Zamora gave a tired sigh, sitting up on the table. The twin felt him moving and scrambled out of the way. “You won’t be needing this then.” He sniffed the severed ear, then dropped it on the floor, nodding at Monagas.
CHAPTER 39
It was nothing short of a miracle that Pollard had gotten as far as he had with the austere environment and simple tools Zamora provided. He’d told Yesenia that it would have been easier for the professor on Gilligan’s Island to build a bomb from scratch than it was for him to try and repair one, but she didn’t understand the joke.
On the stifling afternoon of his tenth day in the jungle, he reassembled a section of the PAL and heard a faint click. He grimaced, waiting for whatever came after death, because he knew if the bomb blew, he’d not be conscious to experience the moments in between. There was no detonation, but along with the now living circuitry, Baba Yaga’s design clicked in Pollard’s brain. As if a veil had been lifted, everything became clear. He understood her.
Peering with a flashlight at the top of the metal tube, deep into the guts of the thing, he took a look at the row of capacitors from a fresh perspective. Dizzy with the new information, he fell back on his cot and rubbed a hand over his face. There was something about her that had bothered him from the beginning — and now he knew what it was.
More dangerous than even Zamora imagined, Baba Yaga was not what she seemed.
Revitalized, Pollard jumped up as quickly as he’d sat down, pacing back and forth, shaking the hut on its piers. Finally, he threw open the flimsy door. Technically, he wasn’t even supposed to use the latrine without an escort, but boredom and oppressive heat had made the guards lax over time.
Angelo, the camp’s second in command, sat in a folding chair flipping through a magazine about fishing. His rifle leaned against the woodpile beside him. He nearly fell over at Pollard’s shrill whistle. Angelo spoke no English and looked terrified whenever Pollard spoke to him.
He held up his hand as if he wanted Pollard to stay in place. “Yesenia,” he mumbled, shoving the fishing magazine in his hip pocket and scooping up his weapon. Two other guards, also Guarani Indians, glanced up from the cook fire for a moment, then resumed whatever it was they were doing.
“Yes.” Pollard nodded to Angelo. “Yesenia.”
The Indian girl came trotting up a moment later, breathless and smiling. Pollard realized he’d never called for her before.
“I need to talk to Zamora immediately,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm.
Yesenia sighed, nodding softly before walking away. She seemed to realize that things were about to change.
“I need assurances,” Pollard said, “before I go any further.”
Zamora gave a slow sigh on the other end of the phone and was quiet for a long time. Finally, Pollard heard his lips smacking.
“Very well then,” the Venezuelan said. “You may be assured that if you play games with me, I will chop your wife and son into fish bait.”
“I’m serious, Valentine.”
“And I am suddenly playing games? You know what I am capable of, my friend. Do us both a favor and complete your mission.”
“So,” Pollard said, biting his lip as he spoke. “How does this work when I do figure it out? How can I know that my family will be safe?”
“I do not know,” Zamora said. “I have been focused on other endeavors. Present a plan to me and I will consider it. But know this, my customers need your expertise, so you will stay with the device until she is delivered. This is a package deal.”
“If one hair on my son’s head—”
“I know, you will kill me,” Zamora chuckled, cutting him off. “You’re making yourself look foolish, Matthew. Call me when you have good news.”
Zamora ended the call.
Pollard took a deep breath, clutching the satellite phone in his fist. He looked down at Yesenia.
“Things are about to change,” he said.
She smiled, blinking her eyes like a schoolgirl with a crush. “I know.”
CHAPTER 40
Zamora set the phone on his chest and smiled. Pollard had done it. It was apparent in the timbre of his voice. He’d figured out a way to arm the device, and though he harbored well-placed concern for his family, the scientist in him couldn’t help but brag about his accomplishment. Valentine had known all along that the man could do it, but the fact that plans were moving forward so well was cause for celebration.
The taller of the gap-toothed twins — he could never remember their names — gave a plaintive whine from where she lay beside him. Naked but for an Egyptian cotton sheet pulled up to her waist, she snuggled in close, causing him to sweat despite the chilly desert air coming through the motor home window. The other twin peeked over the point of her sister’s shoulder, grinning broadly enough to whistle when she breathed.
“Are you finally done with your calls, Vali?” she asked. He really hated it when she called him that. She and her sister were a pair, though, one never far from the other. He thought of them as bookends, something to admire while he searched for something else but never really study too deeply.
“Almost, my darlings,” Zamora said. He stared up at the ceiling, thinking of what to do next. By all rights he should have been exhausted from the long day of riding, but instead of fatigue he felt a sort of wishful anxiety, as if something very wonderful was about to happen and he simply could not wait. There was so much yet to do and Pollard’s assistance would be necessary until the end. Still, he could tell from Lourdes’s voice she was getting to the very last knot on her rope. He had to figure out a way to placate her somehow. She was like a kiln, a furnace that he needed to feed from time to time.
He picked up the cell phone again and punched in Lourdes’s number with his thumb, smiling at his own brilliance.
“Come on, Vali,” the shorter twin pouted from behind her sister.
He put a finger to his lips. “Shhh,” he said. “If Lourdes suspects you are with me, she’ll peel the skin off the soles of your feet and make you dance with her.”
Both girls fell silent immediately, taking care not to even breathe too deeply, for they knew he wasn’t joking about such a thing. They’d seen her do it.
“Hello, my darling,” Zamora said when Lourdes answered. “I need you to do something for me. It will upset the good professor, to be sure, but I believe the time has come to make some changes in our arrangement.”
CHAPTER 41
Marie’s body jerked awake from a fitful sleep when Lourdes stomped into the room wearing her lime-green ski parka and wool tam. Simon, who’d grown even more sensitive to his mother’s moods than normal, looked up with a trembling lower lip. Tears brimmed on his tiny lashes and he swelled his lungs, gathering breath for a horrific squeal. He’d already lost so much weight. His little face was sunken and pale. Marie clutched him to her chest and tried to comfort him, but the squeal came anyway. Her teeth ached from constantly clenching her jaw. Stress hormones coursed through her body without a break, wearing her down and eating away at her mind.
“Time for a hike,” Lourdes said. She stomped her foot on the tile floor, making a dull thud and rattling the mostly vacant farmhouse.
Pete looked up from his recliner with a sideways eye. “Are you serious?”
“Valentine demands it,” Lourdes said, glaring at the bawling baby. “It is not good for me to be cooped up in this house for so long. I become impatient, and when I become impatient, I become violent.”