The Lazarus Drop Page 19

  More glass breaking, and then Sister Bergstrom stepped through the window, carrying a large caliber handgun that looked like it came straight out the Twentieth Century Pavilion..

  “That's one,” she said. She strode to Beg's side. He looked up and smiled at first, but the smile vanished as he guessed her intent. He shook his head weakly as she pressed the muzzle of the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger. Another loud crack and Beg slammed sideways, toppling the chair.

  “That's two,” Sister Bergstrom said. She grinned at me. “Anything else I can do for you?"

  “You already did too much,” I said.

  “How's that?” she asked.

  I nodded toward Beg. “I wanted to kill the son of a bitch myself."

  Imry stepped away from his corner and slumped into a chair. I had forgotten he was there.

  “I suppose I am in your hands now,” he said to me. He looked tired, defeated, and confused.

  “I suppose you are,” I replied. I looked back to Sister Bergstrom.

  “Where the hell did you come from?” I said. “You're supposed to be one of the bad guys."

  “I was,” she said. “But this asshole tried to cheat me.” She nudged Beg's body with her foot. “I can't stand a welsher,” she said. “I had followed him here, trying to decide what to do with him. When I got a peek inside, I thought it might be an opportune time to switch sides.” She waved the gun from side to side, then looked at it as if she were surprised she still had it. She tucked it into her belt and sat down.

  “I understand you're headed back to the United States,” she said. “You giving rides?"

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  Chapter 18

  I waited almost two weeks to call Nordeen. Other things had priority. There were bodies to bury. There was Manolo. I could not make myself leave until I knew if he would be all right. And there was Pilar. I wasn't sure what I hoped for there, but I knew I did not want things to hang, sad and unfinished, between us.

  They had a joint funeral for Beto and Carlos, and both of them got the hero treatment. I could understand with Beto, who was both victim and hero; but honoring Carlos at the same ceremony puzzled me, and angered me. Cruz explained.

  “Only a few of us know how Carlos really died,” he said. “It would do no good to reveal the truth. This is a time when people need to feel united and hopeful. And we have so few heroes, we cannot afford to lose any of them. Anyway, if the truth were known, half the champions in the history of humanity probably were assholes face to face. Why go against the tide?” He paused. “Actually, I left it up to Pilar. He was her brother. She agreed to the small charade. If she had said no, I would have arranged things differently."

  The laid on an even bigger funeral for Noriega, with cascades of flowers, paper mache saints, and a eulogy by Cruz himself, who honored reality slightly, but mostly made the General sound like everyone's kindly uncle. Everybody knew Cruz was making it up as he went along, and everybody smiled and applauded enthusiastically as each station of the Cross was passed in this odd little homily. But this time no one had to explain things to me. Even I could see that the whole performance was for Manolo, an innocent boy who had never hurt anyone, whom no one wanted to hurt, and who had suffered enough already for his father's sins. Now when he returned from the hospital in Mexico City, he would be able to hear of the wonderful funeral his father had been given, and shown the place of honor in the municipal cemetery where Noriega's charred remains had been laid to rest.

  Pilar tried for a long time to avoid being alone with me. I finally cornered her after the General's funeral, mainly because she still limped a little from her leg wound, and couldn't get away once I finally swallowed my pride and actually chased after her.

  “How are you?” I asked.

  “I am all right,” she said. “And you?"

  “I don't know,” I said. “I feel a lot of different things."

  “You should be happy. You have your scientist, and you will undoubtedly receive a fine reward for taking him back to the United States. Even the people here think of you as a fine man, because you brought them the means of their liberation.” She spoke matter-of-factly, without any sarcasm in her voice.

  “I am happy that I succeeded in what I came here for,” I said. “But I am sad because good people died on my account."

  She shrugged. “People die,” she said. “God decides when. If you had not been here, he would have found another tool to work his will."

  “I have been afraid that you would hate me,” I said.

