Vistaria Has Fallen (The Vistaria Affair/Vistaria Has Fallen #1)(25)

Duardo settled down beside Minnie at the edge of the flat bed. They sat on the driver’s side, so he leaned around the end and patted the side of the truck. “Vayamos!”

The truck jerked into gear and with a belching roar, chuffed up the road.

Duardo leaned around Minnie and pointed to the man on Calli’s left. “This is Pietro,” he said.

“Sí,” Pietro agreed with a grin.

“Hi Pietro.”

Duardo indicated the others in the truck. They all waved or said hello in English or Spanish, including Elvira, who attempted a shaky, thick ‘how are you?’. In civilian clothes, without rank or title, they seemed to be young, amiable people.

They made their way out of the city, climbing up and down foothills. The truck turned onto a poorly maintained ribbon of tarmac with thick vegetation creeping close to the verge. Traffic kept the road clear of growth, while trees leaned in overhead, struggling for light at the edges of the canopy. The road became a shadowed, narrow tunnel, lit by patches of dazzling sunlight. Above the canopy, Calli glimpsed pale blue, cloudless sky.

The people in the back paid no attention to their surroundings. They laughed and chatted and Calli relaxed. The roar of the engine and the vibrations had a soothing effect. She grew sleepy.

Pietro gave her arm a gentle nudge. She opened her eyes. He offered an open bottle of Mezcal.

“It’s watered down with lime juice and mineral water,” Minnie said. “Very nice.”

“It’s too hot. You need water,” Duardo explained. “Drink.”

She took a sip and enjoyed the tang of the juice. It had been well-watered and seemed refreshing. The Mezcal merely added flavor. She took a longer drink and gave the bottle back.

The man with the incongruous name of Harry stood up and leaned over the boards at the side of the truck, calling down into the cab. Then he reached over and lifted a guitar. He sat and settled it against his thigh and strummed some fast chords. This appeared to please everyone. The energy picked up. Harry laughed and played intricate Latin-style music with a compulsive beat. The others picked up the beat, hands on thighs, feet tapping, clapping. There didn’t appear to be any lyrics, although Calli heard Pietro next to her humming and slapping his thigh. After a while the music changed into a different melody, while the beat stayed the same. Harry was doodling, trying out different themes before moving onto something new.

When Harry tired of it, another man picked up the guitar and a new lilt emerged.

Calli took sips from the Mezcal bottle when offered. Time passed.

The truck was climbing up sheer mountainside, the road switching back on itself over and over. The pavement here, particularly the verges, was well maintained, consisting of poured concrete and iron reinforcements. It seemed Vistaria had wisely chosen its priorities for road maintenance.

They travelled in full sunshine now. At this elevation, the sun beat down, direct and bright. Calli fished her sunglasses out of her bag and put them on. As they turned another hairpin bend, she got a breath-catching view of the countryside. They’d climbed a thousand feet. The Pacific sparkled deep blue to the east. In between lay a carpet of green, rimmed by white beach. To the north lay Lozano Colinas, Las Colinas, thick with buildings and roads, lapping up against the mountain chain that ran north and south along the spine of the main island. They climbed that same chain now. The altitude made the engine of the elderly truck groan and work.

“This truck...this road...many. Many,” Pietro said, with a big smile, lifting his voice above the music. He moved his hand in a flat sideways motion. “No worry.”

Calli gave him a small answering smile. Had her concern been so apparent?

Pietro’s confidence seemed well placed. Despite alarming noises and the driver dropping into such a low gear that Calli could have walked and made better time, the truck kept running. As the road flattened out and headed into a deep crevasse of the mountains, the truck picked up speed.

The valley they were in tucked into a fold of the mountains, thick with trees. Over two dozen houses hugged the steep valley walls, dotted on either side of the road. Some of them were large, expensive-looking establishments. Others were little more than two-room cottages with the traditional Vistarian gate and courtyard tacked onto the front.

“What is this place?” Calli asked Duardo.

“Dominio de Leo.” He pointed back toward the Pacific, hidden by the sheer mountain beside them. “The army base is down there. Many senior officers up here. It is very...rich.”

“Expensive,” Calli said.

“Yes, so.”

“Some houses don’t look that expensive.”

“They were here before. Before the army base and the officers came to the valley.”

“Dominio de Leo,” Calli pronounced experimentally.

“No,” Harry said from his corner. “El dominio de Leo de príncipe is right name. But not used.”

“El dominio de Leo de...” Calli shook her head. “What does it mean?”

Duardo frowned, struggling to translate the name.

“It means the domain of Prince Leo,” Minnie said. “Some Spanish prince who took a fancy to the place. It’s pretty nice.”

“Yes,” Duardo said, nodding. “Prince Leopold. He sailed here, long ago. Built a big house.” He pointed further into the valley. “Gone now. It was over there, they say.”