Where There's Smoke

“Of course. He got you on one of the last American-bound planes to leave Montesangre. I thought you knew.”

“No. I didn’t,” she said in a subdued voice. “I should have thanked him.”

“It was certainly an act of brav

ery,” Randall said. “Emilio harbored a grudge against him for facilitating your escape. I suppose that’s why he ordered Father Geraldo’s murder.”

Key cursed beneath his breath. “So good of you to tell her that.”

“Lara’s a realist, aren’t you, darling? Nevertheless it’s a pity about the priest. And about Dr. Soto.”

“I can never atone for involving them,” she said quietly. “I’ll always feel partially responsible for their deaths.”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Key said insistently. “They’d been pegged for elimination, with or without us. Sánchez said as much.”

She threw him a grateful look for the sentiment but knew she would carry the guilt of their murders to her own grave.

“You were incredibly brave to return to Montesangre, Lara,” Randall said. “Thank God you did. If you hadn’t, I’d still be a hostage.”

Key surged to his feet. He’d shaved his dark beard, but his hair was still overly long and contributed to his look of a caged wild animal. Disdaining the role of national hero in which he now found himself, he’d declined Neiman’s offer to provide him with new clothes. On his own, he’d bought new jeans, a sport coat, and cowboy boots.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “Lara and I arrive unannounced in Montesangre, and thirty-six hours later your captors up and decide to let you go?” He spread his arms away from his body. “Why? What does one have to do with the other?”

Randall smiled indulgently. “Obviously you have something to learn about the mind-set of these people, Mr. Tackett.”

“Obviously I do. Because your story sounds like a big pile of caca to me.”

Randall’s eyes narrowed marginally. “You saved my life and Lara’s. Therefore I’ll extend you the courtesy of over-looking your unnecessary vulgarity.”

“Don’t do me any favors.”

Randall dismissed him and addressed his next words to Lara. “Emilio likes to play mind games. Remember the chess tournaments we hosted at the embassy?”

“This is more serious than chess, Randall.”

“To you and me. I’m not so sure Emilio makes the distinction between a board game and the little dramas he plays out for his own amusement using human lives as the stakes. He thanked you for providing entertainment to his camp that morning, remember?”

“I remember,” Key said. “And I’m glad you brought that up because something else has been bugging me. You said you were inside the shack while all that was going on, right?”

Randall nodded. “I was bound and gagged, unable to alert you to the fact that I was still alive. That was Emilio’s inside joke.”

“When did you first learn that I was in Montesangre?” Lara asked.

“The morning following your arrival. I knew something was afoot because my guards were brusque and wouldn’t look me in the eye. We’d developed a grudging respect for one another over the years. Suddenly they were hostile and taciturn again.

“After Ricardo intercepted the jeep on the road, it was only a matter of hours before they deduced who the ‘widow’ was. There was some speculation about the idiot brother-in-law.” He looked pointedly at Key. “But once Emilio learned your name, he put two and two together. He knew about Lara’s… friendship with Clark.

“The more you snooped around, the more volatile the situation became. The night before you were brought to the camp, I was transported there. Emilio taunted me with the threat of killing you slowly and painfully while I watched. I was beaten, but not severely. He wanted me conscious for the next morning’s theatrics.

“After you were taken away, I was beaten again, then driven to Ciudad Central. We were probably only an hour behind you, but my guards and I spent the night in the truck. The last thing I remember is being knocked unconscious shortly after dawn. Your scream when you found me in the bathtub roused me. I was as shocked as you to find myself still alive.”

He stood and slipped on his suit coat. “Well, I think it’s time to go.”

“I still can’t comprehend Emilio’s strategy,” Lara argued, making no move to join him at the door.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

“No, we’ll talk about it now, Randall. If you insist that I face the press, I need to fully understand the situation. They’ll ask me about my dealings with El Corazón del Diablo. I’ll gladly tell them everything I know about the slender, bookish young man who worked as a translator at the embassy, and about the cold-blooded murderer I met this week. But I can’t expound on foreign policy without having a clearer picture of what was in Emilio’s mind. Why did he let us go? Why did he keep you alive but imprisoned for three years and then suddenly release you?”