Prism - By Rachel Moschell Page 0,21
but imagine how ticked off he’ll be if after he saved my measly little life I sit around living for myself instead of doing everything I can to serve him.”
“Did Ishmael talk to you about all this?” Alejo asked, suddenly feeling cold as he remembered the trip with the Khan to the Tribal Area. “He’s not trying to tell you to go spend the rest of your redeemed life as a Taliban fighter or something, right?”
“No!” Gabriel actually smiled now and stood up, dusting off his sweat pants. “Can you see me with all those tough guys, wearing a turban? I can’t even grow a beard!”
Alejo had to laugh at the image of Gabriel wielding an AK-47 and smoking opium in the middle of the desert.
“Who knows?” Gabriel put his hands on both hips, and stretched a little, leaning to one side. “Whatever Allah has for me might even be good.”
“And it might even include Ambrin.”
Gabriel scoffed, but seemed quite pleased by the thought. “Let’s go over to the café,” he grinned. “I’m starving.”
Gabriel and Alejo joined the rest of the team in the café attached to the side of the modest Kory Tours office, which at present was sealed shut by a padlocked, roll-down metal door until office hours began. The tour agency was their cover here in Coroico, keeping them all employed in the eyes of this lazy tropical town. Benjamin also worked as a doctor in a little clinic sponsored by the government of Iran. Stalin spent his mornings at the local elementary school, teaching, of all things, Morality and Ethics class. The two of them now sat at one of the café’s small tables, leisurely spreading jam and margarine onto fresh bread from the corner store. Lázaro hummed behind the counter in the food prep space, sporting a white apron and pouring steaming organic espresso from Coroico into glazed ceramic mugs.
“Hey, good morning!” Lázaro called cheerfully. He kicked the mini refrigerator door closed after replacing the milk. “Come on and have breakfast! Fresh marraqueta bread, and I’m letting you all have some of my brownies.”
Alejo grinned and he and Gabriel scraped some chairs over to the tiny table with the others. Lázaro had learned to make awesome brownies and cheesecake from his mom back in Puerto Rico, and his desserts made the café really popular with tourists.
“Sure, I think I could choke down one of your brownies today.” Gabriel casually nodded his thanks as Lázaro plopped down a mug of strong creamy coffee in front of him. “Or two. Depends on how much I think you need to have your self-esteem improved today by me eating your food so you won’t, you know, think it’s gross or anything. Oww!”
A stale circle of bread flew through the air from where Lázaro had returned behind the counter and thumped Gabriel in the side of the head. Gabriel rubbed his head in mock pain as Alejo jerked crossly towards Lázaro. “Hey! He’s got to be careful, you know.” Alejo knew that the worst of Gabriel’s injury was healed, but he still felt protective, maybe guilty that something so awful had happened to a member of his team and he hadn’t been able to stop it.
“So,” Stalin mumbled around a large mouthful of bread smothered in jelly, “we’re gonna meet our clients half way up the trail, right?”
Alejo made a face at the sight of crumbs spewing across the table. “Yeah, all eight of the Paraguayans are going to meet us up there.” They would meet on the trail up to Uchumachi, the mountain top where Kory Tours led the wilderness survival tours that were completely booked every other week by Prism trainees. Everyone down here in Coroico thought the Kory Tour guys were up there teaching survival skills to tourists from all over South America. Uchumachi was isolated, perfect for Alejo and his team to train others.
This weekend would be extra busy, because there would be a special guest: Ishmael Khan, all the way from Pakistan. It had been a year since the Khan had attended one of their trainings, but he claimed that it was long overdue, that he had missed Bolivia and missed them all.
Alejo suspected that he mainly wanted to check on Gabriel, his “nephew”, who had given him quite a scare.
As the junior member of the leadership team, Lázaro was staying behind to man the café and Kory Tours. Lázaro didn’t mind terribly much, well aware that the gringa girls who came to the café