Replay (24 page)

Andrew followed Marisa’s instructions to the letter, and a few moments later the man sitting on Alberto’s right invited him to join them. Jorge, the man on Alberto’s left, dealt the cards and bet two pesos.

Andrew called and glanced at his hand. Jorge had dealt him three of a kind and Andrew should have raised, but, recalling Marisa’s advice, he threw his cards facedown on the table. Alberto smiled.

A new hand was dealt. This time Andrew found he had a royal flush. He folded again and let Alberto take the pot, which amounted to four pesos. The next three rounds went the same way. Alberto suddenly folded before the end of the fourth round, looking Andrew straight in the eye.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I know who you are, why you’re here, and what you want from me. You can stop letting us win by pretending to be an idiot.”

His two friends roared with laughter. Alberto gave Andrew back his two pesos.

“Couldn’t you tell we were cheating? Did you really think you were that lucky?”

“I was starting to suspect something . . . ” Andrew replied.

“He was
starting
!” Alberto exclaimed to his friends. “You served us a glass of friendship and that’s all it takes for us to have a conversation, even if we’re not friends yet. So you think you can get your hands on Major Ortiz, do you?”

“That’s the plan,” Andrew said, putting down his glass of Fernet and Coke.

“I’m not too happy you’re mixing my niece up in this business. This search you’re undertaking is a dangerous one. But she’s more stubborn than a mule, and I can’t get her to change her mind.”

“I won’t let her take any risks, I promise you.”

“Don’t make promises you won’t be able to keep. You have no idea what these men are capable of. If he was here,” Alberto said, pointing to the portrait on the wall above his head, “he could tell you about it. He was a journalist, like you, but he took risks that put his life in danger. They shot him down like a dog. He stood up to them before their bullets mowed him down.”

Andrew looked at the photograph. There was something charismatic about Walsh. He seemed to be gazing off toward the horizon from behind his glasses. He reminded Andrew of his own father.

“Did you know him?” Andrew asked.

“Let the dead rest in peace. Tell me what this article of yours is about.”

“I haven’t written it yet, and I don’t want to make promises I won’t be able to keep. Ortiz is the linchpin of my article. My editor finds his life story very intriguing.”

Alberto shrugged.

“It’s funny how newspapers always find the torturers more interesting than the heroes. I guess the smell of shit sells better than the perfume of roses. As discreet as you’ve been, he’ll be on his guard by now. You’ll never catch him in his lair, and he doesn’t go anywhere unaccompanied.”

“That’s not very encouraging.”

“We can fix things so you’re on equal terms.”

“Fix things how?”

“Some of my friends are still in good shape, and they’d love to see Ortiz and his stooges brought to justice.”

“Sorry, I haven’t come here to orchestrate any settling of scores. I just want to question the man.”

“As you wish. I’ve no doubt he’ll welcome you into his living room and serve you tea while telling you all about his past. And he says he won’t put my niece at risk!” Alberto guffawed, exchanging a look with his fellow poker players.

He leaned across the table, bringing his face close to Andrew’s.

“Listen up if you don’t want your trip to be a waste of time for us all, young man. You’ll have to be very convincing to get Ortiz to tell you his secrets. I don’t mean using excessive force—that won’t be necessary. Anyone who did what he did is a coward. When they’re not in a pack, their balls shrink to the size of hazelnuts. All you have to do is intimidate him a little, and he’ll be spilling his story out between sobs. But if you show him you’re scared, he’ll kill you without the slightest compunction and throw what’s left of you to the dogs.”

“I’ll keep your advice in mind,” Andrew said, preparing to get up.

“Sit down. I haven’t finished.”

Andrew was annoyed by the imperious way Marisa’s uncle was talking to him, but he didn’t want to make an enemy of the man, so he obeyed.

“Luck is on your side,” Alberto told him.

“Not if the cards are rigged.”

“I wasn’t talking about our card game. There’s a general strike planned on Tuesday, and all flights will be grounded. Ortiz won’t have any choice but to drive to Buenos Aires to meet his client.”

As he listened to Alberto, Andrew realized Marisa had been reporting every single one of his moves back to Alberto.

