Page 32 of Casualties of War
Chapter Seven
There were sentries all along the boardwalk that connected the jetty with the stairs that climbed up to the house on the cliff over the bay. All the sentries were injured and sported arms in slings or a cane or bandages Yet each held a machine gun in their spare hand and all of them were alert.
At the foot of the stairs stood a young captain with glasses and fine gray eyes. “CaptainRey,” he said, shaking Adán’s hand. “The Chief of Staff asked me to escort you to the house.”
Adán looked up at the house. From where they stood at the bottom of the stairs that clung to the cliff, all he could see were the sections of the old house that jutted from the top of it. “Calli knew I was coming?”
Rey smiled. “The captain of the patrol boat phoned ahead.”
The cloaking software wasbeing put to good use.
Adán looked up at the stairs once more. “They look steeper than I remember.”
Rey turned and gripped the handrail beside the first step. “When I first arrived, I couldn’t climb them without a break half-way. Now, I don’t notice unless I’ve been up and down them more than a few times in the last hour.”
They climbed. “Good training,” Adán observed.
“It’s what we use themfor,” Rey admitted, with a grin. “They sort out the unfit for us quickly.”
They didn’t speak after that. Adán needed all his breath for the climb. By the time they reached the third flight, his thighs were burning and his breath blowing hard.
“Would you like a rest?” Rey asked.
Adán shook his head. “Let’s get this over with. I presume she wants to see me before I speak to anyone else?”
Rey’ssmile was wise. “Everyone gets questioned these days. It’s not personal.”
“I didn’t think it was.”
“If you were not you, you would have been left to wait on your boat.”
“I appreciate the exception being made.” He forced himself to climb the final flight and was glad to reach the big, flat sunbaked deck at the top. Two more small steps led up to the old, scratched door inside. Three steps ledto the sandy ground beside the house and the path that led around to the front, where the fountain and the jacarandas graced the big circular driveway.
It had been many years since Adán had last been here. Sometime since then, a garden had been developed. Rather than planting in the dry, nutrient-poor sand, large raised beds had been built out of a brow-raising mix of materials—lumber, cardboard,metal and what looked like the running board of an old automobile. The loam in the beds, showing between vegetables, was dark and rich.
There were two corporals guarding the back door. They nodded as Rey moved between them, put a hand on the door and pushed.
Adán followed him inside, his gut tightening.
The sunroom he remembered was no longer a place of relaxation. The old teak shutters stoodopen, letting in the late afternoon sunshine, which pooled on the raw floorboards. The antique Persian rugs were gone.
An old tin desk sat near the door that led into the interior of the house. A lieutenant with healing burn marks on his face looked up. “Señor Caballero. Please have a seat. Señora Calli is finishing up a meeting.”
Adán glanced at the upright chairs sitting in a row beneath theshutters.
“I will leave you here,” Rey said. “Lieutenant Garcia will take care of you.”
Adán thanked him and sat down to wait.
It took twenty-three minutes for Calli to emerge from her meeting. Adán found the waiting time instructive. Through the big open doorway over Garcia’s shoulder, he caught glimpses of activity in the rest of the house. The hallway was a busy junction point, giving accessto the front hall and the stairs and all the rooms at the back of the house on this side.
Adán remembered the house being a graceful, airy residence. It still had touches of grace—no one could remove the beautiful scrollwork banisters on the stairs, or the complex woodwork framing the arches. The banisters showed scratches, though, and the varnish chipped from constant handling.
The floors wereworn the same way. There were no antique rugs to protect them anymore. The walls were stained at the edges and corners, where many hands had rested or brushed past.
Adán wondered how many people lived in the house or worked in it, for the hallway was never empty. No one lingered there, for it was a transition point. So many people crossed it that the view was never still.
After a while, Adánnoticed the same people using the hallway. He registered their faces from among the many others whom he saw only once. A tall, black woman with beautiful eyes and a self-possessed air was one. She clutched a laptop against her hip. There were more walking wounded Loyalist soldiers, who fetched and carried.
