Prisoner of War Read online

  What had happened to change that? Why was she going at Nick like a pit bull instead of using guile? She had once known how to do it perfectly. “I guess I haven’t been myself for a while, have I?” she said to Calli, who patted her hand.

  Josh pushed his fingers through his graying, wavy hair. “Will you please start behaving like you, then? We’re guests in this house and you just insulted the daughter of the President, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Josh, leave Minnie alone. It wasn’t her fault,” Nick said. He’d come up beside them, moving silently. “Carmen has been provoking Minnie since she arrived. My niece grew up in a household where she was the only female. Sharing attention doesn’t suit her.”

  Calli expelled a hard breath. “That would be one way to describe it.”

  Josh frowned. “Even so,” he said, his tone pedantic. “You know better than to descend to the same level, Minnie.”

  Nick rested his hand on her father’s shoulder. “Enough for the moment, Josh. Let it rest. Come with me, there’s something I want to discuss with you.”

  Josh pulled himself together. “Yes, of course,” he agreed. The two men walked back into the house, leaving Minnie and Calli alone once more.

  Minnie let her shoulders slump. “Shit.” She sighed.

  Calli put her arm around her. “I know, Minnie. Well, maybe I don’t, but I give good hugs.”

  “Yes, you do,” Minnie agreed and accepted the hug with all her heart.

  * * * * *

  Nick took Minnie’s father back to his private study, which had become command central, for now.

  “So, how can I help?” Josh asked, sitting in the leather bucket chair in front of the desk.

  Nick rested against the big desk. “You need to take it easy on Minnie, Josh. As much as you don’t want to hear this, Minnie is grieving, too, even though she won’t consciously admit Duardo is dead.”

  Josh thought it through. “You’re right, I don’t particularly like hearing it. She was that involved with this soldier of yours?”

  Nick nodded. “More than even she realizes. The full extent of it is beginning to register now, as she starts to think again. Until now, she’s been moving in a daze, subconsciously giving herself time to deal with it. Minnie is the sort of person who needs to love and love deeply. Duardo was that love.”

  Josh pushed his hand through his hair. He did that often when dealing with his daughter, Nick realized. She baffled him and frightened him, yet he was a true father—he adored her and wanted only to see her happy. Right now, he was confused. “She was always losing her heart over a man, sometimes twice a month. She’ll bounce back.”

  “Not this time,” Nick said flatly. “This time, it will be much harder for her.”

  “Yet she’s been badgering you to go over there and get him out.”

  “It’s a passing phase. She’ll come to accept he’s dead and she’ll move on. But for now, she’s just as vulnerable as Carmen. More, I think. I find it a good sign, though, that Minnie found the energy to scream at Carmen as she did.”

  Josh looked astonished. “You’re kidding.”

  “She’s far less than the animated, happy woman I first met on Vistaria, but today I heard her more as she was when I met her. Her mind is starting to work again.” Nick stood up, glancing at his watch. “I’m meeting Blanco and a few others. Come with me. I could use your views at this meeting.”

  “General Blanco?” Josh asked as he stood, too. “That’s Vistarian business, isn’t it? I shouldn’t be there.”

  “You’ve fished as many Vistarians out of the water as you have your fellow Americans these last few weeks. You’ve earned your place in the room. Call yourself a special advisor if it makes you more comfortable.” He shepherded Josh toward the grand dining room, which served as their boardroom. “It might help you to understand your daughter better if you get to know other honorable Vistarian soldiers.”

  Josh looked doubtful and uncomfortable. Nick opened the door and beckoned him in before he could think. As Nick opened the door, everyone at the big, old walnut dining table immediately shot to their feet. They didn’t salute as he wasn’t an official army officer, although they may as well have saluted. All at the table were officers and they stood ramrod straight, eyes ahead.

  Nick ignored the sinking sensation the phenomenon always produced in him. “Relax,” he told them all, switching to Spanish. “Take your seats. As usual, we have a lot of ground to cover tonight, so let’s get on with it. Those of you who have been helping us pick up refugees out of the waters around Vistaria will know Joshua Benning. Josh is Eastcore Mining’s representative and has proved useful to us the last few weeks. I’ve asked him here today for his outsider’s perspective on some of the items we need to consider.”

  Nick went around the table, introducing Josh to the range of officers sitting there. There were both junior and senior advisors, most of them freshly promoted to a seat at this table because they had survived the first wave of slaughter the Insurrectos had dished out and made their way across the hundred miles of water to the Mexico mainland.

  He came to General Blanco last, the position of honor. If there was an heir apparent in this room, Blanco was it. He had led the Vistarian army for thirteen years. Now the president was dead and if they did take back their country from the assholes who had grabbed it, then Blanco was the most logical person to become the next president—if he could make the transition from war to politics. Lately, that question had been nagging Nick.

  With introductions over, Nick waited for Blanco to pick up the lead. Blanco sat like the other officers with his hands squarely on the table, looking to him.

