Where There's Smoke

“He’s a doctor. So am I. That takes precedence over political affiliations. He’ll extend me a professional courtesy.”

“Will you grow up?” Key said with exasperation. “For all you know he’s El Corazón’s brother-in-law or a spy for Escávez. Either way, if we go barging in there and say the wrong thing, we’re screwed.”

“Excuse me.” Addressing Key, Father Geraldo played peacemaker. “In my work, I’ve crossed paths with Dr. Soto several times. I’ve never known him to profess allegiance to any particular faction. He treats the wounded of all sides, much as I do.”

“See? Now can we go?”

Key ignored Lara. “Even if he’s sympathetic, he’d be risking his neck to help us. The potential danger could make him reluctant to talk. He might outright refuse. Worst-case scenario is that he’ll sic El Corazón’s death squads on us.”

“I’m willing to take the chance,” Lara said adamantly.

“You’re not the only one involved.”

“If you won’t go with me, I’ll go alone.”

Key tried to intimidate her with his stare. When she held her ground, he turned to Father Geraldo. “What’s your gut instinct on el doctor?”

Indecision flitted in the priest’s dark eyes. Finally he said, “Whether or not he consents to help us, I think we can trust him to secrecy.”

Lara agreed.

“Okay, you two,” Key said softly. “Have it your way, but we’re going to go about it my way.”

Lara and Key waited in the doctor’s cramped hospital office while Father Geraldo once again acted as their mouthpiece. Even though Key had closed the blinds against the afternoon sun, the room, without air-conditioning, was stifling. Lara’s bodice clung to her damp skin. Perspiration had formed a dark wedge in the center of Key’s shirt. He frequently used his sleeve to wipe his sweating forehead. They didn’t waste either oxygen or energy on conversation.

Silence was also an added precaution. They didn’t want their voices to attract anyone on the hospital staff to the doctor’s private office. Explaining their presence there could prove tricky.

The waiting became in

terminable. Lara folded her arms beneath her head and laid it on the doctor’s desk. They’d been there over two hours. What was taking so long? Her imagination began to run wild: They’d been discovered. Armed troops had been summoned and were taking up positions around the hospital. Key was probably right; Dr. Soto used his medical profession as a cover. He was actually a spy. He’d seen through Father Geraldo’s ruse, tortured him into telling the truth and—

The instant she heard the approaching Spanish-speaking voices, she sat up. Key had heard them, too. He moved into position behind the door and signaled her to remain quiet and out of sight until the doctor was inside the room.

Her heart beat hard against her ribs. A trickle of sweat slid between her breasts. The doorknob turned and Dr. Tomás Soto Quiñones preceded the priest into his office. He reached for the light switch and flipped it on. “It was a routine birth, but these things can take—”

He spotted Lara and looked at her quizzically.

“Forgive me, Doctor,” Father Geraldo said humbly as he ushered the doctor across the threshold. Still in Spanish, he explained, “I’ve been less than truthful. I do wish to discuss with you a soup kitchen for the starving. Perhaps at a later time?”

Key reached around them and closed the door, posting himself between it and the dumbfounded physician.

Father Geraldo apologized to Lara and Key for the delay. “He agreed to see me as soon as he delivered a baby. The labor stalled and took longer than he had estimated.”

“You’re Americans?” the doctor exclaimed in flawless English. “How did you get across the border? Please tell me what is going on.” Uneasily he glanced at Key’s stern visage and at the pistol tucked into his belt. He gaped at the priest, then at Lara, who was now standing at the edge of his desk. “Who are you?”

“My name is Dr. Lara Mallory.” Although it hadn’t bled for hours, her lip felt like it had an anvil attached. “Three years ago, I was living in Montesangre with my husband, Ambassador Randall Porter.”

“Yes, of course,” he said as recognition dawned. “Your picture was in the newspapers. Your husband was kidnapped and executed. Such a tragedy. Senseless violence.”

“Yes.”

“The medical community has continued to mourn the ambassador’s death. Since diplomatic relations with the United States were suspended, it has been difficult to obtain pharmaceuticals and medical supplies.”

“As a physician, I can appreciate your problem.” She took several steps forward. “Dr. Soto, I’ll personally see to it that you’ll receive an abundance of supplies if you’ll help me now.”

The doctor glanced over his shoulder at Key, gave the priest another inquisitive look, then turned back to Lara. “Help you in what way?”

“Help me locate my daughter’s grave.”