  She shook her head and smiled softly, then looked up at me, meeting my eyes for the first time. I saw sadness in her gaze, and for a moment something that felt like tenderness. Then she looked away again.

  “For a little time I thought I might love you. For a little longer time I thought I must hate you. Then I realized I could do neither. Love and hate are for people. You have become something other than human to me. You are like an elemental force that came into our lives and changed them, without really changing yourself. I might as well decide I love or hate the Jester God.” She took a few steps away, then turned and looked at me again. It was the last time our eyes touched.

  “You must tell me good-bye now,” she said, “and then never speak to me again.” She stood there, waiting. I wanted badly to go to her, to touch her, to make her see me as a man; but I knew she was right. I nodded.

  “Good-bye,” I said. Then I spun around and walked away as quickly as I could.

  A couple of days later, the word came from Mexico City that Manolo would survive, was doing well in fact, and could return home within a month.

  “What will he return to?” I asked Cruz, as we crossed to Janitzio Island so that I could finally send a message to Nordeen.

  “A statue of his father in the cemetery,” Cruz said. “With fresh flowers placed there every day. I have seen to that. And Pilar will care for the boy. She can give him the love that she tried to give Carlos for so long, but that he was not whole enough to accept.” He laughed quietly. “There is so much love inside that woman,” he said. “She needs a man, some day.” He glanced in my direction. “Someone like you, but without the luggage."

  We rode in silence for a while, lulled by the sound of small waves slapping against the boat as the statue of Noriega on the island grew larger.

  “What will they do with that?” I asked.

  “Quien sabe?” he said. “Who knows?” He laughed again, more loudly this time. “And I don't want to get involved, one way or the other. Some things are best left alone. And speaking of things best left alone, what do you intend to do about the fat woman, Sister Bergstrom?"

  I shook my head. “I haven't decided. She wants to come along when I take Imry out."

  “Do you trust her?"

  “No. Not worth a damn."

  “I could see to it that she returns to Mexico City. I am sure Salazar would be glad to provide an urgent reason."

  I thought about that, then shook my head again.

  “I don't like her, and I don't trust her, but she saved my bacon. And that big pistola she carries around might come in handy. I trust Nordeen a lot less than I trust her."

  “Just be careful, amigo. So far, you have been charmed, but a man's luck can run out."

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  Chapter 19

  Cruz lent us a boat, one he had liberated from the island. It was nothing fancy, sort of an elongated rowboat, a little beamy in the middle, with a flat bottom, a small water jet outboard engine, and a set of oars for just in case. There were no seats, but Cruz came up with some straw mats and blankets to provide a little padding.

  “Just tie it up when you get where you are going,” he said. “I will send someone for it later. Maybe I will go for it myself. I like boat rides, especially if I don't have to row."

  We clambered in to the boat and got ready to cast off—Sister Bergstrom at the bow, which was a tight fit, but her choice, Imry on a wooden crate in the
middle, and myself at the rear, in charge of the water jet's tiller. A small group of people had come down to see us off. Pilar was not among them, and I had not expected her.

  “Let me know when you are safely home, amigo,” Cruz said. “And come back in a year or two to visit. By then the hovertrains will be running from Mexico City, so you can come in style."

  I nodded and waved, and we set out. The engine came on with a smooth surge that spoke of more power than I would have expected from something so small, and I headed the boat across the current. We reached the middle of the river and turned downstream, and I looked back once more. Everyone still clustered at the river's edge, watching us go, and then, at the edge of the group, Pilar appeared. I waved. She lifted her hand chest high, and waved back, then turned and walked away again. It was enough. I felt something relax inside, in a place I had not even known was tense.

