“No. I put everyone on alert. They’re standing by.”
“You were that sure I’d agree?”
“I was that sure I’d do anything to see that you did.”
They paused, watching each other.
Key was the first to shake himself free. “Does this priest speak English?”
“Actually his name is Gerald Mallone. He’s an American.”
He swore. “Which means he’s doubly suspicious and is probably being tailed everywhere he goes.”
“I doubt it. He’s steeped in Montesangren culture, more Latin than Irish in temperament. Besides, he’s fully aware of the dangers. He’s been living with them for years and knows how to avoid them. The landing strip should be fairly safe. I’ve been told it’s on the coast, at the foot of a heavily vegetated mountain range.”
“Safe! Jesus. I’ll have to fly in at night, over open sea, dodging radar, and set that puppy down in the middle of a goddamn jungle, hoping all the while that we won’t run into a mountain or get blown out of the sky.” He saw her about to speak and raised both hands. “I know, I know. Drug smugglers do it all the time. No doubt on this very strip.”
He paced another few minutes. She didn’t interrupt his thoughts.
“Okay, say we land without crashing and burning, say we manage to leave the plane without having an army of rebels or contras shooting us on sight, say this semitrustworthy priest is there, where does he take us?”
“Ciudad Central.”
He dragged his hand down his face. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
“That’s probably where my daughter is buried.”
His eyes moved to her tousled tawny hair. “You’ll stick out down there like a polar bear in the Sahara. Aren’t you afraid of attracting someone’s attention when you take a shovel into the graveyard and start digging?”
She took a swift breath.
“I’m sorry. Strike that for insensitivity.” He returned to the chair and continued in a kinder tone of voice. “I doubt very seriously they’ll let you exhume the casket, Lara. Do you know which cemetery your daughter would be buried in?”
“No.”
“How about Father what’s-his-name?”
She shook her head. “The last word I had from him is that he’s checking into it. Civil records have been haphazardly kept the last several years. By the time we get there, I hope he’s uncovered a clue.” She smiled apologetically. “That’s the best I can do.”
“What if he can’t obtain any more information?”
“I’ll do the detective work myself.”
“Christ. That’s impossible.”
“It’s not as hopeless as it sounds,” she said with as much conviction as she could garner. “There’s a Montesangren who worked in the embassy, a savvy young man who knew his way around. He was initially hired to do clerical work, but soon became invaluable to Randall by translating official documents. Randall had only a rudimentary understanding of Spanish. Emilio is smart and intuitive. If I can find him, I know he’ll help us.”
“If you can find him?”
“He might not have escaped the attack on the embassy. His name didn’t appear on the casualty lists, but I doubt the lists were complete. If he wasn’t killed, he’s probably in hiding. Anyone who’d worked in the American embassy would be regarded as a traitor by the rebels.”
“Suppose he’s dead or otherwise unavailable. What then?”
“Then I’m truly on my own.”
“You’re willing to take that risk?”
“I’ll go to any lengths to bring Ashley back.”