doorways on the second floor, a staccato, singsong flood of an Asian language delivered in spirited anger.
Then silence.
Slowly the birds, stopped by the verbal eruption, resumed.
Before Titus could even begin to imagine what that might have been about, a voice above him said, “Welcome to my home, Mr. Cain.”
Titus recognized the voice and looked up to the left side of the courtyard balcony.
García Burden was leaning his forearms on the stone balustrade, looking down at him. He was tallish and lean, and his dark hair hadn’t seen a barber in a good while. His unbuttoned black shirt hung open, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. A gold medallion on a chain around his neck dangled over the balustrade.
“We’re just about ready for you up here, ”Burden said. “There are stairs over there. ”He gestured toward a stone staircase. “Just come around the balcony, ”he said, swinging his arm past the open doorways.
Burden was buttoning the front of his shirt as Titus approached him, and as they shook hands Titus noted that they were very nearly the same height. But Burden’s age was difficult to determine. He might’ve been near Titus’s age as well, but the crow’s-feet at the corners of his brown eyes were deeply cut and had the effect of seeming to distort his age. And there was something in the eyes themselves that made Titus take a second look, something that made him think they had seen more than their share of remarkable things, many of them unnerving.
“Based on what you and Gil have told me, ”Burden said, his soft voice even softer now that they were near, “I’ve got it narrowed to three men. I’ve got photographs.”
He turned and led Titus through the open doorway in front of which he’d been standing.
The house was old, with the three-foot-thick walls typical of colonial architecture. The room they entered was huge and probably had been several rooms at one time. Though they were only passing through, heading for another opened doorway on the other side, Titus quickly caught glimpses of antique desks and bookcases, a sitting area with sofa and armchairs, a round library table stacked with books, some still open, a fountain pen cradled in the gutter of one. The only light in the room came in through the deep casements of the doors and windows.
As they went out the other door and onto another balcony, Titus realized that the simple blue wall that faced the street concealed a sizable compound. Here they looked down on a second garden courtyard twice as large as the first one and surrounded by several two-story casitas also connected by two levels of colonnades. Towering
flamboyan
trees cast a lacy veil of shade over everything.
Titus followed Burden into the first casita and through a time warp into the twenty-first century: a long narrow room chilly with air-conditioning, numerous computers and servers, a movie screen, a huge television screen, and videophones. Three women moved about the room, working at various tasks, ignoring Burden’s arrival.
“Let’s show him what we have, ”he said to no one in particular, and one of the women nearby turned around and sat at the computer. Titus was surprised to see that she was a Mayan Indian, her flattened features distinctive and unmistakable.
While she typed, Titus glanced at the other two women: an attractive Asian woman who appeared to be in her late forties, her hair worn in a precisely cut bob, dressed in a very smart, straight black skirt and dove gray blouse; and a busty woman of middle height and middle age, plain with Scotch-Irish coloring, roan hair, and a sweet, blue-eyed smile.
Burden stood with his arms crossed, staring over at the TV screen. When the first photo flashed up, he looked at Titus. Titus shook his head. Second photo. Burden looked at Titus. Again Titus shook his head.
“Oh? ”Burden seemed both surprised and eager. “Really? Well then, here’s your man.”
Third photo. It was Alvaro in a grainy photograph
Hugh Cave
Caren J. Werlinger
Jason Halstead
Lauren Blakely
Sharon Cullars
Melinda Barron
Daniela Fischerova, Neil Bermel
TASHA ALEXANDER
ADAM L PENENBERG
Susan Juby