Green Ice (31 page)

Life was a ride down a slippery slide of time.

Lillian had killed two, counting the Lieutenant.

What would the army do?

There would be a trial.

How do you plead?

On his hands and knees.

What hurt as much as anything was that again, oh, again, he’d come a hair away from getting everything he had ever wanted.

So close this time.

His thoughts were interrupted by a noise from outside. An animal sound, a kind of snort.

Then on the ceiling a rhomboidal shape appeared as an outside light was turned on.

More snorting, louder.

Wiley got up.

He heard men outside.

What was going on out there?

He stood beneath the window. It was about ten inches above his reach. Normally, not much of a jump, but from the cold, he felt brittle, as though any jar or sharp movement could break him.

Those snorts were increasing.

He wanted to see.

He flexed his shoulders, arms and fingers and did a couple of deep knee bends before taking the leap. He grabbed one of the bars, got hold of another and pulled himself up.

What he saw out there was a large penlike area surrounded by a tall chain-link fence. The near section of it was brightly floodlighted. The rest was in the dark, but apparently it included considerable ground.

Three soldiers were at the fence with several buckets of garbage, which they emptied over into the pen.

Hogs. About a dozen huge lard-type hogs snorted and crowded to get the garbage. That was the reason for the stench: the hog pen. It was almost directly below Wiley’s cell window.

Why the hell were they slopping hogs at this hour?

Wiley was about to give it no more attention when another soldier came into view. Pushing a wheelchair. In the wheelchair was a naked man, whose legs extended straight out because there were plaster casts on both knees.

Wiley knew that had to be Ramsey, the wayward emerald carrier.

Ramsey was strapped to the chair around his chest and arms.

There were more hogs now, close to fifty. And more coming on the run out of the darker part of the pen. They were real heavyweights of four hundred, five hundred pounds, some even larger. It was surprising how fast they could move on their stubby legs. Their snorting and grunting had become a din, as they competed for those few pails of garbage, which couldn’t possibly satisfy them.

They seemed frantic with hunger, as though they hadn’t been fed in a week. Some threw their heads up and opened their mouths in anticipation. Wiley saw their pink raw-looking snouts, their tusks and rows of teeth.

Ramsey’s mouth was taped.

One of the soldiers tore the tape away.

Ramsey’s mouth immediately opened, but his scream was lost in the cacophony of the hogs.

The soldiers used hammers on Ramsey’s casts. Only some of the plaster broke away. Evidently it was plaster bandage. One soldier went and got a pair of heavy-gauge wire clippers, and those were used roughly to cut the casts off.

Ramsey never stopped screaming.

They cut his bindings away.

The chain-link fence bulged under the pressure of the hogs. The fenceposts had to be buried deep in cement to withstand that much weight. Still, the soldiers seemed somewhat circumspect.

Ramsey writhed and flailed. With the casts off, his useless legs bent painfully out at the knees.

Three of the soldiers lifted Ramsey, who twisted and bucked and hit out at them. Meanwhile, the other soldier shoved a two-foot-high platform into place next to the fence. They climbed up on it with Ramsey, hoisted him above their heads and threw him as far out as possible into the pen.

Ramsey landed front up, arched over the hairy back of a hog.

They got to his legs first.

Their snorts and grunts were suddenly louder. They climbed all over one another and fought one another to get a piece of him.

The soldiers watched.

Wiley dropped to the floor of his cell.

He was sweating.

The coldness of the floor didn’t matter now. He slouched down, and clenched his eyes as though he could shut out what he’d already witnessed. He crawled to the open drain and retched. Nothing came up. His insides were too constricted with shock to let anything up.

He rolled over and lay there, fixed on the window.

So that was how The Concession dealt with anyone who got out of line. An example of the dread it imposed on its world of emeralds.

That was what was in store for him, Wiley thought. Maybe this was feeding night and he was the next course. They could be coming for him now.

He stood quickly and went to the window, jumped and pulled himself up again.

The soldiers were pushing the wheelchair away.

