Page 50 of Casualties of War
“Me, too,” Téra admitted. “There’s no bullshit about her. I thought diplomats were all two-faced and smarmy.”
“Olivia isn’t.”
“Bet she doesn’t walk into the White House wearing leggings, though.”
Minnie grinned. “Probably not, although Roldánwill fit right in at the big house. We shouldn’t have bothered with all the cleaning. She won’t even notice.”
* * * * *
The minivan was parked at the far end of the pick-up area, the engine idling and the side-door open. The driver didn’t move when Calli waved him forward. She sighed.
“I need to stretch my legs, anyway,” Roldán said philosophically and turned and walked toward the van. Callicaught up, as did everyone else. Roldán had long legs—almost as long as Calli’s. Everyone else had to hurry to stay with them.
Téra’s feet weren’t just throbbing anymore. They burned. The heat from the pavement seemed to suck right up into the ball of her foot and lodge there. Every step hurt.
Calli knocked on the glass of the passenger side-door as she drew level with it, and bent to peer inside.
She straightened up with a snap. Her hand slid beneath the back of her jacket and she pulled out a gun and cocked it. “Everyone, back inside! Now!Move it!”
Téra grabbed Minnie’s arm and tugged. “Hurry,” she said, her heart leaping. Just the sight of Calli with a gun was making her heart work harder. It was so unexpected, yet Calli looked like an expert holding it. She looked dangerous.
Calliturned, the gun moving with her, taking in everything at once. Her face was passive, her concentration total.
“Ambassador, go back inside,” Calli said sharply, as Téra tugged harder on Minnie’s arm to get her moving. Minnie was mired in shock.
The squeal of tires made Calli spin again, to face toward the back of the minivan. The green Camry from the house came to a sharp, sliding halt behindthe van, the nose dipping with the power of the brake.
The driver’s door was thrown open. Rubén Rey stood on the doorsill, his arm out, the gun in it pointing at the van.
“Get down!” he shouted and fired.
Minnie flinched and dropped to the hot pavement. Téra tried to cover her, only she didn’t know which side of her to cover.
Roldán hunkered down, then duck walked over to the side of the vanand hugged it, with the wheel next to her. She watched Calli for directions.
Calli spun again, her gun tracking to the nose of the van. She fired. Once. Twice. The gun gave quiet coughs.
A man wearing a ski-mask cried out and landed on the sloping hood of the van. His rifle clattered against the metal, scraped down the slope and dropped to the tarmac.
Around them, people screamed and ran.
Calli fired again. A second masked man stood, his hand at his neck, which spouted red. He dropped again.
A submachine gun fired. It was shockingly loud. The staccato rattle was short and accompanied by a series of hollow metallic clunking sounds that reminded Téra of the sound a car made when a side panel got dented.
Rubén cried out and fell backward, his hand against his leg.
Téra screamed.
Calli ran toward the back of the van, the gun clutched in both hands. She had kicked off her shoes.
It was only because Téra watched desperately for Rubén to rise to his feet once more that she saw what happened. Calli rounded the corner of the van and a fist rammed into her jaw, wrenching her head around and back. The back of her head hit the van. Her gun flew up and over the Camry.
The samehand grabbed Calli as she sagged. The man stepped out from between the van and the Camry, the submachine gun in one hand and Calli hanging over his other arm. He also wore a ski mask. He waved the gun around at everyone hunkered on the pavement, then touched it to the back of Roldán’s head. The ambassador closed her eyes.
“Get up,” the man growled.
Roldán rose to her feet, her hands up. “I ama Mexican diplomat. You must let me go,” she said calmly. “If you detain me or harm me, you are declaring war on Mexico. Do you understand?”
