The Infinity Tattoo (13 page)

The moment they got within a hundred feet of the property, two very large dogs charged their car. “Whoa,” Jack said. “Those two look like they mean business.”

They proceeded slowly up the driveway and stopped in front of the house. A lithe woman of medium height, perhaps in her sixties, came out onto the porch. She approached the car and peered into the driver’s side, all the while letting the dogs continue to growl. Seeing them sitting in the car must have satisfied her, and she commanded the dogs to stand down. They sat on either side of her, trembling with nervous energy.

Then she beckoned to Jack who opened the door cautiously and stepped out, keeping his eyes on the dogs. Meg, meanwhile, got out from the passenger’s side and walked around to greet the woman.

“Hello,” Isabella said with a small smile. She had long dark hair with just a hint of gray, drawn back into a bun. She surveyed one stranger, then the other, her eyes the color of rich earth, flecked with black.

“I must apologize about the dogs. They are very protective and I am grateful to have them, but sometimes, they can get carried away.” She had a slight Hispanic accent.

“No problem,” Jack said. “I am sure they are a great comfort to you, Ms. Mendoza.” Then he held out his hand. “My name is Jack Cunningham, and this is my colleague, Meg Goodwin.”

Meg said, “Senora Mendoza, thank you so much for agreeing to see us.”

“Well I admit to being just a little bit curious as to why two young Americans would be interested in Augusto Garcia. I haven’t heard that name spoken in many, many years.” She gave them another head-to-toe look, while the dogs sniffed around their feet.

“Hello, pooch,” Meg said, holding her hand out palm down in an unthreatening gesture. The black one approached cautiously and gave her a sniff. When he started wagging his tail, Meg turned the palm of her hand up. He licked it. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” He sniffed, then ducked his head under her hand for a pat.

“Well, I guess you’ve made a friend there,” said the older woman. “Blackie doesn’t take to just anyone.” Then she gestured towards the house, “Let’s go on inside and find a comfortable place to sit so we can talk.”

Inside was cool, insulated by the thick adobe walls, and made for an abrupt contrast with the baking driveway. Meg and Jack stood for a moment, letting their eyes adjust to the dimness as Isabella carefully secured the three locks on the door.

“This way,” she said and led them to a sitting room on the right. The dogs immediately settled down on the thick carpet at their feet and nodded off. “Would you like coffee, or perhaps some iced tea?”

“Either would be fine,” Meg said.

Isabella nodded to a woman standing at the door, who slipped quietly away.

“Now then,” she said, her dark eyes bright with curiosity. “What is this all about?”

Jack pulled one of the photos out of his backpack as Meg started to explain. “It’s a long story, but before we do anything else, can you just look at this man and tell us if you know who it is?”

Isabella held out a blue-veined hand and took the picture. She set it in her lap while she reached for the glasses hanging around her neck and put them on. Then she picked the picture up.

“Oh, my,” she said. One hand pressed to her mouth and the other, the hand that held the photo, began to shake.

“Ms. Mendoza,” Jack said. “We’re sorry if we’ve upset you. It certainly wasn’t our intention.”

“No. No. It’s okay. You warned me that you came here to talk about Augusto Garcia. It was just a shock to see his face again.”

“So it is Augusto,” Meg said.

“Oh yes. A much older version than the one I remember, but there is not a question in my mind. I will never forget his face. It’s him.”

“How did you come to know him?” Jack asked gently.

“How did anyone come to know him? I was arrested as a subversive. Augusto particularly hated journalists. I was determined to report the truth as I saw it. It was only a matter of time until they took me.”

“Did they . . .”

“Torture me? Yes, they did.” Tears sprang to her eyes.

Meg called to mind the testimonials which she’d read of female victims of Battalion 3-16: of tying up their hands and feet and hanging them from the ceiling while they beat them and groped them. Of clipping wires to breasts and genitals and sending electrical shocks through their bodies. Of near suffocation and drowning.

“Excuse me. It’s not something I like to think about,” Isabella said.

They were silent for a time. Finally, Meg said, “How did you get away?”

“My father. He was a wealthy man with political connections. I don’t know exactly who he paid or how much, but they finally released me on the condition that I leave Honduras. I’ve since made a life here.”

Then she peered at them over her reading glasses and said, “Now, tell me how you come to have this picture?”

“You see,” Meg began, “Like you, I’m a journalist. I was recently in Honduras with another foreign correspondent named Alex. It was right after the coup. There were a lot of protests, as I am sure you know. We believe the picture was given to Alex by a local journalist that we met during a protest.”

They told her about the mysterious package delivered to Jack, the damning communications it contained, the discovery of the photo concealed under the postcard.

When they told her about Alex and his disappearance, Isabella nodded. “I remember reading about that. I felt so sad for Honduras at that moment. It is bad enough that they make their own journalists disappear, but a foreign correspondent.” She shook her head. “Anyway, go on with your story.”

They told her their theory about Augusto.

Isabella’s eyes narrowed. “So that devil has returned. I had hoped never to hear about him again. But I should have known the coup would bring him back. Or perhaps he was always there, working behind the scenes. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Jack nodded at the photograph still clutched in her hand. “What about the men sitting with him. Do you recognize either of them?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the man on the right in my life,” she said. “But the man on the left. He does look familiar. But it’s been many years since I left Honduras. Who is he?”

“We think his name is Luis Medrano Pedroza.”

“Of course. Now I can see it. He’s changed a lot has Luis. I knew his father. When I left Honduras, Luis was a very young man. What does Luis do these days, do you happen to know?”

“Well, yes,” Meg said. “He’s a congressmen.”