The hogs were scattered now, rooting around with their snouts and scratching with their hoofs at the spot where Ramsey had been.

No sign of the man, not a tooth, bone or hair.

That’s how ravenous the hogs were.

Non corpus delicti
.

No body, no crime.

Wiley thought probably this had been Kellerman’s idea. It smacked of Belsen and Dachau. And Argenti had most certainly approved.

Wiley dropped to the floor.

The outside lights remained on.

Several times Wiley gave in to the urge to look out the window at the hog pen. Like a man on death row, if allowed, would probably not be able to resist visiting the electric chair while waiting for it to take his life.

Dawn was like a reprieve.

About ten o’clock that morning, two soldiers came for Wiley.

Perhaps, he thought, night or day didn’t make a difference. It surely wouldn’t matter to the hogs.

He expected the soldiers would bind his hands. If they bound his hands, they’d have to drag him, he decided, but since they didn’t bind him, he walked between them.

Down the stairs and, naked, out into the sunshine.

The first thing Wiley noticed was the jeep. No mistaking it, it was the one—its identification was painted over. Its spare tire was missing.

Then Wiley saw the black limousine, a stretched Lincoln, with the army insignia and four gold stars on its door.

Someone threw an army blanket around Wiley.

He was led to the limousine.

Lillian was in the back seat, huddled down.

Wiley got in.

Lillian had on only a man’s coat. She looked small.

Wiley asked if she was all right.

Without looking at Wiley she told him, “Hold me.”

He brought her into the cave of his arm.

The built-in bar was open. Silver tumblers of cognac had been poured. Wiley took one and put it to Lillian’s mouth. She sipped like a child. She put her arms around him and hugged tight, holding on for dear life.

There were cigarettes on the bar tray, Wiley noticed. He didn’t want one.

General Botero came out of the headquarters building with the Captain. They stood near the limousine and talked. Wiley lowered the window a crack and found he was within hearing range.

“They were with the
rebeldes
,” the Captain said.

“Did it occur to you that they might be hostages?”

“They had weapons.”

“Weapons that were abandoned by the
rebeldes
.”

“Possibly,” the Captain said.

“You acted rashly,” the General told him.

“They killed two of my men.”

Three, Wiley mentally corrected.

“Your men had orders to kill them,” the General said.

“Yes, but …”

“Then it could have been in self-defense that they killed the two.”

“There is the jeep …”

“I myself loaned the jeep to the lady.”

The Captain called attention to the painted-out army markings.

General Botero credited that also to the
rebeldes
. “How many emeralds did you say were found in the spare tire?”

“Eighty-three,” the Captain replied.

A hundred and eighty-three, Wiley mentally corrected.

“I am sure they were poaching,” the Captain said.

“The woman is a
rica
, very wealthy. She has no need to claw around for a few emeralds. Let me tell you, Captain, it is fortunate for you that I came as soon as I received word. You might have added to your mistake. What happened to their clothing?”

“The men took the clothing as usual.”

“Get it back.”

“By now,” the Captain said, “anyone might be wearing it. But here are their passports.” He handed them to the General.

Wiley mentally added, how about my cash, nearly three thousand?

“You
searched
the woman I suppose,” the General said.

The Captain was reluctant to answer.

General Botero pressed him.

“Yes,” the Captain admitted.

“How many searched her?”

“Two.”

“How many?”

“Four.”

“You
searched her before the others.”

“No.”

General Botero looked aside to avoid the lie in the Captain’s eyes. “Are you certain, absolutely certain, that they saw nothing—you know what I mean—during the night?”

“It was impossible for the woman.”

“That I believe. What of the man?”

“He saw nothing.”

General Botero ripped the bars of rank from the Captain’s jacket, tossed them away. The Captain just took it, without a flinch or a word.

General Botero huffed once and got into the limousine, the front seat. He ordered the driver to get under way with a wave of his glove.

22

They arrived at Argenti’s villa around two.

General Botero hadn’t spoken a word to them during the trip, or even looked back, and from that Wiley assumed a colder reception awaited them. He half-expected Argenti to be pacing the courtyard. However, Argenti was nowhere about.

