Page 3 of Casualties of War
“What’s left of the new hospital wing,” Mike said grimly. He jerked his chin up.Look.
Adán looked.
Where the brand new wing had been was a cloud of dust roiling about an angry redball of flames. Jagged concrete and beams thrust up into the night air. Everywhere, people were sitting and standing or lying. Some of them didn’t move.
Adán looked the other way. The Secret Service men were staggering and coughing, looking dazed, just as his team were.
The photographer had vanished.
* * * * *
No one would let him go home, even though the worst injury Adán could claim wasa murderous headache. The blood on him was Mike’s.
They parked Adán on a folding chair in a hastily erected tent and told him to wait. He fished out his cellphone. It was still working, even though the screen had a crack through it. Relieved, he thumbed out a text message to his agent, Ariella, telling her he was fine. After a moment of hesitation, while he wondered whether he should bother theman, he sent a similar message to Nick Escobedo. He added:There’s something screwy about all of this. More later.
Nick might get the text before he heard about the explosion. He was still on Big Rock island, fighting back the Insurrectos, who had objected to the Loyalists taking back the silver mine. Either way, Adán didn’t want him to spare any energy worrying about people he knew in L.A. Hehad enough to worry about.
The tent flap pulled aside and Stuart Wilson ducked under it and straightened up.
Adán blew out his breath and got up. “It’s damn good to see you, Stuart.”
Stuart hugged him and let go. “Ditto,” he said. “Sit down, hm?”
“Can you grease palms and get me out of here?” Adán said.
“Sorry, no can do. They want to screen everyone before anyone goes home. I asked themto talk to you sooner rather than later. I thought I’d stick around, if you don’t mind?”
Stuart Wilson was not only the owner of the security firm that supplied Adán’s details but also a lawyer. He didn’t practice law, preferring the active security side of the business, although his expertise came in handy.
“Do I need a lawyer?” Adán asked.
“Ordinarily, I’d say no. However, personal rightscan get trampled in situations like this and you’re a foreign national, too.”
“I was born in L.A,” Adán reminded him.
“What color is your passport? Remind me?”
Adán scowled at him. “Is everyone in the team okay?”
Stuart’s mouth shifted upward. He was a tall, spare man, with a high, intelligent forehead. He had a stillness of poise Adán had studied for years, trying to emulate it with differentcharacters. It was difficult to pull off, that stillness, for expression of character was best shown with movement.
Stuart’s eyes glittered with humor as he replied. “They’ll all be just fine once Mike finishes reaming them out for letting the photographer get away.”
Adán’s heart fell. “Then the photos are out there. Damn.”
“Mike was talking about photos. Want to fill me in?” Stuart pickedup another chair and unfolded it, turned it around and sat on it backward, his arms resting on the top.
“I didn’t recognize the woman until it was too late,” Adán said. “She leaned in and got two shots with me grinning like an idiot, all cozy and happy.”
“And she was…?” Stuart asked.
“Serrano’s wife.”
Stuart’s eyes narrowed. “The guy holding onto Vistaria right now?ThatSerrano?”
“That Serrano,”Adán said, his chest tightening. “Those photos will be out there, showing the cousin of the Loyalist Presidentpro temsnuggling with Insurrectos. It issothe wrong message, Stuart. It’s a blatant lie and they set me up for it. Now the world will think I’m pro-Insurrecto.”
Stuart rubbed the back of his neck. “How on earth can someone like that get into a White House shindig like this?”
