If you were so keen on meeting Antonio, all you had to do was ask,” Marisa quipped as she walked into the hospital room.
Andrew just stared at her.
“I know, not exactly the time to be making jokes. Sorry,” she said. “Wow, those guys really messed you up. But the resident says you were very lucky.”
“All depends how you look at it. I had a knife blade miss my kidney by a couple of inches. Strange concept of luck that doctor has.”
“The police say you must have been the target of some thieves. The cop I talked to told me it’s happening more and more often. They’re looking for laptops, passports, and other valuables that tourists leave in their hotel rooms.”
“Do you believe that version of events?”
“No.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Did you have a laptop in your room?”
“I work the old-fashioned way, with notebooks and pens.”
“In that case they left empty-handed. I’ve picked up your stuff. It’ll be safe at my place.”
“Did you get my notebooks?”
“Yes.”
Andrew gave a sigh of relief.
“You’ll need your rest if you want to question Ortiz on Tuesday,” Marisa said. “Still want to take the civilized approach?”
“I didn’t come all the way here to rest,” Andrew protested, trying to sit up. He winced in pain, and felt his head start to spin. Marisa came closer and held him steady. She rearranged his pillows, lowered him into a more comfortable position and poured him a glass of water.
“I already have one in the hospital,” she sighed. “I should’ve been a nurse, not a bartender.”
“How’s your boyfriend?”
“They’re going to operate on him again next week.”
“What about me? What do the doctors say?”
“They say you should take it easy for a few days, Mr. Stilman,” Dr. Herrera said, coming into the room. “You’ve had a lucky escape.”
He walked over to the bed and peered at Andrew’s face.
“You could have lost that eye. Fortunately there was no damage to the crystalline lens or the cornea. You’ll get off with a bruise. It’ll go away on its own, but you might not be able to open your eye for a few days. We also stitched up a serious cut on your lower back. My colleague has already reassured your friend here about that. You’re not dying, but you’re also not in the best shape. I’m keeping you here under observation. I want to run a few tests.”
“What kind of tests?”
“The kind I think are necessary. I suspect you might have internal bleeding somewhere. How were you feeling before this happened?”
“Not exactly in top form,” Andrew admitted.
“Have you had health problems lately?”
Andrew pondered the question. “Lately” wasn’t the right word, but he didn’t see how he could tell Dr. Herrera that he was suffering the aftereffects of a fatal attack that would only take place in a few weeks’ time.
“Mr. Stilman?”
“I’ve been having fainting fits and excruciating back pain. And I’m cold all the time.”
“It could simply be a pinched nerve, though a pinched nerve is never a simple thing to fix. But I’m convinced you’re losing blood somewhere, and I’m not letting you leave until I’ve figured out where.”
“I’ve got to be back on my feet by Monday at the very latest.”
“We’ll do our best. You almost died. Just be thankful you’re still alive, and in one of the best hospitals in Buenos Aires. This afternoon we’ll do an abdominal ultrasound. If that doesn’t show us anything, I’ll send you for a CT scan. Now get some rest. I’ll stop by again at the end of my shift.”
Dr. Herrera left the room, leaving Andrew and Marisa on their own.
“Have you got my cell phone?” Andrew asked.
She took it out of her pocket and handed it to him.
“You should let your newspaper know,” she suggested.
“Definitely not. They’ll fly me back. I’d rather not have anyone know what happened.”
“The police are already looking into it. They’ll want to question you as soon as you’re feeling better.”
“They won’t get very far, so why are they wasting their time?”
“Because it’s the law.”
“Marisa, I refuse to miss this meeting with Ortiz a second time.”
“What do you mean, a second time?”
“Never mind.”
“Do what the doctor says: get some rest. Maybe you’ll have recovered by the weekend. I’ll tell my uncle he’ll have to wait for a few days.”
* * *
Thursday was a succession of ultrasound exams, X-rays, Doppler scans, and blood tests, with long stints in the waiting area outside each exam room, where Andrew had to wait his turn alongside the other patients.
He was taken back to his room in the early evening, and though they wouldn’t remove the IV, which hurt like hell, he was allowed to eat a normal meal. The medical staff was kind, the nurses considerate and the food decent. He really had nothing to complain about, except that he was losing valuable time.
While he was waiting for his test results, Andrew called Valerie. He didn’t say anything to her about what had happened to him. He didn’t want to worry her, and he was scared she would insist on him coming home.
Marisa dropped by again on her way to the bar to start her shift. Watching her leave, Andrew felt an urge to go after her. Death had been lurking around him for so long—he was suddenly overcome with the desire to jump-start his life; he wanted to feel euphoric, high, and never come down again.
* * *
Dr. Herrera showed up around noon on Saturday with a group of medical students in tow. Andrew wasn’t thrilled about being a guinea pig, but he submitted to the exam.
The cut on his eyebrow had puffed up so much he could only see out of one eye. The doctor assured him the swelling would go down within the next forty-eight hours. The kidney scan had revealed some internal bleeding but all the other results were normal. Herrera was pleased his suspicions were correct: hemorrhagic fever coupled with renal syndrome, most likely caused by a virus. The early symptoms resembled those of the flu, and were followed by headaches, muscle and lower back pain, and bleeding. There was no treatment for the disease. Andrew would recover over time, with no long-term effects.
