Red Jungle (33 page)

She brought her cell phone out from the living room.

“Carlos has called me six times,” she said, looking at the screen. “I hope it’s not the children. I shouldn’t have stayed so long.”

He watched her punch in her husband’s number. He put the cup down and listened. She stopped talking. A strange expression came over her face as she listened to Carlos.

“I can be there in half an hour,” she said finally. “Yes, of course. No. I’ll just drive myself. Don’t send anyone . . . I’m at the club
Alemán
and I don’t want a fuss. Besides, it would just take time.” She closed the phone. “He’s the bloody president,” she said, picking her things up from the couch.

“What?”

“Blanco’s just appointed Carlos president. Blanco’s leaving for Miami this weekend, and he’s appointed Carlos president until the election. I’ve got to go.” She picked her handbag up off the floor. “It’s impossible now. How can I leave him
now?
He’ll never give me a divorce now,” she said. “Not now.”

•••

“It’s so good to see you, Carlos,” Rudy Valladolid said. He was in his bathrobe. He’d been drinking a brandy, watching Larry King speak to Governor Connally’s widow about the Kennedy assassination.

Valladolid’s butler brought Carlos into the room and asked whether the general would care for anything.

“What would you like, Carlos? It’s late; how about a brandy?”

Carlos looked at the old man. The general was in uniform, and Valladolid realized that he wasn’t there on a social call.

“Please sit, Carlos. How is your mother, my dear sister? And your beautiful wife?”

“Oh, God, my mother won’t leave Miami
now
. I mean, with the news,” Carlos said. He smiled, finally, and sat down in one of the senator’s chairs.

Rudy didn’t sit down again. The room felt suddenly hot. He looked at the big screen TV, and at Larry King. He’d always wanted to meet Larry King and ask him how he could be so perfectly blasé about everything.

“Well, if you don’t mind, a scotch on the rocks then,” Carlos said. “Beatrice is fine; she’s in shock. I mean about the news.”

“Bring the general a scotch. The Glenlivet,” the senator told his butler. “Of course she is. We are all very proud of you.”

“Yes, I suppose so. My sister has got something on for the weekend at Puertos. Horse jumping. We’ll go, of course,” Carlos said. “President or not, she’ll kill me if I don’t come.”

“Of course,” Rudy said. He turned to look at his man, who looked worried. “Well, Manuel, go on. The president of the republic is thirsty.” The butler, after hesitating, turned and left the study.

“I’ve had him since he was a boy. Loves me like a father,” Rudy said. Carlos looked at him, his head slightly cocked to one side. Rudy put his cigar down on the large ashtray. He took the control to the TV and hit the mute button. “Do you like Larry King, Carlos?”

“Of course. Everyone loves Larry King . . . Rudy, I’m afraid there’s a situation,” Carlos said. “A delicate affair.”

“Congratulations, by the way. I’m jealous, of course.”

“Yes. I was as surprised as everyone.”

“I think Blanco has been ready to leave for months. He has so many
interests
abroad now.” Rudy sat down on the beautiful brown leather couch. He felt old, ancient in fact. He was slightly drunk; he really didn’t feel good any more unless he was slightly inebriated.

The trouble was that he’d never been able to click off his intellect, he thought, looking at Carlos. He’d known Carlos since Carlos was a child, and he’d never liked him. The problem with so many of his countrymen was that they had no conversation. Not really. They were talkative, but said absolutely nothing.

“Situation?” Rudy asked.

“I’m afraid so, uncle.”

“Well, there’s always a situation in this country, Carlos.”

“It seems the embassy thinks that there’s a plot against the government.”

“Really? That would be silly.”

“They seem to think that you’re in the middle of it.”

“Me?”

“Yes. I’m afraid so,” Carlos said.

“Oh, dear. Well, the Americans have very active imaginations, don’t they? I mean, they’re worried about everything these days. I hope they don’t think I’m al-Qaeda or something. I think we had an Arab in the family somewhere. No—a Persian, but then, they don’t count, do they?” He tried to smile, but Carlos wasn’t smiling now. The old senator allowed himself to realize what his intuition had told him the moment the general had walked into the room:
you’re in trouble
.

“They said that you had cooperated with them in the past. I was a little surprised by that, Rudy. I mean . . . given your attitudes.”

“Well, I have lent the embassy a hand once or twice,” Rudy said. “Of course, they always pay one for that.” The senator looked at Carlos in a level, all-business way.

“Yes. Well, they want to know who is plotting against the government. They said that they could make another arrangement with you.”

“Did they? They’re always so kind to me. Did they say what kind of arrangement?”

“A hundred thousand dollars.”

“Good God!” Rudy said, and picked up his cigar. “You don’t smoke, do you, Carlos?”

“No. It’s bad for the health,” Carlos said. He seemed to stress the word bad in a way that Rudy couldn’t help but notice.

“Well. That’s a lot of money, I suppose.”

“I think I can get you more,” Carlos said.

“Could you?”

“Yes.”

“One would be a fool not to take it. I mean, look at Blanco. All those houses he has in the States. I’ve heard he bought Stallone’s house in Miami?”

“No, actually that was me,” Carlos said.

“Must be hard to get that done on a soldier’s pay.”

“Rudy. They’re very anxious to know what’s going on.”

“I can understand that, old boy. So am I. With all that’s gone on in the last week!”

“Can I call them now, uncle, and let them know that you’ll tell them what you know? About the coup?”

