Black Pomegranate Page 8

  She shrugged. “Global wars have been fought over lesser causes.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, matter-of-factly.

  Catarina’s face became flushed. “Oh? You don’t believe me? What about World War I? It started because one man—Archduke Francis Ferdinand—was assassinated. He was killed in Sarajevo in 1914, and the people in Sarajevo still fight amongst themselves today.

  “What about Ireland? The Middle East? And all the other wars and revolutions fought just because some people belonged to a different religion or happened to be born in a different place or had a different color of skin? Are those valid reasons to kill and maim men, women, and children indiscriminately?

  “Throughout history, people have always found an excuse—no matter how trivial—to wage war. Perhaps some human beings are born with a gene that gives them a predilection for violence.

  “To Granada Negrans, the non-workers’ rights issues are more than ample cause to rebel. Not that I agree with them. I don’t. But I do understand how they feel.”

  I could see that discussing the revolution was making Catarina tense. But I had to know what motivated the people in her country, the country to which she wanted me to immigrate.

  “Do the non-workers have a leader who foments the strife and incites the non-workers to riot, or is the revolution a grass-roots movement?” I asked.

  Cat’s jaw tightened and small lines appeared by the corners of her eyes. “Oh, they have a leader, all right. A bull-headed pig named Cesar Toro.” She lowered the car window and spat.

  I tried to visualize Toro as Cat described him. “Who is he?”

  I sensed my question had made Catarina uncomfortable. She obviously had intense feelings about the leader of the rebels.

  “Toro is a young man about your age, perhaps a year or two older. A disgusting man. A vile person. He is the son of one of the largest employers in all of Granada Negra. His father owns farms and factories and warehouses and retail stores throughout the country.”

  “I think I get the picture. Toro is siding with the rebels because, in doing so, he’s actually rebelling against his father and showing his own independence.”

  Cat shook her head. “No, Alfredo. That’s not it at all. Cesar Toro is very supportive of his father. That’s probably his only virtue.”

  I was confused again. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say I was still confused. “Are you trying to tell me the employers—at least, the Toro family—are in complete accord with the non-workers?”

  “Of course not. The employers want to do away with the non-worker employment policy entirely. It costs them a tremendous amount of money, money that could go into their own pockets. That’s their complaint with my father’s government.”

  “But if the workers and Toro are on opposite sides of the fence, why are they allied together to bring down your father’s government?”

  “Politics makes strange bedfellows. Especially in Granada Negra.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Politics makes strange bedfellows. Especially in Granada Negra.”

  I had to be very careful what I said to Cat. She always took everything literally.

  Twelve

  Something in the Water

  I CONSIDER MYSELF to be a careful, skilled driver. Accordingly, I adjust my driving style to suit the terrain. In the city, my eyes constantly scan all directions for other vehicles, especially when I’m on the freeways. I’m also on the lookout for pedestrians, who have a bad habit in Southern California of stepping off curbs into oncoming traffic. Maybe they do so deliberately, to give them grounds for a personal injury lawsuit. It seems to me most Californians are highly litigious. Perhaps it’s because their legal actions are orchestrated by aggressive, avaricious attorneys. But I digress.

  On winding mountain roads, my concentration is oriented somewhat differently. There, I watch my speed and keep my eyes focused on what’s ahead. I don’t want to take a curve too fast and carom off a barrier or embankment; or, worse yet, run the car off the road and over a cliff, perhaps to avoid hitting a deer or other wild animal.

  As a result, when driving in the mountains, I don’t check my rearview mirrors very often. It wouldn’t do much good, anyway. Because of the twists and turns on mountain roads, any cars following are generally out of the line of sight—unless they’re tailgating. Then, I’m painfully aware of their presence, especially at night.

  On the day Cat and I went to the pancake house for breakfast, my attention to the rear was further minimized by the animated conversation we were having about the cause of the revolution in Granada Negra. I first noticed the black sedan after I’d driven ten or twelve miles from the restaurant, when the road leveled and straightened out. The car was trailing us by about a hundred yards. I had no idea how long it had been doing so. Carlos Perez’s caveat, “Beware of swarthy strangers in black limousines,” immediately came to mind.

  Of course, just because the vehicle was behind us, it didn’t necessarily follow that we were being intentionally tailed. The car could have turned onto the road at numerous points after we left Timberline Village. A black sedan is certainly not a rarity. But it did seem to be too much of a coincidence that I’d observed the very car, or one much like it, on other occasions—sometimes on the road behind us, sometimes parked near our apartment.

  I’d not said anything to Cat about her uncle’s cryptic admonition and I did not want to alarm her by saying I suspected we were being stalked. Still, I was beginning to worry, and wished I’d brought along our guns, just in case of trouble. After the police caught the teenagers who’d ransacked Cat’s apartment, we’d concluded the rebels weren’t in Timberline after all. For a while we’d continued to remain vigilant, but when nothing untoward happened after the burglary, we relaxed and eventually abandoned most of our precautions.

  Once I spotted the black sedan, I started watching my rearview mirror diligently. If I speeded up, the black car went faster. If I slowed down, so did the other driver. I turned left at one crossroad and right at another. The black sedan was still on our tail.

