The Cain File (22 page)

Achic stood at the front door, watching Clarence return from the outhouse, wiping his dagger off on a piece of newspaper. He had the shotgun slung over his shoulder, hanging low, pointing forward. “How did we miss him, Clarence?” A little edge in his voice.

“My bad,” Clarence said, slipping the knife back into the leg scabbard. “Almost three in the morning, I didn’t expect some guy taking a dump.”

“The woman told Marcelo no one else was here.”

“Well, she didn’t speak the truth, did she,
jefe?
”

“Stay here, keep an eye out.”

Achic went back inside. Marcelo was tying the woman’s hands behind her back to one of the rungs of the chair she was sitting in. Blood ran from above her eyebrow. He walked over to the closed bedroom door, pointed his gun at it, turned his head, gave the woman a questioning look. “What—or
who
—do I find in here?”

“Go to hell.”

“If I find anyone, they’re dead. You realize that, don’t you?”

The woman spit on the floor, told him to go
straight
to hell.

Achic put two bullets through the door. Two holes appeared. One shot ricocheted.

Behind the door, a baby started crying.

Standing behind the woman in the chair, Marcelo’s mouth dropped in surprise. “You put a child at risk?” Achic said to her, flabbergasted.

“She’s got a
kid
in there?” Clarence said in English behind him, then must have realized his mistake, because he switched to Spanish. “
Tiene un niño?
”

The woman stared hard at the floor, grimacing.

Achic
kicked the door open with a hiking boot, the Glock in both hands.

He could hear a baby gurgling away. He went in, the gun readied, searched the room. He came back out. “What’s your son’s name?”

“Long live the revolution!”

“That’s a long name.” Achic pursed his lips. “Clarence!”

“Yo!”

“Bring our little terrorist out here. Support his neck when you lift him.”

“I know what to do,
jefe
. I got nieces and nephews.”

“Marcelo, go out front and stand guard.”

Marcelo gave a single nod, headed out the front door with his machine gun hanging in one hand.

Achic strolled over to the scowling woman, while Clarence went into the bedroom. They could hear him going, “Come on, little buddy,” gathering up the kid, the child’s voice full of sleepiness.

“Where’s Cain?” Achic said to the woman.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Try again.” He adjusted the beam of light into her eyes. “You can end this as soon as you like. It’s up to you, not me.”

“I don’t know anything,” she said, squinting.

Achic looked around the room, the light on his forehead sweeping across, settling on a poster of Chairman Mao. He turned back, blinding her again.

“Isn’t this all some big mistake, Comrade? Should you
really
be here? With a child? Where’s the American woman who was here? The one who came to meet Cain?”

Clarence stood next to him now, holding the baby in his blanket, jiggling him, giving him a little smile.

Achic continued: “Are you turning this moment over in your mind? Are you saying to yourself, ‘What have I done? What have I risked? My
son
?’”

She looked down.

“I asked you a question,” he said.

“I don’t know anything,” she said.

“Let me ask what your people do in this position. Are you reasonable? With a prisoner who has a child? No. I’ve seen what you do.”

She looked up. Her eyes grew dark. “Vengeance is justice!”

He nodded. “When I was in the mountains fighting the Shining Path we cornered a woman
terruca.
She had a rifle in her hands and her baby strapped across her front, like a big bandolier. She knew we wouldn’t shoot children. I just stood there like a
boludo
, watching her sink back into the jungle. She had a smirk on her face.”

“Then you have your answer,” she said. “Don’t you?”

“So what do I do?” Achic said. “Throw your baby out the window? No, because you definitely won’t tell me anything then.”

She smiled. “You won’t do it anyway,” she said. “You don’t have what it takes.”

“You’re wasting my time,” Achic said, while Clarence played with the baby. “You know you’re going to tell me where Cain is, where Beltran is, where the
norteamericana
is—eventually. The more you delay, the more of my time you waste. It’s a shame, because you
are
going to tell me. You know how this works.”

She sneered. “You can’t do it. You have no conviction.”

“Who are you protecting? Cain? It’s certainly not your baby. Your baby is in danger. Cain isn’t. What does that make him? A man who hides behind babies, lets infants fight his war?”

