Burn (Story of CI #3) (22 page)

LALO THOUGHT ALEJO COULD FORGIVE HER.

Alejo just sat there blinking at him as Maria came into the room and clinked little cups of tea onto the heavy chest at the center of the living room. Amadou was still sitting on the couch opposite Alejo and Lalo, flipping through pictures on his cell phone.

Alejo reached for a cup of tea and sat there in a daze as people talked around him.

His hand jerked on his knee and almost flipped tea onto the floor when Amadou loudly announced, “I knew it! I knew it was him!” Amadou leaned forward onto his knees, eyes like saucers. “Everything was so crazy that day. I didn’t even think of it until now.” Amadou saw the guys looking at him like he was nuts and shook his head. “I heard you talking about Wara just now, and I got out my pictures. I wanted to see the photo of the man who took her.”

Amadou flipped his cell around. Piranhas ripped through Alejo’s gut as he saw Lázaro, the picture they’d passed out to everyone so they could keep an eye out for the assassin.

It was Lázaro’s visa picture, back when he was twenty-something and studying in Bolivia.

Alejo blanched and tried not to upchuck his lunch. “Why are we looking at that guy’s picture?” He felt like smashing Amadou’s phone just to get rid of Lázaro’s college-student smile, but that would just be mean.

Amadou pushed the gold glasses up on his nose and wiggled the picture at the other two guys. “No one saw this man in Timbuktu, because he was disguised as Hannibal. He also looks different because of the burns. But I’ve seen him before. Looking like this.”

Alejo blinked. “When?”

“The day someone planted a bomb in the school the first time, a year ago. When the children escaped.”

Alejo felt his belly start to roil.

“I only saw his face for a few seconds,” Amadou said. “I was fixing something in the patio when he ran out of the school, yelling to get the kids out, that there was a bomb. He ran back inside.” Amadou poked the picture of Lázaro and dented half his face in. “Amy and I got all the kids outside in time. The school building exploded.”

“Damn,” Lalo winced.

“You’re sure?” Alejo asked.

“Yes!” Amadou said firmly. “As you can imagine, that was a traumatic day. I didn’t remember his face…until now. I only saw him looking like he did in this picture for a few seconds.”

“What do you mean?” Alejo asked.

“He was inside when the school went up in flames. My wife, Amy…she pulled him out to safety. Her own clothes caught on fire and she had to roll on the ground to put out the flames. We thought he was dead because he was so covered in burns. Everything was so confusing with the children running around. When we came back a few minutes later, the body was gone.”

The burns.

Lalo looked at Alejo. “It was Lázaro. He put the bomb there in the first place.”

Alejo felt his fist clench into an iron ball. “And he screwed it up. They sent him back to finish the job last week.”

“He must be working for Tsarnev.” Lalo realized. “Tsarnev was there. Alejo, you saw him.”

Alexei Tsarnev and Lázaro were working together. Tsarnev ordered Amy’s death that day.

Amy risked her life to pull Lázaro out of the burning building, and he was a part of her death.

Lázaro burned all those children alive.

The heat in Alejo’s belly was unbearable.

Wara was alone with Lázaro, wearing verses of love that Alejo had painted onto her foot.

Love is stronger than death.

But maybe it wasn’t.

Alejo closed his eyes and clamped a hand onto Lalo’s arm.

“I don’t want to just let her go,” he said. “But I think it’s too late.”

AFTER THE HORRIFIC CONVERSATION IN Lázaro’s office, Wara supposed no one would blame her if she went upstairs, sat on the bed, and acted catatonic for a while. She sat there on the fat comforter, cross-legged and barefoot, staring at the darkness outside the window.

Lázaro really was a killer, who seemed to have lost his soul.

And she could have killed Alejo.

Because when it came down to it, she couldn’t let Lázaro die.

What did that say about her?

Not near enough time went by before she heard a thump on the door to her room. There wasn’t a lock, and Lázaro swung the door open and regarded her.

“There’s a Malian lady who works here. Madonna.”

Wara blinked out of her daze at the sound of Lázaro’s voice.

“She made some dinner for us,” he said. “Up on the roof. You and I have a lot more to talk about. Madonna is the only person besides you and I in this house, and don’t even think about trying to get her to help you escape. I pay her too well.”

Wara crawled to the edge of the bed and slid down onto the tiles. They were freezing. She felt herself start to shiver.

“Plus,” Lázaro rambled on, leaning against the doorframe, “I think she has a crush on me. Some women just never learned the meaning of good taste.”

“Do you, by any chance, have any sandals I can wear?” Wara croaked.

Lázaro’s eyes drifted to her bare feet. “Sorry,” he said, still posing there in the doorway. “The dresser there has clothes that should fit you, and the bottom right drawer has some shoes. I hope they’ll be alright.”

Wara suddenly felt so far, far away from home. She had been dragged across the Sahara with only the clothes on her back, barefoot, and was now very, very lost.

She was here because she chose to be, like the son in that story Jesus told who ran away from his family and home, where he was safe.

