Tortured Spirits (38 page)

“The army's out in force,” Shandre said.

They descended the cliffs to the beach, Jake and Andre assisting Alejandro, and made their way toward a dark rock face. The night tide slapped waves against the sand.

“This isn't the cave Maria and I guarded earlier,” Jake said.

“It's a different entrance,” Stephane said. “There are several.”

“Stop!” The voice seemed to come out of nowhere.

Stephane and Shandre raised their hands, Jake and Andre raising only one as they supported Alejandro.

Four figures appeared in the moonlight, machine guns raised to their shoulders. A flashlight beam caused Jake to squint.

“Identify yourself,” one of the approaching men said.

“I'm Andre Santiago and these are my friends.”

“It's true, then,” another man said, lowering his weapon.

“We're seeking sanctuary in the Church of the White Snake. I believe Mambo Pharah is expecting us.”

All four men stopped before Andre and gazed at him.

“Father Alejandro,” one of the men said, “are you all right?”

“No. But I will be.”

“Do any of you know your way through the caverns?” the first man said.

“I do.” Stephane strode past them, and the rest of the party followed, leaving the sentries behind.

Inside the cave, illuminated by torches, Shandre said, “Those guys weren't Pavot for the People.”

Stephane shook his head. “No, they were People for Pavot.”

“You guys need to get your
p
's in order,” Jake said.

They descended an incline lined with stalagmites. Stephane and Shandre relieved Jake and Andre of supporting Alejandro. After making a few turns, Jake and Andre stopped before two wooden doors. Each man gripped one of the round metal knockers and pulled the doors open.

“Holy shit,” Jake said.

An aisle separated two blocks of wooden pews. Each block consisted of ten pews, occupied by a hundred men and women, two hundred people in all, beneath a high rock ceiling. Dozens of lanterns and torches lit the space. Mambo Pharah stood at the end of the aisle with two men.

Jake allowed Andre to walk ahead of him, and the people on the pews rose. Hands reached out and Andre shook them. Deafening applause filled the cathedral. Jake felt
self-conscious as the reverent people regarded him. When they reached the end, Jake saw tears streaking Pharah's cheeks.

Andre embraced her and shook hands with the two men, who appeared to be in their mid- to late forties.

Andre turned and faced his supporters, who chanted: “Le Père! Le Père!
Le Père!”

Stephane and Shandre sat Alejandro down on the dais as Andre raised his fists in the air.

“The man on the left is Janvier, leader of the People for Pavot,” Stephane said. “The one on the right is Renaud from the People for Pavot.”

Pharah raised her hands, silencing the freedom fighters. “Tonight we celebrate the freedom of Andre Santiago, Le Père! We mourn the lives lost in that endeavor! And we plan for the liberation of Pavot Island!”

The chant started low and grew louder: “Libération de I'île Pavot! Libération de I'île Pavot! Libération de I'île Pavot!”

Maria heard the door outside the cell area open, followed by footsteps. The female soldier had returned, accompanied by the two men who had brought Maria in. Maria sat up on the edge of her bunk.

“Come with us,” the woman said.

Maria walked barefoot out of the cell. “Some shoes would be nice.”

The woman handcuffed Maria's wrists behind her back and guided her forward. They entered the anteroom and turned right into a corridor that extended from the occupied cells. Maria sketched a layout of the floor in her mind in case she had the opportunity to escape, not that she expected to get very far barefoot and wearing only underwear. The woman unlocked an office door, and her male counterparts led Maria into a sparse room with a table, two chairs, and
no windows in its cinder-block walls.

Interview room,
Maria thought. She had been in dozens of them at police precincts throughout Manhattan and the other boroughs of New York City.

The woman unlocked Maria's handcuffs and gestured for her to sit in the far chair, which she did. Then the woman stood against the wall, with the men standing on either side of the door.

Minutes passed, then the door opened and two more men entered: a broad-shouldered Caucasian with a bald head and a bushy mustache, who wore a suit, and a muscular black man, who wore slacks and a tight pink polo. The black man looked like a younger version of Malvado, so Maria guessed he was either Najac or Maxime. She had heard of only one white man tied to Malvado.

Her gaze dropped to the metal table, its surface nicked and scratched. Was it her imagination or did she see blood?

Jake.

She hoped he and Andre had escaped.

The white man closed the door. “Miss Vasquez, it's so nice to finally make your acquaintance. I'm Bill Russel and this is Maxime Malvado.”

“I know who you are.”

“That's good. It will save me the time of regurgitating my resume.”

“I bet you leave a lot of jobs off it anyway, don't you?”

With a thin smile, Russel sat. Maxime stood near him with his arms folded across his chest. Russel reached into his jacket pocket and took out Maria's cigarettes and lighter,
which he set before her. “Go ahead. Smoke. We allow such things on Pavot Island.”

Maria drew a cigarette from the pack and lit it. “The benefits of living in a free society, I suppose.” She turned sideways on the chair and felt Maxime watching her.

“You're not at all what I expected. So much trouble caused by such a petite young lady.”

Maria puffed on her cigarette. “I'd like to speak to someone from the United States.”

“I'm the closest there is to a representative from the US.”

“Then I want a lawyer.”

“I'm sorry. Did somebody read you your rights? If so, they shouldn't have because you don't have any.”

“Some free society.”

“I won't ask your reason for coming here, like I did Helman. That much is obvious now. The question is: What possible connection do you and Helman have to Andre Santiago?”

“We came for a cheap vacation. We had dinner with a nice man your thugs shot dead in the street. We got separated and shit happened. We just did what was necessary to survive. We're innocent victims of this island's fucked-up politics.”