“Even if he’s traveling with an escort, it’s on that road you stand the best chance of trapping him. If, of course, you let us give you a hand.”

“It’s not that I don’t want your help,” Andrew said. “But I don’t want any violence.”

“Who said anything about violence? Funny kind of journalist you are, always thinking with your fists. I think with my head, you know.”

Andrew looked at him doubtfully.

“I know Route 8 well,” Alberto went on. “I’ve taken it so many times that I could describe the scenery all the way to Córdoba with my eyes closed. The road goes through miles and miles of featureless landscape, and it’s very poorly maintained—there are far too many accidents on it. Marisa’s nearly lost her life on it once, and I don’t want that happening again. Understand this, Mr. Journalist: that man’s friends attacked my niece, and the time when they can get away with something like that is over.

“A few miles from Gahan, the road splits in two around a large crucifix. There are some silos on the right—you can hide behind them while you’re waiting. My comrades will arrange for Ortiz’s tires to go flat at precisely that spot. With all the junk that falls off passing trucks, they won’t be suspicious.”

“Okay, what next?”

“There’s only ever one spare wheel in a car, and if you find yourself in the middle of the night in a place where you can’t get a cell phone signal, what choice do you have apart from walking as far as the nearest village to look for help? Ortiz will send his men and stay in the car.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“A former officer like him never loses his arrogance or the high opinion he has of himself. If he walked through the mud alongside his henchmen, he’d be lowering himself to their level. I could be wrong, but I know a lot of guys like him.”

“Fine, so Ortiz is alone in the car. How long do we have before his men come back?”

“Probably a quarter of an hour walking either way, plus the time they’ll need to wake up a mechanic in the middle of the night. You’ll have all the time you need to grill him.”

“Are you sure he’ll be traveling at night?”

“Dumesnil is a seven-hour drive from Buenos Aires—another three if there’s heavy traffic. Believe me, he’ll leave after dinner. One man will drive, another will be his bodyguard and the man you presume to be Ortiz will be sleeping peacefully in the back seat. He’ll want to get through the suburbs before daylight, and start driving back as soon as his meeting’s over.”

“It’s a thorough plan, except for one little detail: if all the tires on his car blow simultaneously, it’ll go crashing into a wall, with him inside.”

“Except that there are no walls in that spot! Only fields and the silos I told you about, but they’re too far from the road.”

Andrew rubbed his forehead, reflecting on Alberto’s proposal. He looked up at the photograph of Walsh and stared at it as if he was trying to read his dead colleague’s thoughts.

“Dammit, man, if you want the truth you have to have the courage to go looking for it!” Alberto exhorted.

“Okay, I’m in. But Marisa and I will be the only ones interrogating Ortiz. I want your word that none of your men will use the opportunity to settle their scores with him.”

“We survived those barbarians without turning into them. Don’t insult the people who are trying to help you.”

Andrew got up and held his hand out to Alberto. After a moment’s hesitation, Alberto took it.

“How do you like Marisa?” Alberto asked, gathering up his cards.

“I’m not sure I understand your question.”

“And I’m sure you do.”

“She’s a lot like you, Alberto. And you’re definitely not my type.”

* * *

Back at the hotel, Andrew stopped at the bar. It was packed. Marisa was racing from one end of the bar to the other juggling orders. The open collar of her white shirt showed her cleavage each time she bent down, and the clients on the bar stools were lapping up each glimpse. Andrew studied her for a long moment. He glanced at his watch. It was one in the morning. He sighed and went up to his room.

* * *

There was a stink of stale tobacco and cheap air freshener in the room. Andrew lay down on top of the bedspread. It was late to call Valerie, but he missed her.

“Did I wake you up?” he asked.

“There’s no need to whisper, you know. I was about to go to sleep, but I’m glad you called. I was starting to worry.”

“It’s been a long day,” Andrew said.

“Is everything going the way you want?”

“What I want is to be lying there next to you.”

“But if you were, you’d be dreaming of being in Argentina.”

“Don’t say that.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“Is your work going well?”

