The Second Bat Guano War Part 41

"I didn't kill Lynn."

"You found out I was f.u.c.king her."

His gaze wavered. "I am an old man, and a fool."

"We agree on something, then."

"I didn't kill Pitt, either."

"So you say." I grinned. "There's only one thing I regret."

"What's that?"

I smirked at his wounded shoulder. "It's a shame that Victor missed."

Ambo let go of me. Shook his head. "You just love that righteous anger, don't you. You got no f.u.c.king clue."

"Don't I? Mister Captain of the Dissent Suppression Unit, I kill people who threaten American corporate profits?"

"This isn't a DSU case," he said.

"What company are you working for this time?"

He gestured over my shoulder. "And your new friends? Are they deluded activists as well?"

The others lay on the ground, orange plastic one-time cuffs around their wrists. The earflaps of the Dutchman's woolen hat fell to the side, knitted llamas prancing in the salt. The Frenchwoman coughed up incoherent oaths on the commandos' boots. The j.a.panese men puffed on their cigarettes from where they lay on their stomachs.

"They know about the sabotage. They know about your plan to start a war. You'll have to kill us all, you realize that?" I smiled triumphantly. "'Cause we're all witnesses. To this atrocity."

"No more kill. Kill no good." Hak Po appeared soundlessly at my side. "Horse," he said. "So please see you." He stretched his lips tight across his teeth. Held out a hand.

"Hak Po," I said. I looked at Ambo for an explanation. He offered none. I shook the bony hand. "Love your new home delivery service. How much for a couple grams of your finest?"

Hak Po laughed, slapped my arm. "We not here satisfy your cocaine fantasies, my friend. Much bigger eels to boil." His hand lingered on mine. "Elephants to hunt." He leaned into me, whispered, "Big game."

"Speaking of which," Ambo asked. "Have you seen Pitt?"

"You son of a b.i.t.c.h," I said. I pulled my hand from Hak Po's skeletal embrace and swung my fist at Ambo's head. It landed in the padded softness of his white palm. He held my hand firm.

"You see?" he said to Hak Po.

"Maybe you right."

With my left hand I aimed an uppercut at Ambo's head. This time I connected with his jaw. A snapping noise and an explosion of pain announced a second fracture of my little finger. In the rush of adrenaline and cold, I had forgotten about it.

"Motherf.u.c.ker."

The pain was intense. I rode the wave. Gasped from deep inside my chest. My eyes rolled back in my head. But a thought dampened my joy: was this an addiction too?

Ambo squeezed my right fist in his paw. "Suppose," he said, and looked shyly at the ground, "suppose I told you Pitt wasn't dead."

"Suppose I told you cocaine cured cancer, Lima was beautiful, and America was a free country." I took another swing at his head with my broken fist, looking for more pain, but Hak Po latched on to my arm with both hands.

"No time for this," he said. "Need your help. Come with us. Now!"

The mouth of a volcano.

The satellite image zoomed in. Snow encircled the peak. A man stood at the lip of the crater. The image zoomed in again, until I could see the man's face.

It was Pitt.

"When was this taken?" I asked.

"That's a live feed, son," Ambo shouted from the front seat of the SUV. "He picks his nose it's real time."

"For f.u.c.k's sake," I said. "Pitt's dead. I saw the body." I looked up from the video display on my lap. "You killed him."

Ambo sighed, rubbed his jaw. "I am beginning to wish I had."

"You what?"

"It's a long story, Horace, and we have little time."

"Well then you'd better be quick about it," I said. "Use easy words. I'm not too smart."

On either side of me, brown-faced Bolivian commandos in American surplus camouflage sat rigid, rifles at their sides. On a distant mountaintop, Pitt paced back and forth.

The caravan of SUVs stopped in front of a concrete bunker just outside the perimeter of the mine. The exterior was blackened and scorched. The acrid smoke from the explosion billowed around us, singeing my nose. A sign on the wall of the bunker declared: Gentleman's Rec Centre, Condoms Mandatory.

We traipsed inside. Half a dozen rooms stood open, green sheets crisp and tight. Shower stalls along one wall gleamed with a recent cleaning. The place smelled of bleach.

Hak Po opened a heavy wooden door. "Sauna," he said. "Soundproof. No bugs." He grinned at me.

"Bugs bad," I said.

The three of us stepped into the small room and closed the door. Ambo threw off his jacket, unb.u.t.toned the collar of his green-and-black checked flannel shirt. Hak Po pressed a scratched red b.u.t.ton on the wall, and the heating element crackled.

Ambo plucked at his lower lip. "Where should I begin."

I said, "Let me see what I can guess."

He closed his mouth and shrugged, winced at the pain. "Go ahead."

"Pitt's gone rogue. He faked his death, and he's trying to stop the war over the lithium."

Ambo nodded. "Not bad. What else?"

"You've been trying to kill me because you don't want the truth to come out. Don't interrupt me. And you will probably drop me down a mine shaft as soon as you finish this interrogation. Which," I said, "does not motivate me to tell you anything."

Ambo ma.s.saged his palm across the stubble on his head. Wisps of steam rose from the heating element. "So what's Pitt doing on top of a volcano?"

The hot air caught in my throat. "That I don't know."

