Vistaria Has Fallen (The Vistaria Affair/Vistaria Has Fallen #1)(61)

She recalled the Spanish phrases she had been rehearsing and called to them, her voice low. “Soldiers. Do you know Captain Pe?a?”

Not a flicker of reaction. They didn’t know her. She dredged up more shaky Spanish. “He is based in Pascuallita. Do you know Duardo Pe?a?”

The second man on the left slid his gaze sideways, to look at her. He didn’t move his head.

Encouraged, she moved along the gate to stand in front of him.

“I must speak to your captain. Please let me in.”

She heard a babble of Spanish behind her. Close behind. She looked behind her, hiding as much of her features as she could with her shoulder. Two men, unshaved, dirty, bleary-eyed, watched her.

She turned back to the fence, shook it and jerked her head toward the men behind her.

“She is not Vistarian!” came the cry from behind her, in Spanish. She had been spotted as a foreigner.

She looked at the soldier in front of her. “Do you know the Red Leopard?” There was no time to compose it in Spanish. The name would have to be enough. “El Leopardo Rojo,” she added urgently.

A hand came down on her shoulder and yanked, trying to turn her. She clung to the iron with a desperate grip. “I am la dama fuerte! Let me in. Please, you must let me in.” She had reached the limits of her weak Spanish.

“You, American!” The angry cry came from behind her. Another hand grabbed her arm. She couldn’t risk looking behind her and letting them see her features. She couldn’t let go of the fence, or they would pull her into the middle of the crowd her gut told her was forming behind her.

There were more mutters and murmurs around her. She kept her gaze locked on the soldier’s eyes, even as her grip on the fence weakened and her fingers uncurled.

Someone knocked the hat off her head and her blonde hair was revealed.

“Ella no es Vistariana! Ella no es Vistariana!” The angry cry echoed along the street. Taken up by one, then another, then another, it became a chant, a rally cry.

Callie swallowed and her throat clicked, completely dry. The fury in their chant...they were ready to boil over into violence.

The soldier next to the one she had been addressing took his machine gun in hand and cocked it. So did the other four soldiers, his action prompting them. The sound of cold metal slapping into place quelled the crowd around her, just as her strength failed and her fingers pulled away from the fence.

The hands on her shoulders and arms dropped away.

“?Alejate de la puerta!” the soldier at the end of the row shouted.

Calli looked around. The men surrounding her sidled backward, easing away from the gate as ordered. As soon as they backed up six feet, one of the soldiers moved forward and slid the bar out of the gate, his machine gun still at the ready. He cracked the gate open ten inches.

“Come,” he said, waving to her. “Come.”

She picked up her hat, put it back on and slipped through the opening. The gate slammed shut behind her and the bar dropped into place. The soldier pulled her forward, between the other four guards. He hurried her over to the gatehouse, up the steps, and inside the small glass-enclosed building. There was a counter there and an officer standing at the window, watching the drama at the gate.

He turned as the soldier hustled her in. The soldier rattled off a stream of explanation while the officer studied her.

The soldier tugged at her backpack. “Show,” he said.

She pulled off the back pack, unzipped it and spread it wide so they could see inside. Then, obeying an instinct, she stepped back from the pack, giving them free access.

The officer and the soldier dug through the pack. The officer flipped through her passport and studied her, comparing her to the photo. She took off the hat again, giving him a better view. He spoke to the soldier, a quick word. The soldier saluted and ran back to the gate, where he took up his position once more. The other four had gone back to parade rest.

The officer examined her. “You have reached a superior officer, as you requested, Miss Munro. What do you want?”

“You speak English. Great. Please, you must tell me. Is Nicolás Escobedo in the city? I must speak to him.”

“Why must you speak to this person?”

“I know—you have no idea who I am. I mean, you may think you know—”

“I know exactly who you are, Miss Munro. After yesterday’s papers, most of Vistaria knows who you are.”

She winced. “If that is what it takes to convince you I have no evil purpose here, fine, I’ll own it. That was me. Normally I wouldn’t come within a hundred miles of Nick after this, only it’s about one of his...friends, an officer, Duardo Pe?a, in Pascuallita, well, not him exactly—”

He held up a hand, signaling she should stop.

She fell silent.

“What did you call him?”

“Duardo?”

“That is not a Vistarian name,” he said.

“Eduardo,” she amended. “He hates that, though. No one ever calls him that.”

“Except his superior officers,” the man replied. “Come here,” he demanded, beckoning with his finger.

She stepped closer to the counter. He leaned over and pushed aside her jacket with one hand, peering inside it. Then he smiled and picked up the telephone on the counter, dialed and spoke into it. After a moment he put the phone down. “Someone will be with you in a moment. They will take you to another place. A more secure place. Comprende?”