  With a sigh, Nick spoke. “To business, then. It’s been nearly three months since the first wave of attacks and the numbers of refugees making it to Mexico have diminished considerably. Josh Benning has been keeping track of numbers for me and pointed out that while civilian refugees have dropped to a trickle, we’ve had a small jump in the number of army personnel who have made it out. Thoughts, please?” He looked around the room.

  Blanco was first to speak. He was a smart man and probably already knew the answers, just as Nick had seen them straight away.

  “The interviews we’ve conducted with army personnel have been troubling,” Blanco began. “Although I have the utmost confidence in every soldier we recruit, I find it remarkable that these capable officers have taken nearly three months to find a way off the island.” He shut up and looked around the room. Good, he was leading his officers to the right conclusion but letting them think it through and figure it out for themselves.

  “Can we trust them, these latest arrivals?” The question came from farther down the table. “I mean, if they have spent three months in Vistaria, what have they been doing all that time?”

  That created a pensive little silence.

  Blanco cleared his throat. “The interviews we give each returning officer must be more stringent, more thorough.”

  Nick said with a mild tone, “I think you need to be more pro-active than that.”

  “We have no records to cross check...no way to establish credentials,” came the complaint.

  “Isn’t there a larger question here?” came a booming voice from the long end of the table. It was the iron-gray-haired Brigadier General Alonso. Alonso always saw only the negative in a situation—which made him perfect for brainstorming sessions, yet had cost him promotion to full general. “What makes you think Serrano even cares what we’re doing here? He has Vistaria. Why would he bother sending spies into this little house?”

  Nick looked at Blanco and spread his hand, indicating that Blanco should answer the question.

  “The former Vistarian consulate general to Mexico, Joseph Castenía y Adorno, was approached by the Mexican government last week,” Blanco pronounced. “They seek a meeting with the head of the Vistarian government.”

  Nick could see that not everyone in the room understood the implication, but Joshua Benning, after frowning
his way through a silent translation, lifted his brows and whistled silently.

  “It means, gentlemen,” Nick explained, “that Serrano has not been recognized as the legitimate leader of Vistaria. You can be sure that Mexico has the United States standing at its shoulder, watching what our reaction will be to this overture. The only reason this meeting would have been requested would be because Serrano has already tried to establish diplomatic relations and been refused.”

  A small smile made its way around the room.

  “Therefore, Serrano cares very much about what we are doing in this house,” Nick concluded. “He will watched us closely. That means spies. It means we cannot trust any personnel who have arrived here in the last few weeks. Even civilians must be interviewed and double-checked, especially if they have reason for needing shelter inside the house itself and not in the camps out on the grounds.”

  “There are barely any more civilian refugees,” someone pointed out.

  “And the reasons for that?” Nick asked. Somehow, he had become chair of the meeting again. He shrugged the concern off. Next time, he’d orchestrate this better so Blanco could take the lead.

  Another silence stretched as they considered his question. Alonso once more voiced the negative side. “The civilian flow may have halted because those still in Vistaria have found a way to live with the new regime.”

  “After only three months?” Josh asked in passable Spanish. He shook his head. “I have lived in many different countries because of my work. I assure you, it takes more than three months to adapt to a different culture. It takes much longer to be happy with it.”

  The same junior officer who had asked about trust spoke again. “If they are not happy with it, then Serrano has tightened the net so that they cannot escape.”

  “That is something that can be arranged in three months,” Blanco agreed. “It would have been one of his first priorities. It would be mine, if I were Serrano.”

  “Zalaya’s priority, you mean,” Alonso responded. “That evil bastard would delight in building such walls.”

  Another tiny silence. Nick saw wrinkled brows and could almost hear their thoughts.

  Josh Benning voiced the thoughts. “Who is Zalaya?”

  Nick gave a mental sigh, hiding his wariness. The truth would unsettle the younger lieutenants, who were already flustered by the heavy responsibility thrust at them.

  “Many of you may remember Colonel Bruno Zalaya y Fuentes when he still held a commission with the Vistarian Army. His career has taken a...well, a more natural turn for one of his inclinations. The facts that we do extract from Vistaria confirm that Zalaya is Serrano’s right-hand man and possibly was so even before the Insurrectos made their first move. Zalaya has masterminded some powerful suppression programs and is most certainly the man who has shut down Vistaria’s borders.” There, that was neutral enough not to upset them.

  “Programs?” Alonso sounded affronted. “The man is sweeping his way through the population, killing anyone who can’t prove they’re three generations Vistarian. He has a brothel in the official residence for Serrano’s captains. He keeps any woman there who happens to take his fancy. Men, too. He has his own personal torture chamber next to his office, where he conducts ‘interviews’. The man is an evil blight on Vistaria.”

  “Enough, Alonso,” Nick said, more sharply than he intended. The pity of it was that Alonso was not exaggerating the rumors they had heard from the latest refugees. Serrano was nominally the leader of the Insurrectos. Zalaya, though, was the power behind the throne and the man they would have to deal with to win back their country.

  “If this madman is killing and raping, then we cannot wait!” Another junior officer this time, his face pale. “We must halt this. At once.” There were murmurs of agreement around the table.