“Well.
I wish I could!” The old man leaned forward. “But really, I don’t know a thing, Carlos. They don’t tell old people much, Carlos, you know that. Why would they? And certainly not about something like
that
. If they did, I would tell whoever it was that it was a very foolish idea. It’s always foolish to try to trump the embassy. Ever since I’ve been a child, that’s been the case. Jesus, my mother was married in that goddamn embassy. Did you know that?”

“Uncle Rudy, why don’t you tell me something. Something I can tell them. That way, there wouldn’t be any unpleasantness.”

“Oh. I see. They really are upset, then.”

“I’m afraid so, Rudy. They’ve sent me over instead of someone else from my staff because they understand that because we are blood family. . . .”

“No, Carlos. I’m glad it was you. But honestly, you’ll have to tell them that this time I can’t be of much help.”

“Uncle Rudy. I need a few names. That would be enough.”

“Otherwise there will be unpleasantness.” The senator finished the sentence for him.

“I’m afraid so. I’m afraid you would have to come with me if you failed to give me some names.”

“You know, I’m so glad your aunt isn’t here to see this, Carlos. She always hated politics. She told me to stick to the law. But I wouldn’t listen. I’ve always been a romantic, Carlos.”

The drinks came. The butler put the scotch down in front of the general. He saw that the old senator was pale.

“Manuel. Mr. Price left his pen the other day. You’ll make sure he gets it.” He handed the man his fountain pen. They looked each other in the eye. “I think the general and I are going out. I’ll dress first, of course.” He shot a glance at Carlos. “If that’s all right with you, Carlos?”

“Of course,” Carlos said. The butler took the pen. The man was about to say that the pen was the Senator’s most cherished, but Rudy stopped him before he could say it. “Of course you’ll see he gets it. Manuel never lets me down.” The old man watched his butler take the pen and leave the room.

“You’ll have to hurry,” Carlos said, taking a drink.

“Yes. Of course. Just a moment. Is it raining out?”

“Yes,” Carlos said. “Very heavy.”

“This unpleasantness . . . where do you think it will take place?”

“It doesn’t have to be . . . all they want are some names, Uncle Rudy.”

“How about Larry King? Or, let’s see . . .
Pancho Villa,
” the senator said.

He knew he was going to die, that it would be unpleasant, and that in the end he would tell them what they wanted to know, because he wasn’t a brave man, not physically. But he was trying—even old, he wanted to try to be brave, if only once in his life. He thought of Isabella and how he’d been a coward that night.

“I’m afraid those names wouldn’t do,” Carlos said.

“No. I suppose not,” Rudy said. “One hates unpleasantness, though.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

They were in Katherine Barkley’s room, on the seventh floor of the hotel Camino Real. “It’s just like that movie,
Grand Hotel.
But I don’t want to be alone,” Katherine said. “Like Garbo, I mean.”

“It’s true, everyone stops here when they come. The IMF, the gangsters, the UN. Everyone comes to the Camino Real,” Russell said.

“We all have lunch together in the dining room. Everyone is quite charming to one another. I’m telling you, it’s just like that movie.”

“You shouldn’t have come back, Katherine,” Russell said.

“You’re
very
mean,” she said. “But I forgive you. I know why you did it.”

“Promise me you won’t try to stay when the commission leaves; you’ll go back,” he said.

“I came to see you,” Katherine said.

He’d seen her in the lobby and thought she would be mad at him, but she wasn’t. It was obvious she was still in love with him. He could see it in her eyes the moment she saw him.

“How was Chicago?” he asked.

“Boring.” They laughed, and the tension left the room. “I mean, you can get anything you want. But I wanted my UN jeep back, and my mosquito net, and the fear about being stopped on the road—and you.” She was barefoot, wearing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Her hair was damp from the shower.

“I mean, I even keep track of coffee prices. It’s all a mess

here, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and it’s just gotten worse,” he said.

“Is it going to be like Argentina?”

“No,” he said. “No, I don’t think so. I hope not.”

“You sound so sure. That’s not like you. Would you like something to drink? A beer?”

“Yes,” he said. She went to the servi-bar and got him one; they had to open it on a counter top in the bathroom, because they couldn’t find a bottle opener. They stood in the bathroom talking, leaning against the counter.

“I’m not comfortable anymore,” she said. “I tried to be, but I’m not. My mother doesn’t understand. She says I need a psychiatrist. It was all right for a few years to try and save the world, but she says I can’t go on like this. No man is going to want to marry me if I get too
rough
.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “What do you think I should do?” She tried to kiss him; it was an awkward moment. He knew it wasn’t right to kiss her now, that it would only make things worse.

“Go
home
. Or somewhere else. There are other countries that need you. If you stay here, they’ll kill you,” he said.

He put his beer down and took her by the shoulders. “I need a favor, Katherine. It’s dangerous, and it’s wrong of me to ask you, but I have to. There’s a good reason for it, but you have to trust me, and not ask questions.”

“I think I’ve been here before,” she said.

“It’s not what you think. . . . It’s nothing to do with her.”

“Are you still seeing her?”

“Yes.”

“Are you in love with her?”

“Yes.”

She looked at him a long time, then walked back into the bedroom. He watched her go and sit on the edge of her unmade bed.

“I don’t believe you really are. Not really,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. You have nothing in common with her. It isn’t about
her
at all.”

“What are you getting at?” He knew instinctively that she was right. They didn’t have anything in common, while Katherine and he did share something—a certain view of the world, a sense of responsibility for it, even if their politics were different.