The Wall, page 11
“Look into Sepúlveda’s credit card history.”
“I plan to.” Adán snapped photos of absolutely everything that seemed useful with his phone, after which he sent the pictures to his FBI computer.
By the time they got back to the FBI Academy, it was ten to midnight. They entered the room with Adán’s computer and turned it on, opening up all of the photos he’d taken. It didn’t take long to dig up Sepúlveda’s bank deposit records. They’d used the name of their boss, Bart Benton, to get some agents working on it.
“A year ago, he got a payment of ten thousand dollars and another of twenty thousand transferred to his account. The first payment happened the day before the Tragedy at The Wall, and the second the day after. And that’s when his rent started coming directly from his account.”
“What the hell was this guy mixed up in?” Vanessa stared at Private Sepúlveda’s photo on the screen. He was smiling in his Army uniform.
■ ■ ■
For the umpteenth time, President Copeland muttered some variation of “great” or “excellent.”
“We’ve taken the money from Cortázar’s personal account,” said John, “and transferred it to a new account for use as Cordovan revitalization funding.”
“It’s that much money?”
“It’s $11.3 billion, adding in the money we took from Moreno’s account.”
The president whistled. “Wouldn’t have guessed they were richer than me by that many zeroes. America ought to spare some more thought to its president’s salary too. Not that you could pay me to be president of Cordova.”
“You can stockpile as much money as you like, but you can’t take it into the grave with you. And if you leave it behind, people will fight to get their hands on it. Now their money will be used for the right reasons.”
“When you put it that way, I get it. Though I don’t think eleven billion’s enough to rebuild Cordova.”
“We’re talking about rebuilding a whole country. No amount of money is ever really going to be enough. But we do have a finance person, and a person who’s a pro at attracting companies. And I have a hunch Cordova will be getting major economic aid from Washington too.”
“Oh, I promise you the president of the United States of America will help in any way he can.”
“Hearing that is a huge relief. In due time, we’ll be making the revitalization plan public to the world, in the name of the new administration of Cordova.”
“Did Captain Green make it into Cordova okay? Is he moving forward with the plan?”
“He has infiltrated La Caridad as part of a strategy to save Professor Luis Escárcega, who we’re tapping to be the next president of Cordova.”
“I heard there was a bombing at a restaurant a few hours ago. Are you sure he’s okay? I got reports saying the town’s in a state of chaos.”
“He’s hiding in Professor Escárcega’s daughter’s home. The moment we send over the necessary details regarding the dissident detention center, the rescue plan will commence.”
“Talk about frustrating. We’ve got the world’s most powerful military, yet we’re stuck having to rely on all of you.”
“That’s just politics. This operation is top secret; on the surface, the coup will be carried out entirely by the strength and will of the Cordovan people. We can’t afford for the name of the president of the United States to crop up.”
“I know that. You guys have my thanks. And soon, all of Cordova’s.” And with a heavy sigh, the president dropped the call. He stared at the lawn for a while.
An aide entered with a knock on the door. “Please hurry, sir. The French ambassador is waiting for you. And don’t forget to take the EU files.”
■ ■ ■
4
Of Father and Daughter
An hour past sundown, the world was seized by darkness. And Jadon was still hiding in Penelope’s home.
The intel on the dissident detention center, including both the floor plan and infrared photos taken via satellite, had been sent to his phone, courtesy of the War Room. The red shadows pinpointed all the matter that was exuding heat—which was to say, people. There was internet access in La Caridad, so there was no need to use the satellite phone to obtain the relevant info.
Tsutomu had told Jadon two hours earlier that thanks to the Los Eternos restaurant bombing, Professor Escárcega’s execution was slated for noon the next day—a day sooner than the mercs and revolutionaries expected.
Jadon called Tsutomu via satellite phone. “There are twenty-five guys guarding the place. Last I heard, there were more of them. The bombing must’ve caused them to shift personnel around. If we’re going to save the professor, now’s our only shot.”
“It’s too soon to attempt it tonight. If we gather the troops and head there now, then—”
“How many escorts were assigned to me?”
“Five. Including Arsenio.”
“Can you get in touch with them? I lost track of them after the bombing.”
“They fled to an ally’s house for refuge. I told them you’re okay. They said they’d head back to camp after things calmed down a little.”
“We’re going to rescue the professor tonight. I had the War Room send me details on the detention center’s layout and security setup. I’m with his daughter Penelope at the moment.”
“I guess tonight’s the only time we could make it happen. La Caridad is swarming with soldiers. Nobody would expect the detention center to get attacked on the day of a Los Eternos bombing, not now that the city’s on high alert. I’ll call Arsenio right away and get back to you in half an hour.”
Jadon hung up. A stray dog was barking outside, while an irate man was shouting at a crying woman. This distressing soundscape was punctuated by the occasional gunshot. La Caridad was now a lawless zone.
They heard an explosion in the distance and the world turned dark. The power was out. They looked out the window; no light anywhere.
“The power plant got blown up or the grid got wrecked. Happens all the time,” Penelope informed him.
