White Dawn: A Military Romantic Suspense Novel (7 page)

“Drink,” he said shortly.

Cristián shook his head. “I need to stay
sober.”

“You’re wound up far too tight, little
brother. One shot isn’t going to hurt. There are no Insurrectos for
miles.”

“They’re parked right here in downtown
Pascuallita,” Cristián pointed out.

“And I guarantee they’re drunker than
you by now,” Daniel said. “Even the ones on duty. Serrano knows
nothing about discipline. Relax. You’ll give yourself an embolism
if you don’t let go now and again.”

Cristián curled his fingers around the
glass. “I can’t afford to let go,” he said harshly, sounding much
older than he was. “There’s only me and because of Duardo, we’re
all high on the Insurrecto wanted list.”

Daniel studied him closely, noting the
shadows under his eyes that the frames of his glasses mostly
disguised, the thinness in his cheeks and the tension in his
shoulders. “How long is it since you got any decent sleep?” he
asked gently.

“Sleep?” Cristián laughed hollowly.

Daniel picked up in the glass that sat
inside Cristián’s curled fingers and put it up against his mouth.
“Drink,” he said flatly.

Cristián took the shot and swallowed,
then shuddered. Daniel poured him another one and pushed the glass
toward him. “Go on, that one, too.”

This time, Cristián didn’t protest. He
tossed the shot back and hissed.

Daniel curled his hand around the neck
of the bottle. Even though it was the second bottle, he had managed
to avoid drinking more than his share of the stuff all night.
Despite his airy assurances to Cristián, he also wanted to keep his
head clear. A few shots wouldn’t slow him down and he really did
consider the danger of an Insurrecto raid on this house a minimal
one. No one had seen him arrive at the house and he had taken the
back route into town, up through the hills and down to the house.
The chances that anyone had seen him were negligible.

So he poured himself the final shot for
the night and put the bottle in front of Cristián. “You can have
the rest.” He raised his hand as Cristián opened his mouth to
protest. “I’ll stay on point for the night. You need to get some
serious sleep.”

Cristián bit his lip. “I have to check
for messages. Secure the house.”

“There won’t be any message on-line,”
Daniel told him. “I brought them all with me. And I can secure the
house. Go on, drink.”

Cristián poured another shot, but didn’t
drink it straight away. “What messages?” he asked.

Daniel heard some trepidation in his
voice. “You’ve been doing a magnificent job, kid,” he assured him.
“But the Facebook thing is as insecure as the rest of the Internet.
It’s not going to last. Sooner or later, the Insurrectos will
figure out they’re the IWU and then your security will be gone.
It’s time to set up something more secure.”

Cristián frowned. “Unless you’ve got a
hard-wired phone line between here and Acapulco, then nothing is
secure. Phones can be tapped and traced. Radio is even worse.
Anyone with a scanner can pick up the broadcast.”

Daniel shook his head. “Advanced
technology isn’t going to do it. In my pack, I have a radio
transmitter. It’s small, it’s old, but it still works. Do you know
Morse Code at all?”

Cristián’s eyes widened. “Morse!” he
exclaimed and reached for the glass. He probably wasn’t even aware
of the instinctive reach for fortification. “That’s…that’s…”

“It’s a throwback,” Daniel agreed. “I
don’t think anyone has seriously used it since the Second World
War, but it works.” He pulled the little code book from his shirt
pocket and tossed it so it landed in front of Cristián.

Cristián picked it up and flipped
through it curiously, a fine line between his brows. The code book
had been written by the geeky Rubén Rey, who had run off copies of
it on the printer in Calli’s office, behind a locked door with an
armed guard standing with his back to it. It was held together with
staples and had a blank cover made out of a manila folder, which
had been laminated to make it stiff and waterproof. The whole
booklet was two and a half inches across and three inches tall and
a quarter inch thick. It would tuck away anywhere.

“I guess I’d better learn Morse,”
Cristián said slowly, flipping through the pages.

“You’ll pick it up quickly,” Daniel
assured him. “You pick a code set. It doesn’t matter which one, as
long as you don’t use the same one each time. Pick them as randomly
as you can. The first thing you transmit, once you’ve received
acknowledgement, is the code’s page. Then you send the coded
message. Also, translate the basic message to English before you
encode it.”