She stared him in the face. “Now you’re wasting
my
time. Look at you. Pussies! You don’t have the balls.” She laughed. “You’re pathetic.”

“It’s Cain you’re protecting,” he said with genuine admiration. “How does one gain loyalty like that?”

She spit in his face.

Achic wiped it off, nodded. He turned to Clarence, holding the infant. “Have you ever had to kill a child, Clarence?”

Clarence’s face grew tense and solemn. “A kid in Afghanistan,
jefe
. Boy about six. Mentally retarded. The Taliban tied explosives to him, made him into a suicide bomber. Only he didn’t know it. That’s how they roll. It bugged me for a long time. Hell of a long time. It still does. Yeah.” He shook his head. “Still does.”

Achic took a deep breath, his chest thumping. Then he reminded himself. Maggie. Cain. “You never told me that before, Clarence.”

“I never told anyone,
jefe
.” Clarence looked down as he jiggled the baby. “That’s the first time.”

“I understand,” Achic said. “I understand.”

Clarence frowned as he jostled the baby. “I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that today.”

“Yes, me too.” Achic inspected his gun. “She thinks we have no conviction. That we’re weak.”

“Yes, she does,
jefe
.” Holding the baby. “But you just have to think about something else and get it done. You need to think of the worst thing that could happen, to your mother, whoever is important to you, and think how this is going to prevent that from happening.”

Achic shook his head. “But a child?”

The woman laughed, but it was brittle.

Clarence said to Achic: “If it were easy,
jefe
, anyone could do it. This isn’t some game we play. This is what we do.
Must
do. We’re warriors. This is war. It’s why we’re here. To do any less would betray our mission. Then the people we’re supposed to protect aren’t being protected. Then we’ve lost.”

Achic took that in. “You said it well, Clarence. We need to do what it takes to find Alice Mendes. And this woman here is standing in our way. She could easily tell us what she knows. Save her child. So if anything happens, it’s her fault. She could stop it.”

“Exactly,
jefe
.”

“Put my son down, you bastard!” the woman screamed. “Shoot
me
if you have any guts.”

Clarence was looking nowhere, still holding the baby. The baby babbled, the surreal sound drifting in and out of wind blowing around the room.

“You’re a brave woman,” Achic said to her. “You
do
have conviction. But let’s see who has the most, shall we?” He turned to Clarence. “Hold the child’s leg out, Clarence.”

Clarence unfolded the blanket, revealed two chubby little legs sticking out of a disposable diaper. The baby shouted with glee. He was the center of attention.

“Go ahead!” the woman shouted, breaking into tears.

“Hold him up, Clarence. Away from you. You don’t want his blood all over you.”

Clarence did as he was told. Her son dangled in midair, legs bouncing playfully. He let out another little happy noise.

Achic pointed the gun at the child’s foot. His heart was a hammer.

“Well?” he said, turning to look at the woman, while he held the gun on her child. “Do you think I have the conviction?”

She sucked in air, seemed to recover, shook her head wildly. “You don’t. You don’t have it.” But her voice wobbled.

There was a pause. “You’re right.” Achic lowered the gun and gave a sigh of frustration.

“Here,” Clarence said, the baby under one arm now, reaching out for the gun. “I’ll do it.”

“No, Clarence. I can’t ask you to do what I should do as leader.”

“I’m already down for one,
jefe
. I’m damaged goods. I think about it every day. And it’s not like we’re going to kill him—right?”

“No, Clarence,” Achic said. “Or course not—not if she tells us what we need to know.”

“Just give me the gun,
jefe
.”

“No, it wouldn’t do any good anyway. She doesn’t care. Isn’t that a terrible thing? Is there anything more abnormal than a mother forsaking her own child?”

“We have to,
jefe
.” Clarence’s big hand moved in, agitated. “I’ll be careful as I can. I promise.”

Achic gave a sad nod. “Very well, then.” He handed the gun to Clarence, who took it expertly, flipped it in the air single-handed, caught it. “It’s on single-shot, right?”

“It is,” Achic said. “Try to be careful. We don’t want to cripple him for life.”

The woman’s eyes flickered madly as she gasped. She was fighting to hold onto her sanity.

“Semper fi,” Clarence whispered, pointing the gun at the infant’s foot. Then he closed his eyes.