A dim light illuminated her. She was standing with a candle in her hand. Penelope made them some sandwiches. They ate and stared at the flame until the call from Tsutomu came, right on time.
“Arsenio took the four subordinates to a bar behind the detention center named Destino. They’ve got some equipment ready. Please meet up with them,” said Tsutomu before hanging up.
“Do you know a bar named Destino?” Jadon asked Penelope.
“Everyone knows it. And I can’t imagine a better name for a place where the country’s fate will be decided,” she replied.
The streets were deathly quiet when they left Penelope’s home. Military cars were patrolling, while pairs of soldiers were standing at each corner. Martial law hadn’t been declared but talking heads on the TV and radio were cautioning citizens nonstop not to go outside.
Penelope suddenly came to a halt, pushing Jadon against a wall with her. Their faces close together, they could feel each other’s warm breath as their lips touched.
A small group of soldiers walked by. They’d noticed the two, but they just clucked their tongues and continued on their way.
“Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m just saving myself some trouble. If they caught sight of an American walking around in the middle of the night on a day like this, you’d better believe they’d take him away—and the lady with him too,” she said matter-of-factly.
The two made it to Destino. The bar had about ten customers, who were apparently treating the day like any other. Arsenio and two revolutionary soldiers were there waiting with their small backpacks.
“Where are the other two? The mercs?”
“They took down the two guards at the entrance of the facility. I kept them there in the guards’ places, so we can enter easily. You have the building plans, right?”
Using his phone, Jadon showed Arsenio and the other two all the info the War Room had sent him. Arsenio gave him a handgun and some spare magazines.
The city’s power was out, but only about half of the detention center’s lights were off, thanks to its in-house generator. Jadon, Penelope, Arsenio, and the two revolutionaries entered the facility and proceeded down its dimly lit passageways. The layout was almost mazelike, perhaps to put a stop to potential escapes or attacks.
“There are three guards on the professor’s floor,” said Jadon, checking the info on his phone.
“Even more guards are getting shuffled away from the detention center to increase the security of the city itself. The power substation got blown up, and they don’t want any more damage on their hands. Looks like luck’s on our side.”
The place was utterly silent. Sebastian had told them that, according to a man who’d been released from the prison, if detainees made noise after dark, they would go without breakfast the next day.
As they pressed through the halls, Arsenio and his subordinates took down another five guards.
Eventually, they ran into an iron door that wouldn’t have existed when the place was a hotel. Looking through the peephole, they saw two seated soldiers playing cards at a table.
“Put your head down and relax your shoulders. We can’t miss this chance.” Arsenio stuck a gun to Jadon’s head and pounded on the door. “I’m taking this American to the one-man cell in the back. Open the door, would you?”
“We received no such orders.”
“Only because of all this ruckus. They must not have gotten to you yet. You’re the only ones who can skate by playing cards.”
The smaller of the two soldiers peeked through the peephole and opened up for them. Jadon whipped out his gun and he and Arsenio fired at the same time. Silencers muffled their shots as the guards collapsed onto the table and down to the floor.
“Professor Escárcega’s being held in the back. Do NOT make a sound.”
There were one-man cells on both sides of the passage leading toward the back. They were occupied by the major political dissidents.
“His cell is all the way at the end.”
Turning the key they’d taken from the guards, they swung open the door of his cell, and found him lying in bed. Six months behind bars had without a doubt made him much weaker than before. They figured Luis wouldn’t be able to move terribly fast on his own, so they’d have to help him.
The room was ill-lit, but Jadon could tell Penelope caught her breath upon seeing her father. He flashed a light in Luis’s face. It was swollen with dark-red abscesses and the outer corners of his eyes had blood-matted cuts on them. This came as no shock to Jadon, but it did to Penelope.
The professor knew she was his daughter the second he laid eyes on her.
“I came here because these people asked me to talk to you about the revolution, but I don’t know what I should say. Just do what you want. You are a perfect stranger to me.”
“Building a new nation is for the benefit of the people. And I believed you and your mother were of the people. That . . . That’s why . . .”
“You think somebody who can’t even provide for his own family can provide for a nation?” she said, quietly but firmly.
“It’s just as you say. I wasn’t able to provide for anyone, in the end. Just know that I love you and your mother with all my heart, like I love the people of Cordova.”
“Well, the woman you loved died. And you’re the one who all but killed her.”
Luis’s cheeks were shining in the dim light. He was crying.
“You two can hash it out later. You heard her, didn’t you? We’re here to spring you. We’re taking you to the Revolutionary Army’s camp to help us make a new Cordova,” said Jadon, who helped the professor to his feet.
“Let’s go, while they still haven’t spotted us,” said Arsenio, who also provided support for Luis.
“If I escape, my allies will be killed in my place.”
“Then you should die with them,” said Penelope, glaring at him.
“Forget about them. Taking just you out of here is dangerous enough. How many allies are we talking?”
“Five,” said Luis. “If you’re serious about rebuilding the country, you’ll need more than just me. You’ll need them too.”
