The Argentina Rhodochrosite (31 page)

64

Ainsley sat there at the lieutenant
colonel’s desk, her hands on her knees, staring at the necklace.

It looked like the right one. The chain was made of brown leather, and it had that shiny quality that leather acquires after years of sweat and weather has beaten it to a high gloss. She imagined the thousands of soccer matches that this piece of jewelry had experienced. The number of times Ovidio had plowed it into the grass after a flying header.

She picked up the cabochon, balancing its heft in her hand. It felt surprisingly heavy, though maybe that was just her imagination.

Was this truly the rhodochrosite necklace she’d been assigned to find? She couldn’t be sure. She didn’t know the precise pattern of the veins on the cabochon. And, according to Marcelo, the lieutenant colonel had purchased three hundred such gemstones. This could be any of them.

Only one person knew for sure, and that was Ovidio himself.

She looked down. Under the necklace was a scrap of paper with a pair of telephone numbers scrawled on them. There were no names. Those could be important.

Ainsley was confronted with an ethical dilemma. Until now, she’d been wandering in a moral gray zone: sneaking onto a military base, lying about an imaginary polo team, wangling an invitation to lunch at the Ortiz home. All while hiding her true agenda. Things that weren’t quite right, but weren’t quite wrong either.

If she were to take this necklace, however, she would finally cross the line. She would become an out-and-out thief.

Then again, stealing something that had been stolen itself made the situation even more complicated, and threw into the air the entire question of what, exactly, constituted private property.

It didn’t matter. Ainsley knew her own mind. She stuffed the rhodochrosite necklace and the telephone numbers into her purse. She had no problem stealing from a murderer.

Then she noticed a vertical file at the back of the drawer, in the darkness. She had missed them a minute ago.

Ainsley pulled out the file. It was filled with several papers, official-looking documents. She flipped through them.

They were hospital records. One looked to be a medical exam. Another seemed to be a medical discharge form. A third one was a birth certificate from 1977. The mother’s name was listed as Maria Libertad Pieres.

And the line containing the child’s name was blank.

Ainsley was holding Ovidio’s birth certificate.

This was almost, but not quite, the evidence she needed. Evven if Ovidio’s name wasn’t on the birth certificate, she doubted that Maria Libertad had given birth to any other children in the detention center that year.

Ainsley stuffed the documents into her purse. Then she replaced the drawer and quickly left the lieutenant colonel’s office.

She beelined for the bathroom. It was only a little further down the hall. Once inside, she locked the door behind her, turned the sink to full blast, and sank down into a crouch on the floor. She reviewed her options.

Ainsley knew that she should leave. She’d committed a theft, and the lieutenant colonel may or may not be coming home sometime soon.

But there was something else.

Ainsley hated leaving things undone. She’d always been one to stick things out to the bitter end. And she couldn’t leave this house, having been so close to Maria Libertad Ortiz, without trying to get
something
that could prove that she had been Ovidio’s birth mother. The birth certificate was blank, so it wasn’t quite the smoking gun.

Ainsley thought hard. How did people prove maternity? She knew that a blood test was the only absolute way, but how could she steal Maria Libertad’s blood? Ask her to chop some onions, then viciously knock the knife onto her fingers? It would never work.

Then Ainsley remembered participating in a genetic database project once. To submit the test, she’d had to do a buccal swab on herself. That is, she’d scraped the inside of her cheek with a special pad, sealed it in an envelope, and mailed it off.

Ainsley guessed that the same test could be used to establish probable maternity as well. But again, how could she find an excuse to stick her fingers inside this woman’s mouth? There wasn’t any feasible way.

Then it struck her. She didn’t need to stick her own fingers in Maria Libertad’s mouth. She just needed something that
had been
in Maria Libertad’s mouth. Something that a laboratory would accept for analysis.

She racked her brains. What items do people routinely put in their mouths, then take out, without swallowing?

Plastic straws. But Ainsley hadn’t seen any straws in the house. These women wouldn’t use them anyways.

Toothpicks. She hadn’t seen any of those either: too manly.

Maybe gum.

Chewing gum.

Nicorettes.

Ainsley felt the excitement as the plan dawned upon her. It was wicked and brilliant.

She pawed through her purse until she found the pack. The smoking cessation squares were still there, unused. Ainsley’s failed attempt to stop a nicotine relapse would finally be put to good use.

She flushed the toilet without using it, in case anybody was listening, and washed her hands. Then she left the bathroom.

The wives had moved to the living room. They were sitting on the heavy furniture. The air was thick with bluish-gray cigarette smoke.

Ainsley coughed twice. “It’s so smoky in here,” she said.

“We can’t stop,” said one.

“Completely addicted,” said another. “
C’est la vie
.”

“Have another one,” said a third.

“I’d like to offer all of you something else instead,” Ainsley said.

She held up the package of Nicorette. The women looked at the package as if it were a dead frog. “We don’t have that at our drug store,” said one.