“I can’t watch,” Achic said, turning. “I’m going outside.”

“God forgive me,” Clarence said, holding the barrel over the baby’s foot. “God forgive me.”

“They’re taking the American woman to Ipiales!” the woman shouted. “But Cain isn’t there. He’s staying at a safe house in Coca. They’re taking her there. Over the border. To Coca!”

Achic turned and looked at her blankly. “What is the address of the safe house?”

“Two-twelve Espejo. Please put my Ernesto down!
Please!
”

Clarence sniffed, made a face. “I think Comrade Ernesto here needs a diaper change.” He turned to Achic. “Nice performance by the way,
jefe
.”

“I think it was an ensemble effort, Clarence.”

“I’m going to contact the motion picture association, have you nominated for best actor.”

“Oh, come on, Clarence. Best supporting actor if anything. You were the star of the show. Your sense of pathos. Irony.”

Jiggling the kid again. “My dad used to own a video store. Before they all went belly up, that is. I watched a ton of old flicks as a kid. Those old black-and-white movies?” Handing the Glock back to Achic, who took the gun.

“Did you really shoot that boy?” Achic said, putting the gun away. “In Afghanistan?”

“Hell, no!” Clarence said, grinning. He gave Ernesto a bounce. “I’d rather pound my balls flat with a wooden mallet than shoot a kid.”

“That was a very good touch.”

“Did you ever do any community theater?”

Achic laughed. “I honestly didn’t know what we were going to do next.”

“Oh, you would have thought of something,
jefe
. That’s why you’re in charge. You go with your gut. And it works for you, nine times out of ten.”

Achic gave a smile of relief. “I learned that from my
grandpapi
. Go with your gut.”

“You tricked me,” the woman said, her voice rising. “You fucking tricked me!”

Achic gave her a weary smile. “But you’ll never really know for sure, will you? And now I know how much conviction
you
have.”

While Marcelo stood guard, Clarence bound Yalu’s ankles in electrical wire while she lay on the cot in the bedroom. But when all was said and done, she was looking at the playpen where Ernesto was jabbering away.

Clarence slipped a bottle of formula into the child’s hands. “I followed your instructions,” he said to her. “Not too hot.”

“
Gracias
,” she whispered.

Achic entered the room, stood by the cot. “Where is your cell phone?” he said to her. “Don’t tell me you don’t have one.”

“In the kitchen,” she said. “In a pot on the stove. There’s a lid over it.”

“Clarence, get her phone.”

Clarence did.

“What’s the number?”

“In the call log. The first number. It belongs to Abraham. My husband.”

Achic found the number, dialed it, put the phone to his ear, winced as a shrill piercing noise came, followed by a woman apologizing for not being able to connect the call.

“Out of range,” he said. “But we can still beat them there.” He spoke to Yalu. “Clarence is staying here with you and your son. When Beltran and the American woman are free and safe, you’ll be released.” He handed the phone to Clarence. “If anyone calls, hold the phone up to her, so she can speak.” Then he focused on Yalu. “You will say everything is fine. No problems. Got that?”

She nodded. She was defeated.

And then he was gone.

Clarence settled down against the wall, leaned back, started playing a game on his cell phone. Little gunshots came.

“What are you doing now,
ese
?” Marcelo said, starting up the Nissan truck, the out-of-tune engine rumbling, making the view of Bogotá vibrate, a million shimmering lights below. They had parked up the hill, away from the safe house. To keep that element of surprise when they approached.

Achic dialed into his Nexus tablet, logged into Frenesi, the swinger site. He used the ID PerroRabioso
,
the one John Rae had texted him before he went offline.

No new messages. John Rae was well and truly out of circulation, as the 999 code suggested. Probably in some cell somewhere, courtesy of the Colombian government. And nothing from Maggie aka Alice Mendes aka IceLady69. Achic typed a message to IceLady69 anyway.

He didn’t have a clue what kind of code she might be using, so he wrote his note in Quechua. He remembered her speaking it to him at Beltran’s party. And he had yet to meet an American operative who could speak it, let alone the slang version he was using, full of reversed words and street dialect.

John Rae is disappeared. We’re coming to Coca. We know where you are. If you can, escape. If not, sit tight. We’ll get you out. Achic.
He hit Send.