The World's Finest Mystery Part 92

"Nothing, Tela," Armando confirmed.

"d.a.m.n!" She slammed a fist into the palm of her other hand. "Now, he's gotten away from us."

"We're sorry, Tela," Benito said, as if he and Armando were ashamed of their failure.

"No, no, it's not your fault." Tela a.s.sured them. "It's mine. I should have shot him right here in this room when I had the chance, regardless of what Monte said."

"How can you be so sure that he's an agent?" Armando asked.

"I'm just sure, that's all. Two things I can always tell: a federal agent and a Sombra Negra. Both make my heart skip beats. It never fails."

Benito and Armando nodded gravely. Sombra Negra was the name of the government death squads in El Salvador.

"Maybe we'll get another chance at him," Benito tried to placate Tela.

"Maybe," Tela said quietly.

If they did, she would not let him get away again. She would kill him herself whether Monte ordered it or not.

Four nights later, the doorbell rang in Tela's apartment.

"Yes, who is it?" she asked through the door.

"Tony Marcala."

"Who?" The name did not immediately register.

"The agent." Tony said wryly.

Shocked, Tela opened the door on its safety chain. "What are you doing here?" she asked indignantly. "What do you want? How did you know where I live?"

"Frank Barillas told me where you lived," said Tony. He held up an envelope. "This was delivered to me yesterday. Frank left it with someone in the hospital to mail after he died. Your address is in it, and instructions to come see you."

"Let me see that," she said, frowning coldly. He handed the envelope through the narrow opening. Tela removed the letter and quickly scanned it. The handwriting was that of Francis...o...b..rillas, there was no doubt. She would have recognized it anywhere. Slightly shaky from his weakened condition, it was his penmans.h.i.+p nevertheless. She had known the man's precise script since she was a high school girl and took letters to the mailbox for him every day.

Closing the door, Tela removed the chain and opened it again. "Come in." she said resignedly. Her eyes swept over Tony as he entered. He wore a sport coat now, with a casual black s.h.i.+rt under it, gray slacks and loafers. Somehow he looked less like an agent, but her suspicions did not diminish. Her heart did skip a beat, but perhaps, she grudgingly thought, it was because he was close to her for a moment, and he smelled of bay rum, and it had been a long time between men. "May I read the letter?" she asked.

"Of course."

"Thank you. Please sit down."

Tony sat on her couch in the modest but tidy little living room he had entered. There was nothing of her in the room that he could see, only things of her cause. On the walls were El Salvadoran Liberation posters in striking graphics of red, white, and black. In a nearby bookcase, he could see books with names on their spines like Zapata, Castro, Mao, and Biko. A few framed photographs showed men and women in camouflage fatigues holding automatic weapons; one of the men he recognized as a young Frank Barillas. Two Spanish-language newspapers lay on the coffee table. The only thing feminine was a silky white blouse with a sewing kit next to it, lying on one of the end tables where she apparently meant to mend it.

Finished with the room, Tony studied the woman herself. She was wearing a flimsy spaghetti-strap house dress of some Aztec pattern, and was barefoot. He decided that she probably had nothing on under the dress because she sat defensively, knees pressed together, elbows at her sides, leaning forward slightly as she read the two-page letter. When she finished, she put it back in the envelope and handed it over to him. In the same movement, she reached for a tissue and dabbed at her eyes.

"It is like a voice from the grave," she said.

"Yes," Tony agreed quietly.

Her sadness faded as quickly as it had appeared. "He said he was sending you to me because I was the one least likely to trust you. He was right."

"Yes, you've made that obvious."

"He wants me to arrange a meeting for you with Monte and the other captains of Mara Salva. He says he thinks you might be of significant help to us in what we do. Do you agree with him?"

"I can't answer that," Tony said, "until I know exactly what it is that you do."

"And you expect us to tell you?" Tela asked incredulously.

"I don't expect anything, and I'm not asking for anything," Tony told her evenly. "I am simply responding to a deathbed request from a man to whom I owe a great debt. He saw to it that I was fed, clothed, and sheltered as a child, and in my later life he provided me with an outstanding education. He sent me to Stanford University for six years to earn a master's degree in business administration. Do you have any idea what that is worth?"

"No." Tela admitted. "I do not. I am not a formally educated person." She saw Tony's eyes s.h.i.+ft to the bookcase containing volumes on history, government, and revolution. "I teach myself," she answered his unasked question. Tony nodded.

"You seem to be well along. I had some political science courses; those books are used in advanced studies."

"I try," she said, raising her chin an inch.

"Perhaps," he suggested, "that is why Frank wanted us to meet. Perhaps he felt that you could overcome your distrust if we could meld intellectually."

"What is 'meld?' " she asked.

"To come together," he said quietly, his eyes holding to hers. She tried to stare him down, but could not. After a moment, she rose and walked around to stand behind her chair.

"Perhaps you would like something cold to drink?"

"No, I wouldn't." Tony stood and removed his coat. "And neither would you."

