our way of life, here where our family lands are located. If that republican rabble led by a lowly Indian succeeds, he'll see that the rest of his kind get the vote. They will break up our
hacienda
s,” Encarnación replied.

      
“What of the
gringo
s?” Silvio Zavala interjected. “We have all heard reports that they plan to intervene and they sit on our very doorstep. Already they send arms to Juarez.”

      
“All the more reason to kill him. Without him as their democratic figurehead, the Americans will give up on any hope of a Mexican republic,” Mariano answered. “Invading would be like sticking their arm into the whirling blades of a windmill.”

      
“To the death of Juarez!” Don Hernan raised his glass in a toast.

      
“Long live Mexico! ” Mariano added with a cynical laugh.

      
Outside, Nicholas listened with bile rising in his throat. The bastards! The filthy treacherous bastards! They don't give a damn about Mexico any more than they care about that blundering fool Maximilian. Spoiled and selfish, seeing nothing beyond their own petty world of class privilege and creature comforts, they would plunge the whole nation into anarchy in a vain attempt to hold onto a dying way of life. How many times in his travels around the globe had he seen the same thing? But he had never given a damn before.

      
Why do I care now?
He had begun to think of himself as a
criollo
, a
hacendado
, because he was an Alvarado who had at last come into his birthright, but now he recognized that his feelings ran far deeper than class or money. The country of his adoption had captured hold of his mind, his very soul, and its only hope of salvation lay with that stubborn little Indian whose soldiers were willing to face down cannons with machetes. Could he do any less?

      
Nicholas listened as they fulminated against Juarez, but no details about how they would destroy him were discussed, only that Mariano Vargas would handle the matter through his allies in Chihuahua City.

      
Take your midnight ride, Mariano. I'll be waiting..
.

* * * *

      
The night was brilliant with moonlight, a mixed blessing for Nicholas as he watched Mariano slip out of the family's living quarters and cross the wide courtyard. Once they were out on the open road, it would be far more difficult to follow without being detected. Vargas frequently looked around, as if sensing someone's presence. Or perhaps he was just naturally cautious.

      
Fortune watched him lead one of his father's palominos from the stable. Good. The bright gold horse would be easy to see. His own pewter stallion, in contrast, would blend into the shadows. He swung up on Peltre bareback and followed Vargas down the road toward Chihuahua City.

      
About five miles from the
hacienda
, Mariano turned off the road into a narrow, twisting ravine, covered with yucca and ocotillo. It could be a trap. Fortune waited at the opening for several minutes, concealed behind a ponderosa pine. Then another rider approached from the opposite direction and entered. The wide brim of his sombrero hid his face as he passed by Nicholas.

      
“How the hell am I going to get close enough to them to learn anything?” he muttered to Peltre.

      
The rendezvous site was only a few hundred yards inside, beneath an overhanging ledge of sandstone. Once he spotted both men's horses, Nicholas dismounted. Pulling the spyglass from his saddlebag, he climbed to the top of a small rocky promontory about forty yards away, as close as he dared come without the risk of being seen. Now, if there was only enough moonlight so he could see through his glass.

      
He could not discern their words over the noise of the wind soughing down the small canyon, but he could dimly make out the stranger handing a packet of papers to Vargas. The two men laughed and talked some more as Mariano offered his companion something...a cigar? When the man struck a match, his face was cast in stark relief for a moment, and an unforgettable face it was, too, with a great hawkish beak of a nose and thick mobile lips. He had shoved his hat back on his head and his face was framed by shaggy straight hair. No mistake about it, he was lndio, probably full-blooded. Before the match flashed out he turned in profile, revealing a long jagged scar that ran from his jaw all the way across to his right ear.

      
Fortune had seen lots of scars like that in his travels—the keepsake of a man who had cheated death by surviving a knife slash from behind. Someone had tried to cut his throat—and botched it. But whoever it was, they had marked him distinctively enough for McQueen's agent Porfirio Escondidas to recognize him.

* * * *

      
Mercedes lay staring at the frescoed ceiling. The lush pastoral scene with Pan playing his flute as lambs danced did not soothe her. All she could think of was Lucero's absence. Lucero. She still called him by that name. What else was there to do? She did not know his real name and did not wish to, for in so doing, she would be openly admitting the dark passion locked so deeply in her heart.

      
Where had he slipped off to tonight? When he had joined her in their room earlier, he had been preoccupied and quiet, almost angry. He had assured her it was only the tense political situation the men had discussed after dinner which put him into such a state. Even then Mercedes was certain it was more complicated than that.

      
After they had undressed and climbed beneath the luxurious satin bedcovers, he had again made love to her with exquisite tenderness. Now it seemed impossible to imagine ever again spending a night alone, without his arms enfolding her, his warmth and strength permeating every fiber of her being. That was why she had awakened when he left.

      
Slipping downstairs after him, clad only in her night rail and robe, Mercedes had been baffled as she watched him follow Don Mariano out of the house. After a few moments, their host's son rode away with Lucero still secretly trailing him. Unable to do anything else, she had tiptoed through the dark silent house and returned to their bed. Her pregnancy made sleep imperative and she dozed only to awaken some time later, still alone.

