Under the Wire (8 page)

"Senorita Campora."

Lily stood as he drew her to her feet and kissed the back of her hand. She endured the attention with stoic silence.

"You are asking about Manolo Ortega?"

She nodded, unwilling to elaborate and give the general a reason to question her further.

"You and the young lieutenant are friends?"

Again she nodded, second-guessing the wisdom of coming here.

"Then I am sorry to tell you—Lieutenant Ortega has died in action, I'm afraid. A terrible tragedy, to be sure. He was a fine young officer."

Lily didn't remember much of anything else Poveda said. She barely remembered walking out of the general's office. Wasn't even certain how she made her way back to the apartment.

She sank down on the bed where she and Manny had made love and had laughed and she'd had her heart stolen by the boy who was so much a man.

And now he was dead.

Terrible tragedy.

Snippets of Poveda's words rang through her mind as she lay back on the sheets that smelled of Manny. She hugged a pillow to her breast and rocked back and forth, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Terrible tragedy.

Manny was dead.

And something inside of her died, too.

CHAPTER 5

July 10, 10:00 a.m.

When Manny came to, he was lying on his back on the riverbank, covered in dried mud and blood and bugs. He'd been steeped so deeply in dreams of Lily, it took a moment to realize where he was, what had happened.

It came back to him slowly, painfully, like a dull, rusty knife slicing straight through his heart.

Lily had betrayed him.

And now he had to figure out how to stay alive long enough not only to deal with the pain of it but also to deal with her.

The first thing he became physically aware of was the diamond-bright glare of sunlight stabbing him in the eyes. The second was an odor more vile than vomit.

He rolled to his side. Groaned when his body reminded him of what it had been through—then stiffened when he realized his nose was level with a pair of scarred, worn boots not six inches from his face.

"So, look at the ugly fish the river puked out, eh?"

Manny squinted through raw, gritty eyes, twisted painfully to his back again, and followed the length of the legs disappearing into the boots. For the second time in twelve hours, he found a Soviet-made rifle pointed dead center at his chest.

"What's your name, fish?"

Manny's head felt as thick as the mud he'd crawled out of and he drifted toward unconsciousness again— then jerked awake with a groan when a boot connected sharply with his ribs.

"Your name, or I will gut you like the bottom-feeder you are."

He fought to focus as the scream of a howler monkey grated through his brain and a slow-moving cloud covered the blinding sun. Finally, he pulled his swimming vision together and stared at his new tormentor.

Bandoleers filled with ammunition crisscrossed a scrawny, bare chest. A Makarov pistol hung from a canvas belt, the holster tied to a bowed right leg. A steel-handled knife hung from a scarred leather scabbard strapped to his left calf.

Manny's new captor wore the dirt-stained camouflage pants of a jungle fighter. Beneath the brim of a battered bush hat was a face that would break a cupboard full of plates. The man's right eye bugged out like a frosted-glass marble. His left was open only a slit. A thick, jagged scar cut a half-moon from the outside of that eye down to the corner of his mouth and hooked it up into a perpetual sneer. What teeth he had were the color of hemp and as jagged as a rusted saw blade.

Diablo. The devil has found me.

Manny heard a raspy laugh. Only realized it was coming from himself when pain sliced through his ribs.

"For a man about to die, you are very happy, no? Maybe I should just shoot you now. That way I won't have to clean my knife."

"I'm not going to die. Not... today. And when have you ... ever cleaned anything, Enrique?"

Those monster eyes pinned him to the ground. "You call me by name. How do you know this?"

"Only one man I know ... reeks of rancid pig piss," Manny managed through a throat as dry as dust. "Cristo, Enrique. It's me. Manny. For God's sake, untie me. And then, amigo, you will pay for that boot you planted in my ribs."

But not right now. Right now it was all Manny could do to stay conscious and silently thank God for sending this unlikely angel of mercy.

Enrique Diaz dropped to his knees with a cry of "Dios!" when he finally recognized Manny.

Enrique whipped his knife out of the scabbard and sliced the rope tying Manny's wrists.

Icy hot needles of fire exploded through Manny's hands. He roared out his pain when his shoulders, frozen for hours, fell forward. Then he puked river water until there was nothing left but bile.

And then, mercifully, he passed out again.

"So. Do you know who betrayed you, amigo?"

Enrique and his brothers, longtime Contra fighters Manny had trained with, sat around a small campfire deep in the jungle, sharing a sparse meal of black beans and rice. Manny had told them about Poveda's men coming for him.

He stared at the fire as a green iguana skittered across a rust-colored rock and disappeared into the jungle scrub. It was dusk now. Thanks to Enrique, Manny was clean and clothed. His arm and his thighs were bandaged and soothed with salve. His belly was no longer empty.

