The Second Bat Guano War: a Hard-Boiled Spy Thriller (22 page)

“Horse! Of course!” He turned to Kate. “Why did you not say so?” To me. “We have much to thank you for!”

His hand was fatty despite his leanness, the handshake like squeezing a sponge.

“For what?”

“For
what?”
He clapped his other hand on mine, sandwiching my knuckles between two soggy palms. “For sending Pitt our way!”

I pulled my hand free, wiped it on my trousers. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What do I
mean?”
He waved his hands out wide, a marionette on a string. “Without him, none of this could be!”

Kate pulled a folded, dirty postcard from inside her robes. “My postcard. The one I sent you?”

I took the card. On the front, a picture of a sunset from Isla del Sol, the sun setting behind the Peruvian Andes. I flipped it over. The sight of her neat block capitals made me sit on the edge of Victor’s desk. It was dated nine months ago. Couple months after what happened in La Paz. The ink was stained with drops of blood and warped by beer, but I could still read what she had written to me then:

My Horace-Horse,

I found a job. Volunteer work. Yeah, I know. But it keeps me busy. The mind busy. Tire out the body, exhaust the mind, the memories aren’t so bad. It’s a kind of drug, I guess. Don’t know how long I’ll need it for. Maybe forever.

You and me…we’re self-destructives. There can be no forgiveness, what we did. Nothing we can do will change the facts. But every day I find redemption in my sweat. A way to end the guilt. Working for a better world. A world that I deserve. A world that we deserve.

You and me both.

Please come.

Yours (if you want me)

Kate

She’d scribbled a cell phone number below her name.

How many months I’d kept that postcard in my pocket, taking it out in dimly lit bars, struggling to read a message I’d already memorized, laying it down in puddles of beer, never quite able to abandon it, never quite able to call her, a living reminder of my sin.

Yours. If you want me.

And then Pitt had plucked it from my hands in a BDSM strip club slash brothel.

“Redemption?” he asked me later in the cab. “What the hell is that?”

I slouched back into the cum-stained interior. “If you don’t know, I can’t explain it to you.”

“‘A world that we deserve,’” he read. “What do you think she means by that?”

I shook my head drunkenly. “No idea.”

He flicked the postcard with a fingernail. Pointed to the phone number. “You gonna call her or what?”

“Or what. Turn here, driver.” I knew a cheaper brothel two streets over. The whores were uglier there.

“Last chance, man,” he’d said. “Sure you don’t want to keep this?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t.” I meant it.

I looked up from the postcard. Kate and Victor watched me in silence. The straight-edge blade rasped against Red Cap’s skull. The meditating monks released a simultaneous mantra, an
om
that lingered in the cavernous space, reflecting off the many-colored walls, until it splintered against the rocks overhead and no sound remained but white noise.

“Pitt called you,” I said.

“Yes.” She bit her lip.

“He came here.”

“Yes.”

“And he believes in all this Gaia crap?”

Victor beamed. “Absolutely! That’s why he had you kidnapped!”

“Whoa,” I said, and put the postcard down. “Pitt had me kidnapped? Explain.”

“He heard that you were in danger. Thought you’d want to be here, share the joy that he has found in Gaia.”

That meant
—no.
I covered my face with my hands. But what else could it mean? Pitt would never fall for this Gaia bullshit. He was fucking with me. Fucking with them. This was payback from Ambo for refusing to do that second op. I was a fool to think I could just walk away.

Send me on this insane search for Pitt, torture me by forcing me to go to Cuzco, and now…now the DSU was going to kill all these volunteers, and probably me as well. Maybe there was still time to save them. Although I doubted it.

“The fuck are you talking about? What joy?” I grabbed Kate by the arms. “Don’t you understand? Pitt kills people like you for a living. This volunteering bullshit, protesting a war… All it’s going to do is get you dead.”

She didn’t look at me. “We know all about Pitt’s past.”

I raised my eyebrows. “All of it?”

Victor crossed his arms. “Pitt has resigned from the Dissent Suppression Unit. He feels guilty for his many crimes in service of the American imperialist tyrants. We help him cope.”

“Pitt with guilt,” I snorted. “That I got to see with my own eyes.”

“Believe it,” Kate said. “It’s true.”

I farted. Loudly. “Something smells fishy here, you know that? And it’s not just me, either. I mean since when do Buddhist monks carry guns and go around kidnapping people?”

