Maggie shook her head. “We go together or not at all.”
The soldier shrugged. “Suit yourself, gringa. I am certain it will make no difference to the general.”
Maggie’s shrug matched his, and her smile in the blazing afternoon sun was brilliant. “Perhaps,” she replied. “But I wouldn’t count on it if I were you. Many people would be distressed if the RAO didn’t help us reach Van Zandt. People of influence and power, people who support your noble cause with their hearts and their money.” She kept her voice neutral. Mack could probably hear the cynicism in her voice, if he even understood her Spanish, but the soldier in front of her took her words at face value.
“I will check.” Once more he disappeared into the building, once more he reappeared, gesturing the two of them in with the barrel of his machine gun. It took all Maggie’s willpower not to skirt the evil-looking weapon nervously.
“Senora Bennett, how may I help you?” General Enrique Castanasta was all shiny teeth and charm. His office was small and surprisingly luxurious, and everything was all affability. An affability Maggie instinctively distrusted.
“I’m trying to find Jeffrey Van Zandt. He’s aided Third World Causes over the last three years, and we were counting on his help on a small matter. We have reason to believe he’s working in a training camp somewhere north of the Nicaraguan border, and we hoped you might be able to help us.”
“If only I could, senora,” Castanasta said, the regret in his voice but not in his eyes. “We know of Third World Causes, though we are as yet unsure whether to count them as friends. And we know of Van Zandt and his training camp. Unfortunately the camp is not stationary, nor is it even always on this side of the border. For all I know, Senor Van Zandt might be in Managua at this very moment. Or he might be back in Washington.”
“Do you have any idea where there might be training camps?” she persisted.
Castanasta shrugged, smiling. “Who can say? I may be a general, senora, but I am merely a desk-bound bureaucrat. We exist here in Tegucigalpa to raise money and disperse it to where it is most needed. Two weeks ago we had two thousand troops on the eastern coast. Last week they were just north of El Paraíso. Who knows where they will be tomorrow?” He stood, and Maggie had no choice but to follow suit. She was aware of Mack behind her, silent, watching, waiting.
“I am sorry I can be of no further help, senora.”
“Do you suppose the ACSO might know of his whereabouts?” She came up with one last try.
It was the wrong try. The RAO and the ACSO were competing rebel factions, competing for media attention and money, completely ignoring the fact that they were ostensibly on the same side. Castanasta’s affable smile vanished, his small, rather cruel mouth snapped shut, and he moved to the door, the interview clearly at an end.
“Who can say with the ACSO?” he grumbled. “They are a pack of dogs, chasing their own tails. I would like to think the United States Government would be wiser than to waste the small amount of money they’ve allocated for us to fools like them. But that is probably a vain hope.”
“Do they have offices in Tegucigalpa?”
“Senora, I do not know. I do not know if there are any members left alive. The last I heard they had all run to Costa Rica and were trading thousand-dollar weapons for a few miserable pesos. Rabid dogs, all of them.” He hesitated. “They will be of no help to you and Senor Pulaski. If I do hear of anything, however, I will send word to the Holiday Inn Plaza.”
“How did you know where we were staying?” Maggie was suddenly aware of a cold trickle of unease sliding down her narrow backbone.
Castanasta shrugged, his smile firmly back on his face. “Where else would norteamericanos be staying?” he inquired. “I will be in touch, senora.”
&
nbsp; They had no choice but to leave. All of Maggie’s instincts were warning her of danger, but the faces of the RAO around them were bland, even helpful. But something was definitely wrong, and the center of her back prickled with the feel of a shotgun trained on it.
The two of them walked in silence down the dusty, deserted street. Their taxi had long since disappeared, and so had any other sign of life. They were at the corner when Mack finally spoke.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” he muttered. “Did you trust them?”
“No. But then, why should I? Members of their group or the ACSO tried to run us off the road in Arizona.” They turned the corner and headed uphill, back toward the center of the city. “I wish I could figure out what is bothering me about that meeting.”
“Something’s bothering me right now,” Mack said. “When we got here there were children playing in the streets, old men gossiping, women doing laundry, dogs and goats roaming around. And now the whole damned place is a ghost town. I think we’re in trouble, Maggie.”
She wanted to deny it, wanted to reassure him, but she couldn’t even open her mouth to do so. And then she realized what was wrong. “He knew your name.”
“What?”
“He called you Pulaski,” she said grimly. “I introduced you as Jack Portman, and he called you Senor Pulaski. We’re in deep trouble.”
The sudden silence of the hot afternoon was broken by an ominous sound. It was the unmistakable sound of a machinegun clip being jammed into place.
“Maggie,” Mack groaned. “I think we’d better get the hell out of here.”
“Pulaski,” she replied, “I think you’re right.”
thirteen