He stepped over and took her in his arms and kissed her for a long time until she finally kissed him back. He felt her overbite with his upper lip and it increased his arousal. His hands went all over the flimsy dress she wore and felt nothing underneath it except her thin, angular body. In one fluid movement, he peeled the dress over her head and swung her up into his arms. He carried her back around to the couch and turned off all but one small lamp as he undressed.

Watching him from where she lay, Tela thought: This is not for the cause. This is for me. It makes no difference if he is an agent.

Two hours later, in an exhausted afterglow, Tony lay stretched out on the couch, Tela on the floor next to him, legs curled under her, the side of her face resting on his hip, one finger idly tracing an appendectomy scar on his side. She had already asked him when his appendix had been removed, and he had told her it had been in his soph.o.m.ore year at Stanford. Then he had asked her if she was Monte's girlfriend, and she had laughed and said no, her best friend Amelia was Monte's wife, and that she and Monte were more like brother and sister. Then she had asked him how many girlfriends he had in San Francisco, and he had told her twelve or fourteen, he wasn't sure, after ten it was hard to keep track. For that answer she had slapped him on the shoulder, not too softly either. Then he had asked her if she still thought he was an agent. She thought about it for a time, then admitted she wasn't as sure, but still was not prepared to say he definitely wasn't one. And what about the letter from Frank Barillas? "It could be a forgery," she reasoned. "You people have the resources to do anything."

"You people? What people?" he wanted to know.

"The U.S. government."

Tony could not argue with logic. They fell silent for a while then, with only one small lamp on and the window open a few inches behind closed blinds, hearing an occasional muted voice from the street, listening to barely audible salsa music being played somewhere, feeling the fleeting brush of a breeze now and then.

After a few minutes, Tony asked, "What is Mara Salva?"

Tela did not answer for so long that he almost decided she was not going to. But presently she turned with her back to the couch, put her head against his side, drew one of his arms down around her, and told him.

"During the civil war in El Salvador, there were two major groups that opposed the military dictators.h.i.+p of the government. The first was La Mara. It was a well-organized and very violent urban gang that terrorized the streets of San Salvador, the capital. Second, there was the FMLN, the Farabundo Marti National Liberation Front, that Francis...o...b..longed to. It was made up primarily of rural peasants trained as guerilla fighters, men and women who eventually became very adept in the use of small arms, explosives, and b.o.o.by traps. The FMLN opposed the military in the outlying areas.

"The war went on a dozen years. The military could not suppress the two groups, no matter how hard it tried. Even when it formed the death squads, the Sombra Negra, to take people from their homes in the middle of the night to be tortured and killed, the people of the resistance never gave up. More than one hundred thousand people were killed during that war, a thousand a week, and a million Salvadorans fled the country to escape torture and death, as you and your mother did. As I did, and Monte, and many others that you saw at the wake, and Francisco himself.

"Here in southern California, the refugees from Salvador were not welcomed by the Latinos and Asians already here; we were hara.s.sed and abused in many ways. But since there were many who had been members of La Mara, and many others who had been with the FMLN, Francisco saw the opportunity to band them together into one organization for the protection of all Salvadorans. So he formed the Mara Salva, and we soon became strong enough to protect ourselves against any other ethnic group trying to take advantage of us. At first, that was the sole purpose: protection only. Later, when the organization grew and became stronger, Francisco saw ways for us to become diverse, ways for us to help our people back home, ways to prepare to overthrow the government."

"But I thought the war had ended," Tony said. "I thought the government was all straightened out."

"You are naive," Tela told him quietly, patting fondly the arm she had drawn across her thin body. "In 1983 a new const.i.tution was drawn up for a representative government like you have here in the U.S. Three branches: executive, legislative, and judicial. An elected president serves a single five-year term. It sounds very good, no? And on the surface, it looks very good. But the fact remains that even with an elected president, the government is still dominated by a small, elite group of incredibly wealthy landowners and high-ranking military officers. Poverty is more widespread today among the rural peasants and urban poor than it was before the civil war began. The government itself is flouris.h.i.+ng because it is nationalizing land for export crops, and the world says. 'See how well Salvador has recovered.' But every hectare of land taken by the government, is one less hectare for people to grow their own crops on. Malnutrition among the peasants increases constantly; infant mortality rates increase constantly. Tens of thousands live without electricity, running water, or adequate sanitation. And," Tela's voice became even quieter, "the Sombra Negra still terrorizes the people."

"Sombra Negra," said Tony. "That means 'black shadows.' What is it?"

"The death squads," she said. "The men who come in the night and take people away. Men who abduct student demonstrators, union activists, priests, women who organize and demand more for their children. Sometimes the people they take are never heard from again; other times they are found dead somewhere after being horribly tortured-" She shuddered involuntarily and became quiet, s.h.i.+vering slightly as if cold. Tony took her arms and drew her up onto the couch to lie with him, holding her close to warm her.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I had no idea that any of that still went on."

"It is odd," she said, suspicion surfacing, "that Francisco never told you."

"Perhaps he wanted me to get my education first, without any preconceived ideas about the plans he had for me later."