It was only by good fortune that Enrique and his small band of guerrillas had been in this part of the jungle today. They'd been hunting. Manny was the only game they'd found. No one else would find him here. The camp would not be visible to anyone—including the Sandinistas. The jungle folded around them like a tent of green.

Manny was rehydrated. Enrique's salve had begun to work on the gunshot wound that had started to fester. Manny's headache had dulled to a minor annoyance. In a day or two, his body would be strong again.

His heart, however, would never heal. This he knew with everything in him.

"Manolo?"

He jerked his head toward Enrique, realized he hadn't addressed his friend's question. Manny set his jaw. Stared at the fire. "Yes. I know who betrayed me."

He didn't offer any more explanation. Enrique exchanged a look with the others, gave a slight shake of his head. They knew better than to ask more. Knew that Manny would deal with the betrayal in his own way. In his own time.

"I need to get to Cougar," Manny said. "Can you take me to his camp?"

Cougar was their CIA contact in this war that the United States quietly sanctioned and covertly assisted. Last Manny knew, Cougar was headquartered just the other side of the northern border in Honduras. But that was months ago. And Cougar never stayed in any one place for long.

"Si." Enrique nodded. "I can get you to him. When you are stronger. First you must rest. Unless we find transportation, it's a five-day march."

Wishing for transportation was the equivalent of wishing for peace. It wasn't going to happen. "We leave in the morning," Manny said, and while he could see Enrique wanted to argue, he only nodded.

It was time to call in favors from the CIA. Manny had been Cougar's informant for over a year, feeding him information so the United States could best support the movement against the communist Sandinistas. Now Cougar would repay Manny for his service.

His cover was blown. He could no longer show his face in the city. No longer see his family for fear they would become caught in the crossfire.

So he would do his fighting from the jungle from now on. And for that he would need weapons, explosives, and men.

The CIA agent stood when Manny and Enrique entered the tactical camp just the other side of the border in Honduras five days later. Tall, lean, and as mean as a bull shark, Cougar squinted at Manny through blue eyes as hard as chipped ice, while around them men in U.S. Army camouflage carrying submachine guns and armed to the teeth stood at the ready.

At a nod from Cougar, they relaxed their guard, but only marginally. No man on assignment in this part of the world ever fully relaxed.

Manny estimated Cougar to be in his late thirties. Beneath a camo boonie hat his head was shaved, his eyes hardened, his expression blank.

"Thought you were dead," Cougar finally said, moving a toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other.

Word traveled fast in the jungle. Manny wasn't the only plant among Poveda's ranks. "There are those who would wish it so."

Cougar grunted. "So it seems. Let's get out of the sun. Tell me what happened."

Manny followed Cougar to a tent stained mud gray and jungle green. Inside, it smelled of must and cigar smoke. Manny sat and told Cougar about his capture, leaving out the part about Lily.

That was for Manny to deal with. For him to know.

For him to regret.

"I need guns. I need men," Manny said point-blank.

The CIA agent reached into a box, withdrew two cigars, offered one to Manny.

Manny shook his head. Waited.

Cougar sliced off the end of a cigar with his bush knife. "No guns. No men."

Manny felt his anger rise but kept it in check. "I risk my life to give you information. This is how you repay me?"

The older man lit the cigar, savored the first puff, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Look, Ortega, you know how the game is played. You're a dead man if you stay in Nicaragua. Any man found
with
you is as good as dead. Poveda's pissed. You duped him. He won't call off his dogs until he finds you. And that makes you a liability to the cause."

It was a truth Manny had been avoiding because he needed to fight, but Manny knew the agent was right. Still, there had to be a way.

"He won't find me. As you said, the word is out that I'm dead."

Cougar shook his head. "Only speculation on their part. Either way, it doesn't matter. The damage is done. You're useless to me now—and no good to your people with a price on your head. Poveda won't kill the hunt until he finds a body."

Unfortunately, Manny realized, Cougar again was right. Poveda would not stop looking. Would not rest until he was certain that Manny was dead.

"Let me send you to the States," Cougar said, rousing Manny from his brooding thoughts. "Let things cool off down here for a while."

"Go to the States?" Manny glared at the CIA operative. They'd had this conversation before—or one similar to it. "And do what? Hide like a dog while others fight what is my fight?"

"Learn. You'll join the Army. Get more training. And you have my word, we'll bring you back here in a year with an arsenal of knowledge and skill that will do you much more good than any weapons cache I could give you now."

"Think about it, Manolo," Cougar said when Manny remained thoughtful and silent. "You're a smart man. Just think about it," he repeated. "You'll see the wisdom."

What Manny saw, after giving the CIA agent's suggestion some thought, was that he had no choice. Cougar was right. Manny was now a liability.