Page 77 of Prisoner of War
Chapter Seventeen
A four-foot by twenty-foot section of flooring had been carefully placed over the joists and Serrano confined his pacing to that section because the rafters there were high enough that he didn’t have to duck.
As the minutes ticked on, his stride increased and grew heavier. What was taking the man so long? Zalaya knew better than to keep him waiting.
The armed privateshovering closer to the stash watched every lap. They were aware of his growing temper and were bracing themselves and that was just fine by him.
At the far end of the attic, there was movement. Voices. A long dark shape moved slowly along the exposed joists. As it got closer, the naked bulb they’d strung up to illuminate the attic showed it was Zalaya negotiating the joist. Zalaya would haveall sorts of trouble balancing himself along the beams with his gimp. Serrano knew he had not slept either, so the limp would be worse than usual.
Still, Zalaya progressed along the beam to the section of flooring Serrano stood upon with a fair amount of grace and resettled himself with the cane at his side, leaning upon it with a straight arm. “General,” he acknowledged. He glanced over to wherethe privates squatted and jerked his chin toward it. “That’s what you dragged me up here for?”
Without waiting for an answer, he made his way over to the low section above the eaves, bending over and then creeping forward in a crouch, using his fingertips for balance. It forced him to leave his cane behind, but that didn’t seem to bother him too much. He studied the material and objects therefor a long minute then eased his way back to where Serrano waited.
“Blankets, cans of food, fruit and more. Bottled water, clothing. Most of it from our own kitchens and supply closets. An MP3 player that I recall was reported stolen by one of the palace security corps two days ago.” He glanced at the warren again. “Under the circumstances, I believe this is where Jose Escobedo’s daughter hasbeen hiding.”
“This is only occurring to you now?” Serrano cried. “When Torrez brought word of the two women to us, why did you not comb the palace then? You already had one of them. An idiot could have supposed the other was not far away.”
“You didn’t,” Zalaya pointed out calmly.
“That’s what I pay you to figure out!”
Zalaya held up a hand, motioning for calmness. “We’ve been searching thepalace since the early hours of this morning. I can assure you, she’s not here. Not any longer.”
“I have been informed of the security breach.” Serrano fumed, for the breach bothered him more than the idea of Escobedo’s daughter prowling the attic above him. “Facebook! What next?” He pointed a trembling finger at Zalaya. “You should have anticipated this. You should have had security in placeto thwart it.”
“Then you should have given me a bigger budget,” Zalaya returned.
Serrano could feel his jaw drop and gritted his teeth together to hold it in place. “Who did she send a message to? The bastard Escobedo?”
“Unlikely.”
“Why not? He’s the only one with the means to help her.”
“Even Escobedo does not have the means to help her,” Zalaya answered. “Not yet, though that time drawsnear. She would not call to Escobedo for the same reason I assumed she would not be in the palace or anywhere near the American woman—she hates them both. Escobedo caused the death of her father and the American was too much like her for her own comfort.”
Serrano did let his jaw drop this time. The insight into the people in the big house astonished him. Why had Torrez not told him this? “You’vebeen talking to Torrez?”
Zalaya lifted a brow. “Extensively. Haven’t you? It’s called debriefing. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”
Anger surged again, but this time Serrano pushed it back, his mind working. “Why are you baiting me?”
“I don’t bait,” Zalaya said shortly. “If I wanted to challenge you, I would ensure you did not mistake my intentions. I’m pointing out that you may think you know mytrade, but you do not.”
“I know enough to know that there are some curiously large holes in your effectiveness, Zalaya. Disappointingly large.”
“The holes correspond with the lack of support and resources I deal with on a daily basis.” Zalaya turned away and made his way to the joist that led to the nearest manhole down to the third floor. “The sooner you realize that the only way to get whatyou want is to trust me, the sooner your life gets easier.”
Serrano let him go, even though he had not formally dismissed him. He watched the man’s back as he walked along the beam, sampling the uneasiness in his gut.
No, he didn’t like the placement or shape of the holes at all, but Zalaya was right—he didn’t know Zalaya’s trade well enough. His mind was not made for intrigue. It was made forthe strategy of an open battle and that was why he was an excellent chess player, for all the information was out there in the open.
Zalaya had the sort of mind that grappled better with the hidden, the intimated. Torrez was another, which partly explained what had drawn the two men together.
Serrano waved to one of the privates, who scurried over and quivered to attention.
“Find Torrez. Iwant him in my office in five minutes. I don’t care what he’s doing or who he’s doing it with. Tell him to wipe it off and report to me. I will think up a suitable retribution for every minute he makes me wait.”
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