Dr. Herrera wanted to know if Andrew had been camping in the woods. He said people usually became infected with the disease after breathing in airborne particles from rodent droppings. Andrew, who was very fond of his creature comforts, truthfully replied that it had never occurred to him to do any such thing.
“Any chance you could have hurt yourself with a tool someone might have used in the woods, then? A piece of woodcutting or hunting equipment?”
Andrew immediately thought of Olson, and his fists clenched as a desire to smash his colleague’s teeth in overtook him.
“Could be,” he replied, keeping his anger in check.
“Well, be more careful next time,” the doctor beamed, delighted his students were witnessing this display of his knowledge. “If all goes well, I’ll let you leave on Monday afternoon—that’s what you wanted, right?”
Andrew nodded.
“But take things easy. The wound on your lower back isn’t too serious, but you’ll have to give it time to heal and make sure it doesn’t get infected. When do you return to the US?”
“I’m supposed to go back at the end of next week,” Andrew replied.
“I’d like you to come in for a follow-up before you get on your flight. We’ll remove your stitches then. I’ll see you on Monday, Mr. Stilman. Have a good weekend,” the doctor said. He walked out, the students trailing after him.
* * *
A little later that afternoon, a policeman came in to take a statement from him. When he told Andrew that since there were no surveillance cameras at the hotel there was absolutely no chance the culprits could be caught, Andrew decided not to file a complaint. Relieved he could avoid unnecessary paperwork, the policeman left Andrew to convalesce in peace. In the evening, Marisa came to visit after sitting with her boyfriend all afternoon, and spent an hour at Andrew’s bedside.
On Sunday, Luisa, who’d heard what had happened from her niece, came to the hospital carrying a meal she had cooked for Andrew. She spent most of the afternoon with him. He described to her some of the high points of his career as a journalist, and she told him how she had come to be a Mother of the Plaza de Mayo. Then she asked if he’d met Alberto.
Andrew told her about the poker game, and Luisa fumed that all Alberto had done for the past thirty years was play poker and get fat. He was such an intelligent man, and yet he’d given up on his life, not to mention his marriage. It still made her mad.
“If only you knew what a handsome young man he used to be,” she sighed. “All the neighborhood girls were after him, but I was the one he picked. I played hard to get. I let him believe he left me cold. And yet each time he talked to me or smiled at me when our paths crossed, I melted like an ice cream in the sun. But I was much too proud to let him see that.”
“What made you change your attitude?” Andrew asked, amused.
“One evening . . . ” Luisa began. She interrupted herself. “Did the doctor say you can have coffee?” she asked, taking a thermos out of her bag.
“He didn’t say anything, but they’ve only given me disgusting herbal tea to drink since I’ve been here,” Andrew said.
“Silence means consent!” Luisa declared. She fished out a cup and poured him some coffee. “As I was saying, one evening Alberto came to my parents’ house. He rang the doorbell and asked my father for permission to take me out for a walk. It was a stifling hot December, and the humidity made it even worse. I was hovering on the second floor landing, eavesdropping on their conversation.”
“What did your father say?”
“He refused. He showed Alberto the door, telling him firmly: ‘My daughter doesn’t want to see you.’I used to get a kick out of wrong-footing my father every chance I got, so I ran down the stairs, threw a shawl over my shoulders—I didn’t want to shock Papá too much—and followed Alberto out of the house. Looking back, I’m sure they cooked it up between them. My father never wanted to admit it and neither did Alberto, but the way the two of them made fun of me for years afterwards each time someone mentioned my first date with Alberto, I just know they did.
“I didn’t expect to enjoy the stroll as much as I did. Alberto didn’t flirt with me, not like all the other boys, who only wanted to get the girls into bed as soon as possible. He talked to me about politics, about a new world where everyone would have freedom of speech and no one would be doomed to a life of poverty. Alberto’s a humanist. He’s idealistic and naive, but he’s also extremely generous. There was something reassuring about his deep voice, and the way he looked at me made me feel light-headed.
“We’d been so lost in conversation, we hadn’t noticed that the evening had flown by. When we started back, it was well past the curfew my father had given me—he had shouted it out after us repeatedly as we were leaving. I knew Papá would be waiting for us on the doorstep, maybe even with his shotgun filled with rock salt to fire it at Alberto and teach him a lesson. I didn’t want Alberto to get in trouble, so I told him it was better if I went home on my own, but he insisted on escorting me.
“When we got to the corner of my road I asked him to pass me his handkerchief, and tied it around my ankle. Then I leaned on his shoulder and pretended to limp the rest of the way. My father calmed down as soon as he caught sight of me, and began running towards us. I told him I’d sprained my ankle, and it had taken us two hours to walk back because I’d had to stop every few hundred feet to rest. I don’t know if Papá believed me, but he thanked Alberto for bringing his daughter back home safe and sound. My honor was intact, too, and that was the main thing. As for me, when I went to bed that night, all I could think of was the way I’d felt when Alberto had put his arm around me, and when my hand had touched his shoulder.
