Page 1 of Casualties of War
Chapter One
The woman in the glittering black dress looked familiar, which meant nothing to Adán. Beautiful women in sequins flowed in and out of his life, along with a swift torrent of people of all kinds. Even though her appearance was nudging his memory, he didn’t try reaching for the connection when he should have. Instead, when she smiled and handed him a glass of the poor quality champagnecirculating the reception hall, Adán shifted into people-greeting mode and thanked her.
“Are you a contributor to the hospital, Mr. Caballero?” Her voice was throaty, although what startled him was her perfect Spanish, devoid of any accent at all.
He reassessed her. She was brunette, although there were no clear markers claiming Latin ancestry. Her eyes were hazel, not black.
Why did he feelas though he should remember her?
While he cast about, trying to fit her into one of the many facets of his life, which would help him recall her name, Adán replied. “I’m not a contributor, although the Vice President is. He asked me to come along.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “They think I might help increase the donations. God knows why.” He winked.
She laughed on cue, her white teethshowing, then sipped the champagne and grimaced.
Not an actress, Adán decided. She had too many curves. The yacht club? The diving club? Golf? None of them seemed right. “Are you part of the hospital?” he asked, going for the direct question. He had to risk offending her.
She laughed. “Hardly.”
“Ah, then you are in politics,” he concluded. This little shindig was a mix of hospital patrons andWashington politicians, including the Vice President and three or four Hollywood names to goose the donations.
“As are you, Mr. Caballero.” She lifted her glass a little more.
“Oh, I’m not in politics,” he said, startled.
She turned on her feet, an elegant dance movement that put her right beside him, instead of standing in front of him. “Smile!” she breathed.
Startled, he looked for the camera.The paparazzi were corralled at the entrance, which had allowed him to let down his guard. Now he braced himself as the camera flashed.
The woman laughed again and kissed his cheek as the camera flashed again.
The photographer nodded and hurried away. The woman rubbed her lipstick from Adán’s cheek.
He admitted ruefully he had been sandbagged. It didn’t happen often, these day. He was usuallybetter at spotting nearby photographers. He hadn’t expected one in here with White House security everywhere.
The woman smiled at him. “Vistaria thanks you, Mr. Caballero.”
She walked away, as alarm crashed through him.
Now he knew who she was.
Adán turned and ran in the direction the photographer had taken, looking for the jeans-clad figure among the forest of tuxedos and evening gowns. Hedodged and pushed, murmuring apologies as he went. There was no need to alarm everyone else.
Mike appeared magically by Adán’s side, his hand raised to the ear with the communications bug. “What happened?” He kept pace with Adán.
“Photos,” Adán ground out. “We have to get them back, Mike. Man, Nikon camera, jeans, scruffy beard, mousy hair.”
Mike didn’t ask for clarification. He had been throughthis type of alert before. He said to the air in front of him; “Photographer, jeans, beard, coming your way. Hold him. We’re coming.”
He didn’t bring his wrist to his mouth as they did in movies. His voice pickup was part of the earwig, and it was strong enough to capture his voice, plus the voices of everyone around him for a meter or more. The silly hand-to-mouth thing was something directorsinsisted upon because they didn’t trust the audience was smart enough to understand why a character was speaking to himself.
“You should get back to the party,” Mike added, this time speaking to Adán.
He shook his head. “This isn’t paparazzi. It’s something else.”
Mike nodded. “When you catch up with him, pat him down for weapons,” he added to the air in front of him. Then to Adán. “Can yousee him anywhere?”
They had moved out of the area where the reception was being held and were moving across the darkened new wing of the hospital, toward the public entrance. There were several people crossing the floor in all directions, most of them waiters.
“No, he’s not here.”