“Thank you,” she told Lázaro. She walked over to the squatty little dresser and wiggled open the drawer to find shoes and sandals, all lined up in pairs. There was even a pile of socks in one corner. “Where did you get this stuff?” She didn’t look back at Lázaro, but sensed he was still in the doorframe and wasn’t gonna leave without her.

“I sometimes have visitors,” he said. “And other people stay here who work with Tsarnev. Feel free to use anything you want.”

Amazingly, the drawer actually held a very cool pair of sparkly red Converse tennis. They were only a half size too big, and just like something Wara would have bought herself at the Goodwill. She sat down on the floor and put the Converses on with socks, then opened the top drawer. There was a gray fleece pea coat in there that she put on over her black tank. Wara grabbed a white baseball cap with a red rose in sequins and covered up her hair with it.

“Ok. Let’s go,” she told Lázaro. He led her through a narrow door off the hall next to her room, which had been locked before. They climbed up a dark flight of stairs that led to a little open rooftop patio, fenced in by a low concrete wall and gray, lifeless buildings that melded with the night sky. A battered wood table and chairs were waiting for them, all set with plates and wine glasses and steaming dishes of food. Someone had even lit a buttercup-colored candle in a glass jar, and Wara wrinkled her nose at it. The candle smelled like a scorched lemon cake.

At least Lázaro hadn’t come to fetch her for dinner with some long black evening gown he insisted she put on. Scenes from Indiana Jones and Beauty and the Beast played through her head. At that point Wara probably would have just hurled herself through the bedroom window and into the darkness below.

“Well, have a seat.” Lázaro was raising an eyebrow at her. “I’ve been very patient. I hope you’re had time to think over what I said.”

About cooperating, helping him remember.

She was here. She’d already made that choice.

And if she didn’t help Lázaro, he was gonna blow up the hospital. Or Alejo and the others at the mission compound.

She slid into a chair at the table and leaned forward onto her elbows, huddled in the gray pea coat. Lázaro sat across from her, still wearing all black and the Irish cap. She had no doubt he was still wearing the Skorpion under his clothes, too.

“Please, have something to eat,” he told her. The polite tone just didn’t sound right coming out of his mouth. And it was really weird to hear Lázaro speaking Spanish again after the British English.

Wara slid the lid off a white porcelain casserole dish and found fish that smelled like butter and garlic. It looked pretty greasy. She made herself take a little piece, and some fried things that looked like plantains from another plate.

Lázaro poured her some wine. Maybe his plan was to get her drunk to make her talk.

Right now, Wara had absolutely no problem with getting wasted.

“So,” she drew the word out shakily. “You remember Spanish now.”

Lázaro blinked. “As soon as you told me we used to speak Spanish, it all came back. Funny how that works.” The expression on his face said he didn’t find it funny, though. “Where am I from?” he asked.

There was no point trying to hold back information from his past. Eventually, Lázaro was going to remember. He’d already remembered an entire language, for goodness’ sake. And whatever Lázaro planned to do it her, he was gonna do to her. Trying to escape or otherwise pissing him off could have deadly consequences for people in Timbuktu, and she was not prepared to accept that. Her feeble attempt earlier to keep information from Lázaro in order to keep herself safe now seemed really unimportant.

“You’re from Puerto Rico,” she told him sadly. “San Juan. Your mom’s name is Maria Rosa. Your dad left you guys when you were little and moved to Miami. You have three brothers. And like a million cousins.”

Lázaro slowed down munching whatever he had in his mouth. “Maria Rosa?”

“Uh huh.”

“And how do you know this? I told you all this when we worked at church camp, and you still remember?”

“No. I…” There was no way she wanted him to know what had happened between them. “Look,” Wara told him. “You remember gold cats and everything smelling like coffee? That’s this café in downtown Cochabamba, where you and I hung out a few times. After church camp, cause we got to be friends.” Wara tried to keep her eyes from giving anything away. “It’s the last place I saw you, while we were still friends.” Just a little lie. She was so not going to tell him about the beer and her apartment. “Then we lost touch, and I didn’t see you again til five years later. You had changed a lot, decided to become a Muslim. You got involved with a Muslim organization called the Prism and were working there in Bolivia. Alejo was your boss.”

Lázaro’s jaw froze mid-chew. “Stop messing around. I worked with Trigger-Happy Boyfriend?”

“He told you he knew you,” she said. “When you tried to burn us alive in Fez.”

All of the information she’d just given Lázaro was seeming a lot to digest. “I figured he just wanted to take your place. Chivalry and all.” Lázaro scowled and drank some wine. “I don’t remember him at all. He doesn’t bring back any memories. And I’ve seen Boyfriend quite a lot, working in Timbuktu the past six weeks as Hannibal. We spent a lot of nights eating popcorn and watching The Office together. Alejo really needs to learn to lighten up, though. Even at the funny parts, he never laughs.”

Wara really didn’t appreciate Lázaro trying to joke about Alejo.

“You on the other hand,” Lázaro said with his mouth full, “brought back my first real memory. Tell me more. Unless you’d like to recreate the CPR. You told me I used to quite the outdoorsman, and I guess you’re right. I seemed to be pretty good at CPR, that night on your parents’ balcony.”