“Now isn’t that interesting,” said Isabella. “Imagine Augusto rubbing shoulders with a politician. That can’t be good for Luis. Not good at all. Everyone knows Augusto was one of the most brutal men in the Battalion. I take it this photo hasn’t yet seen the light of day.”

“No, not yet.” Meg said. “And we have another photo.” She handed it to her.

Isabella pointed to a man in uniform. “That man, right there. He is Rodrigo Pineda. It looks as though he’s risen in the ranks of the Honduran military.”

“Yes,” Jack said. “His insignia would indicate that he’s a colonel.”

“Is that right? Very interesting,” she said pausing for a moment. “Now this man,” she said pointing to one of the men on the right, “that’s Salvador Perez. Another politician. Why, if these photos became public knowledge, I don’t even want to think what it would do to the reputation of the Honduran congress,” she said shaking her head. “No, it doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“We think that’s why our colleague, Alex Larsen, sent them to me,” Jack said. “We think he planned to expose them in the press. But before he could do anything, he disappeared.”

“He also sent some communiqués between Luis and Augusto,” Meg said, handing her photocopies of the email exchange.

Isabella looked them over. “So like Augusto.” She shook her head. “They never found Alex Larsen, did they?”

“No, they didn’t,” Jack said. “But see, I’m in the army and, by total chance, right after Alex disappeared, I was deployed to Soto Cano Air Force base. Alex was a very close friend of mine, so I took advantage of the opportunity. I thought maybe I could find out something.”

“You must have cared a great deal about him,” Isabella said.

Jack looked at Meg, then back at Isabella. “We were like brothers.”

“I see. So what did you find out when you were at Soto Cano?”

“Not a lot. Looking back on it, it seems like a fool’s errand. All I managed to do was to get Augusto’s attention focused on me.” Jack went on to explain how he had learned about Alex’s demise, about the drive-by shooting, and about asking questions which resulted in his redeployment back to the States.

“But it didn’t end there,” Meg interjected.

Once again, Jack told the story of his apartment and office being ransacked, of being abducted and fleeing, no longer knowing who to trust.

“I think he was right to be suspicious,” Meg said, pulling another picture out of the package, the one that Billy had given them. “We were wondering if you recognize the man sitting next to Augusto.”

The older woman studied it carefully, then returned it to Meg. “I’m afraid not. Who is he?”

Jack nodded. “He’s my commanding officer. This picture is old, probably taken in the eighties.”

“I know it all seems a bit far-fetched,” Meg said, “but we think that somehow, this Colonel Parker, Jack’s commanding officer, is mixed up in the whole thing. We know that Parker was in Honduras during the Contra War. The picture shows he’s a friend of Augusto, or at least acquainted with him. Maybe Augusto is blackmailing him. Perhaps he did something seriously bad that he wants kept quiet.”

“Oh, your theory is not actually too absurd,” said Isabella. “It sounds exactly like the kind of thing Augusto would do. When I knew him, he had a long reach, from politicians to drug lords, to everyone in between. He wouldn’t hesitate to use any of these people.”

“The thing is, we’re in serious trouble, Ms. Mendoza,” Jack said. “They tracked me down at Meg’s place in Sedona. We managed to shake them, but it’s only a matter of time before they catch up with us again. And Meg. She was a foreign correspondent during the coup. If our suspicions are right, it’s very possible that Augusto knows about her. And that he might try to come after her.”

“We were hoping you could help us find the connection between Augusto and Colonel Parker. Then we can turn the tables on them,” Meg said.

“I hope you realize that you’re playing a very dangerous game,” said Isabella.

Jack and Meg nodded.

Isabella looked at them. “Let me see what I can find out,” she said at last.

* * *

Meg and Jack found a small hotel on the outskirts of Sante Fe to await Isabella’s call. As they settled in for the night, Meg started thinking about the car that had been following them.

“Jack, how do you suppose they found us in Phoenix?”

“I’ve been wondering that. I think it might have been through Billy. Maybe they followed him when I met him at the bar. Maybe they tapped his phone.”

“Oh God. Do you think we put your friend in danger?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s terrible,” Meg said.

“Yeah. It’s been worrying me. But Billy has a good head on his shoulders. Hopefully, he’ll be fine.”

Isabella called early the next afternoon. They put her on speakerphone.

“Hello, my young friends,” she said. “It has taken a bit of effort, but I think I may have something for you. It’s not much, and I’m not sure if it will be very fruitful, but here it is.”

“There is a man, a priest, who is known to have maintained records of the disappeared and details of that terrible time. I believe he started keeping track of who had disappeared in his own parish and eventually started to expand his research to include any and everything he could get his hands on. His name is Padre Guillermo and he lives in a small village in Olancho. If anyone has records about your colleague’s involvement in the activities of the Battalion, it is he.”

“Thank you very much,” Meg said, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice. “How can we contact him?”

“That’s the problem. He’s very old now. And his hearing is terrible so he no longer uses a telephone. I am afraid that the only way you’ll be able to speak with him is to go to his village and find him.”

“Oh,” Meg said.

“I thought that might be your reaction,” Isabella said.

“Well, I guess we need to think about it,” Meg said.

“We’ll go,” Jack said. “Where did you say this man lives?”

“He lives in a village outside of Catacamus. You need to go there and ask for Padre Guillermo. Everyone knows him there.”

“But do you think we can just walk onto a village, a couple of gringos, and ask for him?”

“In the past, I would have said yes. But now, things are much more difficult. Olancho had been overrun with narco-traffickers, narcos if you will. People in villages are extremely wary of outsiders. Not to mention the risk you take with the narcos, who don’t like outsiders either.”

“But I may have a solution for you, if you are determined to go there,” she went on. “A good friend of mine, Sister Reina, is willing to help you. She is part of an organization that continues to advocate for the disappeared. She will take you there, if you wish.”