Ainsley tried not to roll her eyes. “Yes, I know. That is why I am offering you my own. Consider it my thank you for a lovely lunch.”

She opened the package and passed it around the group. “You have to try it one time, before you dismiss it.”

The wives shrugged and accepted the gum. They put the pieces into their mouths and began to chew.

“This tastes awful,” said one.

“This isn’t worth it,” said another. “I’d rather smoke.”

Ainsley watched Maria Libertad chewing. There was no expression on the woman’s face. Any passion she had once possessed for life had been drained out by her future husband on the torturer’s rack.

“If you’re finished, I can take it for you,” said Ainsley.

“Let the maid do that,” said one.

“No, please, allow me.” Ainsley stood directly in front of Maria Libertad and held out a paper napkin.

The woman looked up. She made eye contact with Ainsley for the first time, as if she somehow knew what the next move would mean down the road.

Maria Libertad spit the gum into the napkin, and closed it. Then she handed the wad back to Ainsley.

As her hand closed around it, Ainsley felt an artery throbbing inside her temple. She had gotten the gum. She had gotten the necklace. Now she just had to get the hell off this base.

Ainsley passed around another paper napkin. The women delicately placed their Nicorettes inside it.

Then the thunk of a car door slamming shut came from the driveway. All the women looked up.

“Who is that?” said Ainsley.

“Lieutenant Colonel Ortiz,” said one.

65

The sensation of pure adrenaline is
a powerful drug. For Ainsley, it felt as though someone had tipped the needle into her arm and pushed the plunger down.

“I need to throw this out in the kitchen,” she said.

She slipped out of the living room, walked swiftly through the dining room, and ducked into the kitchen. The maid looked up from scrubbing dishes in the kitchen sink.

“Which way is the exit?” said Ainsley.

The maid gestured towards the front door. “That way.”

“No,” said Ainsley, “I need a different exit. Quickly.”

The maid pointed down a small service corridor off the kitchen, to a laundry room at the end. A door leading outside was visible. “That one,” she said, “but—”

Ainsley didn’t wait to hear the rest. She was already down the hall and at the door. She opened it and stepped outside.

She was standing on a concrete slab in the lieutenant colonel’s backyard. High black fencing encircled her. Two aluminum bowls were at her feet.

Then an ominous growl sounded to her left.

She saw the dog two seconds before it sprang, a Rottweiler, with a jaw strong enough to break steel.

Ainsley immediately stepped backwards and shut the door. She felt the dog’s body slam into the door.

She stood in the laundry room, breathing heavily. Life wasn’t like the movies, she thought. Sometimes, we are truly, irremediably screwed.

With terror in her heart, Ainsley turned back to the service corridor and returned to the kitchen.

The maid seemed amused. “I was trying to tell you that there is a dog outside that door.”

“I found that out,” said Ainsley. “Is there another exit?”

“No, only the front door.”

At that moment, the door opened and slammed shut. The sound of keys landed in a dish. “Maria,” a male voice bellowed, “are you ready to go?”

Ainsley drew back into the laundry room. She could hear Maria Libertad answer. “Where are you taking me?”

“The capital,” said the lieutenant colonel. “La Boca plays tonight. Our flight leaves at four o’clock. Hello, ladies.”

Ainsley heard the other wives murmuring.

“Do you want to meet the visitor?” said one.

Ainsley’s heart skipped a beat.

“What visitor?” said Lieutenant Colonel Ortiz.

“I forgot her name. She is from America, with a polo team. We met her in the club.”

There was an ominous pause. The moment seemed to last an eternity. Ainsley crouched behind the washer, bowed her head, and prayed. No atheists in foxholes. For a moment, she even understood why warriors committed suicide rather than be captured by an enemy.

“No, I need to use the bathroom first,” said the lieutenant colonel. “Tell her to wait.”

Ainsley heard his footsteps disappear down the hallway on the other side of the house.

In a flash, she sprang out of the laundry room. She streaked through the kitchen, through the dining room, into the living room. The wives saw her coming and went slackjawed. Their guest had transformed into a world-class sprinter.

There was time for one quick excuse. “My boyfriend called,” said Ainsley, not breaking stride, “he needs me immediately, thank you all for lunch, you’ve been wonderful.”

She knew that she looked like a freak, pushing Nicorette on them, then dashing out without warning. It broke all womanly laws of decorum. She didn’t care. Ainsley flew into the foyer, yanked open the front door, and dashed out of the house.

Running down the driveway, Ainsley glanced backwards over her shoulder. The navy wives were piling out of the house onto the porch, watching her, mouths agape.

On the street, she turned left, got out of eyeshot, and glanced around. It looked like classic suburbia. Two neat rows of houses on each side of the street, lovely acacia trees, and not a soul in sight. Good.

She looked at her watch. It was five minutes to two. The grocery store was several blocks away. Tico was her best ticket out of the military base.

