“It’s a thorough plan, except for one little detail: if all the tires on his car blow simultaneously, it’ll go crashing into a wall, with him inside.”
“Except that there are no walls in that spot! Only fields and the silos I told you about, but they’re too far from the road.”
Andrew rubbed his forehead, reflecting on Alberto’s proposal. He looked up at the photograph of Walsh and stared at it as if he was trying to read his dead colleague’s thoughts.
“Dammit, man, if you want the truth you have to have the courage to go looking for it!” Alberto exhorted.
“Okay, I’m in. But Marisa and I will be the only ones interrogating Ortiz. I want your word that none of your men will use the opportunity to settle their scores with him.”
“We survived those barbarians without turning into them. Don’t insult the people who are trying to help you.”
Andrew got up and held his hand out to Alberto. After a moment’s hesitation, Alberto took it.
“How do you like Marisa?” Alberto asked, gathering up his cards.
“I’m not sure I understand your question.”
“And I’m sure you do.”
“She’s a lot like you, Alberto. And you’re definitely not my type.”
* * *
Back at the hotel, Andrew stopped at the bar. It was packed. Marisa was racing from one end of the bar to the other juggling orders. The open collar of her white shirt showed her cleavage each time she bent down, and the clients on the bar stools were lapping up each glimpse. Andrew studied her for a long moment. He glanced at his watch. It was one in the morning. He sighed and went up to his room.
* * *
There was a stink of stale tobacco and cheap air freshener in the room. Andrew lay down on top of the bedspread. It was late to call Valerie, but he missed her.
“Did I wake you up?” he asked.
“There’s no need to whisper, you know. I was about to go to sleep, but I’m glad you called. I was starting to worry.”
“It’s been a long day,” Andrew said.
“Is everything going the way you want?”
“What I want is to be lying there next to you.”
“But if you were, you’d be dreaming of being in Argentina.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
“Is your work going well?”
“I can’t really tell. Maybe tomorrow . . . ”
“Maybe what tomorrow?”
“Will you come and join me here this weekend?”
“I’d love to, but I don’t think the subway stops at Buenos Aires. And anyway, I’m on call this weekend.”
“Any chance you could call on me?”
“Are the Argentine girls that gorgeous?”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t look at them.”
“Liar.”
“I miss your smile too.”
“Who said I was smiling? Okay, I was smiling. Come back soon.”
“I’ll let you get back to sleep. I’m sorry I woke you up. I needed to hear your voice.”
“Is everything okay, Andrew?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“You can call me back anytime if you can’t get to sleep, okay?”
“I know. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Valerie hung up. Andrew walked over to the window of his room. He spotted Marisa coming out of the hotel. For some reason he hoped she’d turn around, but Marisa got into her Beetle and drove off.
* * *
Andrew was woken by the telephone ringing. He had no idea where he was or what time it was.
“Don’t tell me you were still sleeping at 11 in the morning?” Simon asked.
“No,” Andrew lied, rubbing his eyes.
“Were you out partying all night? If you say yes, I’m taking the first flight out.”
“I had a bad nightmare and then I couldn’t get back to sleep until the early hours.”
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll believe that when I see it. While you’re having a ball down there, I’ve been busy here in Chicago.”
“Shit, I’d forgotten.”
“I hadn’t. Are you interested in what I have to tell you?”
Andrew was suddenly overtaken by a violent fit of coughing, and found himself gasping for breath. Glancing at the palm of his hand, he was alarmed to see it covered in blood. He managed to apologize to Simon and tell him he’d call back later before rushing into the bathroom.
He was horrified by the sight of his reflection in the mirror. His skin was deathly pale. His face looked drawn, and his sunken eyes made his cheekbones stand out. He felt like he’d aged thirty years in the course of the night. He began coughing again, and saw that were specks of blood on the mirror. Andrew felt dizzy. His legs were turning to jelly. He clutched at the edge of the sink and lowered himself to his knees before toppling to the floor.
The touch of the cold tiles against his cheeks revived him slightly. He managed to turn over on his back and stared up at the flickering ceiling light.
He heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor and hoped it was the maid. Unable to call out for help, he tried to grab hold of the hair dryer cord, dangling a few inches away. He strained towards it with all his might, arm outstretched, and managed to touch it, but the cord slipped out of his fingers, swinging gently to and fro before his helpless gaze.
Someone slid a key into the door of his room. Andrew worried the maid might go away if she thought the room was occupied. He attempted to maneuver himself upright with a hand on the rim of the bathtub, but froze when he heard two men whispering on the other side of the bathroom door.
They were searching his room—he recognized the squeak of the closet door when it was opened. He stretched out a hand again to get hold of the damn hair dryer. It was the only weapon he could think of.
He yanked on the cord and the hair dryer landed on the floor with a thud. The voices immediately went silent. Andrew struggled to a sitting position and leaned against the bathroom door, pressing his feet against the tub and pushing back as hard as he could to make sure the men couldn’t open the door.
He was hurled forward as an almighty kick splintered the latch and flung the bathroom door inwards.