Ambo said, "He wants to destroy the world."

"Spare me," I said. "It's not the end of the world just because you can't have your little war."

"War's off, Horace."

"Then what'd you blow up the mine for?"

"Who said that was us?"

"Victor. Industrial sabotage, provoke Bolivia into a war."

"We were going to have a war. I don't deny it." Ambo poked at his wound. The bullet hole in his shoulder dribbled blood with each pulse of his heart, soaked into his shirt. He peered at it curiously, as though it were some rare cosmic phenomenon, but did nothing to staunch the flow. "But then Pitt got involved," he said. "Why do you think the Bolivians are helping us?" He waved a hand toward the door.

"Maybe they're part of it. They want their land back. Maybe they're colluding with you to start the war, and plan to double-cross you later."

Hak Po shook his head. "When Ambo say 'end world,' he mean 'end world.' You listen me?"

I turned to Ambo. "And what the f.u.c.k is going on here, dude? You're sitting here with a Chinese spy."

"Well, dude," he said, glaring at me, "if you shut up for a minute and listen, you might find out."

"Listen?" Hak Po asked again. "Patient?"

I sat. The sauna's warmth brought circulation back to my fingers. My left hand throbbed. I fingered the bone fragments floating around in my pinkie. Better than coffee.

"Make it quick," I said.

Hak Po cleared his throat, spat on the floor. He pressed his knees together, hands folded on his lap. He looked at the floor, admiring his loogie. "There two places in world with lithium. You know this?"

"Tibet and the Salar de Uyuni," I said, remembering Victor's lecture in the cave. "Plus Afghanistan and Australia."

"But Tibet deposits small. Other deposits very small."

"Which means Bolivia is the proud owner of most of the world's lithium. Your point?"

"Yes. Cocaine no fry brain." He smiled at his joke. I said nothing. He continued, "There faction of monks in Tibet. Hate modern world. Fight against China, what they call China's 'occupation.' Even though for centuries Tibet lawful ancient part of Chinese Empire-"

"Hak." Ambo's voice a warning.

"These monks want destroy modern life. Want destroy lithium."

"What for?" I asked. "I mean, what does that have to do with anything?"

Hak Po shrugged, poked at his loogie with the toe of his boot. "Petroleum run out. Lithium battery new gasoline. No lithium, then when oil go away, many people die. Maybe billions. Many Chinese. World go back old ways."

"Why is that a problem?" I asked.

"Horace!" Ambo said. "Everyone would die."

"I say again, why is that a problem?"

They both started talking at once.

I held up my palms. "Sounds to me like what the human race deserves."

"Most people aren't like you, Horace," Ambo said. "Most people want to live."

"I'm not so sure about that. But what the h.e.l.l," I said, before he could interrupt. "I'll play along. How, exactly, do a bunch of mystical Tibetan Buddhist monks plan on destroying a naturally occurring mineral?"

A yellow finger pierced the air. "Victor Ivanovitch Strezlecki."

"Who has super cow powers?"

Hak Po lowered his head in a quick bow. "Victor vulcanologist. Talented man, Mister Victor. World number two at chess when child."

"A master manipulator," Ambo broke in. "For all I know, this conversation is part of his end game. He should have been a spy."

Hak Po continued. "Victor twenty year study volcanoes in Andes. Peru, Bolivia, Chile. Top expert. No one else close."

Ambo ripped his shirtfront open. b.u.t.tons skittered across the wooden bench onto the damp floor. He held out his cuffs to Hak Po, who undid them. He slid out of the sleeves. The wound to his shoulder blossomed across his chest like a Rorschach ink blot. He pressed the bunched-up garment against the wound. "The man did his postdoc at Oregon State. Speaks perfect English."

"I noticed," I said. "But what does any of this have to do with Pitt being on top of a volcano?"

"He's getting there," Ambo said, and closed his eyes. He slumped back against the wall.

Hak Po continued. "We watch Victor long time. Wife, daughter die in car crash. Here Bolivia."

I snorted. "Who the f.u.c.k told you that, Hak?" I jerked my head at Ambo. "The land of the slaves and the home of the oppressors here tortured, raped and murdered Victor's wife and daughter. True or false?"

Ambo chewed his lip. "Sure we did. I'd do it again, too. What if a rogue state got a hold of his weapon?"

"You mean a rogue state like America?" I shouted.

"Boys! Boys!" Hak Po held up a hand between us. "Save for later. Point: After family die, Victor go Tibet. Five year ago. Meditate. Last year, big explosion at lithium mine. Very bad. No production. Victor suspect. But, no volcano in Tibet. So no do more damage."

"Why? Is he going to blow up a volcano?" I joked.

Hak Po nodded. "You understand lithium in water. Under Salar."

"Duh. Yeah."

"Very costly mine. Pump out water. Dry for one year, longer. Concentrate solution. Very low percent solution. Not like gold or diamonds, dig out of ground. What he do, try do, Mister Victor, is blow up volcano. Here Bolivia. The Salar. Vaporize salt water. Then, no more lithium."

I frowned. "Let's a.s.sume for the moment you aren't talking completely out of your a.s.s. Is that even possible? Making a volcano erupt on command?" Then the penny dropped. "You mean that's Victor's weapon?"