Wara cringed in her seat. Time to change the subject.

Anything to not discuss Lázaro giving her mouth to mouth.

“So Alejo did some research,” she said, after a good draught of wine. “About what happened to happened to you after you left the Prism.”

It hurt her chest to say Alejo’s name.

“Boyfriend is obviously not just a do-gooder involved in education like you claim,” Lázaro interrupted, narrowing his eyes.

Wara drained the third glass of wine and ignored him. “The only thing we found out was that you stopped working with the Prism about the same time Alejo did, a year and three months ago. Then we found out you did some work for like two months with the Eastern Star, an organization out of Georgia. Then the trail goes cold. That’s all I know.”

Lázaro poured himself some more wine. Wara found herself staring at the thick scars on the hand holding the glass. “The lost year,” he mused. “Whatever happened to me, I’m pretty sure that Tsarnev used it as an excuse to take me for his sick little experiments.” Lázaro’s tone was very sour. He saw the confused look on her face. “The man is obsessed with fringe psychology,” he explained. “I don’t remember it, but I bet he put me through his experiments. Depatterning, psychic programming, drugs…I know the sick crap this man experiments with.”

Wara didn’t know what to say. “What is all that?”

Lázaro shook his head. She could swear he looked a little scared. “I’ve read about it. They put you in a drug-induced coma, then put helmets on you with speakers inside that repeat things over and over they want you to believe.
You feel nothing. You hate them all. You are really a Russian basketball star.”
Lázaro snorted. “Or whatever the hell they want to make you into. They make you forget everything, and then they remake you into their image. Tsarnev tried to make me believe my name is ‘Aslanbek.’ But that’s just some name from his country, Georgia.”

It sounded like science fiction. “You’re serious?”

“I’m sure it’s why I don’t remember anything,” Lázaro glowered. “All you have to do is search the internet. The United States government paid for all kinds of experiments like this. Not only the Russians like Tsarnev. Ever heard of the MK Ultra program? They messed up a whole lot of people, all in the name of creating better weapons and spies.”

“And Tsarnev works with this?”

Lázaro’s eyes glinted gold. “It’s his passion. And now he has me. You don’t know what happened to me after the last time you saw me in Bolivia, and I don’t remember. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Tsarnev did this to me himself, just for fun.” He yanked up one black sleeve and let his eyes run over the burned skin. “So now you can understand,” he said, “why I was so happy to find you. With time, you’re gonna help me remember more and more. And when I know who I am,
I
decide what to do. Not Tsarnev and his deprogramming puke.”

With time. Wara did not like the sound of that.

Waking up here with Lázaro today was so overwhelming that she hadn’t let herself think what was gonna happen tomorrow. There was no way she could go back to her life. Everyone in CI would know by now what she’d done. Even the thought of going back to her parents’ house made Wara shudder. Alejo had been there, and her parents loved him. They would ask about him. How could she go back home, knowing she had helped Lázaro Marquez? And hurt Alejo.

All that really mattered was making sure no one else got hurt.

“I’ve told you everything I know,” Wara said to Lázaro. She scraped her chair back across the concrete, feeling panic rising. “I think you’ll remember everything, with time, now that you know who you are and where you came from. You don’t need me.”

Lázaro’s eyes sparked fire and he leaned across the table towards her. The table was little and square, and he was so close she could see the gold flecks burning in his eyes around stormy irises. “I need you,” he spit at her. “And you will not leave, or you’ll have to live with the consequences.”

The panic was ballooning. “I don’t know if I’ll have a choice,” Wara said. “My friend is in love with someone who can find anyone. Anywhere in the world. They’re gonna come looking for me.”

She didn’t know why she said it, but Wara cut herself off before saying the last hope that was ringing in her chest:
They won’t leave me here with you.

She shouldn’t be telling him what she knew about Lalo. It was time for her to shut up now.

It was an empty threat anyway, because no one was gonna come and save her. And Lázaro was just gonna think she was talking crazy.

Instead of exploding like Wara expected, Lázaro calmed down and regarded her. She ripped her gaze away from him and traced the crumbling African buildings with her eyes, anything to pretend for a second she wasn’t here.

“Dear
,”
Lázaro said calmly. “The point of all my threats isn’t so you’ll be terrified of me. But it seems that’s the only method I have to get you to cooperate. Calm down. Here, have some more wine.”

Wara’s gaze jerked back to the table, and she saw he’d poured her some more, finishing off the second bottle.

She would have some more wine, happily. Wara gritted her teeth and picked up the long-stemmed glass, wondering if there was the tiniest grain of truth in what Lázaro had just said, that she didn’t need to be afraid of him, that he didn’t want her to be terrified of him.

She drained the wine and mentally reviewed all the interactions with Lázaro over the past week. He’d shook her so hard she felt like her brain was gonna come out her nose and stuck her with poisonous arrows. Then tied her and Alejo up and pumped the room full of poison and threatened to burn them alive.