A man grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to force him down. Andrew struggled; the dizziness disappeared as fear sharpened his senses. He managed to send a punch flying into his attacker’s face. The man wasn’t expecting it, and he fell into the tub. Andrew got up and pushed the second man, who was flinging himself at him. He grabbed the bottle of liquid soap sitting on the sink and threw it at the man, who ducked. The bottle shattered on the tiles. Two right hooks to his face sent Andrew flying back against the mirror and split open his eyebrow. Blood spurted from the wound and blurred his vision. It was an unequal fight; Andrew didn’t stand a chance. The bigger of the two attackers pushed him face-down on the ground. The other man took a knife out of his pocket and stuck it into Andrew’s lower back. Andrew screamed out in pain. With one last effort, he picked up a shard of broken glass from the bottle and cut the arm of the man trying to strangle him.
The man let out a cry of pain. As he moved back, he slipped on the soap that had spilled all over the floor, and his elbow knocked against the fire alarm button. A siren went off with a deafening shriek, and the two men bolted.
Andrew slid down the wall. Sitting on the floor, he touched his back. His hand came away covered in blood. The ceiling light was still flickering when he lost consciousness.
19.
If you were so keen on meeting Antonio, all you had to do was ask,” Marisa quipped as she walked into the hospital room.
Andrew just stared at her.
“I know, not exactly the time to be making jokes. Sorry,” she said.
“Wow, those guys really messed you up. But the resident says you were very lucky.”
“All depends how you look at it. I had a knife blade miss my kidney by a couple of inches. Strange concept of luck that doctor has.”
“The police say you must have been the target of some thieves. The cop I talked to told me it’s happening more and more often. They’re looking for laptops, passports, and other valuables that tourists leave in their hotel rooms.”
“Do you believe that version of events?”
“No.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Did you have a laptop in your room?”
“I work the old-fashioned way, with notebooks and pens.”
“In that case they left empty-handed. I’ve picked up your stuff. It’ll be safe at my place.”
“Did you get my notebooks?”
“Yes.”
Andrew gave a sigh of relief.
“You’ll need your rest if you want to question Ortiz on Tuesday,” Marisa said. “Still want to take the civilized approach?”
“I didn’t come all the way here to rest,” Andrew protested, trying to sit up. He winced in pain, and felt his head start to spin. Marisa came closer and held him steady. She rearranged his pillows, lowered him into a more comfortable position and poured him a glass of water.
“I already have one in the hospital,” she sighed. “I should’ve been a nurse, not a bartender.”
“How’s your boyfriend?”
“They’re going to operate on him again next week.”
“What about me? What do the doctors say?”
“They say you should take it easy for a few days, Mr. Stilman,” Dr. Herrera said, coming into the room. “You’ve had a lucky escape.”
He walked over to the bed and peered at Andrew’s face.
“You could have lost that eye. Fortunately there was no damage to the crystalline lens or the cornea. You’ll get off with a bruise. It’ll go away on its own, but you might not be able to open your eye for a few days. We also stitched up a serious cut on your lower back. My colleague has already reassured your friend here about that. You’re not dying, but you’re also not in the best shape. I’m keeping you here under observation. I want to run a few tests.”
“What kind of tests?”
“The kind I think are necessary. I suspect you might have internal bleeding somewhere. How were you feeling before this happened?”
“Not exactly in top form,” Andrew admitted.
“Have you had health problems lately?”
Andrew pondered the question. “Lately” wasn’t the right word, but he didn’t see how he could tell Dr. Herrera that he was suffering the aftereffects of a fatal attack that would only take place in a few weeks’ time.
“Mr. Stilman?”
“I’ve been having fainting fits and excruciating back pain. And I’m cold all the time.”
“It could simply be a pinched nerve, though a pinched nerve is never a simple thing to fix. But I’m convinced you’re losing blood somewhere, and I’m not letting you leave until I’ve figured out where.”
“I’ve got to be back on my feet by Monday at the very latest.”
“We’ll do our best. You almost died. Just be thankful you’re still alive, and in one of the best hospitals in Buenos Aires. This afternoon we’ll do an abdominal ultrasound. If that doesn’t show us anything, I’ll send you for a CT scan. Now get some rest. I’ll stop by again at the end of my shift.”
Dr. Herrera left the room, leaving Andrew and Marisa on their own.
“Have you got my cell phone?” Andrew asked.
She took it out of her pocket and handed it to him.
“You should let your newspaper know,” she suggested.
“Definitely not. They’ll fly me back. I’d rather not have anyone know what happened.”
“The police are already looking into it. They’ll want to question you as soon as you’re feeling better.”
“They won’t get very far, so why are they wasting their time?”
“Because it’s the law.”
“Marisa, I refuse to miss this meeting with Ortiz a second time.”
“What do you mean, a second time?”
“Never mind.”
“Do what the doctor says: get some rest. Maybe you’ll have recovered by the weekend. I’ll tell my uncle he’ll have to wait for a few days.”
