He took a cautious taste before his eyebrows raised in surprise. “It’s very good.”
“Duh. Told you. Here’s a hint—her food’s never made me sick. Well, heartburn a couple of times, but that was my own damn fault for not asking her to tone down the spices a little. There are a couple of places around here where you won’t want to eat, but most of them are safe.”
“I can see I have a lot to learn.”
“Whenever someone pays me in a chicken or a pig, I always give it to Mary Hernandez, our cook and that little boy’s mom, to fix it. I wasn’t raised on a farm. Like I know how to butcher an animal? Also, I never ask for payments from her for her kids’ routine treatments and immunizations. In return, she gives us free meals when we want them. It works.”
“I was under the impression the clinic didn’t charge.”
“We don’t if someone can’t pay. If they can donate a peso or two here or there, fine, but we never refuse to treat anyone. Donations are encouraged, however. And they’re proud people around here. They want to give back as much as they can.”
They finished their meal in silence. She could see he had a lot on his mind. No doubt he was digesting his situation. She’d seen it before, doctors who regretted their posting almost from the minute they arrived. Most of them were good sports about it, willing to learn and keep an open mind.
Some of them, she couldn’t wait to get rid of them.
When they finished eating, she offered him a smile. “Well?” she asked.
“Excellent.”
“I meant overall. What do you think about the place?”
“I’m here for the duration,” he said, returning her smile. “As long as you’ll have me.”
“Well, guess what? I’m sleeping in tomorrow morning. You get the early shift. I haven’t had a day off in what feels like forever.”
Fear entered his face. “But what about my Spanish skills, or lack thereof?”
She stood and stretched, grabbing their dishes and silverware to take inside so Mary didn’t have to come out and retrieve them. “That’s your problem, Mac. I’ll give you my learning materials to study tonight. You’ll do fine.”
Chapter Seven
Reverend Hannibal Silo, founder of the Church of the Rising Sunset, kept the placid, benign smile plastered to his face, the same smile that had coaxed hundreds of millions of dollars from people every year into his church’s coffers.
Across the table from him sat a senator’s wife. When he found out that Marianne Parnassus, wife of the junior senator from Ohio, would be in Albuquerque on a tour with other congressional spouses, why he couldn’t help but extend a personal invitation to her to come have a private lunch with him.
What she didn’t realize was that Silo’s network of operatives had finally caught Senator Parnassus on video in the act of being blown by one of his executive assistants.
The man doing the blowing also had a clueless wife. But the assistant was a relatively small fish in a very large ocean in comparison to the senator. The assistant would be a good person to keep on a list of potential contacts should the need arise, but for now Silo would allow that man to remain clueless.
Unless, of course, the Senator spilled the beans to him.
But no, Silo didn’t ask Mrs. Parnassus, who was a very sweet woman, to have lunch with him today to air all that dirty laundry. No, he did it to make friends with the woman, whom he’d also learned was an avid churchgoer.
He wanted her firmly on his side so that when he approached Sen. Parnassus with the video evidence, the man would understand without question that Silo would ruin him and all he held dear if the senator from Ohio didn’t play ball with him.
By Silo’s rules, of course.
Silo’s right-hand man, Jerald Arbeid, stood behind him, ready to do his bidding. He knew Jerald had arranged both audio and video captures of the luncheon, and would have them prepared on a DVD within an hour following the conclusion of their little tête-à-tête.
Silo wanted the senator to realize just how easy it was for him to reach out and touch his life in intimate ways. How it would be terribly easy for Mrs. Parnassus to leave and take their three children with her. And, of course, Silo would be more than happy to offer her a safe haven and financial assistance for the undeniably messy and incredibly public divorce that would follow.
After all, that was the Christian thing to do.
He would teach the senator that it wouldn’t do to make an enemy of him.
She was also pretty hot for a woman who’d just turned forty.
Focus your thoughts.
It wouldn’t do for him to allow lecherous images into his mind during the workday. Too distracting.
He needed all his focus right now. General Arliss and his SOTIF team had foiled him thus far, and he needed to quickly bridge the widening information gap. Jerald suspected that SOTIF team 1, AKA the Drunk Monkeys, had been made aware of an informant’s presence inside Arliss’ chain of command.
The problem was, their informant claimed Arliss hadn’t changed his activities, as far as they could tell. So was the general aware of the leak or not?
Silo couldn’t risk tipping his hand too soon there. Better to pull back and accept that particular information loss in the short term, rather than storm his way through it and risk more people discovering his plans.
He also had ulterior motives for targeting this particular woman.
“This has been so delightful, Marianne,” Silo said, his warm, practiced smile etched across his features. “I’m glad I finally got to meet you. It’s always wonderful to sit down with someone who is both a follower of our Lord and who is involved in the political process.”
She smiled. “Oh, I’m not involved in politics, Reverend. That’s strictly my husband’s domain.”
“But I know from experience that supporting every politician who makes it as far as your husband, there is a loving, devoted spouse running things for them behind the scenes. They cannot do what they do alone. Thank you for all of your sacrifices to help make our country greater. Especially in these difficult times.”