“My English is not so hot,” Cristián
pointed out.

“Trini’s is pretty good. She can help
you. It doesn’t have to be perfect. But it’s an added layer of
protection. The Insurrectos will blow all their energy trying to
spot patterns in Spanish, not English, and that will slow them down
a lot.”

“You talk like the Insurrectos will be
able to figure out the code.”

“They will. Anyone can figure out codes,
given enough time, computing power and enough coded messages to
work with,” Daniel told him. “All you can do is make it complex
enough and random enough that you can get some use out of the
code.” He pointed to the book. “Before that is too old and too
used, you’ll get a fresh set of codes. Don’t ask me how, because no
one is planning that far ahead. We’ll figure that out when the time
comes.”

“You could always bring it yourself,”
Cristián pointed out. “Mom would love that.”

Daniel tried to ignore the warm feeling
his observation generated. “Anyway,” he said, “that code book is of
the highest security. You find somewhere in the house to hide it.
Somewhere no one is ever going to stumble over it
accidentally.”

“What if the Insurrectos raid?” Cristián
asked. “What if they find it, anyway?”

“If they don’t throw you into the
Pascuallita holding cells straight away, then you send a clear,
encoded message that says ‘Four eyes out.’”

Cristián winced at the nickname. “Then
you change codebooks?”

Daniel nodded. “But that’s the
optimistic version. You realize that, don’t you?”

Cristián swallowed. “What’s the
realistic version?”

“If the Insurrectos raid and find the
code book, they’re more likely to shoot you out of hand as a
Loyalist spy.” He gave him a moment to absorb that. “This is the
big leagues, Cristián. If you don’t want to play, now is the time
to say so.”

Christian stared at the blank cover of
the book. Then he looked up at him. His jaw was set. “No, I’ll do
it.”

Daniel gave him a small smile. “I knew
you would.” He reached and picked up the bottle again and filled
Cristián’s glass. “A toast. Then you get to sleep.” He picked up
his own glass and held it out.

Cristián tapped his glass then tossed
back the mescal with another grimace. “You expect me to sleep after
talking about summary executions?”

“We’re all under a death threat,” Daniel
said gently. “While the Insurrectos control Vistaria and for as
long as they think the Loyalists are a real threat, they will shoot
and kill anyone that they think is against them.”

“That’s a long list,” Cristián said
slowly. “I’ve heard the talk in town. No one is a genuine
Insurrecto supporter.” He hesitated. “How much longer do you think
this war will last? When will Nicolás Escobedo make his move?”

The standard ‘none of your business’
response rose to his lips but Daniel repressed it. Cristián was
family. So he spoke candidly. “Nick is a smart man. He knows that
after the White Sands thing, the Loyalists have momentum and the
good will of the rest of the world on their side. He won’t let that
evaporate by sitting on his ass. But as for when and how, I don’t
know and wouldn’t tell you if I did.”

Cristián nodded. “I suppose that’s
fair.”

“It’s safer,” Daniel amended. “The
Insurrectos are on their back foot for the first time since the
revolution broke out. They’re frustrated and probably scared, too.
Fear makes cornered men dangerous. Things are going to get rocky
now.”

Cristián got to his feet. “It’s good to
have you home, Daniel. Even if you do arrive with bad news.” He
stretched. “I’m going to check my mail, then go to bed.”

Daniel cocked his head, studying him.
“You’re falling asleep on your feet, but you’re going to check your
email anyway? Who is she?”

Faint pink tinged Cristián’s cheeks. “I
don’t know her real name. We use phony IDs and IP masks.”

“Someone on Vistaria?” Daniel asked,
concerned. It wouldn’t be the first time a spy had been brought out
into the open because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. Email was a
new wrinkle, but it was just the medium. From Cristián’s sudden
awkwardness, he had skin in the game.

“I don’t know where she is, but I
suspect it’s the States,” Cristián said. “Her Spanish slips. A
lot.”

“So…” Daniel said. “Not only do you not
know her real name or where she is, but you don’t really know she’s
female, either.”

Cristián’s whole face turned red. “She’s
a she,” he said hastily.

