The Second Bat Guano War Part 22

She said, "Not that."

There are two train stations in Cuzco. One for the trains to Machu Picchu, another for the trains to Puno on the Bolivian border. Arriving at the Machu Picchu station, I paid the driver the precise amount owed, ignoring his protestations that "all foreigner give tip." The terminal overflowed with Americans and Europeans dressed in water-resistant, zip-off trousers: an army of khaki and forest green, the AARP militia armed with cameras instead of guns.

We boarded the train. I found myself sitting across from a Dallas oil tyc.o.o.n.

"I call myself that," he said humbly. "Just another Texas ty-c.o.o.n."

Within five minutes I knew his life story: the wives; the daughters; the daughters' wives; the cancer; this was his first trip overseas. Maybe his last. The pretty young Peruvian girl at his side stared at my crotch.

The train whistle blew. We lurched, began to move. I stepped into the aisle. A pair of fingers pinched my a.s.s. The Peruvian girl winked.

I elbowed my way down the aisle, past the conductor, jumped onto the concrete platform. I ran through the terminal, hopped into the fourth taxi in the line, held out a big piece of play money and told him to take me to the Puno train station as fast as possible.

We raced through Cuzco, cutting through the shantytowns, splas.h.i.+ng piles of steaming donkey dung, until we jerked to a stop in front of the smaller, less elegant train station that would take me to Puno, the border, and Lake t.i.ticaca.

The train was leaving. I lowered my shoulders and charged a Peruvian cop. Had always wanted to do that. Probably wasn't necessary, but it sure was fun. I knocked him over, dropped a twenty-dollar bill on the ground as I did so. I ran onto the platform. The train picked up speed. I caught up to the train, grabbed hold of the vertical steel bar at the end of the final car and heaved myself aboard.

"Ticket, sir?" The conductor swayed backward, eyes wide.

Sprinting at 3400m above sea level is harder than it sounds. I fought to catch my breath. "I'm sorry?"

"If your grace wishes to ride the train, he must first pay."

I fished a hundred-dollar bill from my pocket and shoved it in his hand. "A private room. First or second cla.s.s, doesn't matter. Keep the change."

His eyes widened. He held it to the light, creased it, rubbed it between thumb and forefinger. Satisfied, he slid it into his shoe, and escorted me through the train to the second-cla.s.s carriage. He opened the door to an empty compartment.

"No first cla.s.s?" I said.

"So sorry, sir. It is all full. Your grace knows how it is."

I nodded. "Very well."

The conductor held out his hand, expecting a tip. After a hundred-dollar bill? What an a.s.shole. I ignored it. I shut the door, slouched back into the seat and looked up into the barrel of a gun.

THIRTEEN.

With his free hand, the man lifted his red cap and scratched his bald spot. "Right on time, Horse. Glad you could make it."

The gun was small. Big enough, though. An automatic of some kind. He pointed it at my chest. His hand did not waver. I folded my hands on my stomach, settled myself into the worn fabric of the seat.

"Always happy to oblige," I said.

He grinned. He pulled the cap low over his eyes. I glanced out the window. The train was pa.s.sing through the outer reaches of Cuzco's shantytowns. The snow-topped Andes surrounded us on all sides.

He said, "Open the window."

"Why?"

"Do it."

I stood. He nodded. I went to the window. I unclicked the latch at the top, slid it down. The stench of the pa.s.sing slums filled the compartment.

"Now take your clothes off."

I crossed my arms. "Go f.u.c.k yourself."

Red Cap rested the gun on his knee. His eyes narrowed. "Take them off or I will shoot you."

Infallible logic, that. I took off my jacket, the sweater. I reached up to my s.h.i.+rt, but he stopped me with a jerk of the gun.

"All of the b.u.t.tons, if you please?"

"So you are CIA, then," I said, but got no reply.

I unb.u.t.toned the s.h.i.+rt, took it off, dropped it on the seat. I unsnapped my jeans, stepped out of them. I was left wearing an oversize T-s.h.i.+rt I'd stolen from Alex that read "World's Greatest Lover," my old rug-burned tightie-whities-I couldn't bring myself to steal Alex's underwear-and flip-flops.

"All of it."

The remainder went on the floor. I stood there naked. I wondered what he thought of my body scar.

He didn't even blink. "Now pick everything up. Flip-flops, too."