“You must be joking. Do you know what you’re asking?”
“Please, I’m begging you. Free them too.”
“Unlock all of the cells. We’re taking everyone with us,” said Jadon with a hushed tone.
“Are you kidding me? Getting out of here with the professor alone will be hard enough.” Arsenio looked at Luis once more. He sighed, took the keys off the table, and went about unlocking all of the cells.
“Make no noise. If they spot us, we die.”
The group swelled with the additional dissidents—all in their late sixties and all just as enervated as Luis. Together they escaped the compound.
Arsenio had arranged for a medium-sized truck to wait for them, and they spotted it once they made it out of the compound. The six freed dissidents were placed onto the cargo bed, unable to climb aboard by themselves. The moment Jadon and the rest got in, the truck took off.
They rushed through a pitch-dark La Caridad at breakneck speed. Military vehicles were parked all over town, with countless fully armed, gun-holding soldiers patrolling the streets. The truck weaved through all of the obstacles, at times blasting the horn to scare groups of troops out of the way. Only when they reached the city outskirts did they slow down and park someplace safe.
“This is as far as we go,” said a young man who got off the truck. “There’s a security checkpoint up ahead. Normally it’d take ten minutes on foot to get to the jungle from here, but you’ve got those six gentlemen with you. It may take a whole hour to get there.”
Arsenio paid the driver, and the truck returned to the city center. Jadon and his group began walking toward the jungle.
Professor Escárcega and his dissident allies were bone-tired, but they trudged forward—their lives depended on it. Over an hour later, they’d reached the cover of the trees. Although the old men were exhausted, Arsenio led the group deeper into the jungle.
Cortázar was at the desk in the office of the Presidential Residence. Raminez Dourne was seated on the couch in front, and before them stood three military commanders.
Cortázar sighed. The investigation of the Los Eternos restaurant bombing was ongoing. To date, the regime’s forces had killed forty-nine cartel militants and captured nine. That there were so few in custody was due to the soldiers’ orders to shoot anyone who resisted arrest.
Counting the dead among the government troops and the police, a total of thirty-three had lost their lives.
“Thirty-seven civilians died and more than a hundred are injured, all thanks to Los Eternos. Tomorrow I’ll be announcing to the world that we will eradicate Los Eternos,” said Cortázar.
“How about we say the Revolutionary Army was partially involved in the act of terrorism?” said Dourne.
“No reason not to. We can even give that as the reason we offed Luis. And it’ll lower the revolutionaries’ morale.”
Then, a knock on the door. In came the liaison officer.
He looked at the commanding officer for a fleeting moment before training his eyes on Cortázar, who nodded.
“Professor Escárcega has escaped. The other dissidents as well,” he reported.
Cortázar’s face twisted and he struck the officer. The fallen officer bled from his mouth, and his face looked pale with fear. “What the hell were the guards doing!?”
“They were all killed. Over half of the guards had been called away to suppress Los Eternos.”
Cortázar froze and stared at everyone in the room. Then his eyes landed on Dourne. Cortázar looked dubious.
“What interest would Los Eternos have in someone like Luis? I think it’s possible some revolutionaries snuck into the detention center, killed the guards, and rescued him.”
“The Revolutionary Army doesn’t have the wherewithal,” said one of the commanders, voice quivering.
Dourne gave the liaison officer a hand up. “Who else would need him, though? They attacked the prison because they need the professor. Were the soldiers in the facility shot? If guns were fired, why was there no commotion?”
“They mostly either got their throats slit or their necks snapped. Only a few were shot. They must have used silencers,” said the liaison officer tremulously.
“This was the work of pros,” said Dourne. “One or more men who received formal training infiltrated the facility and stole Luis away. Nueva Cordova is nothing more than a gaggle of peasants and vagrants. And if it was the revolutionaries, then—”
Cortázar gave it some thought. “It’s Sebastian. He received American military training. I took him under my wing, and he repaid me by slipping away and founding the Revolutionary Army. I’m going to catch him and rip him limb from limb,” he muttered, before pulling himself together and lifting his head. “They want to use Luis as a tool. Get him back by tomorrow’s execution.”
“We’re already on it,” replied Dourne, who looked at the liaison officer. “An operation is currently in the works. There are soldiers patrolling every street, and there’s been no report they passed through a checkpoint. They must be headed back into the jungle. We’ll track them down as soon as possible.”
“To think Luis still had the energy to cross the jungle. And alongside the other dissidents, to boot. They can’t be going very fast; we’ll catch up to them in no time. Now hurry!”
At that, the commanders left the office in a mad rush.
Luis’s condition had deteriorated at a remarkable clip these past few weeks. Cortázar kicked himself for not following Dourne’s advice and executing him when he had the chance. He supposed he was at fault for wanting to exploit Luis’s execution for political points. He kicked the table, his anxiety reaching unprecedented peaks. He kicked it again, but the anxiety didn’t ebb.
Dourne’s cold eyes simply watched.
■ ■ ■
They had been walking through the jungle for two hours now.