“You’re in that deep, huh?” Daniel
asked. He sat up straighter. “You have to pull the plug on it.”

Cristián swallowed. “But…”

“No, I know you
think
you know
her inside and out, but you really don’t. You can’t afford the
risk, Cristián. Stop talking to her.”

“Okay. I’ll send her an email. Tell her
we have to stop for a while.”

“No,” Daniel said flatly. “No final
farewell. No notice. No more contact at all. The Internet is a wide
open platform that anyone can access and that includes the
Insurrectos. Promise me, Cristián, or I’ll dig up the cable line to
the house and cut it myself. No Internet. No email.”

Cristián hung his head.

“If she’s the real thing,” Daniel added
gently, “then you can catch up with her once the war is done and
I’ll be the first to throw rice for you. But you have to make the
cut now.” He added the kicker. “You’re putting her at risk by
talking to her, you know.”

Cristián lifted his chin and stared at
him. “I’m nobody,” he said. “The Insurrectos don’t care who I’m
chatting with.”

“You’re the primary communications hub
for the Loyalist war effort. If you think the Insurrectos don’t
care who you are, you’re very wrong. If they thought grabbing your
girl and threatening to shoot her through the temple, or rape her
into unconsciousness would bring you out into the open where they
can identify you, they’d do it without a quiver.”

Cristián swallowed. “No more Internet,
then,” he said, his voice weak.

“Sorry, kid,” Daniel said softly.

Cristián shook his head. “I don’t think
I’ve really thought it through until now, with you here and code
books and…and…”

“You’re a spy,” Daniel said flatly. “You
get all the high risks, the sleepless nights, the sick feeling that
never goes away. You get none of the girls, the fast cars, or the
glamour. That’s just in the movies.”

Cristián grimaced. “But you did. You got
the girl.”

Daniel sighed. “For about five minutes,
yes.” He picked up the bottle and poured himself one last shot. “I
have no idea when I’ll see Olivia again.”
If I do at all
, he
added mentally. But he didn’t say it aloud. Cristián was already
completely unnerved.

The Secret Service agents took Nick and
Olivia to the Willard Hotel on Pennsylvania Avenue, which wasn’t
the hotel Minnie had booked for them. The suite they were escorted
into had at least two bedrooms and a very elegant sitting room
between them. Their luggage, as promised, was arranged neatly next
to each of the bedroom doors.

A man with iron-gray hair and an
upright, square bearing was sitting on the sofa. He wore a handmade
suit and his Italian loafers were planted firmly on the carpet. He
didn’t get up when they walked in, but the two guards on either
side of him stirred, walked to the door and shut it behind
them.

“Hello, Dad,” Olivia said shortly. “I
might have known you’d arrange everything to suit yourself. You’ve
been doing it all your life.”

Nick walked over to the man. “Colonel
Davenport. Was the hotel switch for your convenience?”

“I’m afraid so,” Davenport said, getting
to his feet. He thrust out his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,
Señor Escobedo.”

Nick shook his hand while Olivia settled
herself on the club chair in front of the sofa, kicked off her
shoes and tucked her feet up under her. “The Willard is used to
hustling high-profile politicians through the service corridors,”
she said dryly.

“Olivia, honey,” her father chided her.
He leaned over and kissed her temple. “I’m so pleased to see you.”
He picked up her arm and examined the bandaged fingers. “How bad is
it?”

“They tell me I’ll lose the nails on two
fingers. They don’t know if they’ll grow back.”

He winced and straightened up, letting
her wrist go. “I’d say something about barbarians, but this is the
world we live in now.” He turned back to Nick. “Please sit
down.”

Olivia could feel the old, familiar ache
in her chest that she got whenever she had to deal with her father.
“We can’t visit the White House officially,” she said. “But are you
here in your capacity as Chief of Staff?”

“What do you mean, ‘we’?” her father
asked and settled back on the sofa. Nick took the other club chair.
“Your privileges haven’t been revoked. You can visit me any time
you want.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Olivia told
him. “Or has White House security relaxed their tolerance for
foreign nationals wandering the halls?”

She could see he understood exactly what
she was implying by the way his eyes narrowed. “You’ve given up
your United States citizenship?” he asked softly.