      
Several more restless hours passed. Mercedes gave up on staring at the ceiling and threw back the covers with an angry swish.
Enough!
She could not lie passively while he was out doing heaven only knew what. She yanked a plain dark day gown from the armoire and began dressing. At least if someone caught her wandering the halls, she would be decently clothed.

      
Nicholas followed Mariano back to the house, eager to see what Vargas would do with the papers he had received. Mariano did precisely as he had hoped, depositing them in a secret compartment in the ornate desk in his father's study. Then he poured himself a stiff brandy, doused his lone candle and trundled off to bed. In moments, Fortune was inside the study, using his penknife to spring the lock on the hidden drawer.

      
Spreading the documents before him, he inspected them carefully. Incredible! Troop movements of various Juarista forces were listed on one page with notations as to their probable ordnance and where they might best be attacked. Another described a substantial shipment of American weapons intended for the rebels, which would be sent across the border into Chihuahua next month. Apparently it was to be the Vargases' mission to steal them.

      
But the most crucial piece of information was the cryptic listing of Juarez's itinerary in route south early in 1867. Again notations on the best places to spring an ambush dotted the margins, with questions about towns and villages in their locales.

      
Nicholas was so busy examining the evidence that he did not hear the door open softly, then close. He suddenly felt a prickle of warning skitter up his spine.

      
“Do you find my son's work interesting reading, Don Lucero?” The low angry growl of Don Encarnación's voice reverberated across the silent chamber.

Chapter Twenty

      
Nicholas dropped the papers back on the desk, cursing himself for his carelessness. His Remington was concealed on his hip. If he remained seated behind the desk—

      
“Please be so kind as to stand and remove your weapons,” Vargas commanded crisply, dashing Fortune's hopes.

      
Slowly Nicholas stood up, facing the deadly old man whose ice-blue eyes stared pitilessly at him as he took his gun from its holster and dropped it on the floor. “This is very interesting reading, indeed. Just when do Mariano's men plan to kill Juarez—while he's in route from El Paso or after he arrives in Chihuahua City?”

      
Encarnación chuckled. It was a cold, mirthless sound. “Now that the secrecy of our activities is in question, I imagine the deed will have to be postponed until we can learn how much the rebels know.”

      
“About your agent in their midst?” Fortune asked, reassembling the papers into a neat stack and sliding them back into their hiding place. Somehow he had to deal with Vargas and escape undetected before anyone else learned that he had been spying on the conspirators.

      
The old don's silver eyebrows rose. “So, you've learned about Emelio, too.”

      
“The Americans have a vested interest in seeing Juarez stays alive. They know about Emelio and they'll stop him.”
If I can get the information to McQueen.

      
“You disgust me, a
criollo
,
patrón
of a great
hacienda
, throwing your lot in with a band of common thieves, scum of the lowest sort. You're a traitor to your class.” Vargas’ expression was arrogantly contemptuous.

      
“And you, Don Encarnación, are a traitor to your country. In a feckless attempt to keep your class privileges, you'll see Mexico dismembered and destroyed.”

      
Encarnación bristled. “I should shoot you down like the dog that you are.”

      
“I don't think so,” Fortune replied softly. “The shot will awaken your other guests, who would ask embarrassing questions.” As he spoke, Nicholas inched his way around the desk and slung one leg casually across the corner, sitting on the edge of the heavy mahogany top. His hand rested behind him, fingers groping carefully for the heavy crystal paperweight amid the clutter. He would only have one chance.

      
The don shrugged. “I will simply say I mistook you for a thief in the darkness. A most regrettable accident.”

      
He raised the pistol slightly but before Fortune could act, Mercedes’ voice broke the silence. “No! You will not kill him!” She grabbed his arm and held on. He struggled to free the weapon, slapping her hard on one cheek. Mercedes did not relinquish her hold.

      
Nicholas leaped forward, but just as he seized Encarnación, the gun fired, the shot muffled by flesh.
Dear God, let it not be Mercedes!
But then the old man began to sink slowly to his knees in front of the horror-struck woman.

      
She knelt beside him, staring at the widening red stain on his chest with disbelief. “May God and all His saints forgive me, I've killed a man,” she choked out, looking up at her lover. “For a Juarista spy, a traitor to the emperor!”

      
“You didn't kill him, I did,” Nicholas replied. The pain of her accusation stung, but there was no time now. He pulled her to her feet, saying, “When I grabbed hold of his arm, I turned the gun so he shot himself. It wasn't you.”

      
She was dazed with shock. “What are you doing?” He seized an expensive gold letter opener and several other valuables and stuffed them quickly in his pockets as he rushed her toward the courtyard door.

      
“Let whoever finds him think he surprised a thief. That's what Encarnación planned to claim when he shot me.” Scooping up his gun from the floor, he dragged her through the doors, leaving them ajar. Already he heard the sounds of voices questioning the report of the shot. There were only moments to get safely back to their room and the only way to accomplish it was by climbing the trellis on the balcony. He raced down the long porch past the hammocks and covered birdcages until he found a sturdy wooden lattice covered with thick bougainvillea vine.