“Six months later, we were married. We didn’t have much money and it wasn’t easy making ends meet, but we always managed to scrape along somehow. We were happy, genuinely happy. I spent some of the best years of my life with him. We laughed so much together. And then the junta came to power, more terrifying than the previous dictatorships. Our son was twenty when they kidnapped him. We’d only had one child. Alberto never recovered from his disappearance, and neither did our marriage. We survived in our different ways. He chose to forget, and I chose to fight. Our roles were reversed.
“If you see Alberto again, you’re not to tell him I talked to you about him. Is that a promise?”
Andrew promised.
“I’ve had trouble sleeping ever since you came to see me. Ortiz isn’t one of the key people in my album. He was just a sidekick, like I told you—an officer with an unremarkable career. But now I can’t help wondering if he was the one who flew the plane from which they threw my son into the Río de la Plata. I want you to find him and make him confess. There’s nothing more terrible for a mother than losing her child. It’s the worst tragedy any human being can suffer, a prospect more terrible than death. You can’t imagine the pain of not being able to visit his grave, of never having seen his body. Knowing that the child who called you Mamá, who would run into your arms when he saw you and hug you as tight as he could . . . ”
Luisa paused.
“When the child who was the light of your life disappears without a trace, when you know you’ll never hear the sound of his voice again, your life becomes a living hell.”
Luisa went over to the window, keeping her face averted from Andrew’s gaze. She took a deep breath and continued speaking, her gaze lost in the distance.
“Alberto took refuge in oblivion. He was afraid that his suffering would drive him into blindly seeking vengeance. He didn’t want to be like them. I wasn’t afraid of that. A woman wouldn’t have the slightest compunction about killing someone who stole her child. If I’d had the chance to do it, I would have.”
Andrew thought fleetingly of Mrs. Capetta. Luisa turned back to him. Her eyes were bloodshot, but her bearing was proud.
“Find him. I’m begging you, from the bottom of my heart . . . or what’s left of it.”
She returned to his bedside and picked up her bag. Andrew thought as he watched her make her way out of the room that she seemed to have aged in the course of their conversation. He thought about his meeting with Ortiz all night. For the first time, he found himself hoping that Alberto’s plan would work.
* * *
Andrew’s phone rang in the late afternoon. The pain flared up again as he maneuvered himself around to reach it.
“When you say ‘I’ll call you back in five,’ you . . . ”
“I’m at the hospital, Simon,” Andrew broke in.
“Are you visiting someone?”
“No, I’m the patient.”
Andrew told Simon about the attack, and made him promise he wouldn’t breathe a word to Valerie. Simon wanted to get on a flight right away, but Andrew refused to let him. He’d drawn enough attention to himself already, and if Simon came it would only complicate matters.
“I’m guessing this is not a good time to give you my report on Capetta’s wife.”
“On the contrary—I’m not exactly busy.”
“She spends her afternoons knitting in a small park, watching her kid play in the sandbox.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“When I said she spent her days knitting, I mean that’s literally all she did.”
“Nothing else?”
“No, except she’s too beautiful to have been married to a guy like that Capetta you told me about. But that’s probably just jealousy talking.”
“Beautiful in what way?”
“Black hair, eyes as dark as ebony, a steely gaze, and an expression on her face that speaks of loneliness and intense suffering.”
“You decided all that just by looking at her?”
“Just because I love all women it doesn’t mean that I don’t pay attention to individual ones.”
“Simon, I know you better than that.”
“Oh, all right. She was having coffee at a McDonald’s, and her kid was walking back to their table carrying a tray that looked a little too heavy for him. I made it so he bumped into me—I sacrificed a perfectly good pair of jeans for you, by the way. Paolina got up and began apologizing profusely. The kid looked like he was about to burst into tears, so I made a couple of funny faces to make him laugh. I gave him ten dollars to buy himself a Coke and some nuggets, and then I asked if I could use the paper napkins on the table so I had an excuse to sit down with her until her son came back.”
“That sounds a lot more like you.”
“It really pains me to know that’s what you think of me.”
“What did she tell you?”
“She said she’d moved to Chicago after her husband died to build a new life for herself and her son.”
“A son she’s depriving of a father who’s alive and well. Some widow!”
“The way her face hardened when she mentioned her husband made my blood run cold. There was something terrifying about her, actually.”
“What?”
“I couldn’t say exactly. I just felt very uncomfortable around her.”
“Did she mention she was going to New York?”
“No, and when I told her as I was leaving that she should call me if she was ever in New York and needed anything at all, she said she was never going back.”
“She must have thought you were coming on to her.”
“Hey, if I’d come on to her, she’d have changed her mind.”
“Obviously!” Andrew said sarcastically.
“Yes, obviously! But seeing as I was on my mission and all, I didn’t step out of line. I was merely a businessman visiting Chicago, and a father of three in love with his wife.”
“How did it feel to play the good husband and father? Not too exhausted this morning, I hope?”
“I thought I missed you, but on second thought . . . ”
“Do you think she’s capable of killing someone?”
“She’s certainly strong-minded enough, and she lied to me about her life and her plans. There’s something genuinely disturbing about her. I wouldn’t go so far as to compare her to Jack Nicholson in The Shining, but she’s got these really scary eyes. Listen, Andrew, what are you wasting your time in Buenos Aires for if you really believe someone’s going to try and kill you in a few weeks?”
