Prism - By Rachel Moschell Page 0,60
they didn’t know what was really going on. Her father told her last night, because Salazar came up when he was talking with Alejo.” Noly pointed her chin towards Nazaret, who looked conflicted. “Did he tell you we didn’t report what happened to Ruben?”
Wara rolled her eyes and nodded, waiting for Noly to say that idea was ridiculous. But instead, Noly’s eyes crinkled as she said, “We’ve regretted that decision, made out of pride and reluctance to lose our place in the community, ever since.”
Wara was stunned. She blinked and turned her head towards Alejo, deep in discussion with his father.
“Alejo ran the day Ruben was found dead, just after he turned fourteen,” Noly continued, swallowing hard and swiping at mascara running down one cheek. “It took years for us to understand how wrong we were. We started the children’s center in Villa Candelaria to try to repent, somehow. It’s all true, Wara. I know why he wanted Salazar dead.”
Wara was still in a daze when Alejo’s voice cut into their conversation. “You guys are involved with the Children’s Center in Villa Candelaria? I’m…surprised. And glad. I’ve heard of that place---it’s famous all over the country. I just didn’t know…that you were involved.”
“We are, son,” Pastor Martir said from behind him, and Alejo nodded slowly, seemingly confused by this new development.
“I talked with…Dad,” Alejo said. The word still seemed to taste bitter in his mouth. “He thinks it would be good for you all to try to go to the United States. To visit Aunt Wendy. I have plenty of money, and I’m going to go get as much as I can out of the bank now, before you go.”
Alejo’s family all stared at him with expressions of disbelief that clearly said: Go? You mean like right now?
“Won’t they be watching the bank? All your buddies?” Wara demanded, imagining Gabriel and scary Benjamin staking out the bank with rifles from a crumbling apartment window across the street.
Alejo shook his head. “There are ten branches of my bank here in Cochabamba, and they don’t have enough manpower to watch all of them at the same time. Today I can get enough to take care of you all for quite awhile, and the rest is in a Cayman Islands account only I have access to. I’ll get all that to you later.”
Pastor Martir stood frowning at his son, burly arms crossed in front of his chest. Alejo grunted and turned to Wara. “None of the family have passports, except Dad. I want to see if the U.S. will give them visas and put them in protection, in exchange for the information I have. We also need to let the embassy know you’re alive.”
He took Wara back to their room, and Alejo dialed the embassy number on a brand-new cell phone he had picked up across the street. Wara took another handful of Ibuprofen from the bedside table and forced herself to sip water while Alejo talked with someone for quite a long time. By his frustrated expression, Wara could tell the conversation didn’t go well.
“So?” she asked as he punched the End button a little too hard and slammed a fist into the bedpost.
“They agree with you,” Alejo scowled at the little gray phone. “I don’t think they bought most of what I said, but from the little I told them now, they have decided that I am a terrorist. And,” Alejo hurled the phone onto the bed, obviously using less force than he would have liked, “the U.S. government does not help the family of terrorists.”
“What!?” Wara squawked. “They won’t help them because you’re a terrorist? But that’s why they need help!”
Alejo’s mouth twisted into a grim smile. “I guess you’re right. Robert Cole at the embassy told me to tell you that you should contact them so they can pick you up immediately to send you home, by the way. They are going to call your family right away and confirm that you are alive and well.”
Both Alejo and Wara flinched at that expression. “They haven’t found the bodies of any Americans,” he added after a while, then looked away.
Wara’s heart revved. They hadn’t found Noah’s body. Which meant he could still be alive.
He had to still be alive.
“So now where will you send the Martirs?” she asked shakily. “Since the good old U.S. of A has been so helpful?”
Alejo grimaced and massaged his temple, feet planted on the tile floor. “Everyone I know who could be any help in