"What do you think those plans were?"

"Apparently to have me come into Mara Salva with him."

"To do what?"

"I don't know. Streamline the operation, maybe, like I would a business that hired me as a consultant. Make Mara Salva more efficient, more profitable."

"For you to do that, we would have to tell you everything we do, no?"

"Yes."

"If we did that, and you were an agent, it would mean the end of us, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose. But if I were not an agent, and could help, it might be just the beginning for the organization." He brushed his fingertips over the small patch of pock marks on her cheek. "Are you going to take me to Monte and the others?"

"Don't touch me there," she said, pus.h.i.+ng his hand away. "I don't know yet. I must think on it."

He kissed her where his hand had been and she turned her face away. "I said I don't like to be touched there. It is embarra.s.sing to have a scarred face."

Rolling on top of her. Tony looked down. "There are no scars on your body. No flaws, no imperfections. Every inch of you is beautiful. And I will touch you wherever I wish."

Reaching over, he turned off the lamp again.

The next afternoon, Tela had Tony take her to a long abandoned drive-in movie theater on the edge of Anaheim. The entrance and exit gates were chained shut, but she had the key to a lock on one of the rear exits and let them in, leaving the gate unlocked behind them. She had Tony park his rental car directly in the center of the big open s.p.a.ce in front of the high structure where the screen had once been.

Earlier that morning, while Tony showered and dressed in fresh clothes from the suitcase he had in the car, Tela had called Monte and told him about the letter Tony had brought her. Monte sent someone to pick it up, then called back a couple of hours later to arrange a meeting at once. It irritated Tela that Monte wanted a meeting so soon. She and Tony had made love a second time the previous night, and again in the morning when they woke up. The sessions had been strenuous, fiery, full of pa.s.sion- and exhausting. Tela was tired, and when she was tired, she was irritable and cross. It did not help at all that Tony, with his perfect, toned body, was full of vim and vigor and sang in the shower. That was all she needed in her life right then, she groused silently to herself: a macho hombre who knew all fifty-two positions. Still- it had been exquisite lovemaking.

"When are they supposed to get here?" Tony asked when he parked.

"They'll get here when they get here," she replied sullenly.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"What's the matter with what?" she challenged. "With me? With you? With the world? What do you want to know from me?"

"Hey, forget I asked," he said, shaking his head in annoyance.

Fortunately, they did not have long to wait. Two cars came through the gate and drove over to where they were. Monte, two other men, and a woman got out of one, three men got out of the other. One of the men with Monte was Perico, who had held the gun on Tony at the funeral home, and two of the others were Benito and Armando, who had followed Tony to the airport when he left.

"We meet again," said Monte, offering his hand.

"Yes." Tony shook hands.

"I apologize, but I must have you thoroughly searched for a wire. Go with these two men, please."

Benito and Armando escorted Tony to what had once been a men's room when the theater was open, but was now empty of fixtures and in total disrepair. Tony was instructed to strip, which he did, to allow the two men to closely examine every garment he wore, then to scrutinize his body the same way. Tela could have told them that they would find nothing, but she dared not. It would have been mortifying to let the men know that she had slept with a man she suspected of being an agent. So she only confided in Amelia, the woman in the group, who was her best friend and Monte's wife.

The two women were standing off to themselves, talking, when Benito and Armando returned with Tony. Tela would not meet Tony's eyes when he came back, but Amelia looked him up and down at once and raised her eyebrows approvingly at Tela, making her blush and turn away from the men.

"These people here," Monte said to Tony when he returned and was declared clean of a wire, "are the officers and leaders of Mara Salva, the organization that Tela has already explained to you. Perico, Armando, Benito, and myself you already met at the wake. This," he introduced, "is my wife, Amelia. Tela you also already know. These other two are Ruben and Reynaldo. The eight of us were Mara Salva captains under Francis...o...b..rillas, who was our leader. I was chosen by him to be leader when he died. While he lived, he allowed all of us to vote on any important step the organization considered taking. His vote, of course, was the tie-breaker, if it was needed, which was rarely."

Monte removed from his coat pocket the letter Tony had brought to Tela the previous night, and which she had sent to Monte that morning to evaluate. Now he handed it back to Tony.

"We have all read the letter and believe it was written by the hand of our late leader, Francis...o...b..rillas. The purpose of this meeting is to vote whether to take you into the confidence of Mara Salva, as Francisco apparently wished us to do, or to reject you. But I must ask you first whether you yourself desire to become one of us. Do you?"

"I wish to honor the dying request of my patron," Tony said simply. "If I can be of benefit to you in a cause to which he was dedicated, then I will do so."

"Very well," said Monte. "Then we will vote. Each of the captains here will vote to accept or reject you. Amelia, I begin with you. Accept or reject?"

"Accept."

"Tela, accept or reject?"

"Reject."

Both Tony and Amelia looked at Tela in astonishment. She ignored them.

"Armando?"

"Accept."

"Benito?"

"Accept."

"Perico?"

"Reject." He sneered at Tony to punctuate his vote.