“We want only to be left alone,” Victor said. “To meditate. To be at peace with Gaia. One with Mother Earth.”

“Bullshit. The only thing Pitt would ever do with Mother Earth is rape and kill her.”

“Also, we offer our services. As volunteers. We construct homes for the local people.”

“That’s it?”

“What else could there be?” Victor shoved his palms into the back pockets of his jeans, thrust his hips at me.

I felt relieved. There was no hope. Never had been. Never would be. World without end. Amen.

“Well, have fun then, boys. This is one wild-goose chase that is over.” I picked up Kate and threw her over my shoulder. She squawked. “Come on, girl, let’s go back to Cuzco.”

She beat her fists against my back. “Horse, put me down!”

I struggled to stay on my feet. “You’ve put on weight.” Either that or I had lost muscle mass.

“I have not!” she said.

I raised my voice. “Come on, Pitt! I’ll save you from these goody two-shoes! Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

My voice boomed in the cavern. The monks went silent and stared at me. A sudden commotion made us turn.

A long, stuttering plume of abuse trailed into the cave. The pounding pistons of the woman’s stubby legs churned out oath after guttural German oath. She waddled toward us, great with child, swatting away the bevy of monks who tried to help her. Her frizzy hair sprung wild about her head, a fluffy orange dandelion waiting only for a breath to strip her naked.

Kate tickled me in the one spot no one knew but her. I let her go and she slid to the ground.

“Always lovely to see you, dove,” Victor called out as the volunteering coordinator drew near. “What fortuitous happenstance brings our favorite Echo for a visit?”

“Fortuitous happenstance, bah.” She planted her feet in front of him, stabbed his chest with her finger. “They betray us, is what.”

He held his head to one side. “Has something happened, dear?”

“Dumkopf.
The Americans raid the office.”

Victor raised his eyebrows. “And they let you go?”

“I am here, aren’t I?”

He shook his head. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“Where else you suggest I go?”

I cleared my throat. “They say hell is nice this time of year.”

She took one look at me, and from the way she inhaled, I would have been afraid to be a little piggy. The exhalation came, made me wince. I leaned backward, away from the blow.

“This is the one.”
Her outstretched fingertip quivered. “He comes, asks questions. Where is Pitt? Then
they
come, take away my man.”

Kate put an arm around Echo. “He’s with us. It’s OK.” She drew the woman’s contorted face down to her own shoulder. “Just tell us what happened.”

Echo pushed her away. “What are you doing?” She wiped at her eyes. “Don’t you understand? They have taken Umlaut.”

“Wait a sec,” I said. “Umlaut. Is that your boyfriend?”

“Ja,
of course.”

“With the shrunken head?”

I thought she was going to punch me. “His head is normal size.”

Kate waved at me to shut up. Victor’s face was grim. He said, “Tell me what happened.”

“We went to the embassy,” she sniffled. “Like we planned. Protesting. A few of us. It was good.” A smile. “Then we went home. But the road was blocked off. Police everywhere. Men talking in English. American English. Umlaut go crazy. Bite the grass.”

“Bite the grass,” I said. “You mean, bite the dust?”

“Bite the dust, whatever!” she said. “Now is not the time.”

Victor licked his lips. “What did Umlaut do?”

“Scheisskopf.
Picked up a stone. A cobble. How do you say? Part of the road. Attacked them. Killed a little boy. A spy. We saw him on the surveillance camera.”

“Whoa,” I said. “You killed Paco?”

“You
see?”
That accusing finger again. The others glared at me.

“He was an English student of mine,” I said. “A pickpocket. He didn’t deserve to die.”

“He was working for the American imperialist tyrants.”

“But he was just a little kid!”

Kate put her arm on my elbow. I sighed. What was I getting so upset for? “None of my business what my clients do with their newly acquired language abilities.”

Victor squeezed Echo’s shoulder. “And then what happened?”

“Two Americans tried to stop him. He killed them both with the stone. The local cops finally got him. Beat him so bad…” Her hands pressed together in prayer, her eyes red and swollen. “So bad, so bad, so bad.”

Paco. Dead. The hell was going on? “I still don’t understand why he killed the kid,” I said.

They ignored me. Victor kissed the woman’s temple, caressed her hair. “He was always so impatient, Umlaut.”

