“He’s not exaggerating,” Margery said. “I’ve seen some of the pictures.”
The colonel asked Gammage what he planned to do.
“Live through the evening,” said Gammage. “Rancher I know in Choluteca owes me. Guy’s got a private plane. Little single-engine job. If I can smuggle myself to Choluteca, I think he’ll fly me down to Bluefields.”
The colonel paced across the room, sat on the arm of the chair by the window, gazing out through the palmetto fronds at the empty sunstruck street. His thoughts moved like sentries back and forth between two points.
“What’s wrong?” Margery asked.
“You’ve put me in a difficult position,” he said. “By helping you, I’ll be committing treason.”
The room seemed to hold a faint humming; off along the street, a truck engine turned over, startling in its vulgar amplitude, like a beast clearing its throat. Then Gammage said, “I understand what you’re saying, Maury, but what Carbonell did, that goes way past treason.”
“These are citizens of your own country we’re talking about,” Margery said. “Innocents. Tortured and macheted. Buried alive.”
“I know!” The colonel stood, turning his back on them. “I know things like this have gone on. I…”
“They’re going on now,” Margery said.
“…I don’t condone them. But what will happen once you tell your story for the cameras? Will Carbonell be disgraced? Executed? Perhaps. But what will happen to those who sanctioned these abuses? Nothing. The world will look down their noses at us as they always have. Soon the story will be forgotten, and the men who gave Carbonell his license to slaughter, they will remain untouched.”
“I’m not going to try and kid you, Maury,” Gammage said. “I can’t guarantee anything. But even if it’s just Carbonell goes in the crapper, that’s gotta be a good thing, right?”
Men’s voices out in the hall, challenging, peremptory. A heavy knocking at a nearby door.
“Not condoning something,” Margery said. “Is that your idea of a moral stance? I don’t believe it. I believe you’re a good man.”
The colonel allowed himself a polite chuckle.
“If I’m off-base,” she said, “now’s the time to prove it.”
She was trying to manipulate him, but given the circumstances, that was forgivable. “‘Moral stance’ is an easy term to sling about when one’s own morality is not at issue,” he said.
He was not going to let Carbonell have them, and not merely because Gammage was his friend and Margery someone to whom he was attracted. It was personal between him and Carbonell. Even if the man were innocent of the crimes Gammage claimed for him, his cologne was offensive, his manner pompous, his smile the emblem of a vain and supercilious nature. The colonel’s distaste for him was funded as much by chemistry as by principle, and he wondered if all his life’s decisions had been informed by such trivial impulses.
“Go into the bathroom,” he said. “I’ll do what I can.”
Once they had sequestered themselves in the bathroom, the colonel waited on the bed. The fabric of his decision was paper-thin, but he knew it would hold. He had felt this same frail decisiveness during the war, and he had always maintained his resolve even in the face of battle. But his battles had been fought in the service of his country, and he was not certain in whose service he was preparing now to fight. His decision satisfied him, however. He was calm and controlled. Just as he had been when he flew a sortie.
A knock came at the door; a commanding voice called out.
“Momentito!” The colonel shrugged into his uniform jacket and opened the door. Standing before him was a squat black man wearing captain’s bars on his fatigues, sweat beading his forehead and shining in the creases of his neck. When he recognized the colonel, his stony expression faltered.
“Your pardon, Colonel,” he said. “But I have orders to search all the rooms.”
“I am alone,” said Colonel Galpa. “It will not be necessary.”
A soldier bearing an automatic rifle moved up behind the captain, who said, with more than a touch of desperation, “I intend no disrespect, sir, but I have my orders.”
The colonel threw open the door, permitting the captain to see the entire room. “Are you satisfied?”
The captain gestured at the soldier behind him. “Sir, you must allow my man to inspect the room. Someone may have obtained entrance while you were out.”
“I have been here all afternoon. It’s as I told you. I am alone.”
Letting his hand drop to his sidearm, the captain composed his features and said, “This is a matter of national security, Colonel. You must understand my position. I have no choice but to insist.”
“What is your name, captain?”
The captain straightened, squared his shoulders, but looked on the verge of tears. “José Evangelista. Please, sir. Will you stand aside?”
“Very well. But be quick!”
Reluctantly, his heart racing, he stepped back and the soldier, a mestizo, barely more than a boy with a wispy mustache and curly hair, entered the room and inspected the closet, poked under the bed.
“There,” said the colonel. “You have done your duty. Now will you give me my privacy?”
The soldier bent an ear toward the bathroom door, then gestured excitedly at it; the captain drew his sidearm and trained it on the colonel.
“Are you insane? What do you think you’re doing?” The colonel went face-to-face with the captain. “I promise… you will regret this!”
Crouching, his rifle at the ready, the soldier flung open the bathroom door, and Margery, who was standing behind it, dripping wet, her hair turbaned in a towel, holding another towel to cover herself, let out a shriek. The soldier recoiled, staring open-mouthed at her.
“Ay, Dios!” said Captain Evangelista.
“Are the needs of national security now satisfied?” the colonel asked him. “Then perhaps you would be so kind as to leave us alone.”
The captain barked an order and the soldier hurried from the room. Offering florid apology, the captain, too, retreated. Colonel Galpa slammed the door behind him. Margery started to speak, but the colonel put a finger to his lips, silencing her, and listened at the door. Once assured that the soldiers had left, he went to her and said, “They will make a report, and it’s very possible someone else will be sent to investigate.”
“What should we do?”
“If they’re suspicious, and we must assume they are, they will watch the hotel. There’s nothing we can do… not until dark.”
“The coast clear?” Gammage poked his head out from the bathroom. Fully clothed, he too, was wet.
“For the moment,” said the colonel.
“Do you really believe they’ll send someone else?” Margery asked.
“Considering the circumstances… yes.”
She finished tucking the edge of the towel beneath her arm, contriving of it a dress. “Jerry. I think you should stay hidden in the bathroom. If they do come back, we don’t want them to hear you running for cover.”
“Choluteca may not be the best option,” said the colonel. “The checkpoints will be on alert for at least a day or two. How much money do you have?”
“Couple hundred lempira,” said Gammage. “Maybe fifty bucks American.” And Margery said, “Forty dollars more-or-less.”
“I know someone who can arrange for a boat to take you down the coast,” the colonel said to Gammage. “Tonight, probably. It will cost several hundred dollars.”
“I can get it,” said Margery.
“Then our only problem is how to get Jerry to the boat. I suppose that can be arranged as well.”