  Nick held up a hand and waited until he got the silence he wanted. “We will not be rushed into a poorly planned offensive. There will be only one opportunity for us. We must take the time to ensure victory. We will not dawdle and we will not rush, either. We must be smart...and thorough. Understand?”

  Slow nods of agreement. Reluctant nods. The natural passion of the average Vistarian was hard to quench once it was fired. He had to keep it banked until he could thrust them toward Vistaria and let them take their revenge and take back their country. “Of course, such an offensive takes obscene amounts of money. Which brings me to the next item. Blanco, you met with the Columbian government. How did that go?”

  “They cannot offer money. They are willing, though, to provide us with up to one thousand SIG Commando 552-2 P rifles, which they use for their own law enforcement. These are good rifles...”

  As professional interest in the weapons stirred everyone around the table, Nick’s attention wandered. Blanco was capable of evaluating the advantages of such a deal, while Nick mentally tussled with the increasing problems surrounding money. When the gun discussion was done, Nick brought them back to the reason why Blanco had gone to Columbia in the first place—to find funds.

  The wrestling over ways to raise money went on for some time and finished on an inconclusive note, which for these meetings was both typical and frustrating. Always, it came back to money. Without it, they could talk themselves into the ground, they could ratify any decision they wanted to, but it was just talk. Only money would make it happen.

  Josh stepped up alongside Nick as he left the room.

  “Thank you for your insights,” Nick told him. “I’d like you to continue to attend these meetings for a while, if you don’t mind.”

  “You want another civilian in there besides yourself, don’t you?”

  “That’s certainly part of it,” Nick agreed easily.

  “Could I give you another insight?” Josh asked.

  Nick had been about to turn left to go up the stairs, but instead he turned right and crossed the landing to the door onto the family’s private balcony. The balcony was empty. Nick realized it was late. The house was quiet around them. “Tell me,” he encouraged the older man, resting against the balcony rail. Tiredness was making his mind foggy and he stretched his neck and rubbed his eyes hard.

  “Well, two insights,” Josh said, watching him. “The second one is, you need to get more rest. Too many people are depending on you for you to keel over from a heart attack or some such.”

  “Thanks,” Nick said dryly. “I’ll take that one under advisement. The first one?”

  “You need to get your officers uniforms. Get them made—there’s got to be a dress factory in Acapulco that could pull them together.”

  Nick’s laugh came out more as a snort of disbelief. “I’m already aware there isn’t a whole uniform to be had in the entire household, but it’s hardly a priority. Just feeding two thousand plus people here in the compound is a daily challenge.”

  “Then make it a priority,” Josh said. “I’m not joking. Your men need the symbolism a uniform will give them.”

  “They’re not my men,” Nick said quickly.

  Josh waved the qualification away with an impatient movement. “Mega corporations have been aware of the value of symbolism for decades. They call it branding. Your version of branding is the uniform. Look, Nick, the only thing uniting these people is the dream of winning back their country. It’s intangible. If you put the officers and as many of the army personnel as possible into uniform, that’s a tangible thing. It’s visual. It is a constant reminder of their identity. It will give them the impetus to keep going every time they see that uniform.”

  Nick took a breath. “I hear you.” He let it out. “I do. But the money...”

  “Hit someone up for a loan,” Josh said. “Believe me, it’s that critical. You have to give them something to hold onto. Vistaria was run under a military junta before the jerks came along and dumped you off the island. So, to Vistarians, the uniform is a symbol of order, peace and security. Get the uniforms, Nick.”

  He rubbed his eyes again, unable to prevent the tired, defensive mo
vement. “I have some estates in Ireland. I could raise a loan against them.”

  Josh gave an embarrassed laugh. “I didn’t mean use personal money.”

  “At the moment, that’s all there is. We have no people to tax and no government to tax them.”

  “You mean all the money being spent to feed everyone, to pull off the offensive...it’s all raised against Escobedo personal holdings?”

  “Every penny,” Nick said. It was the first time he had admitted it to anyone and it made him feel strangely vulnerable. He had been unable to tell Calli and there were few secrets he held from her, anymore.

  Josh sucked in his lip, considering the startling news. Then he grinned and lightly punched Nick’s shoulder. “That’s a hell of a gamble there, Nick. You’d better make sure you win Vistaria back, huh?”

  Chapter Four

  Calli met Nick halfway down the stairs that led up to the third floor, where their bed was tucked behind sheets that quartered the cramped room so others could sleep there, too.

  He smiled as he saw her, yet she could see the tiredness in his eyes and in the way he held his shoulders.

  “You wear a jacket on a night like this?” he asked.

  “There’s a reason for that.” She picked up his hand and as always, the fact that she was free to reach out and touch him as she pleased sent a small thrill through her. Three months’ worth of nights had passed and still she was not used to it. “Come with me.”

  When he didn’t move straight away, she cocked her head. “It’ll be worth it.”

  Mischief sparkled in his eyes, banishing the tiredness. “Only if you loosen your hair.”

  She pulled the elastic from the end of the braid and separated the locks until they hung loose. She pushed the mass off her shoulder. “Now will you come with me?”

  “It would be my pleasure.”