Page 78 of Prisoner of War
Zalaya left the door between his office and bedroom open. For most of the morning, he went about his shadowy business while Minnie listened carefully and took mental notes.Breakfast arrived on two trays, one for each of them. Zalaya ate at his desk. Minnie put her tray at the foot of the bed and sat cross-legged behind it, where she could see into Zalaya’s office more clearly.
Then, shortly before ten, he was called away.
As soon as the door shut behind him, she hurried into the office and studied the screens, watching for him. He appeared briefly on one, traversinga corridor, then disappeared.
From watching all morning, she had learned how to switch the screens to different views—there were many more cameras than there were monitors and each screen could show what any camera anywhere was showing—it was simply a matter of selecting the right camera for that screen.
She changed views rapidly, hitting switches with a pause only long enough to assess if Zalayawas in that room or not before moving on. After three frantic minutes of stabbing at buttons, she knew that Zalaya was not anywhere within range of a camera.
Where was that place? It would be worthwhile knowing what appeared to be the one location in the building where Zalaya or Serrano could not see her.
When he returned, fifteen minutes later, she spotted him in the monitors she was watchingand by the time he stepped back into the office she was back on the bed. He sat behind his desk, which put his back to her, raised his leg to the top of it and rubbed absently, staring ahead.
Thinking.
He sat that way for long minutes before picking up his pen and returning to work.
* * * * *
Sometime in the hot, early afternoon, Minnie fell asleep on the end of the bed. Pure boredom exhaustedher, for Zalaya ignored her while he dealt with a steady flow of people calling on the telephone or stepping into the office in person.
Minnie watched and listened to everything he did and received an in-depth education on the ways of the Insurrectos, until idleness dulled her mind and sleep claimed her.
She was woken by a woman screaming. She sat up, alarmed.
Half a dozen well-armed Insurrectosdragged a struggling woman into Zalaya’s office. Serrano followed, a large smile on his face.
The woman was Vistarian, but Minnie could see nothing of her face, for her long hair whipped about it as she struggled. She wore a cropped T-shirt and low-rise jeans that showed off her trim waist and hips and the flat planes of her abdomen, highlighted by one of the large, elaborate silver buckles thatVistaria had begun to produce when the Garrido mine had first struck ore. That buckle, Minnie realized, would be a slap in the face to the Insurrectos, who had tried to take back their country precisely because of what they saw as American interference.
Zalaya got to his feet, putting the phone back down. He reached for his cane. Serrano stepped around the soldiers as they halted in the middleof the floor. He spread his hands. “I have a problem.”
“I can see that. She’s a little jaguar, isn’t she?”
At the sound of his voice, the woman stopped struggling and looked up. Minnie pressed her hand to her mouth to hold in her gasp.
It was Téra Alejandra, Duardo’s sister. There was blood at the corner of her mouth, proving that she had not come easily.
Cold fear touched Minnie. Would Téragive Duardo away? How would she have any idea that he was pretending to be Zalaya?
Téra’s expression was one of fury. She looked at Zalaya and spat. Relief trickled through Minnie. Somehow, Téra had figured out that she must not recognize or acknowledge Duardo as her brother.
Zalaya glanced at Serrano. “What is your problem?”
“I want to put her to work in the bordello, but I am afraid thatany man who approaches her would be in danger of losing his balls.”
“At the least,” Téra growled. Without warning, she brought her knee up almost to her chest and rammed her booted heel backward and sideways, directly into the crotch of the soldier gripping her arm in both hands.
He wheezed, his face turned a sickly gray color and he collapsed in a tight ball to the floor, holding his crotch.
Téra spun, her free arm pistoning toward the private who had hold of her other arm, but aborted the movement when Serrano rested his handgun against her temple and cocked it.
“That’s better,” Serrano crooned. He waved to one of the other men, who stepped up and placed his own rifle against her temple, allowing Serrano to move away.
Zalaya gave a low chuckle. “Where on earth did you find thisone?”
“We had to do a bit of digging,” Serrano admitted. “We ran her to ground in the market square—there she was, bold as brass, shopping.”
“Bold?”
