Sandoval steepled his fingers. “With your permission, we would like to talk to you young ladies about your experience growing up in an Outpost. My good friend the senator is trying very hard to shed light on this subject. Naturally, I am interested in seeing this happen as part of restoring good relations between our countries. We are making progress, but progress comes slowly. It is difficult to uncover truths many wish to keep hidden. The senator is attempting to collect testimony from many American soldiers who have served on these bases, and others who fled when they were established decades ago. Understandably, this is a delicate undertaking. You are the first two civilians to have escaped since the occupation began, the only civilians. Your candor may prove invaluable.”
“Okay,” Loup agreed. Pilar hesitated, then nodded.
Prompted by questions, they talked for two solid hours, describing life in an isolated town in the no-man’s-land of the cordon between the walls, where the soldiers outnumbered the townsfolk ten to one and civilians had no rights. Where generators provided the only electricity and there were no working telephones, no computer networks, no television stations. Where civilians weren’t allowed to own guns or drive cars, and had to carry a permit to be out after curfew.
Where two families, the Garzas and the Salamancas, ran everything the army let them—except for the mission and clinic that Father Ramon and Sister Martha ran out of the church, aided by a shifting group of orphans nicknamed the Santitos, the Little Saints of Santa Olivia, by marauding street gangs. Where the only jobs to be had were crappy jobs working for the army one way or another, unless it was working for the Garzas or Salamancas.
Where the eccentric General Argyle held command, obsessed with boxing, and the only way to win a ticket out was to defeat one of his army champions in the ring.
“And you did this?” The senator cast a doubtful eye over Loup. “Against another GMO?”
“GMO?”
“Genetically modified organism.” He colored. “I beg your pardon. Is that offensive?”
Loup shrugged. “I dunno. I forgot, Johnson told me that was the term you used. Yeah, I beat him.”
“You witnessed this?” he asked Pilar.
She shook her head. “Too scared. But the whole town did. I made Mack and T.Y. tell me all about it,” she added to Loup.
“Do you mind if I ask how?” Sandoval inquired.
“Yeah, I know, I know.” Loup smiled wryly. “Big beats small. But Johnson wasn’t a real good boxer. He never had to be. I spent three years doing nothing but training, trying to figure out how to beat a guy as fast as me, but bigger and stronger.”
The senator consulted his notes. “And yet General Argyle took you into custody instead of giving you your freedom. Because you’re a GMO, I presume?”
“Well, it was one reason…” She began explaining the Santa Olivia business.
Sandoval interrupted her. “You disguised yourself as the town’s patron saint and assaulted members of the U.S. Army?” He looked as though he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or express outrage.
“Well, yeah.” She shrugged again. “Sort of. It’s not like we hurt anyone, we just tried to teach them a lesson. I was born on Santa Olivia’s day, right in the town square. The Santitos thought maybe it was a sign. And it was only to a few guys who deserved it.”
“I made the dress,” Pilar added. “Blue, with a white kerchief.”
“Dear God,” Senator Ballantine murmured. “One almost feels for the general.” He looked thoughtful. “Although I suppose that’s not a factor for you, Miss Garron.”
“What do you mean?”
He blinked. “Given your limited emotional spectrum, I assumed…” His voice trailed off.
“Loup can feel,” Pilar said indignantly. “Just not fear, okay? Jesus! I oughta know. Anyway, we didn’t just do bad stuff. We did a good deed, too. We stole a thousand bucks from the Salamancas and gave it to a family with hungry kids.”
The senator engaged in a fit of coughing.
“Yeah, well, the general didn’t like that any better. He was pretty freaked out about the whole thing,” Loup said matter-of-factly. “Enough to try starving me and hosing me down and asking the same stupid questions—”
“Back up.” Gaining control of himself, Timothy Ballantine raised his hand. “Tell me how you were treated in custody.”
While a light blinked on the recording device, she told him about the lack of food that sent her into a near-hibernatory state, the sleep deprivation. The constant heat and light, broken by the hose and the freezing interrogation room. I-want-to-be-your-friend Derek and his attempts to bribe her into revealing who had helped with the Santa Olivia conspiracy.
“He said they’d keep me there forever if I didn’t,” Loup said, remembering. “Because they never had a chance to try and break down someone they couldn’t scare before. You think?”
“Yes.” The senator looked grave. “Sadly, I do.”