“I’ve been offered a second chance, Simon—to protect Valerie from my wandering eye, but also to carry out an investigation that’s important, and not just for me. I’m even more aware of that now than I was before.”
Andrew asked his friend for one last favor. As soon as he’d hung up, Simon went to buy a bouquet of flowers and had them delivered to Valerie with a note Andrew had dictated.
In his hospital room in Buenos Aires, Andrew thought he could hear a voice whisper in his ear: “If Mrs. Capetta thinks you’re responsible for making her lose her daughter, you better watch out for yourself.”
* * *
Andrew went through another set of tests on Monday morning, and Dr. Herrera discharged him in the early afternoon.
Marisa was waiting outside in her car. After a brief stop at the hotel they went to the bar, where Alberto was waiting for them.
Andrew went straight to the table at the back of the room. Alberto was sitting alone. He unfolded a large sheet of paper and drew Ortiz’s itinerary on it.
“When he leaves Villa Maria, a broken-down truck blocking the road will force him to get off National Route 9. His driver will turn south to pick up Route 8. Meanwhile, you’ll be driving to Gahan. When you reach the crucifix memorial—you’ll recognize it easily, it’s a statue of the Virgin Mary under a small glass pyramid, well lit, perfect for our purposes—you’ll see three grain silos to your right, about fifty yards from the road. There’s a small dirt track leading to them. Hide the car behind the silos and turn off the lights. You and Marisa can take turns sleeping while you’re waiting.
“If Ortiz leaves Dumesnil at about 9 P.M., he’ll reach Gahan around four in the morning. We’ll have taken care of things by then. The road will be strewn with pieces of scrap metal. If the car keeps going after the memorial, it’ll be on wheel rims.”
“What if his car isn’t the first one to come by?”
“There won’t be anyone else on the road at that time of night.”
“How can you be absolutely sure of that?”
“Our friends will be watching the exits leading out of Olivia, Chazon, Arias, Santa Émilia, Colón, and Rojas. We’ll know where he is a quarter of an hour ahead of time, and we’ll only booby-trap the road when we’re sure he’s approaching the memorial.”
“There’s a town called Olivia in those parts?” Andrew asked.
“Yes, why?” Alberto asked.
“No reason.”
“Once his car’s out of action, stay hidden until his men have started out for Gahan. You’ll be no match for them if it’s three against one. I’m told you had a run-in with them recently, and if the state of your face is anything to go by, I don’t think you’d come out the winner in a fight.”
“How do you know that both men will go for help?”
“It’s better to be in company if you’re going to wake a farmer up in the middle of the night. Especially around these parts. Whereas Ortiz has nothing to fear sitting in a big car by the side of an empty road.”
What about me?” Marisa asked.
“You do the driving, and then you stay put in the car. I forbid you to get out of the vehicle, even if our brave journalist here gets himself shot. Do you understand that, Marisa? I mean it! If anything happened to you, your aunt would come over here and gun me down in broad daylight.”
“She won’t get out of the car,” Andrew promised, earning himself a kick in the shin from Marisa.
“You should leave as soon as possible. Gahan is at least a two-hour drive from here, and you’ll need time to scope out the area, find the hiding place and make sure you can’t be seen. Ricardo’s fixed you something to eat on the way. He’s waiting for you in the kitchen, Marisa. Go on. I have a couple things I need to say to Mr. Stilman.”
Marisa obeyed her uncle.
“Can you see this mission through?”
“We’ll know that tomorrow,” Andrew replied lightly.
Alberto gripped his forearm.
“I’ve rallied a lot of friends to make sure this operation is a success. It’s not just my credibility that’s at stake. My niece’s safety is too.”
“She’s a grown woman, she knows what she’s doing. But it’s not too late to demand she stay behind. If I have a good road map, I shouldn’t have too much trouble finding the place.”
“She won’t listen to me. I don’t have that kind of authority over her anymore.”
“I’ll do my best, Alberto. And you do what you can to make sure this mission, as you call it, doesn’t turn into a tragedy. Will you give me your word that none of your men will try to get even with Ortiz?”
“I already have!”
“Then it should all go smoothly.”
“Take this,” Alberto said, placing a gun on Andrew’s knees. “You never know.”
Andrew gave it back to Alberto.
“I don’t think that’ll keep Marisa any safer. I’ve never used a gun. Contrary to popular belief, not all Americans are cowboys.”
Andrew made as if to get up, but Alberto signaled that the conversation wasn’t over.
“Did Luisa come to see you in the hospital?”
“Who told you that?”
“I was keeping an eye on your recovery, just in case Ortiz’s men had the bright idea to finish the job.”
“Then you already know the answer to your question.”
“Did she say anything about me?”
Andrew looked at Alberto and got up.
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, when I’m back from Gahan. Have a good evening, Alberto.”
* * *
Andrew looked around for Marisa’s Beetle when he came out of the bar. He heard a car horn honking and turned to see Marisa sticking her head out of the window of a Peugeot 406.
“Shall we go?” she called. “Or have you changed your mind?”
Andrew got in the car.
“My uncle thought my car wasn’t sturdy enough,” she explained.
“I can’t imagine why he should think such a thing,” Andrew replied.
“This is his car. That should tell you how much he cares about the success of our mission.”