I hugged my clothes to my chest.

"Now throw everything out the window."

"Then what am I going to wear?"

He aimed the gun at my crotch.

"Do it."

I took Lili's picture from my s.h.i.+rt pocket, and shoved the wad of clothing out the window. The wind s.n.a.t.c.hed it from my hands, flung it into the brush. We had entered the altiplano desert outside of Cuzco. Perhaps some wandering llama herder would find Alex's T-s.h.i.+rt and get lucky.

"Now the gla.s.ses."

"But I can't see without my gla.s.ses."

"You can't see without a head, either."

My gla.s.ses joined the rest.

"The piece of paper, too."

"It's a photo of my daughter," I said.

He c.o.c.ked the gun. "I said, throw it out."

"Go ahead and kill me then," I said. "This photo is all I have left of her."

Red Cap considered that for a moment. "Let's see it."

I showed it to him.

He grunted. "Alright," he said at last. He aimed the gun at my ankles. "Now take it out."

I covered myself with my free hand. "It already is out, a.s.shole."

He sighed. "Under your seat."

I crouched down. A small backpack nestled there. I looked back at him.

"Put them on."

The bag contained a clean pair of jeans my size, plus hiking boots, woolen socks, long underwear, a flannel s.h.i.+rt, a heavy sweater, a jacket, woolen hat, even mittens.

The wind blew through the open window, chilling the compartment. I got dressed. Everything fit. I wondered how he knew my size. When I finished, I sat back in the seat. For the first time since I had been knocked out in my apartment in Lima, I felt warm again.

He held out a small plastic case.

"What's this?" I asked.

"Contacts. Put them in."

I slid the plastic lenses against my eyeb.a.l.l.s. Blinked. "How did you know my prescription?"

"Little birdie told me."

I studied Red Cap. He was middle forties. Wore s.h.i.+ny new hiking boots, an expensive blue Gore-Tex jacket, zip-up travel pants and a purple scarf. No flab lingered on his muscular frame.

"So where do they teach you to kill?" I asked. "Langley? The CIA parking lot?"

"I'm not CIA."

"Really. Then what are you?"

A grin tugged at his cheek. "All will be explained. But not here. Not now."

I sat forward. The gun tracked the movement. "Doesn't have anything to do with lithium, does it? A land grab? Steal the altiplano from the Bolivians?" I waved a hand: earth to dude. His face was a stone. "h.e.l.lo? This ringing any bells?"

But he said nothing.

We stared at each other. I made clown faces, stretching my face in obscene contortions. But the stone, as the Zen masters might say, just was.

Hours pa.s.sed. The train trundled across the high plateau, gaining alt.i.tude. The highest pa.s.s was five thousand meters. It got colder in the compartment, the bitter freeze of the equatorial mountains.

"Mind I shut the window?"

He shook his head. "Put your coat on."

"But it's cold."

"Hurts, doesn't it?" He grinned. "That's the whole point."

"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard." Not believing a word I said.

"Comfort makes you stupid. Pain keeps you sharp. Know what I mean?"

My body scar itched. "Yes," I admitted. "I do."

He crossed his legs and sat back in his seat. "We're going to get along just fine."

Even with the coat I s.h.i.+vered. I was feeling plenty sharp. A little bit of comfort would not have hurt in the least. The sun burned high in the sky, its warmth unfelt. A nice hot bath would be nice. Wrong way! Go back! I covered my face with my hands.

Giving Lili her bath was my favorite part of the day. Singing her to sleep in my arms, telling her that she was safe, telling her that I would always be there for her.

Lies, all of it.

I blew my nose on my sleeve. The train began to descend. Red Cap kept the gun in his lap, pointed at me. He had not moved since I entered the compartment. I had had enough of this s.h.i.+t. I stood and stretched, yawning. Gestured to the door.

"Gotta use the bathroom, you don't mind if I-"

"Sit down."

I hesitated.

"Now."

"You want me to p.i.s.s all over the floor?"

"If you have to."

I sat down again. My bladder filled, for real this time. The alt.i.tude's a diuretic. The train descended toward the Bolivian border.

A knock at the door made us both sit up straight. Red Cap put the gun in his pocket, but kept it aimed at me. He jerked his head toward the window. I slid over, away from the door.

"Who is it?"

"Comida, bebida, snacks!"