Betrayed (35 page)

They’d reached the community shelter now, the glow from the lantern morphing their shadows into human form. Vicki didn’t need light to feel the fury vibrating through Michael’s hand on her elbow as he led her up the steps.

The shelter with its scattered tables stretched empty and dark beyond that single yellow pool of light. Bill was nowhere in sight, though a flashlight flickered from the far side of the shelter. The somnolent tranquility from the animal cages indicated Rosario and Beatriz had stooped to perform the usual night rounds. But if a meal had been prepared, it was long since put away. Vicki glanced toward where the kitchen shelter would be in the dark.
I can’t stand another argument on an empty stomach
.

As Vicki tugged her arm free of Michael’s grip, Bill approached. The tray in his hands held white local cheese, rolls, butter, guava paste, and chunks of pineapple and papaya. He set it on a table directly below the lantern, his features more resigned than angry.

Vicki spoke up as she reached for the cheese. “Bill, I just wanted to let you know this was my fault, not Joe’s. I talked him into looking for the girls. He—”

“No one talks Ericsson into anything. He makes his own decisions. But what’s done is done. The kids were recovered; end of discussion.”

Vicki wasn’t satisfied, but Bill’s closed expression was as dismissive as his wave. Then she bit into the cheese, and the salty, chewy texture in her mouth drove away any other thought. Dropping into a chair, she followed the cheese with the sweetness of pineapple, then a roll slathered with butter, the bliss of food in her stomach taking precedence over the continued discussion going on around her.

“You seem to be forgetting the most important element here. We were at war. We did what was necessary.”

“Necessary for who?” Joe dropped into a chair across the table, hooking a second one to prop up his legs. Crossing his boots comfortably at the ankles, he reached for a chunk of pineapple. “Certainly not for me. And I doubt those Mayan villagers wiped out by your local allies would concur it was necessary. Or the union leaders or journalists or human rights activists.”

“No one is denying there were occasional excesses. But a lot of those activities were suspicious in context.”

Michael hadn’t reached for a chair or food, his lean height and the neat khaki shirt and slacks, only slightly spattered from the chipi-chipi, the sharp authority of his tone easily dominating the scene.

Joe, in contrast, was as disheveled as Vicki herself must look, his hair matted with rain and dirt, mud-splattered clothing clinging damply to his lounging frame, his unmoved drawl countering the tightness of Michael’s voice. Did he really care about what he was arguing, or was he deliberately prodding the embassy staffer to anger?

“You mean, like organizing to get a decent living wage? Marching for freedom to work or speak or associate where they wanted? Yeah, really suspicious! Isn’t it time we let go of the myth that Mayan peasants were fighting for some ideal of Soviet global domination and recognize they were fighting for a lot of the same things Americans took up arms to win? And that arming dictators around the planet to whip their own people into line hasn’t exactly proved a prize-winning strategy for spreading peace and democracy.”

“And what do you know about winning a war, Ericsson? Because the proof of the pudding is that we did win!  Communism is a dead game around the world, thanks to the stand we made. And if that requires forming alliances with less than savory characters, so be it.  You don’t win a war by refusing to enter the battlefield until all your allies have passed some human-rights litmus test. You focus on winning the battle first. Then you can use the clout of victory to pressure for any reforms you want.”

Michael’s tone was tight now with scorn. “As you might be capable of understanding if you’d ever stepped off that surf board long enough to serve your country.”

Vicki braced herself for Joe’s rejoinder. But the handyman simply reached a long arm for another roll. “And you don’t think that just maybe, if we’d made a stand on what we claimed to believe was right, the Soviet Union would still have fallen? Maybe even a little faster if people like the Mayans had seen us support human rights and democracy and the people trying to bring them about instead of weighing in on the side of their oppressors?”

“That’s wishful thinking.  The world doesn’t work that way.”

 “Well, I guess we’ll never know.”

Vicki had had enough. “What difference does it make?” she cried, slamming down a half-eaten roll. “That’s all in the past. Why are you two wasting time arguing about it? What matters is
now
. And four men who aren’t with their families tonight. Not because of people our government armed and trained once upon a time, but because of people we’re arming and training right now. Our own embassy. Michael, you can’t stand there now that Alpiro isn’t looking over your shoulder and tell me you bought that lie about those poor villagers being criminals and smugglers. Okay, so like you said, the war is over. The peace accords have been signed. Well, then, you can use that pressure for reform you were talking about. What are you going to do to make sure these men get their civil rights and a fair hearing? That isn’t theoretical. It’s here and now.”

It was like a blow when Vicki saw Michael’s expression close over. Joe didn’t move a muscle, but he narrowed his eyes at Michael.

“It’s not that simple,” Michael said. “The Cold War may be over. But the Guatemalan military is still our most vital strategic ally in this region. Guatemala has become a key transfer point for drugs and human trafficking across our southern border. And we know terrorists have cells down here. We need the military's cooperation. Not to mention their continued support against a new swell of left-leaning regimes like Venezuela and Bolivia and Brazil.”

“So in other words, you won’t lean on Alpiro.” Vicki was on her feet now, moving toward Michael. “You’re just going to let this go.”