“Another week or two,” she bawled. “That’s all. But no. He could not wait.”

“Be at peace,” Kate said. “Pitt is almost ready.”

“Oh thank Gaia,” Echo said. “A gift from Mother Earth to save us all.”

I snorted. “‘A gift from Mother Earth’? Who, Pitt? Are you people for fucking real?”

Again they ignored me. Victor nodded. “Our preparations are well under way.”

“Preparations for what?” I asked.

The three of them huddled together in silence. Echo’s shoulders shuddered and heaved, went slack. Victor crooked a finger at a nearby monk.

“Take care of this one,” he said to the man. “She has suffered much for Gaia.”

I snapped my fingers in his face. “Hello? Earth to cult leader? Pitt or no Pitt?”

The monk nodded, draped Echo’s arm around his neck, and led her away.

Victor sat on the edge of his desk, stared at me with a grin. “You ask where Pitt is. He is here. With us.”

I looked around the cavern. “Can I talk to him?”

Victor crossed one arm over the other, perched his head on a long forefinger. “He’s with us here in spirit.”

“Fuck this spirit crap,” I said. “Where’s the flesh?”

He hid a grin with his hand. “Pitt said you’d never believe me.”

My God. Was it possible?
“What have you done to him?”

“I promise you will see him soon.” Victor put the flat of his palm on Kate’s navel. She sat on his thigh. “Why don’t you get some dinner in him, babe? He looks hungry.”

“And where do you get off calling her ‘babe’?”

He nuzzled her neck. “Did you not tell him?”

“Tell me what?”

Kate pulled away. “Victor, please—”

Victor patted her butt. “She’s my wife.”

“Your what?”

“We’ve been married now six months and more.”

I turned to her.

“You didn’t come.” She shrugged, a tiny, frightened bird, fluttering its wings.

“You and him?”

“Why not?” Her face sagged, gray with sadness. She put her arms around his neck, pressed her face against his chest. “He’s a good man. We’re happy together.”

In that moment, what little hope for love or life I had left was extinguished, replaced with a burning hatred of the world and all things in it. I ground my teeth. I clenched my fists. My breath came fast and hard.

I said, “You kidnap me. You brainwash Pitt. And now you steal my wife?”

My left hook connected with Victor’s elegantly upturned nose. There was a gooey sound of cartilage snapping. He fell onto the desk. Kate jumped sideways, her mouth open, but no sound came out. I grabbed Victor by his tweedy lapels, threw him onto the floor. I fell to my knees and punched his face, alternating fists. I cut my knuckle on a jagged tooth. I broke at least one finger. He didn’t fight back. The pain drove me on. Wanting more. Kate screamed, pounded my shoulders with the flats of her palms.

A sea of orange and scarlet filled my peripheral vision. Hands dragged me to my feet. I kicked at the air, connected with a gun barrel. Automatic gunfire roared in the cave, plumes of flame spouting over my head. My ears rang. Stalactites crashed to the floor. I stood still. Metal clacked on empty palms. A ring of monks aimed AK-47s at my chest. The wooden crates were now empty, the lids discarded.

“What kind of fool you think I am?” I shouted. “Bunch of idiotic activists. Think that you can stop a war.”

Monks lifted Victor to his feet. He held a white handkerchief to his nose. He tipped his head back, pinched his nostrils. His eyes were bruised. He’d look like a raccoon for some time to come.

“Seems I erred,” he said.

“You fucking erred, alright.” I twisted my arms, trying to break free. “You fuck with Pitt, you fuck with me!”

“Horse, please.” Kate stroked my face with her fingertips, and I stiffened at her touch. “Just listen to what Victor has to say. Then you will see why Pitt is here. And you will want to join us, too.”

Fifteen

Victor’s voice was muffled through the bloody handkerchief. He asked, “What do you know about bat guano?”

“Hang on a second,” I said. “Since when do Buddhist monks have crates, plural, full of AK-47s?” Strong arms held my wrists between my shoulder blades. I arched my back to ease the pain, nose in the air, head horizontal.

“I’m explaining it to you,” he said.

“Because of bat guano?” The words soared to the cavern’s ceiling, only to shatter into tiny echoes.

Victor jerked his head. The monks let go of my arms, but kept a grip on my shoulders. I shook my hands to restore the circulation.