  It was a perfect morning for a boat ride, or for anything else. The air was cool and winey, with the sun just high enough to take the edge off the night chill and brighten the small puffy clouds that floated overhead. Birds sang and swooped across the water, looking for breakfast bugs, and an occasional fish rose. The river itself was broad and smooth, and I cut the engine off and let the little boat drift, only turning the power on again when we swept through bends in the channel. Sister Bergstrom had settled herself as comfortably as she could, but the gunnels squeezed her midriff like a girdle, and I guess it got to be too much. She groaned and rose to her knees, then grabbed the sides of the boat and turned around to face forward, making the little craft rock madly from side to side, and making me glad for the broad, flat bottom that kept it from capsizing. She settled down again and sat erect, leaning over the bow of the boat, her body taut and stiff. You would have thought she was on a tight schedule and running late. Imry slipped off the crate and settled onto the mats. He leaned back, gazing at the clouds, and letting one hand trail in the water.

  “Thinking about going up there some day?” I asked.

  “Never,” he said. “I don't fly, and I am terrified of heights. I am quite content to watch the stars from a distance and let other people take the risks.” He lifted his hand from the water, licked his fingers, and let the hand drop into the current again. “You may find it difficult to understand, but the practical outcome of my work has little interest to me. It is the theory, the math, the solving of a wonderful puzzle, that I delight in.” He paused and smiled, something he seemed to do rarely. “I lie. There is one practical aspect I will enjoy, if my theories have practical applications."

  “What's that?” I asked.

  “The royalties,” he said. “I will not at all mind being rich. And even if my speculations never lead to anything concrete, those who hope it will are eager to pay me quite well in the interim, and provide me with all the luxuries I desire."

  “No romance of the stars?” I said.

  Imry sighed and looked away. “The part of me that believed in romance died years ago,” he said. “Now I will settle for a nice house, with perhaps a swimming pool and servants, or at least a secretary."

  “I have the impression that my government is ready to make an extremely generous offer,” I said.

  Imry's face turned hard. His jaw set, and he stared at me with ice in his eyes.

  “I will never work for the United States,” he said. “You have me under your control right now, and so I will have to go there; but I will never work for them.” He looked down at the water.

  “They just want to talk to you,” I said. “If you choose to go on to Brazil, you'll be free to leave."

  Imry shook his head slowly and offered me a grim smile. “You are either a liar or a very naive person, Mister Blue. They will try to keep me there. Eventually I may be able to make a big enough embarrassment to them that they will have to let me go.” He paused, and a shadow crossed his eyes. “Or kill me. They kill easily, your employers. But whatever, I will not work."

  We floated in silence for a while. I looked toward Sister Bergstrom. She continued to face down river, but I was sure she had been listening. I was sure Sister Bergstrom never missed anything.

  “Nice river,” I finally said, just to change the subject.

  “A very fine river,” Imry said. “It brings memories."

  “You've been here before?"

  “No. I speak of a different river,” He paused, a wistful look in his eyes. “But a boat like this, and a broad, gentle river. The Donau, the Danube. I grew up on it. I courted my bride on it, took her for picnics on a boat much like this one."

  “I didn't know you had a wife."

  Imry reached into a pocket and pulled out a picture, an old fashioned, plastic snapshot, cracked in places, but with the colors still bright. It was a young woman, heart stoppingly beautiful, with flaming red hair, a short, tilted nose, huge blue eyes, and skin like milk. She had just the beginning of a smile, and looked very happy.

  “Her name was Zorna,” Imry said.

  “She's very beautiful."

  “She was. And very gentle, and loving, and innocent."

  “You say was. Is she dead?"

  “Yes, Mister Blue. She is dead.” He put the picture away with a scowl.

  “Let me tell you how she died, Mister Blue. Let me tell you what was done to her. Then, perhaps, because you do not seem to be a completely unintelligent man, you will understand why I will not work for your country.”

  His eyes went deep inside again, and he sat back in silence for a moment. When he spoke again his voice was soft and distant.

  “She was twenty-three, and very excited, because she had gotten an assignment to New York, to the United Nations, as a translator.” He glanced at me briefly. “She was as intelligent as she was beautiful. She met a man there, a member of your government, a senator. He hired her for a special assignment, he called it, to do some translation for him. He took her to a hotel room and he raped her. He kept her there for a week. And he raped her, over and over again.” Imry's voice cracked, and he stopped speaking for a moment.