“Stop using that ridiculous word! We’re not on a mission, and I work for a renowned newspaper, not the secret service. I’m going to question this Ortega and try to make him confess he’s Ortiz—if he is Ortiz, that is.”
“If you’re only going to talk nonsense, then maybe you should keep your mouth shut,” Marisa rejoined.
For the hundred-odd miles to Gahan, they hardly said a word to each other. Marisa was concentrating on the road. As her uncle had warned, it was in very bad condition, and there was very little light. They reached the memorial and the fork in the road towards midnight. Marisa stopped the car behind the memorial, flicked on a flashlight and swept its beam over the surroundings.
“If the tires blow out at this spot,” she told Andrew, “the car will end up in that field. See? Nothing to worry about. My uncle knows what he’s talking about.”
Andrew got out to inspect the road, wondering when Alberto’s men would step in.
“Get back in the car,” Marisa ordered. “There’s the dirt track leading to the silos. We should get to our hiding place. We’ve a long wait ahead of us, so we might as well eat something now.”
She started the car up again and drove along the track that wound its way behind the silos. She parked between two of the grain stores and turned off the car lights. When his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, Andrew realized that while they had a perfect view of the lighted area where the operation was to take place, it would be impossible for anyone to see them from the road.
“Your uncle really hasn’t left anything to chance.”
“Alberto was a Montonero. He fought those bastards in the days when they didn’t hesitate to shoot on sight. Let’s just say he’s experienced. If he was your age, he’d be the one sitting in this car, not you.”
“I’m not his henchman, Marisa. Get that straight once and for all.”
“You’ve repeated that often enough. I got you loud and clear. Are you hungry?”
“Not really, no.”
“Eat something anyway,” she said, handing him a sandwich. “You’re going to need all your strength.”
She switched on the ceiling light and looked at Andrew, smiling.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“You are.”
“What’s so funny about me?”
“From the left, you’re kinda cute. But your right side looks like the Elephant Man.”
“Thanks for the compliment.”
“It was only half a compliment. Depends on which side you’re sitting on.”
“I could sit behind the wheel if you prefer.”
“No way. Not that I don’t like your disfigured war hero look though. It’s more my style.”
“I bet Antonio would be happy to hear that.”
“Antonio’s not handsome. But he’s a good guy.”
“That’s really none of my business.”
“What about you? Is your wife pretty?”
“That’s really none of your business either.”
“We’re going to be spending most of the night in this car. What do you want to talk about? The weather?”
“Valerie’s very pretty.”
“I’d have been surprised if that wasn’t the case.”
“Why?”
“Because I think you’re the kind of guy who’s proud of walking around with a beautiful woman on his arm.”
“You’re wrong. When we met each other in junior high, I was no ladies’ man. I was shy, and I had no idea how to flirt with girls. I still don’t.”
Marisa’s cell vibrated in her pocket. She took it out and read the text message she’d just received.
“The truck ploy at the Villa Maria exit worked. Ortiz’s car is heading for Route 8. They’ll be here in four hours, tops.”
“I thought you couldn’t get a cell phone signal here?”
“When it’s time, I won’t. The only exchange in the region is twelve miles away, and once the power’s been cut off, the phones will stop working.”
Andrew smiled.
“Maybe you were right. This evening is feeling more and more like a mission.”
“Doesn’t sound like that bothers you too much.”
“Give me that sandwich. And stop making fun of me all the time, unless you want me to start finding you attractive.”
Marisa twisted around and reached into the back seat. Andrew couldn’t help but admire her butt.
“Here, have some coffee,” she said, handing him a paper cup.
An hour later, they heard the noise of an engine in the distance. Marisa switched off the light.
“It’s too early for it to be Ortiz,” Andrew murmured.
She burst out laughing.
“You’re right to whisper, can’t be too careful. We’re only fifty yards from the road and they might hear us . . . No, that can’t be Ortiz.”
“So why did you turn off the light?”
Before Andrew could figure out what was happening, Marisa had swung her legs over the gearshift and straddled him. She stroked his lips with her fingertips, and then she kissed him.
“Ssssh,” she whispered. “You’re getting married, and so am I. There’s no danger of us falling in love.”
“You’re pretty talkative for someone who’s telling me to shut up.”
Marisa kissed Andrew again. They clambered into the back seat and slid into each other’s arms in the silence of the night.
* * *
Marisa reopened her eyes, glanced at her watch and dug her elbow into Andrew’s ribs.
“Wake up and get dressed, it’s three in the morning!”
Andrew started. Marisa whipped her cell out of her pocket. There were six new text messages, each announcing the name of a village Ortiz had passed through. She looked at the screen again and scrambled into the front seat.
“I can’t get a signal anymore: they’ve already cut off the power supply to the exchange. Ortiz can’t be far now. Hurry up!”
Andrew pulled on his pants and sweater and climbed back into the passenger seat. They sat there in total silence. He turned his head to look at Marisa. She was staring intently at the road.
“Look at the road, that’s where it’ll all be happening!”
“What about what happened in the back seat?” Andrew asked.
“Nothing happened. It was just two consenting adults having a good time.”
“How good?” Andrew asked, smiling.
Marisa gave him a poke with her elbow.