“Good thing I got out.”
“Yes.” He reached over and turned off the little recorder. “And about that, we will ask no questions.”
“Okay.” Loup studied his face. “So what can we do to get everyone else out of Outpost? Santa Olivia, I mean.”
The two men exchanged a glance. “Exactly what you have done today by testifying, and nothing more,” Senator Ballantine said firmly. “This is a serious issue of long standing, and many people are working behind the scenes to rectify it through political and diplomatic means. It’s not a matter for young women playing at being vigilantes. You’re safe, and we would like to keep it that way.”
“Precisely,” Esteban Sandoval agreed. “Leave the matter to the professionals. We worked hard and took many risks to arrange your escape. I beg you, please do not think of doing anything to jeopardize your freedom.”
She sighed, deflated. “Is there any word of Coach Roberts or Miguel?”
“Roberts?” the senator echoed. “Miguel?”
“Garza,” Loup said. “Miguel Garza. And Floyd Roberts. He trained us both. He was the general’s friend. He was the only civilian allowed to carry a gun. Mig was my sparring partner. He’s kind of an asshole, but he can be a good guy, too. There were supposed to be two tickets for whoever won. I gave the second one to him.”
The two men exchanged another glance. The senator shook his head. “No. No word.”
“Look for them,” she suggested. “Especially Miguel. Coach thought he was in big trouble for training me, but he thought the general might keep his word and let Mig go north. Both of them can back up everything we said.”
“I’ll do that.” Ballantine rose and put out his hand. “Godspeed, children.”
Sandoval and Christophe exchanged words in Spanish. “Okay.” Christophe nodded and turned to Loup. “The third party is a man named Magnus Lindberg from a private company called Global Security. Mr. Sandoval has done business with him on a number of occasions. He asks for half an hour of your time.”
“Okay, I guess.”
“What about me?” Pilar asked.
“You and I will go see the Palacio’s famous murals. You know Diego Rivera?” He smiled when she shook her head. “Well, you will.”
“I’d rather stay,” she said.
“Mr. Lindberg wishes to speak to Loup alone,” Christophe said. “His interest is only in GMOs.” He held up one finger. “Half an hour of her time is the price for the fancy clothes you are wearing.”
“I’ll be fine,” Loup said to Pilar. “Go ahead, look at the murals.”
She scowled. “Okay, but don’t do anything stupid.”
“I won’t.”
The government officials took their leave with a round of farewells. Two minutes later, a tall blond man in a well-tailored suit entered the meeting room, accompanied by a striking brunette woman almost as tall as he was. He paused and gazed at Loup in appraisal. “Loup Garron?”
“Yeah.”
He smiled, showing very white, even teeth. “Magnus Lindberg, Global Security. This is my assistant, Sabine.”
Loup eyed them warily. They didn’t look like anyone else she’d ever met. She wished Pilar was there. “Hi.”
“Please, sit.” Magnus took a seat. Sabine took a position standing behind him. Loup sat opposite him. “You have an unusual name, Loup. Did you know it’s French for ‘wolf’?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Ah, I think perhaps you’re weary of talking. Very well, I’ll be brief.” He smiled again. “Global Security is an international company that provides security for very, very important clients.”
“Is this the secret agent bodyguard thing again?” she asked. “That guy Derek mentioned something about it when I was in prison.”
“Perhaps.” He nodded. “In our business, there is a tremendous amount of competition. Once it was enough to have a retired policeman. Then it was soldiers, and not just any soldiers, but special forces, like your Navy SEALS. And then it was Mossad agents, and the craze for thugs… Do you remember the craze for thugs, Sabine?”
Sabine nodded curtly.
“A nightmare.” Magnus shuddered. “But celebrities crave novelty. They must have the newest and best thing, the most dangerous thing, the most exotic thing.” He flashed another smile. “And the one thing no private firm offers today is a genetically modified bodyguard. I’ve been on the lookout for someone like you.”
“So you’re, like, offering me a job?”
Sabine’s lip curled.
“A very, very lucrative job,” he said smoothly. “I’ve no doubt that the government here would do the same. Your cousin Christophe has an arrangement and seems content with it. But we can offer so much more. Government wages are meager. Our clients would pay hundreds of thousands of euros for the only GMO in the business. And, of course, we could help insulate you from the danger to which you’ve already been exposed.”