Russel smiled. “No, this all has something to do with a man named Edgar Hopkins. I just don't know what. We destroyed the boat, by the way.”

Maria's body tightened and her heart beat faster.

“Don't be alarmed. We don't think Santiago and Helman had boarded it yet. They're still on the island somewhere. We'll get them.”

Maria sat facing Russel and blew smoke over his head. “I doubt it.”

“Two men can't hide from an army for very long. Trust me on this point.”

“I don't trust easy, and something tells me I'd
never
trust you.”

Russel set his right hand palm up on the table. “Give me your hand.”

Maria stared at the open hand, which looked powerful. “I'm not the marrying type.”

Russel's smile broadened. “Please. Your hand.”

Trying to hide her fear, Maria slid her hand inside Russel's, which closed around it with a viselike grip.

“I'd like to know the names of the people who helped you.”

“Do I look like a rat?”

“No, you look like trouble.” He squeezed her hand and she squirmed. “I could break your hand, you know.”

Maria tapped her cigarette in the ashtray. “Not if I break yours first.”

“Let me show you something.” With his free hand, Russel reached into his pants pocket.

Now.

Balling her right hand into a fist, Maria drove her cigarette straight into Russel's eye.

Russel screamed, his face contorted with pain, and fell back in his chair, landing on the floor, where he clawed at his injured eye.

Maria bolted upright. The soldiers raised their machine guns, but with Maxime stepping between them and their
target, they couldn't fire. Maria seized the back of her chair and swung it at Maxime, striking him so hard with a metal leg that his face wobbled around his skull before he fell next to Russel, who continued to scream.

The female soldier moved forward, drawing something from her belt. Maria recognized it as a Taser.

Ah, shit
…

The woman squeezed the trigger, and Maria felt needles burying in her chest. An instant later, her head flew back, her limbs turned limp, and she crashed to the floor.

Andre sat at one end of the dining table, with Janvier on his left and Renaud on his right. Pharah sat at the other end, with Alejandro on one side of her and Jake on the other. As simple soldiers in the coming battle, Jorge and Stephane had not been invited to attend this strategy session.

“There are riots in all three cities,” Pharah said, her white snake curling around her neck. “Cars are overturned in the streets, and empty buildings are burning. Word of your escape is sweeping the island.”

“Who are these people?” Andre said.

“Students. Activists. Frustrated civilians. Some who have waited decades or their whole lives for you to lead them against Malvado.”

“We need armed fighters, not martyrs.”

“The soldiers are dispersing the crowds with gas and rubber bullets. They don't want civilian casualties. They
want a fresh supply of meat to become zonbies. Beginning at dawn, Malvado's forces will round up all our brothers and sisters who don't wear his tattoo and move them into El Miedo and other jails. We have no choice but to attack before then. At least these riots are preoccupying the army and police.”

The fierce urgency of now,
Jake thought.

“How do you know these things?” Renaud said.

“I have a person deep undercover in the government.”

“Is he in Malvado's inner circle?”

“No, but he—or she—is close to someone who is.”

“Name this person. If we're to base our actions on his intelligence, I want to know who he is.”

Pharah shook her head. “For now, he remains my operative.”

“I don't like it.”

“We have to work together,” Andre said. “It's our only chance for survival. How many troops do we have?”

“Each man in the cathedral represents a larger group from Pavot for the People or the People for Pavot,” Janvier said.

“We have a thousand men and women waiting for a signal,” Renaud said.

“And we have three thousand,” Janvier said.

“Yes, but are they willing to die for our cause?”

“Twelve of them did just an hour ago. Now their families are in jeopardy.”

“Throw in armed civilians who aren't aligned with either of our organizations, and we have maybe six thousand total,” Pharah said.

Andre shook his head, a grim look on his face. “Against
twenty thousand soldiers and who knows how many police officers? Plus, they have helicopters and tanks and Humvees. The odds against us are too great.”

“The trick is to concentrate our firepower on the right targets,” Renaud said. “The palace, the central military base, the Ministry of Defense. If we can take them, Pavot is ours.”

“We've drawn up dozens of attack plans,” Janvier said.

“As have we.”

Jorge entered the room. “Forgive me for interrupting. You have a visitor, Andre.”

A Hispanic man with straight white hair swept back from his forehead passed Jorge. He wore cargo shorts and a matching shirt, and he carried a footlocker.

With raised eyebrows, Andre rose and circled the table.

“That's Louider Sanchez,” Alejandro said to Jake under his breath. “The head of La Main Noire—The Black Hand. He and Andre were best friends until Malvado incarcerated Andre. Then Louider turned to a life of crime.”

Louider set the footlocker on top of a counter and faced Andre, who stopped before him. The two men sized each other up.

“So it's true,” Louider said.

Nodding, Andre spread his arms wide. “I'm a free man.”

Louider and Andre embraced.

When they parted, Louider grasped Andre's shoulders. “You look fit,
mon ami.”

“And you look like a successful businessman.”

Louider nodded. “Do not begrudge me that achievement.”

Andre clasped Louider's arm. “We do what we have to in order to survive. You'd have done no good occupying a
cell beside me in El Miedo or a grave.”

“Or walking the earth as one of Malvado's undead.”

Renaud stood. “He's a parasite with no loyalty to anyone but himself.”

Louider gestured at Renaud. “Don't forget who sold you your weapons.” He glanced at Janvier. “All of you. Or who transported our refugees to Florida. And who provided the boat and crew that Malvado destroyed tonight.”