“Do you think your uncle’s friends saw us when they came to sprinkle that scrap metal over the road?”
“Let’s hope they didn’t—it wouldn’t be good for either of us. Now just pray we haven’t missed Ortiz.”
“If his car had already gone past it’d be there in the middle of the road, wouldn’t it? Do you see a car?”
Marisa didn’t answer. They heard the sound of an approaching engine. Andrew could feel his heart beating faster.
“What if it isn’t them?” he croaked.
“Collateral damage. Unfortunate, but sometimes inevitable.”
As Andrew sat there fretting, a black sedan sped toward the crucifix memorial. As it approached, three of its tires blew out. The driver tried to hold a straight course, but the car swerved sharply and started weaving before landing on its side. It slid forward until the front fender got stuck in a pothole. The back of the car lifted and the sedan flipped over several times with a deafening crash of metal. The windscreen shattered as the front passenger went right through it. The upside-down car continued its crazy forward skid, shooting out a trail of sparks, and finally shuddered to a stop on the edge of a field.
The cacophony of the crash was replaced by a deathly silence.
“It was all supposed to go smoothly,” Andrew said angrily, starting to get out of the station wagon.
Marisa grabbed hold of his arm and forced him to sit down again. The look on her face was hard, determined. She turned the key in the ignition and drove down the dirt track. She stopped on the side of the road and turned on the headlights, revealing a scene of total devastation. A man was lying a few yards from the wreck. Andrew ran towards him. He was badly injured, but he was still breathing. Marisa walked over to the smashed car. The driver was unconscious, his face covered in blood. In the back, trapped in the wreckage of the car, a dazed man lay groaning.
Andrew joined Marisa and leaned into what was left of the car.
“Give me a hand,” he told Marisa. “We have to get him out of there before the car goes up in flames.”
Marisa crouched down and stared coldly at the wounded man.
“Did you hear that? The car’s going to start burning. We’ve got some questions to ask you. You better answer them quick if you don’t want to be roasted like a pig in there.”
“Who are you? What do you want from me?” the man moaned.
“We’re asking the questions. You just answer them.”
“For Chrissake, Marisa, stop that bullshit and help me, there’s been enough damage already,” Andrew shouted, trying to pull the wounded man out of the wreck.
“Leave him right there until he starts talking. What’s your name?” she asked.
“Miguel Ortega.”
“Yeah, and I’m Evita Perón! I’m going to give you one more chance,” she said, putting a cigarette between her lips. She took a box of matches out of her pocket, struck one and moved the flame close to Ortega’s face.
“My name’s Miguel Ortega!” he shouted. “You’re crazy! Get me out of here!”
“Try harder. It’s really starting to stink of gas in here,” she said.
Andrew was trying with all his might to pull Ortega out, but the old man’s legs were trapped under the driver’s seat. He couldn’t do it without Marisa’s help.
“Come on, we’re getting out of here,” Marisa said, letting her match drop inside the car. The flame flickered and went out. Marisa lit another match and set the box on fire, holding it with her fingertips.
Ortiz looked at the flames dancing above his head.
“Ortiz,” he said. “My name’s Felipe Ortiz. Put that out, I beg you. I have a family. Don’t do it!”
Marisa flung the matchbox into the distance, then turned back and spat on Major Ortiz’s face.
Andrew was fuming. Marisa slipped inside the car and pushed at the driver’s seat. Andrew managed to pull Ortiz free. He dragged him a little way up the road, away from the car.
“We have to get the driver out,” he said.
As he was walking back towards the sedan, sparks started shooting out from under the hood. The next moment, the car was ablaze. He saw the flames licking at the driver’s body and caught a glimpse of his distorted face before a cloud of smoke obscured the nightmarish scene.
Andrew clutched his head and dropped to his knees. He threw up. When he had stopped shaking, he got up and walked back to where Ortiz was lying on the shoulder. Marisa was crouched next to him, smoking.
“We’re taking him to the hospital,” Andrew ordered. “The other man, too.”
“Nope,” Marisa said, swinging the station wagon keys. “And if you get any closer, I’ll chuck these into the field.”
“Isn’t one death enough for you?”
“One? Compared to three thousand? No, it’s not enough. The game has run into overtime, and now I’m ahead. If this sonofabitch wants to stay alive, he’s going to have to talk. Get out your notebook and pen, Mr. Journalist. This is your moment of glory!”
“Take me to the hospital,” Ortiz begged. “Please, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know on the way.”
Marisa got up and walked over to the station wagon. She opened the glove compartment and came back with Alberto’s revolver. She pressed the barrel against Ortiz’s temple and cocked the hammer.
“Shall we start the interview?” she asked Andrew. “See all that blood pouring out of his leg? I wouldn’t waste any more time if I were you.”
“Are you going to shoot me if I refuse to go along with this crap?” Andrew snapped.
“No, I like you too much to do that, but I’d have no problem at all taking him out. In fact I’d probably enjoy it.”
Andrew knelt down next to Ortiz.
“Let’s get this over with as soon as possible so I can take you to the hospital. I’m sorry. I didn’t want it to happen this way.”
“Do you think he was sorry when he had the brake lines cut on Antonio’s car? Or when he sent his goons to your hotel room?”