They went straight up to their suites. Wiley showered and shaved quickly, dressed and went to Lillian.

She was taking a bath, submerged except for her head. The tub was made of chrome, like a deep mirror, and the opposing sides of it presented infinite Lillians.

Wiley put the lid down on the commode and sat. “Are you all right?” he asked.

The water in the tub was already steaming, but she used her toes on the tap to have more hot.

Wiley asked again.

“I will be,” she said.

She ducked under. Her breath bubbled to the surface. She stayed under for what seemed an impossible time to Wiley. He was about to save her when she came up, red-faced and gasping. She took some deep breaths and the water in the tub became calm again.

“Poor Miguel,” she said.

To hell with Miguel, Wiley thought. To hell with everyone else. They’d leave Bogotá as soon as they could. Now she’d want to. If not tonight then tomorrow they’d pack up and go. Her Gulfstream was on standby at the airport. He’d call and make sure it was ready to fly.

She got out of the tub and into a long white terry robe.

Was she hungry?

She didn’t think so.

He ordered up some cheeses and fruit.

They sat in soft chairs before tall open windows looking out over the grounds. A sunny day. Far out Astrid and Maret were trying to get a kite up, but there wasn’t enough wind. It would only stay up as long as they were running. The laughter of the two girls matched the afternoon, but it was incongruous with the emotional atmosphere in Lillian’s presence.

She wasn’t melancholy and neither did she seem bitter. She was more pensive than anything, as though her thoughts kept ricocheting off everything, every sight and sound.

Wiley knew what was on her mind, let her know that by not speaking about it.

She nibbled on a plum.

Wiley leaned over and kissed the corner of her eye, so tenderly she didn’t even blink.

She turned and looked at him as though judging him.

For a long moment.

Then she got up and went to the bathroom.

Wiley heard her drawing another bath.

That night Argenti didn’t once mention their mountain escapade or Barbosa. It was as though they’d never been away. He did remind Wiley that there was still a deficit of five million over his head, said Kellerman hadn’t come up with anything to substantiate Wiley’s story.

Other than that, all through dinner Argenti was in an excellent mood. He told some dated ethnic jokes that niece Clementina, Astrid and Maret gave polite ratings of three: ha ha ha. Lillian gave the jokes at least ten, and it sounded to Wiley like she was genuinely entertained. She was also interested in Argenti’s account of the polo match in which he’d played that afternoon. He had scored the winning goal late in the third chukker, he claimed.

Lillian listened attentively, filled every opening Argenti offered with at least a sound of admiration.

Such a change from the way she’d been that afternoon. Her eyes were bright and quick, and her voice had a happy ring to it. More animated than Wiley had ever seen her. Also, she had taken much care to appear casual and at the same time seductive—in silk crepe de chine by Saint Laurent, a dress with a deep, loose neckline, ample sleeves that trailed her gestures. Her hair was ever so slightly in disarray, achieving the intended suggestion.

It seemed to Wiley that she flashed her teeth quite often and only a few times allowed her eyes to catch his. It got so that Wiley was juggling his leg under the table and tensing his toes in his shoes to let out some of his irritation. He also studied the way Argenti ate, pushing food into that hole in his beard. One of the courses was char-broiled dove. Argenti crunched his, bones and all. Wiley found himself hoping Argenti would mistake one of his fingers for a wing.

Still at the table, over Amaretto and espresso, Lillian provided the amusement by calculating Argenti’s biorhythms. For this purpose she had a small plastic device made of interlocking wheels and inscribed with exact-looking numbers and a red graph line that peaked and plunged like a Dow Jones average. Each wheel represented a different biorhythmic aspect: emotional, intellectual and physical.

She set the wheel according to Argenti’s birth year. “What’s today?” she asked.

“December eighteenth,” Clementina said.

Lillian adjusted the device and told Argenti, “You’ve just gone through a terrible emotional low, but starting tomorrow you’re on the climb again.”