Page 28 of V-Day
Cristián rubbed his chin. Chloe heard the whiskers rasp under his long fingers. “Then you know how to ease through Pascuallita, where all the perimeter guards are around the town? Their rotations? The scheduled staff changes?”
Parris wet her lips. She looked amused and more than a little pissed and was controlling both.
“Once you get past the town, if you move right up to the edge of the active radar range around the base, you’ll be spotted instantly,” Cristián said.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Electronic spot surveillance,” he said. He smiled His smile lacked amusement, too. “I’ve been studying them for weeks, Captain Graves. I know their movements and their habits. I know where the holes are.”
Parris scowled. “Fine, you can tell me.”
He shook his head. “I can find the control room location for you.”
“How? By studying them?” Parris replied, her irritation flaring.
“Yes, from watching them,” Chloe blurted, before she realized she would speak. “He can do it. I’ve seen him. Cristián sees patterns—” She felt a soft touch onherwrist and hauled back the rest of her sentence.
Parris’ frown was deep. Her gaze moved from Chloe to Cristián and back. “Okay, fine,” she snapped.
“You’ll need me, too,” Chloe said.
“No. Absolutely not!” Parris said, her voice rising.
Heads turned.
Cristián shook his head. “You must take her,” he told Parris. “Chloe can make you invisible.”
*
CHLOE RETRIEVED HER BACKPACK FROMthe Vistarian who had taken it from her. She made her way back to the tarp covering Cristián’s sleeping spot and ducked beneath it. He sat cross-legged, stuffing a battered backpack with a change of clothes and weather gear. A tall woman with gray-streaked hair pulled back into a loose braid was tying food into hanks of cloth. She wore a washed-out military fatigue shirt that was thin with age.
The woman looked up as Chloe entered. She smiled with the neutral expression of a stranger.
Cristián cleared his throat. “Mamá, this is Chloe Masters, a friend of mine from New York. Chloe, my mother, Isabela Santos y Narvaez.”
“Nice to meet you, Mrs…” Chloe paused. For the first time, she was at a loss. In all their conversations, Cristián had never talked about Vistarian naming practices. His last name was Peña, which had not been among the names he had given his mother, so she couldn’t call her Mrs. Peña, and she couldn’t use “Mrs.” either…
“You had better call me Isabela,” the older woman said, tugging a knot tighter around the dried fruit she had just put inside the rag. She tossed the bundle to Cristián. “You are going on this mad venture, too?”
“Mad?” Chloe iterated, wondering what she meant.
“Cristián is not a soldier,” his mother replied, getting to her feet. She was tall and lean and tanned. She looked sturdy, as if she would outlast a thousand storms. She probably had already. The Peña family had not had a peaceful history. “Yet he insists on behaving like one.”
“They need me, Mamá,” Cristián said, his tone mild. He pushed a laptop into his backpack.
The laptop reminded Chloe of hers, sitting in the padded pocket of her backpack. “I’ll need to recharge my laptop before we get to the base,” she told him. “My phone, too.”
Cristián zipped the backpack closed, unfolded his legs and got to his feet. “I’ve got it covered. That’s why we will swing through Pascuallita. Pia left all her gadgets behind at the house. One of them is a solar recharger which clings to your backpack and recharges devices as you go. There are a couple other things we might need which I want to pick up, too.”
“It is insane, heading back there,” Isabela added, her hands about each elbow. Worry leached from her.
Cristián kissed her forehead. “We’ll be fine. We’re with US Army Rangers.”
“The Insurrectos don’t shoot civilians on sight,” Isabela replied, her voice tight. “They’ll shoot the Army Rangers you’re standing beside, though!”
“Does Captain Graves know why you’re taking us back through Pascuallita instead of straight down this mountain and around to the south side of the base?” Chloe asked Cristián.
He smiled. It was a cold expression, the wise expression of a much older man. “Are you planning on telling her?”