“You were in my world and you were asking everyone questions,” Ortiz protested. “We only wanted to dissuade you, give you a scare, not hurt you.”
“Yeah, sure,” Marisa scoffed. “You can tell that to Antonio when you’re lying next to him in the hospital. We wanted to give you a scare too, so I guess we’re even. Take a look at my friend here. See how your men rearranged his face? So we’re not even after all.”
“I had nothing to do with that. I don’t even know who you are.”
Andrew was convinced Ortiz was being sincere; he genuinely didn’t seem to know who he was.
“My name’s Andrew Stilman, and I’m a reporter with The New York Times. I’m investigating the career of a pilot and certain things he did during the junta. Are you Major Ortiz, who served as a coast guard pilot from 1977 to 1983?”
“To November 29, 1979,” Ortiz corrected him. “I never flew a plane again after that date.”
“Why?”
“Because I could no longer stomach what I was being ordered to do.”
“What kind of missions did you fly, Major Ortiz?”
Ortiz sighed. “It’s been a long time since anyone called me ‘Major.’”
Marisa pressed the revolver against his cheek.
“We don’t give a shit about your nostalgia. Just answer the question.”
“I flew surveillance flights along the border with Uruguay.”
Marisa slid the revolver down Ortiz’s body and stroked the gaping wound on his leg with the barrel. Ortiz screamed out in pain. His leg was broken. Andrew shoved her out of the way.
“You do that one more time and I’ll leave you here on your own; you’ll have to walk all the way back to Buenos Aires,” he said icily. “Is that clear?”
“My, my. How unfriendly we’re being, Mr. Stilman,” she pouted, giving him a flirty look.
“Take me to the hospital,” Ortiz begged.
Andrew got out his notebook and pen.
“Did you take part in the death flights, Major Ortiz?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“How many of those flights did you make?”
“Thirty-seven,” he murmured.
“If you count twenty passengers per flight, that’s over seven hundred people this bastard tossed into the Río de la Plata,” Marisa said.
“I couldn’t see what was going on in the back from my place in the cockpit, but I knew. Whenever the plane suddenly got lighter and started to climb, I knew what had happened. I just obeyed orders. I’d have been shot if I refused. What would you have done in my place?”
“I would have died rather than be part of anything so horrific,” said Marisa.
“You’re young. You don’t know what you’re taking about. You don’t understand the meaning of authority. I was a career soldier, programmed to serve my country and obey without question. You don’t know what it was like in those days.”
“You piece of shit. My real parents were among the people you tortured and murdered.”
“I never tortured anyone. They were dead or dying by the time they were put on my plane. And if I’d tried to play the hero, I’d have been executed, my family would have been arrested, and another pilot would have taken my place.”
“So why did you stop flying in 1979?” Andrew asked.
“I couldn’t do it anymore. I was only an ordinary soldier, a normal man, and not an especially courageous one at that. I wasn’t capable of openly defying my superiors. I was too scared of the consequences for my family.
“One evening, I tried to nosedive my plane into the river, with its cargo and the three officers on board. It was night, and we were flying at a very low altitude with all our lights out. I only had to push the joystick forward. But my copilot managed to wrest back control at the last minute. When we returned to base, he reported me. I was put under arrest and court-martialed. A military doctor saved me from the firing squad. He testified that I was no longer in my right mind, and therefore couldn’t be held responsible for what I’d done. Luckily I was on Febres’s good side. And I wasn’t the only soldier who’d started cracking up. He was afraid that if he had me shot it would encourage others to desert, but showing mercy to an officer who had served his country would earn him the sympathy of his men. I was discharged and told I could return to civilian life.”
“You took part in the murder of more than seven hundred people, remember? You hardly expect us to feel sympathy for you, do you?” Marisa sneered.
“Not in the least. Those unseen faces have haunted me for the past thirty years.”
“How did you build yourself a new identity? How have you managed to remain anonymous for all these years?” Andrew asked.
“The army protected itself by protecting the men who’d served it. After the dirty war ended, Febres helped us. We were given new papers, a reconstituted past, and a piece of land or a small business to start over.”
“Land and businesses that were stolen from their rightful owners!” Marisa shouted.
“You’re Alberto’s niece, aren’t you?” Ortiz asked.
“Well, you may be a civilian, but it seems your intelligence service is as good as ever.”
“I don’t have access to any intelligence. I’m just a humble businessman with a small tannery. I guessed who you were the minute I saw you snooping around Dumensil. You look like him, you talk like him . . . That crafty fox has been tracking me for a long, long time, but he’s become too old to do the job himself.”
“That’ll do for now,” Andrew said, putting his notebook away. “Go get the car, Marisa. We’re taking him with us, and the other one too—let’s hope he’s still alive. And hurry up unless you want to get left behind.”
Marisa shrugged, put her gun away and strolled towards the station wagon with her hands in her pockets.
“I didn’t send those men to your hotel,” Ortiz said as soon as he was alone with Andrew. “I’m sure it was Alberto. That man is a lot more deceitful than you think. He’s been manipulating you from the start, to get you to do what he couldn’t. He was the one who set up this ambush, wasn’t he? You’re only a pawn in his game.”
“Shut up, Ortiz! You don’t know what you’re talking about. It wasn’t Alberto who made me come to Argentina. I’ve been on your trail for weeks, ever since I was given this story.”