 “I’m saying that our embassy has to carefully consider where best to spend its influence in the interests of our own national security. I will do what I can, but interfering in a local arrest is not likely to be a high priority.”

“You see, Vicki, there’s your problem,” Joe said. “There’s always another war. If not the Cold War, it’s counter-narcotics or the war on terror. And once again, if we have to lay aside minor issues like human rights or religious freedom for the peoples of those nations, what does it matter as long as our own interests are served? National or personal.”

 “Not ‘our’! Not ‘we’! Stop saying that!” Bill had slid into a chair, but he was suddenly on his feet, white head shaking vehemently. “There
is
no royal
we
. Only an
I
. That’s been the problem all along. Everyone says ‘we,’ as though countries and people groups make these kinds of decisions. It’s a whole lot easier to blame the Americans. Or the Guatemalans. Or the military. Or the CIA. For one, it gives a nice target to keep hating.
And
keeps the real perpetrators from being called to account. But it’s not a
we
who chooses to do these things. It’s always an
I
who gives the order.

“Or a lot of
I
’s! Individuals who choose to do—or allow—things they’d never ordinarily condone, out of self-interest or fear or maybe even out of good intentions. Either way, it’s all personal. It’s all
I
because as long as I can make it
we
, I don’t have to make my own decision
at
the time
on
the spot as to the right thing to do. I can just sit back and blame it on some nebulous
we
. A superior. The group.”

Bill was breathing heavily as he finished. Vicki had to wonder what he was seeing in that faraway gaze. Again, she was reminded of how little she really knew of William Taylor.

“‘Do what is right and do not give way to fear.’” Vicki hadn’t even realized she’d spoken aloud until all three men stared at her.

“What did you say?” Bill said sharply.

Vicki faced him. “It’s just something Evelyn McKie, the missionary who runs Casa de Esperanza, likes to say.”

Under three unblinking pairs of eyes, Vicki felt compelled to expound. “It’s out of the Bible from the story of Abraham and Sarah—what Evelyn calls being Sarah’s daughter. What do you do when you’re faced with a mess, and you’ve got a hard decision to make? ‘You are her daughters if you do what is right and do not give way to fear.’ Anyway, it seems like pretty good advice. . . .” Vicki trailed off in discomfiture, a sudden hysterical giggle welling up at the blank expressions from all three men who’d just been arguing so furiously.

“‘Do what is right and do not give way to fear,’” Bill repeated heavily. “A nice philosophy. And when it’s too late?” He pushed past Vicki and Michael, blundering into a chair when he left the circle of lamplight. The thud of his boots was slow, aged, as he descended the steps. He called back, “Joe, are you parking yourself for the night, or have you forgotten you’ve got work undone?”

Michael turned to Vicki. The tightness of his mouth had relaxed to humor. “So that’s why you came here? Some proverb from a missionary who should have retired decades ago? All this foolishness tonight was about proving you’re this ‘Sarah’s daughter’? Well, you’ve proved your point. I appreciate and respect your intention. Including tonight’s shenanigans, however misguided. So let’s just leave it alone. None of this is what I came here to talk to you about.”

His hard glance went pointedly from Joe to the direction Bill had disappeared; then he went on, “Now please believe me that we—I—am also doing what I believe is right. Right to protect my country. Right to win this war. I hope we can all agree the world is better off with a strong America than without it. And right to protect you, Vicki. We’ve wasted enough time. Let me say what I came here to say. I want you out of here. It’s nothing to do with tonight. That may have precipitated things but only by a day or so. The plug has been pulled on your sister’s investigation. I hope you’ll agree it’s time. A lot of man hours and effort have brought us right back to where we started. Whatever very valid concerns Holly might have been dealing with, there’s simply no evidence her death was more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“I’m flying out tomorrow afternoon, and I’m not planning on a return in the near future. I’d like you to come with me.” Michael held a hand out to Vicki. “There’s nothing more you—or anyone—can do here.”

Which was exactly what Vicki had already decided herself that morning.

Michael stood relaxed and confident, the curve of his smile already sure of her answer.

Looking down at his long, strong fingers, Vicki wanted suddenly, desperately, to reach out and lay her hand in his. To flee to the relief and expectation with which she’d greeted him in Alpiro’s office earlier that night. So why was she hesitating? “And the villagers? Are you going to let them go?”

“The villagers?” An impatient note slipped into Michael’s tone. “You mean, the men arrested tonight? You do realize these locals you’re so worried about are only too likely part of the smuggling enterprise your sister was trying to ferret out. But I’ll certainly pursue the matter with Alpiro. Though understand it isn’t up to me. Now—are you coming?”

Vicki surprised herself by taking a step back. “No, I’m sorry, Michael. But I can’t just walk away from those people. You said you—the embassy—could use your influence if you decided it was a priority. If you want me to come, then I’m asking you to use it. Maybe it’s not national security, but these are people’s lives. To their families that’s certainly as important. Once I know they’re free—and I want to see for myself that they’re back with their families because I don’t trust Alpiro—then I’ll go with you. And . . . and I’ll stop investigating Holly’s death. I won’t ask anything further
ever
of the embassy. If not, then I’ll have to do what I can myself. When I’m ready to leave, I’ll make my own arrangements.”