Ainsley took a deep breath… and started to run.

She still remembered sprinting techniques from her high school years, honed by innumerable hours she’d spent on the track. Lean forward for the takeoff, then pull more vertical midway through. Her arms and hands aggressively hammered the air. Her head was aligned with her neck and trunk, her mouth slightly open.

Thirty seconds and two hundred meters later, she slowed to a walk. She laced her fingers behind her head, taking huge gulps of air. She shouldn’t feel this winded. When this was all over, Ainsley vowed, she would really get back into shape.

A car turned down the street, heading towards her. It was a military vehicle. She quickly darted behind a hedge and waited until it passed.

She decided to switch streets, just in case the lieutenant colonel decided to follow. Ainsley crossed the residential yards onto the next street. Then she sprinted another two hundred meters. She walked for a minute, then did a third.

That put her within sight of the commercial center of the base. Ainsley committed to walking so as not to attract attention. She kept her head down, her stride tight, her eyes level. She passed several people, some military, a lot more civilians.

The grocery store finally appeared. Ainsley stood on the corner and checked her watch. It was fifteen minutes after two. Tico’s truck was nowhere in sight.

She’d missed him.

But she remembered the way out. Directly up this street, maybe two kilometers away, stood the gate from which she’d entered. She could just walk up the road, across the empty field, and out the gate. Couldn’t she? There was no law against leaving a military base on foot. It wasn’t unthinkable.

But it sure as hell wasn’t ideal. She would prefer to ride out of this base in a vehicle, like a civilized person.

She tried to imagine the conversation that happening in Lieutenant Colonel Ortiz’s house. She wondered how long it would be before he noticed the necklace was gone. It wasn’t advisable to stick around and find out.

Ainsley continued walking briskly down the sidewalk. In a few minutes, she had passed the last commercial business and passed into the open field. She reached the back end of a line of vehicles. She guessed they were backed up at the gate, which looked to be at least four hundred meters away.

There were hundreds of cars, trucks, and vans. She thought it was odd that a rush hour was occurring at two o’clock.

Her stomach in knots, Ainsley strode quickly along the right side of the vehicles. She could feel the eyes of the commuters upon her. She heard some men making
piropo
as she passed. It didn’t matter. She was moving faster than the commuters locked in their cars.

Two hundred meters before the gate, Ainsley spotted a military officer up ahead. He was on the left side of the cars, moving from vehicle to vehicle, asking questions.

She panicked. She knew that she looked suspicious. This officer would ask for her visitors’ pass. And she would have nothing to give him.

Panic flooded her body. Her thighs locked up. She couldn’t move. She was rooted to the ground.

Then Ainsley spotted a familiar truck. Up ahead. A picture of a woman washing laundry decorated the back.

It was Tico’s truck.

Ainsley felt her legs unlock. In two blinks of an eye, she’d sprinted alongside the vehicle, opened the passenger door, and jumped inside.

Tico had a sandwich lifted to his mouth. When he saw her, his eyebrows arched above his forehead like a pair of parentheses.

“No,” he said.

“I’m going to be arrested by the fucking military if you don’t let me stay in this truck,” she hissed.

“I don’t want any part of your trouble,” he said.

Ainsley sighed and slapped a hundred pesos onto the dashboard. She was going to bankrupt herself buying favors here. “Can I ride in the back?”

He couldn’t refuse that. “Fine, go,” he said, “but you have to get inside the laundry bin. Hide under the clothes. And if they search me, I’ll deny knowing you to my own mother.”

Ainsley was already opening the door again. “Do they search cars often?”

“Sometimes.”

So it wasn’t as easy to get on base as Luca and Laura had made it sound. But then again, they had never had anything to hide.

Ainsley could see the officer drawing closer. She slid out of the right side of the vehicle, ran around the back, threw open the door, climbed in side, then rolled it down again.

The back of the laundry truck was completely pitch black. She decided to stow herself as far from the entrance as possible. She climbed on her hands and knees over piles of clothes until she reached a large canvas bin filled with dirty clothing, up against the cab.

She fell into the bin. The oily stench of dirty fabric was overpowering. These were officers’ uniforms. She could feel a thick braid against her hand, fringe tickling her cheek, epaulets under her butt.

Ainsley burrowed deeper into the bin, curled into a fetal position at the bottom, and waited. She felt the heavy pressure of fabric upon her back. She felt the slow-and-go of the vehicle.

Then a small movement inside her pocket startled her. She reached inside. It was the Englishman’s helpless bird. She’d forgotten about the small creature. It was a survivor. She cupped it in her hands and prayed silently.

She felt the truck stop again. She heard a muffled voice speaking, and Tico’s voice answer. Then the truck accelerated again.

Soon she felt the truck work its way up to a decent speed. The road was humming beneath them. And this time, it didn’t stop.

Ainsley heaved a sigh of relief. She had escaped the Puerto Belgrano Naval Base.

Now she only had one thing left to do.