Prism - By Rachel Moschell Page 0,77
fine,” Gabriel waved away his concern. “There were only three, and they’re tied up in a nice cozy room. We bring them food. They didn’t see our faces, so after a few more days we’ll let them go and they’ll chalk it up to armed robbery. We’ll take a few little treasures with us to make it look authentic.”
Alejo sighed and put one hand on the door, really anxious to get out of the car. His mind raced back to Wara, still handcuffed in the back of the truck, and he tried to think how he was going to get her out of this mess…again. He deserved to be here; after all, he had broken the rules and it was only fair to have to pay. Panic wanted to mess with his head, however, about Wara. Alejo tapped his foot compulsively against the floor of the truck, waiting for Gabriel to park.
Benjamin had latched the gate behind them, and he and Stalin stared solemnly at the truck as it drove slowly across the manicured lawn. Alejo’s visions of gaining the advantage through his fighting skills died down as he saw what Benjamin and Stalin gripped casually by their sides. Two silver guns with silencers, glinting in the afternoon sun.
Alejo’s shoulders tensed and he waited as Gabriel parked the truck in a cluster of a pomegranate trees. How did everything come to this?
A few months ago the Khan loaded me with presents and I was an honored guest in his house. Last Thursday, the guys and I were eating brownies in the café together, ready for another day at work.
Images of the thousands of times Alejo had prostrated himself to Allah on the ground, barefoot, filled his mind, and he found his heart repeating the prayer, You are great, Lord, You are great.
Please let me honor you, oh God.
He heard Gabriel yank the key out of the ignition and saw him reach for the door. His friend hesitated, then turned to Alejo with a pained look in his eyes. “I shot Wara back along the road, ok? In a little while, I’m going to have to take this truck out again. Ok, che? She can get out and run away.”
Alejo couldn’t help himself. He grabbed Gabriel’s skinny shoulders and pulled him into one of the manly bear hugs that only true Latino men can share, then let him go. Reaching back to rip open the tiny sliding door between the back of the truck and the cab, Alejo said, “Wara! Don’t make any noise, ok? You’re gonna be alright.” Then he pushed the little door closed and climbed out of the truck to whatever was waiting for him.
Stalin and Benjamin were standing behind the truck, weapons obviously loaded and pointed casually in Alejo’s direction. Neither of them looked particularly happy; in fact, Stalin looked downright miserable.
Alejo nodded in greeting, then looked beyond them to where Ishmael Khan was waiting, sitting on a bronze-colored bench in the center of the garden, shaded by a lilac flowering tree. The rest of the neatly-trimmed lawn was dotted with giant bushes that were trimmed to be absolutely round in form, like ridiculous sea-green pincushions.
Behind the front yard, the imposing country house rose to the sky, painted cream with an opaque golden trim, windows framed by intricate colonial plaster designs. A stone path began near the house, leading to a shimmering pond with emerald waters and a circular wooden hut with thatched roof in the center of the pool. Stately snow white swans glided on the surface of the water, skimming the scales of mammoth orange goldfish.
The Khan was calmly flipping through a book, which Alejo recognized as his Bible. Of course Ishmael had found it in Alejo’s tent. In light of Alejo disappearing with Wara, the Bible must have only given the Khan one more clue as to the reason for Alejo’s desertion.
“And the American?” Benjamin’s eyebrows were raised at Gabriel.
Gabriel waved away his concern and put one hand on his hip, crossly. “If the Khan wanted her here you should have told me beforehand, because it’s a little late now. She’s in Lake Alalay with a couple holes in her head.”
“I told you it wasn’t about her,” Benjamin said to Stalin, shooting an amused glance at Alejo. “There’s something else going on here besides just a sudden case of true love. He doesn’t seem to be too disturbed that she’s dead.”
Stalin sighed, glumly, and Alejo felt bad for him. “He wants to talk to