Page 53 of Prisoner of War
Chapter Twelve
Serrano switched off the monitor when he heard voices in the anteroom. A quiet tap and his secretary looked around the door. “Colonel Zalaya?” he asked.
“Yes.”
The secretary withdrew and the door opened to let Zalaya through. The tall security officer lowered himself into the chair and absently rubbed the thigh that had taken the bullet, his other hand still resting on thehead of the cane.
“It’s been confirmed,” Zalaya told him. “It’s Nicolás Escobedo’s boat.”
“You still think she has nothing to do with him?”
“We know that Escobedo has those two American women in his household, but she’s Australian.”
“So she says,” Serrano replied.
“She’s an accomplished liar,” Zalaya agreed. “I’m inclined to believe the baseline story, though. No one would attempt to sellsuch a preposterous tale unless it was the truth. Then there are the site passwords and log-in to verify it.”
Serrano frowned. “Perhaps holding her apart from the bordello may be a wise course, after all. It would be best to preserve her.”
“In case she is Escobedo’s agent?”
“Yes.”
Zalaya smiled. “You mean, use her as leverage against Escobedo if he makes his move?”
“Oh, he will make a movesooner or later and I’m a great believer in being prepared. We must keep her more or less whole. No wounds...or bullet holes.”
Zalaya glanced at the blank screen on Serrano’s desk. “I see.” He moved the cane impatiently. “I think you overestimate her value, even if she is Escobedo’s agent. He knows how to cut his losses.”
“Not for that little firecracker,” Serrano assured him. He picked up theremote again and turned the monitor back on. “My secretary recorded this last night from the television showStar Gazing.”
“Which has won dozens of awards for its reliable, ethical journalism,” Zalaya responded dryly.
“Images don’t lie,” Serrano said calmly and backed up the file and hit “play.” He watched the footage again, glancing at Zalaya to see if he picked it up. It had taken Serranoseveral replays to see what had got his secretary wound up.
When the report about Adán Caballero’s Acapulco sojourn flashed upon the wedding he had attended, Zalaya threw up his hand. “Wait,” he said softly. “Back it up.”
Serrano backed it up while Zalaya watched intently.
“Stop,” Zalaya said. This time his voice was even softer. He tilted his head to look at the fuzzy images on the screen—itwas footage from an amateur video camera and the images were jerky. Where Serrano paused it, Caballero was almost out of the frame, which allowed the official wedding party standing on the steps of the cathedral to be seen. “You think that’s her? On the left of the bride in the green dress?” He frowned. “They’re out of focus.”
“The size and coloring...even the hair is right,” Serrano said.
“So you did watch the security camera footage,” Zalaya said, glancing at him.
Serrano winced. Zalaya was quick to spot things like that.
Zalaya turned his attention back to the screen. “Why come here though? Why send her of all people? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Does it have to? We know he has no decent men except, perhaps, Blanco and he’s been behind a desk for too long. We know he has a giftfor doing the unexpected. Would you, in a million years, suspect one like her of being an agent?”
Zalaya sat back. “It doesn’t matter either way,” he said, smiling. “You and I have both forgotten Escobedo’s weakness. He has a soft spot for the people, the underdog.”
Serrano shook his head, honestly confused. “So?”
“Even if the woman in my bedroom wasn’t the one who attended his wedding, wecan still use her to manipulate him. He is incapable of turning away from suffering if it is right before his eyes. Look at how he met the American woman he just married—he personally sprung her from jail when he heard she had been picked upon by a pack of jackals during the Luna Festival. We keep this woman tucked away until the timing is perfect, then we parade her in front of him as the price hepays if he tries to move against us. If he’s personally acquainted with her peril, it’ll stay his hand. I guarantee it.”
Serrano considered it carefully. He didn’t fully trust Zalaya yet, but he had learned to trust the man’s instincts about the psychology of other men. “Then we must certainly preserve her hide,” Serrano agreed. He held up his hand. “Did you hear that?”