“Why were you on my trail and not somebody else’s?”
“Chance. Your name was mentioned in the tip we got at the newspaper.”
“And who sent you that file, Mr. Stilman? I’m seventy-seven years old, my health is failing. It wouldn’t bother me at all to spend the last few years of my life in prison; the penance would almost come as a relief. But I have two daughters, Mr. Stilman. They’ve done nothing wrong, and the younger one knows absolutely nothing about my past. If you reveal my identity it’s not me you’ll be punishing, it’s her. Tell the story of the despicable Major Ortiz if you must, but I beg you not to quote me. And if it’s revenge you want, leave me here on this roadside to bleed to death. It’ll be a release. You don’t know how heavy a price one pays for contributing to destroying innocent lives. It’s not too late for you.”
Andrew took his notebook out again and flipped through the pages until he found the photograph he’d tucked in there. He showed it to Ortiz.
“Do you recognize this little girl?”
Ortiz peered at the face of the two-year-old child in the photograph and his eyes filled with tears.
“Yes. I raised her.”
* * *
The car sped along Route 7. Ortiz had fainted when Andrew and Marisa laid him out in the back of the station wagon, and his bodyguard wasn’t holding up well either.
“How far is the nearest hospital?” Andrew asked, glancing back at their two wounded passengers.
“There’s one in San Andrés de Giles, twenty-five miles away. We’ll be there in half an hour.”
“You’ll have to get us there quicker if you want them to still be alive.”
Marisa stepped hard on the gas pedal.
“It’d be nice if the two of us were alive too,” said Andrew, clutching his seat.
“Don’t worry. Now that he’s confessed I don’t want him to die anymore. He’ll stand trial and pay for his crimes.”
“I’d be very surprised if that happened.”
“Why?”
“What do you think you’re going to tell the judge? That you got Ortiz to confess by holding a gun to his head? And will you say that before or after you reveal that we deliberately caused an accident that led to a man’s death? But maybe the judge will take a lenient view. We could always ask him to put us in the same cell as Ortiz so we can continue our interrogation.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That you’ve gotten so used to cheating, you and your uncle, you’ve forgotten that in the world outside that crummy bar of his, there are laws you can’t flout. We’re responsible for a murder, possibly two, if we don’t get to the hospital in time. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to publish my article!”
“It was a car accident and we had nothing to do with it. We were passing by and we helped these two men. That’s the only story you’ll be telling.”
“That’s the story we’ll tell when we get to the emergency room. Unless of course Ortiz comes to and denounces us before we’ve had time to escape.”
“Are you giving up?”
“How am I supposed to justify the way I obtained my information? You want me to tell the editorial board that I was part of a premeditated massacre? They’ll love that; it’ll be great for the newspaper’s reputation. You and your uncle have gotten me into deep trouble. Not to mention weeks of work down the drain.”
Marisa braked as hard as she could. The tires squealed, and the car swerved to a stop across the middle of the road.
“You can’t give up.”
“What else do you want me to do? Spend ten years in an Argentine prison waiting for justice to be done? Just start driving before I really lose my temper, throw you out of this car and leave you behind. Get moving!”
Marisa shifted into first gear and the car moved forward. Ortiz had started moaning in back.
“That’s all we need,” Andrew sighed. “Give me that gun of yours.”
“Are you going to bump him off?”
“No. Will you give me a break and stop talking bullshit?”
“In the glove box.”
Andrew picked up the gun and turned around with every intention of knocking Ortiz out cold. He slowly lowered his arm.
“I can’t do it.”
“Hit him, for Chrissake. If he breathes a word, we’re screwed.”
“We should have thought about that earlier. In any case, he’ll denounce us as soon as he’s regained consciousness.”
“At least that’ll give you enough time to leave the country. You can get on the first flight back to New York.”
“What about you? He knows who you are.”
“I’ll figure something out.”
“No, it’s out of the question. We got into this madness together, and we’ll get out of it together.”
Andrew put the gun back in the glove box.
“I think I have an idea. Step on it. And don’t talk. I need to think.”
By the time the station wagon screeched to a halt in front of the hospital, Ortiz had passed out again. Marisa blew the horn and yelled at the two nurses who came running out of the double doors to bring another stretcher. She told the doctor on duty that they had come upon an accident scene in the vicinity of Gahan. She and her friend had managed to pull these two men out of the car, but the driver had died in the fire. The doctor asked a nurse to call the police. He gave orders for the accident victims to be wheeled into the operating room, and told Marisa to wait until he returned. Marisa assured him she’d be back as soon as she had parked the car.
* * *
“What do we do now?” she asked as they swung back onto the road.
“Now we wait.”
“Sounds like a brilliant idea.”
“We don’t want him to tell our story, and he doesn’t want us to tell his. A policeman friend of mine once said to me that if you’ve arrested your culprit but you haven’t understood his motives, your job’s only half done. If Ortiz denounces us he’ll have to explain why we set that trap for him. We’re bound to him by our shared secret. As soon as he’s on the way to recovery, I’ll go back and make a deal with him.”
“So he’s going to get away with it, just like that?”
“We’ll see who has the last word. Your uncle’s not the only one who likes playing games.”