فصل بیست و هفتم

Chapter 27: The Calm Before the Storm

Jaime had parked a meat refrigeration truck in front of the hostel, and when no one was around, he backed it up as close to the blue door as he could so we could enter without being seen by anyone in the alley. When he gave us the signal we took turns climbing in. I was the last to enter. Once I was inside Jaime shut the door, leaving us in darkness. McKenna lit up just bright enough so we could see one another.

“What kind of a truck is this?” Tessa asked. “It smells back here.” “Is that blood?” Abigail asked, looking at the floor.

“It’s a meat truck,” Ostin said. He rubbed his face. “I feel like such a ham hock.” In spite of the tension, I laughed.

The ride to Lima was long, nearly seven hundred miles and more than fifteen hours. Jaime stopped only once to get gas and let us use the bathroom. We slept through much of the drive, as much from trying to escape anxiety as from fatigue. Less than an hour out of Cuzco, a convoy of more than fifty army trucks passed us.

No one spoke about the fracture of the Electroclan, but the division was obvious. Consciously or not, we now sat in our own groups—those who were staying and those who were going.

In such a confined metal room, and with Tessa present, Taylor couldn’t help but read everyone’s thoughts, even though she struggled not to. I didn’t have to read her mind to know how angry she was at Abigail. But I wasn’t. Even at the academy, Abigail had wanted to go home. I supposed that I felt as if I’d deceived her. She had stayed only because I’d convinced her that it was for her own safety. But what we’d dragged her through since then was hardly for her own safety. What we were now planning, sinking the Ampere, certainly wasn’t for her safety. I couldn’t blame her for leaving. I couldn’t blame anyone for leaving. Like I said, I wanted to go with them. But I couldn’t. Something held me—something my mother always said. All that’s required for the triumph of evil is for good people to do nothing.

We arrived in Lima at two in the morning. We woke to the shuddering of the truck braking and shutting off, then the stringent smell of the ocean breeze as Jaime opened the back doors. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. Jaime had brought us to a beautiful tile-roofed villa that overlooked the South Pacific. The house was on ten acres of fenced property at the end of a long, private gravel road surrounded by palm and white-washed orange trees leading up to a large fountain.

Wherever we were, we seemed to be miles from anything else, and for the first time in days I felt safe. Jaime unlocked the villa door, and we went inside. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity we all crashed in real beds with clean, sweet-smelling cotton sheets.

I awoke the next morning long after the sun had risen. I just lay for a while enjoying the comfort of a real bed, then got up and walked out to the kitchen. The smell of coffee brewing filled the dining area. Taylor was already up. She was thumbing through a travel book about Peru.

“Good morning,” I said.

She looked up and smiled. “Good morning. I’d ask how you slept, but I think I already know.” She smiled again. “A real bed with real sheets and a real pillow. I almost felt like a real human again.” “You look like a real human,” I said. I walked toward her. “What are you looking at?” “Just this book that was here. It has pictures of Peru. Did you know that there are almost four thousand native varieties of potatoes in Peru?” “No,” I said. “But I bet Ostin does.”

“Of course Ostin does,” she said. “He’s Ostin.” She set aside the book. “Come sit by me.” I sat down next to her on the couch.

“Have you looked outside?”

“No.”

“It’s beautiful. There are flowers and palm trees. It’s a real Spanish villa.” She looked at me. “It’s the calm before the storm.” “I’m afraid you’re right.”

We sat a moment in silence, then Taylor said, “Jaime left.” “Where?”

“He said he had some business.”

“When is he coming back?”

“A few days.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“There’s food in the fridge and no one should leave the property.” “House arrest again?” I asked.

“Villa arrest. But at least this time we have real beds.” “With pillows.”

Just then Ostin walked in. “Morning. What’s for breakfast?” “Potatoes,” Taylor said.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Ostin said. “There’s almost four thousand different varieties in Peru.”