* * *
Thursday was a succession of ultrasound exams, X-rays, Doppler scans, and blood tests, with long stints in the waiting area outside each exam room, where Andrew had to wait his turn alongside the other patients.
He was taken back to his room in the early evening, and though they wouldn’t remove the IV, which hurt like hell, he was allowed to eat a normal meal. The medical staff was kind, the nurses considerate and the food decent. He really had nothing to complain about, except that he was losing valuable time.
While he was waiting for his test results, Andrew called Valerie. He didn’t say anything to her about what had happened to him. He didn’t want to worry her, and he was scared she would insist on him coming home.
Marisa dropped by again on her way to the bar to start her shift. Watching her leave, Andrew felt an urge to go after her. Death had been lurking around him for so long—he was suddenly overcome with the desire to jump-start his life; he wanted to feel euphoric, high, and never come down again.
* * *
Dr. Herrera showed up around noon on Saturday with a group of medical students in tow. Andrew wasn’t thrilled about being a guinea pig, but he submitted to the exam.
The cut on his eyebrow had puffed up so much he could only see out of one eye. The doctor assured him the swelling would go down within the next forty-eight hours. The kidney scan had revealed some internal bleeding but all the other results were normal. Herrera was pleased his suspicions were correct: hemorrhagic fever coupled with renal syndrome, most likely caused by a virus. The early symptoms resembled those of the flu, and were followed by headaches, muscle and lower back pain, and bleeding. There was no treatment for the disease. Andrew would recover over time, with no long-term effects.
Dr. Herrera wanted to know if Andrew had been camping in the woods. He said people usually became infected with the disease after breathing in airborne particles from rodent droppings. Andrew, who was very fond of his creature comforts, truthfully replied that it had never occurred to him to do any such thing.
“Any chance you could have hurt yourself with a tool someone might have used in the woods, then? A piece of woodcutting or hunting equipment?”
Andrew immediately thought of Olson, and his fists clenched as a desire to smash his colleague’s teeth in overtook him.
“Could be,” he replied, keeping his anger in check.
“Well, be more careful next time,” the doctor beamed, delighted his students were witnessing this display of his knowledge. “If all goes well, I’ll let you leave on Monday afternoon—that’s what you wanted, right?”
Andrew nodded.
“But take things easy. The wound on your lower back isn’t too serious, but you’ll have to give it time to heal and make sure it doesn’t get infected. When do you return to the US?”
“I’m supposed to go back at the end of next week,” Andrew replied.
“I’d like you to come in for a follow-up before you get on your flight. We’ll remove your stitches then. I’ll see you on Monday, Mr. Stilman. Have a good weekend,” the doctor said. He walked out, the students trailing after him.
* * *
A little later that afternoon, a policeman came in to take a statement from him. When he told Andrew that since there were no surveillance cameras at the hotel there was absolutely no chance the culprits could be caught, Andrew decided not to file a complaint. Relieved he could avoid unnecessary paperwork,
the policeman left Andrew to convalesce in peace. In the evening, Marisa came to visit after sitting with her boyfriend all afternoon, and spent an hour at Andrew’s bedside.
On Sunday, Luisa, who’d heard what had happened from her niece, came to the hospital carrying a meal she had cooked for Andrew. She spent most of the afternoon with him. He described to her some of the high points of his career as a journalist, and she told him how she had come to be a Mother of the Plaza de Mayo. Then she asked if he’d met Alberto.
Andrew told her about the poker game, and Luisa fumed that all Alberto had done for the past thirty years was play poker and get fat. He was such an intelligent man, and yet he’d given up on his life, not to mention his marriage. It still made her mad.
“If only you knew what a handsome young man he used to be,” she sighed. “All the neighborhood girls were after him, but I was the one he picked. I played hard to get. I let him believe he left me cold. And yet each time he talked to me or smiled at me when our paths crossed, I melted like an ice cream in the sun. But I was much too proud to let him see that.”
“What made you change your attitude?” Andrew asked, amused.
“One evening . . . ” Luisa began. She interrupted herself. “Did the doctor say you can have coffee?” she asked, taking a thermos out of her bag.
“He didn’t say anything, but they’ve only given me disgusting herbal tea to drink since I’ve been here,” Andrew said.
“Silence means consent!” Luisa declared. She fished out a cup and poured him some coffee. “As I was saying, one evening Alberto came to my parents’ house. He rang the doorbell and asked my father for permission to take me out for a walk. It was a stifling hot December, and the humidity made it even worse. I was hovering on the second floor landing, eavesdropping on their conversation.”
“What did your father say?”
“He refused. He showed Alberto the door, telling him firmly: ‘My daughter doesn’t want to see you.’I used to get a kick out of wrong-footing my father every chance I got, so I ran down the stairs, threw a shawl over my shoulders—I didn’t want to shock Papá too much—and followed Alberto out of the house. Looking back, I’m sure they cooked it up between them. My father never wanted to admit it and neither did Alberto, but the way the two of them made fun of me for years afterwards each time someone mentioned my first date with Alberto, I just know they did.