Page 62 of Prisoner of War
Chapter Fourteen
She was woken once more by the rattle of the window blind and the flood of hard sunshine. There was no disorientation. She sat up, bringing the sheet with her, knowing exactly who it was that stood beside her bed. The chain clinked softly. It had been returned to her wrist. Of course.
Zalaya leaned heavily on the cane. He was dressed and looked fresh and clean. He had showeredand shaved while she slept.
He pointed to the bedside table next to her. “There is food. I advise you to eat it. It is better you keep your strength, for now.” He was standing next to the closet and reached down to tug open the first drawer at the foot of it. He withdrew a garment that he tossed on the bed. “I will also allow you to wear this. I have meetings most of the day and will have nouse for you. You may use the shower.”
He made his way to the door leading to his office then turned to face her. “Captain Eduardo Peña y Santos,” he said flatly.
It was so unexpected that Minnie couldn’t halt the slither of shock that ran through her. When Zalaya’s one good eye narrowed, she knew she had given herself away.
“Then I have the right Duardo.” Zalaya sounded pleased. He put bothhands on the cane, studying her. “I knew this man.”
Minnie was already shaken, making it easier to ride out the surprise and keep her face stiff. She stared at Zalaya, daring him to make something of her lack of reaction.
His smile broadened. “Very good,” he said cryptically and left, moving heavily and slowly.
Minnie gobbled down the food, every last crumb. She was ravenously hungry. As sheshowered afterward, she considered the implications of Zalaya knowing about Duardo and realized with a sinking sensation that when those around Zalaya put it together, as they would most certainly do, it would place Minnie far too close to Nick for their comfort. She would become either a pawn or a danger in their eyes. Either way, her cover story about being a lost Australian, or a member of theharmless Knights Errant would not hold up.
The garment Zalaya had tossed on the bed was a simple floral dress in a light cotton fabric, with little ties over the shoulders and buttons up the front. She slipped it on, pleased to have some protection against the ever-present camera and found it came only to upper-thigh.
As she fastened the buttons, she focused on the low sound she could hear fromZalaya’s office. It was a murmuring of voices. Yet Zalaya had implied he was going elsewhere.
Minnie crept to the door, carrying the chain so it would not clink. She tried the handle. It turned without resistance. She eased the door open a few inches and saw the room beyond was empty. She opened the door fully, checking the rest of the room. No one was there.
The voices issued from the controlconsole. Zalaya had obviously been monitoring something before going to his meeting and had failed to switch off the sound feed before he left. The voices coming from the speaker were in Spanish, but loud and clear. She crept closer to the console and found the chain was long enough to let her reach at the closest corner.
She examined the banks of screens, searching for the one that matched theconversation she was listening to. The black and white image showed a magnificent room with a huge, carved and polished table. A boardroom?
Serrano sat in the big chair at the head of the table. Zalaya sat in the chair next to him. There was no one else.
Minnie leaned close and concentrated, listening hard.
* * * * *
Zalaya pushed his chair back from the table, brought his ankle up to theother knee and rubbed at the thigh, his fingers digging in.
Serrano realized he’d been doing that more often lately. In all other respects, the man was a machine. He barely slept. He did nothing but work, except for occasional bouts of his peculiar form of self-indulgence. Was his body finally protesting at the driving pace he set? Serrano rubbed his chin thoughtfully. If Zalaya self-implodedit would be devilishly difficult to replace him. Men of his caliber and odd talents and tastes were rare. On the other hand, it might solve a few problems that had set in.
“Is there anything else?” Zalaya asked, glancing at his watch.
“In a hurry to get back to your little toy?”
Zalaya smiled. “There’s plenty of life left in that little toy. Why waste it?” The smile faded. “Relax, Serrano.Your latest production is not in jeopardy.” He tapped the folder in front of him. “You just heard the progress report.”
“I still see no reason why this could not have been provided to me during a full council meeting. There’s nothing delicate in any of it.”
“It’s all delicate,” Zalaya shot back. “You of all people should know that within these walls there is more than one agenda at work. Whygive anyone ammunition and ideas by discussing this subject in front of them?”
Serrano nodded shortly. Zalaya was right, as usual.
The tap at the door was peremptory. Demanding. Zalaya glanced at the door, his eyes narrowing. “You told someone we were meeting here?”
“Only my secretary. He would not have handed the information out to anyone unnecessarily.” He lifted his voice. “Come!”
The doorimmediately opened and a man strolled into the room. He was wearing one of the brand new uniforms that were now emerging from the garment factories in Mejia, on the western coast of Vistaria. He was upright, crisp, pleated...everything a proper soldier could be, except Serrano knew for a fact that Torrez was anything but a proper soldier.
Torrez’s hair was completely white, though he was notan albino. Serrano sometimes wondered what had created that coloring, for in every other respect, Torrez was genetically an average Vistarian.