As expected, a cloud blew across her features. “May I confess something to you?” she said.
“Of course, my child. It is only between us.” And the video camera.
But he didn’t say that out loud.
“I’m really worried about Kite,” she said. “I went ahead and pulled the children out of school last month. My husband wasn’t keen on that, because he worried what the press might say, but I put my foot down. I decided to homeschool them until the risk is over. I’m very concerned about this. I told my husband I’m not going to take them back to Washington until the danger is over, either. There isn’t a vaccine yet. He definitely didn’t like that, but I told him I would not risk my life, or the lives of my children, over making social rounds. That’s just plain stupid.”
Bingo. “To be frank,” Silo told her, “I’m building several strongholds around the country. Strongholds large enough to house hundreds of people, able to be self-sufficient until the risk has passed. To house people who could and should rightfully take the reins of the country in the aftermath, to rebuild our nation to be better, stronger, more righteous.”
Then he reached across the table and took her hand. “I promise, if things deteriorate and you’re concerned about your family’s safety, call me immediately. I will make sure you’re taken care of and brought to safety.”
Her eyes widened just a little. “Really?”
“Of course. I know I can’t protect the world, but those who are running our country need to know their families are safe. We are working with a charity that’s contributing to the research for a vaccine. Hopefully there will be a breakthrough very soon. And I will do everything in my power to make sure those who are vital to our country’s security and keeping things running get those vaccines first. And their families, of course.”
She blinked away tears. “Thank you, Reverend. I can’t tell you what a relief that is.”
r /> Gotcha.
If it wasn’t for his years of practice in keeping tight control over his emotions, he would have broken out in a fit of giggles.
Sometimes, it’s just too darn easy.
“You are a child of God,” he said. “Not that I would turn someone away who isn’t of our faith, but it especially warms my heart that you and I see eye to eye on spiritual matters. Did I also hear that you were a food engineer?”
“Hydroponics,” she said. “I worked in that field for several years before our children were born.”
Of course he knew that, but he pretended he didn’t. “Oh, my word. Then may I impose upon you and pick your brain for a few minutes?”
“Sure.” She brightly smiled. “I don’t get to talk about that enough. Sometimes it feels like I never had a life before the kids.” She blushed. “Sorry. That must sound horrible.”
“No, not at all! I completely understand. Sometimes, we must pursue our own happiness to be the best parents we can be. Let me put this to you, then…”
He launched into his other hook, one he hoped would securely set and allow him to reel the catch in. About how he wanted to equip the strongholds they were building with self-contained aquaculture and food labs on a production scale. As an experiment, and also as a prototype. That he wanted to perfect the most economic systems possible, ones that could be installed on rooftops around the world, to help with their charitable purpose to end suffering in places less fortunate than their own.
“Would it be an imposition to ask for your help with the project at our Missouri stronghold? Paid position, of course. And you could even bring the children with you. We have excellent, safe child care facilities for all our staff on-site. And of course your living expenses and situation would be taken care of. We could use an expert such as yourself at this stage to prevent us from making any mistakes. Our goal is sustainable urbanized agricultural techniques, ones that can even be developed using recycled and repurposed items in cases where new materials might not be available.”
The way her face lit up told him he didn’t even need to reel her in. Hell, she was swimming right at him at warp speed, ready to jump into the net herself. “Reverend, I would be honored to help out with that.”
“Really? You’re sure it wouldn’t be a disruption? It would be at our Missouri compound to begin with, for at least the next year.”
“When can I start?”
He smiled and turned to Jerald. “Jerald, would you perhaps be able to help with the preliminary arrangements?”
He nodded. “I’ll go place some phone calls right now. Give me just a few minutes.” He left.
It was also utter bullshit. The position was being held open under Silo’s direct orders, with the excuse that he had a candidate in mind. He’d had her housing completed weeks ago, a large apartment with plenty of room for her and her children, well-appointed with all the necessities, as well as a few luxuries she might not even have as a senator’s wife.
All they’d needed was her to say yes.
Marianne Parnassus looked overwhelmed. She dabbed at her eyes with her napkin. “Reverend, this is…Honestly, I had no idea how wonderful this visit would be.” She met his gaze. “I’ve been doing projects with the children at home, but something like this, they’re old enough I can involve them. And any of the children there who are old enough, we could use the project to help with their education. It’s science and biology and chemistry and even math.”
He clapped his hands together. “Excellent! What a brilliant idea. I can’t tell you how happy this makes me. As if God Himself has put His finger onto this project.” He laid a hand over his heart. “It is truly an honor to be working with you.”
Hell, the woman had a master’s degree, had spent several years working for Monsanto, among other companies. She’d been at the top of her field before her lawyer husband had turned her into a breeder and then dragged her with him to Washington, DC.
There’s no way he won’t bend to my will now.
Silo was careful to keep his smile kind, benign. With Mrs. Parnassus and her children not just living under his protection, but her working for him, there was no way the senator wouldn’t bend over backward to accommodate Silo’s demands.
