Page 103 of Casualties of War
He hurried along the wide hallway, back to the rotunda where the white stone steps wound up and down. There were more soldiers using the steps. They glanced, startled, at Calli and Roldán as they followed Ibarra down the curving staircase to the first floor, then down to a basement level.
The stone and marble stairs halted there, between four columns of pillars marching the length of the basement, turning it into a cavern of lines. The floor was smooth polished stone, too. There were pictures hanging on the walls between the pillars. The nearest one was a landscape. The frame was skewed as if someone had brushed it and not straightened it again.
Calli twitched to ease the frameback to the horizontal. She clenched her fists.
Ibarra didn’t pause to wave at any of the pictures, even though some of them looked to be the work of major artists. Apparently his tour did not include the true highlights of the palace.
He marched up the length of the basement, between the second and third rows of pillars.
“Too few people here,” Roldán whispered as they followed behind him.“I don’t like it.”
“No windows, either.”
“And he controls the cameras.”
They looked at each other.
“I’m not leverage anymore,” Calli said. “Nick stepped down, so Serrano can’t use me. You’re still useful.”
Roldán shook her head. “Serrano has misjudged my president, if he thinks extortion will work. It will just piss Miguel off and make him even more determined to stomp on the man.”
“Serranohas a habit of misjudging people,” Calli said.
“So I’ve heard.”
“Quietly, quietly!” Ibarra told them. He turned to face them and put his finger to his lips. His manner was that of a man approaching something with hushed reverence. “Elbows in, trays up, belts fastened. Ready?”
Calli just looked at him. She didn’t want to play his game. It was too creepy.
Their lack of response didn’t seem tobother Ibarra. He spun around with his arms spread. “Welcome to the palace of fun!” he cried. He turned to the right and strode through the pillars there.
Calli and Roldán followed him around the pillar. A set of plain concrete stairs broke up the wall there. The stairs led down to what had to be a sub-basement beneath this one. They were unpainted. No art or decorations adorned the stairwell.There was just an iron handrail, also unpainted.
Ibarra kept his arms up and his fingers spread as he almost skipped down the steps to the landing. He still reminded Calli of a ring master, in charge of a black circus. As he turned at the landing to climb down the other half of the staircase, he laughed up at them. “Hurry!”
He skipped down the stairs and disappeared.
The guard with the machinegun nudged the back of Calli’s shoulder.
Reluctantly, she took the steps one at a time, down to the landing. Roldán kept up with her.
They turned the landing and Calli realized she was holding her breath, waiting to see some terrible sight.
There were a set of brocade curtains at the bottom of the steps, pulled back on either side and tied with gold cords with tassels.
Calli let out her breath.It looked ordinary.
She could see nothing in the space behind the curtains, except for the edge of a patterned rug. Warm, dim orange light pervaded the space.
Ibarra moved back into view and beckoned. “Come, come!”
They climbed down the steps and moved through the curtains to where Ibarra was standing and came to a halt, looking around.
Calli’s first impression was that they were standingin the foyer of a grand hotel, a throw-back to another century. There was flocked wallpaper, Persian carpets and lots of red velvet upholstery. Tiffany lamps glowed on round tables with potted palms and satin tablecloths that fell to the floor.
On all three sides of the room Calli could see from where she stood, there were doors leading into what had to be other, smaller rooms.
The impressionof elegance didn’t last, for there were people in the “foyer” who dispelled theolde worldecharm. Details registered, stealing Calli’s breath. The women in the room were all barely dressed, or naked. The men all wore the gray Insurrecto uniforms, with jackets or pants open for better access. On the big circular seat in the middle, a man sprawled on his back while a woman wearing only a see-throughchiffon robe rode his hips with slow movements. Her face was expressionless.