“I can’t really tell. Maybe tomorrow . . . ”

“Maybe what tomorrow?”

“Will you come and join me here this weekend?”

“I’d love to, but I don’t think the subway stops at Buenos Aires. And anyway, I’m on call this weekend.”

“Any chance you could call on me?”

“Are the Argentine girls that gorgeous?”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t look at them.”

“Liar.”

“I miss your smile too.”

“Who said I was smiling? Okay, I was smiling. Come back soon.”

“I’ll let you get back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you up. I needed to hear your voice.”

“Is everything okay, Andrew?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“You can call me back anytime if you can’t get to sleep, okay?”

“I know. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Valerie hung up. Andrew walked over to the window of his room. He spotted Marisa coming out of the hotel. For some reason he hoped she’d turn around, but Marisa got into her Beetle and drove off.

* * *

Andrew was woken by the telephone ringing. He had no idea where he was or what time it was.

“Don’t tell me you were still sleeping at 11 in the morning?” Simon asked.

“No,” Andrew lied, rubbing his eyes.

“Were you out partying all night? If you say yes, I’m taking the first flight out.”

“I had a bad nightmare and then I couldn’t get back to sleep until the early hours.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll believe that when I see it. While you’re having a ball down there, I’ve been busy here in Chicago.”

“Shit, I’d forgotten.”

“I hadn’t. Are you interested in what I have to tell you?”

Andrew was suddenly overtaken by a violent fit of coughing, and found himself gasping for breath. Glancing at the palm of his hand, he was alarmed to see it covered in blood. He managed to apologize to Simon and tell him he’d call back later before rushing into the bathroom.

He was horrified by the sight of his reflection in the mirror. His skin was deathly pale. His face looked drawn, and his sunken eyes made his cheekbones stand out. He felt like he’d aged thirty years in the course of the night. He began coughing again, and saw that were specks of blood on the mirror. Andrew felt dizzy. His legs were turning to jelly. He clutched at the edge of the sink and lowered himself to his knees before toppling to the floor.

The touch of the cold tiles against his cheeks revived him slightly. He managed to turn over on his back and stared up at the flickering ceiling light.

He heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor and hoped it was the maid. Unable to call out for help, he tried to grab hold of the hair dryer cord, dangling a few inches away. He strained towards it with all his might, arm outstretched, and managed to touch it, but the cord slipped out of his fingers, swinging gently to and fro before his helpless gaze.

Someone slid a key into the door of his room. Andrew worried the maid might go away if she thought the room was occupied. He attempted to maneuver himself upright with a hand on the rim of the bathtub, but froze when he heard two men whispering on the other side of the bathroom door.

They were searching his room—he recognized the squeak of the closet door when it was opened. He stretched out a hand again to get hold of the damn hair dryer. It was the only weapon he could think of.

He yanked on the cord and the hair dryer landed on the floor with a thud. The voices immediately went silent. Andrew struggled to a sitting position and leaned against the bathroom door, pressing his feet against the tub and pushing back as hard as he could to make sure the men couldn’t open the door.

He was hurled forward as an almighty kick splintered the latch and flung the bathroom door inwards.

A man grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to force him down. Andrew struggled; the dizziness disappeared as fear sharpened his senses. He managed to send a punch flying into his attacker’s face. The man wasn’t expecting it, and he fell into the tub. Andrew got up and pushed the second man, who was flinging himself at him. He grabbed the bottle of liquid soap sitting on the sink and threw it at the man, who ducked. The bottle shattered on the tiles. Two right hooks to his face sent Andrew flying back against the mirror and split open his eyebrow. Blood spurted from the wound and blurred his vision. It was an unequal fight; Andrew didn’t stand a chance. The bigger of the two attackers pushed him face-down on the ground. The other man took a knife out of his pocket and stuck it into Andrew’s lower back. Andrew screamed out in pain. With one last effort, he picked up a shard of broken glass from the bottle and cut the arm of the man trying to strangle him.

The man let out a cry of pain. As he moved back, he slipped on the soap that had spilled all over the floor, and his elbow knocked against the fire alarm button. A siren went off with a deafening shriek, and the two men bolted.