  “When he finally let her go, she tried to file charges. She went to the police and tried to have him arrested. I know this, because she called me, hysterical, terrified that I would not love her any more, that I would think it was her fault. Two days later she was dead. They found her in a cheap hotel, a place of prostitutes, with needle marks all over her, and enough drugs in her body to kill ten women. Then they hired men, filthy men, the kind who will do anything for money, to testify that she had been going to that hotel for months, selling her body for drugs. And the police claimed they had no record of her ever going to them.”

  Imry's voice choked and cracked again. His eyes glistened with tears, and he clenched his hands together so tightly that the blood left the fingers.

  “I flew to the United States to identify her, and to take her home with me. And even then, they tried to hire me to work for them. They tried to convince me that I would be doing a service to mankind to develop my theories for the United States instead of Hungary. They offered me money—told me I could name my price—to pay for the inconvenience that had occurred with my wife. The inconvenience."

  His face twisted into an ugly mask, and he spit into the river. “And they have hounded me ever since. In Hungary. In India. Now here.” He smiled bitterly. “At least this time they do not send that awful, slimy man, that human reptile. Always before it has been him, that Nordeen."

  Sooner or later, I always get the message. Sometimes you have to peel my skull back and burn it in with a laser, but eventually something registers. There might be two Nordeens in the world, maybe even two reptilian ones, but I wasn't taking any bets on it. “We just want to talk to Imry,” he had told me. “We've never had a chance to do that.” I understood, finally, that Imry wasn't going to get a chance to say no, or anything else. And I also understood that Nordeen was not going to risk letting me go home, just in case I knew too much. Much neater that way.

  I powered the engine up and steered the
boat toward the trees. Sister Bergstrom turned around immediately.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she said, then grinned at me. “Didn't you go to the bathroom before we left?"

  I didn't respond. The boat bumped into the shore. I jumped out, grabbed the bow line, and tugged it up onto the sand.

  “Get out,” I told Imry. “Go sit over there and wait for me."

  “What do you mean?” His brow creased in puzzlement.

  “Just get out of the damn boat!” I hauled on the line again, to settle the boat more firmly.

  “Just hold it right there,” Sister Bergstrom said, and she punctuated her order with that big damn handgun she had been carrying. “What do you think you're doing?"

  “I'm getting us off the water before we get in view of Nordeen.” I said.

  “Who is Nordeen?” she said.

  “The man we were going to meet, who was supposed to take us back to the United States."

  “The man we're still going to meet,” she said, “because he's going to be my next employer, whether he knows it or not."

  “Get out of the damn boat, Imry,” I said, trying to ignore the gun. “I don't need to tell you about Nordeen, for God's sake."

  “No,” Sister Bergstrom said. “You get your ass back into the boat, Blue. We're going to keep that appointment.”

  At that moment, Imry decided to take his fate into his own hands. He grabbed one of the oars, stood up, and swung wildly at Sister Bergstrom. She threw her free hand up trying to block the oar, and swung the gun back and forth between me and Imry."

  “Drop that goddam oar, you little piece of shit,” she yelled. “I'll blow your head off!"

  “No you won't,” I said. “No scientist, no meal ticket."

  “But I'll be glad to kill you,” Sister Bergstrom said, and extended her gun hand to get a better bead on me.

  Imry swung again, and this time the oar connected with Sister Bergstrom's wrist. The gun flew out of her hand and into the water. She tried to lurch to her feet, and the boat lurched violently. She fell heavily onto the mats, and Imry, who had twisted himself off balance swinging the oar, followed the gun into the river. The boat, its bottom freed from the sandy beach by all the activity, began to float back into the water. Sister Bergstrom stared wildly at us, and at the spot where her weapon had vanished, and then grabbed the tiller. She started the engine and headed out into the current.