Where There's Smoke

“I have no intention of killing you, Mr. Tackett. Is that what you thought?”

“You’re going to keep us here indefinitely? Why, so we can provide you with entertainment every morning?”

Sánchez smiled. “That is a tempting proposal, but I cannot be that self-indulgent. Actually I am releasing you. You will be returned to Ciudad Central and given accommodation in the finest hotel. Tomorrow at noon, you will be placed aboard a commercial jet bound for Bogotá. From there you will make your own travel arrangements.”

Key eyed him skeptically. “What’s the hitch?”

“When you reach the United States—I will make certain that the media and proper authorities are apprised of your illegal visit to Montesangre—you can make plain my message to your government.”

“Message?” By now Lara had stopped crying and was listening. Key had placed his arm around her shoulders, and she was leaning against him.

“The message is that I will stop at nothing to gain control of this country. President Escávez has neither the military muscle, the personal endurance, nor the public support to defeat me. His power is a thing of the past. In a few months his diminishing army will be completely destroyed. By the end of the calendar year, I plan to establish my government in Ciudad Central.”

“What makes you think the United States gives a shit about you and your pissant government?”

Sánchez bared his small, sharp teeth in a gross travesty of a smile. “My countrymen are in dire need of supplies, food, medicine. I would like to reestablish diplomatic relations with the United States.”

“I bet you would. What’s to make the offer attractive to us?”

“I could also make the same request of several South American countries who need an impartial corridor through which to transport drugs. Montesangre’s policy has been to resist this lucrative method of revenue, but these are desperate times.”

“How trite. You’re not going to say desperate times call for desperate measures, are you?”

Again Sánchez smiled his obnoxious smile. “We must consider all our options. Montesangre would be a convenient stopover between South America and the United States, and the dealers are willing to pay well for the privilege.”

Key thought about the landing strip designed specifically for drug runners. He’d told Lara the truth when he said he’d never flown drugs, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been asked or hadn’t been tempted. Percentages were strongly in favor of never getting caught, and the money couldn’t be topped.

But the thought of profiting creeps who turned adolescent girls and boys into prostitutes to support their habits went against his moral code. Contrary to what most people thought about him, he wasn’t entirely without conscience.

“What makes you think that anyone will listen to Lara and me?”

“Your trip here will be well documented by the media. Even if the government slaps your hands, your courage will be lauded. The public will be sympathetic to your mission and its regrettable failure. You will be in the spotlight.

“Unfortunately, Mrs. Porter’s reputation is dubious, therefore she does not inspire trust. But you are Senator Tackett’s surviving brother. No doubt he still has some loyal colleagues in high places. They will listen to you.”

“If I have an opportunity, I’ll pass along your message,” Key agreed tightly.

“You must do better than that, Mr. Tackett. You must give me your word.”

He had no intention of getting involved in Montesangren politics even from a distance. Once Lara and he were safely out, the whole damn country could slide into the Pacific for all he cared. But until that time, he would promise Sánchez anything he wanted to hear. “You have my word.”

Lara spoke for the first time. Some of her spirit had returned, though it was obvious she was functioning on adrenaline. “You’ll burn in hell, Emilio.”

“Still delusional,” he said retiringly.

“Oh, hell is real, all right. I’ve been there. The day my husband was kidnapped and my daughter was killed, and again last night when I saw the place where she is buried.”

“Such accidents occur during war.”

“War?” She sneered. “You’re the one nursing delusions. This isn’t war, it’s terrorism. And you’re not a warrior, you’re a hoodlum. You have no honor.”

Honor was a sacred thing in the Montesangren culture. Key feared Lara might have gone too far, insulting Sánchez in the most offensive way before a crowd of disciples. He held his breath, thinking that El Corazón might rescind his offer to release them. But with a brusque motion of his hand he ordered that they be returned to Ciudad Central.

Key didn’t give him time to change his mind. He climbed into the truck, then leaned down to assist Lara up. To his relief their hands were left unbound. The camera bag, their duffels, and Lara’s medical bag were tossed in behind them. Two soldiers took up positions on either side of the rear opening.

Key sat down and leaned against the interior wall. He guided Lara down beside him. “Where are the others?” she asked in a whisper. “He’s sending back only two to guard us?”