Serves him right. All he had to do was keep his pants zipped.
Some heathens never learn.
Not that he was complaining.
After all, heathens kept him in business and making money.
Praise God.
Chapter Eight
“This place is a dump,” Yankee muttered from where he stood along the rail.
The Gramble-Goodley sat waiting just offshore from the Mexican Pacific coast. Papa and Alpha had taken a small launch ashore, along with Omega, who was both their unit’s quartermaster and who spoke fluent Spanish.
“It’s dark,” Oscar countered, knowing his brother likely wouldn’t change his opinion of the place, even if it turned out to be a lavish oasis full of horny, naked women and free deep-dish pizza. “You can’t even see shore from here right now.”
“It’s still a dump.”
It was close to midnight local time, with calm seas and cloudless skies. They were on day ten of their voyage from Hawaii. “We’re not even at the town we’re going to yet.”
“Still a dump,” Yankee insisted.
Oscar decided to shut up. They were a couple of miles offshore from Puerto Vallarta. In its heyday almost two centuries earlier, it’d been a popular tourist resort and port town, frequented by cruise ships.
It’d also been devastated by the Mexican drug cartel wars of the late 2070s, which had in turn reduced its popularity and driven the foreign tourists and expats out for good. Also hit hard by two avian flu pandemics after being devastated by a Category 4 hurricane in 2093, it was now a shadow of its former self and had never rebounded to its former size or glory.
Adding Kite into the mix, which stifled all tourism, it might as well have been a virtual ghost town.
Papa, Alpha, and Omega were off to locate transportation and get the feel of the land. The Gramble-Goodley could dock there if necessary, under the guise of needing to perform maintenance, at the old cruise ship facilities. They were now used by US military ships, under agreement with Mexican authorities, who contracted with them to help patrol their waters. But no one wanted to risk that if possible. They could move in closer to shore and use all three of the ship’s launches to transfer their personnel and equipment to shore under the cover of darkness.
By dawn, they had loaded all the equipment into a box truck, and the rest of their crew into a van and a smaller pickup truck, and were on the road again. Destination Colima, a small town several hours south of Puerto Vallarta and inland. Papa led the way in the smaller truck, while Alpha drove the van and followed the box truck. They didn’t expect any trouble, but one never knew.
By noon, before they made the inland portion of their trek, they pulled off the road behind an abandoned fast-food restaurant south of Manzanillo that looked like it had been ravaged in a storm. Papa and Omega would scout ahead and locate a place to either hide or stay, depending on the circumstances. They’d been lucky enough to find diesel for the truck easily enough on the well-maintained coastal road, but they would make sure to top off the tanks before heading inland.
The van and pickup truck, while older models, were reliable, efficient solar hybrids that barely sipped diesel fuel when they weren’t using the solar. The smaller vehicles could also use biodiesel, and that was usually pretty easy to track down in rural areas where agriculture was big.
Yankee and Oscar took a turn patrolling their area, keeping a wary eye out for anyone who might get a bad idea about trying to rob them. Q and Pandora were ordered to stay in the van with Doc, Tango, Quack, and Lima guarding them.
Oscar hated this kind of travel. Well, not the travel as much as the not traveling aspect of it. The waiting. He felt vulnerable. He preferred moving, especially at night, in tight, well-armed, lightly equippe
d groups.
Guess I’ll have to get used to it. This was new territory for all of them, but as long as they were OTG, they’d have to make do. Papa wanted to establish their next safe house before he decided where and how to make his sat-link to grab the spook’s info dump in four days. If they were close enough to a larger city that had free and public sat-link access, it wouldn’t be a problem.
Using their secure sat-link would be riskier. Lima had scrambled the old one on the laptop Papa called “the football,” resetting it to a different code provided by Bubba. But the less they had to rely on it, the better.
Three hours later, the men returned with the good news…and the bad.
“We’ve got a house about five miles outside of Colima,” Papa told them. “And a barn we can park the truck in. The guy we’re renting it from didn’t want to ask any questions, only cared that we paid him in cold hard pesos. But it’s small, and not exactly the best facilities. And, we’re going to stand out among the local population, so we need to keep as low of a profile as we can.”
By dark, they’d settled in at their new safe house. The old farmhouse sat secluded in the middle of a small, aging citrus grove at the back of what was apparently a much larger ranch spread. While some of the orange trees had died off, there were still some sporting ripening fruit, as well as grapefruit, lemons, and limes.
That will be a nice snack.
The farm’s owner was between foremen, and the house currently stood vacant. His own was located at the front of the property, near the main road leading into Colima, and where the bulk of the farm operations were located. Hundreds of acres of pastureland separated the old orange grove and the house from the rest of the spread.
Several of the men opted to bunk out in the barn, to stand guard as well as to have some much-needed elbow room after weeks of close quarters. Q needed one of the two bedrooms dedicated to his lab. The house had solar and wind generators, and backup batteries, but they might need to snag a genny at some point.
Oscar and Yankee grabbed a corner of the living room and spread out to sleep after downing an MRE each. They wouldn’t have to take a watch until early the next morning.