  I had what, at the time, seemed like a brilliant—or, at least feasible—idea. If it succeeded, I’d soon know for certain if the person in the black sedan was following us or not. And, if he was, I had a plan to find out who he was and what he was after.

  Just ahead was an area I’d stumbled onto a few years back. Well, I didn’t exactly stumble on it. A ditzy blonde waitress I’d been dating at the time introduced me to the place, and we’d gone there frequently. I’d just started working at the college and was renting a furnished room until I could save up enough money to get my own apartment, so I didn’t have any privacy where I lived and couldn’t afford to check us in at a motel and—but, that’s another story.

  I pulled off the road. We happened to take my car that morning, though we usually used Cat’s for our day trips. I came to a stop in an area that had been cleared of brush and was used primarily for a turnaround or emergency parking.

  “What’s wrong, Alfredo? Why are you stopping?” Cat asked, her face showing perplexity.

  I forced a smile. “You’re always planning surprises for me. Now, I’ve got a surprise for you,” I lied.

  Cat was not aware of it, but I was watching the rearview mirror intently, waiting to see if the black sedan would pass by and go on its way. It did not take long to find out. The driver must have noticed I’d turned off the road and parked. He slowed down, stopped, and then backed up, almost out of sight. We were definitely being followed. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins and my heart started pounding. I suspected we were about to be murdered, and had no idea what I could do to thwart the assassin’s plans.

  “Have you ever been to a hot springs?” I asked casually, hoping Cat did not catch the edge in my voice.

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “There’s a hot springs about a quarter mile from here, just down that trail.” I pointed to a path leading into the woo
ds. “Hot mineral water bubbles up from deep inside the earth. Years ago, someone dug a hole in the ground and lined it with cedar boards. And, they ran a pipe from the springs to keep the improvised spa filled with fresh, hot mineral water.

  “Since no other cars are parked here today, I don’t think anyone else will be at the springs. It’s just a short hike—let’s go soak in the mineral water and relax.”

  “And, make love in the woods, like a pair of wild animals?” Cat questioned gleefully. “Is that what you have in mind for us, Alfredo?”

  “Yeah. That, too,” I grinned, for Cat’s benefit. On the other side of the grin, I was terrified.

  After I locked the car, I took Catarina by the hand and led her down the trail. But I had no intention of going all the way to the springs. Not then. After we had walked about half the distance, I stopped, and in an exaggerated gesture of frustration, slapped my forehead with the palm of my hand.

  “Ohmygosh, I forgot the towels,” I moaned.

  Cat’s brows wrinkled. “Towels? What towels?”

  “We’ll need towels to dry ourselves with. I always keep a couple of beach towels in the trunk of my car. You go on down to the springs—just stay on the path, you can’t get lost—and I’ll run back to the car and get the towels.”

  “Why don’t I go back to the car with you?” Cat sounded like she didn’t want to be left alone in the woods.

  “There’s no need,” I said nonchalantly. “You go on ahead. Get in the water and wait for me. I’ll be there in just a few minutes.”

  She seemed a little puzzled, but did not question me again. “Okay, Alfredo, I’ll do as you ask.”

  I headed back in the direction of my car. As soon as Cat was out of sight, I left the trail and ran through the woods. To my satisfaction, I’d judged the distance correctly, for I reached the road about a hundred feet behind the black sedan. The driver, a man of slight stature, was standing beside the vehicle, peering at my car through a pair of binoculars. A lit cigar was in one hand.

  Carefully, slowly, I approached him from behind, one tentative step at a time. This is a piece of cake, I thought. He’s a little guy. I’ll grab him and make him tell me why he’s been following us. I was afraid I already knew the reason. Just then, I stepped on a dry twig. It snapped in half, making a loud cracking noise. My element of surprise was lost.

  It all happened very fast. The man turned around at the sudden sound, and I got a good look at our stalker. He had a wiry build on a five-foot-three frame. He was dark-complexioned—I suppose one might say he was swarthy. His face was very thin, his cheeks hollow, and his eyes were dark and intense, like glowing coals. A scraggly handlebar mustache hung from his upper lip.

  In an instant, our shadow set his binoculars on the hood of the black sedan. His expression changed from one of surprise to pique, and then took on what I believed to be a diabolical grin. One arm extended toward me in what I interpreted as an act of aggression.

  Without waiting for a formal introduction, I rushed the man, knocking him to the ground. His cigar went flying.

  The struggle was brief. I had grossly overestimated my own strength and abilities and underestimated his. Apparently a martial arts expert, the diminutive man pinned me to the ground within seconds. I was unhurt, but completely immobilized.

  “Why have you been following me?” I demanded.

  He merely laughed. “I don’t believe you’re in much of a position to be questioning me, Señor Hobson,” he said. Like Catarina and all of the other Granada Negrans I subsequently met, his English was almost-but-not-quite impeccable—at times, even eloquent—though delivered with a heavy Hispanic accent.

  “You … you know my name,” I stammered.

  “Of course I know your name,” he smirked. “I know everything about you. I know where you work. I know what time you get up in the morning and what time you go to bed at night. I know what you have for dinner each evening. I even know how often you make love,” he taunted.

  I was furious. “How do you know all of that?”

  “I have very good ears. And, my little friends help me. Insects, I think you call them.”

  “Do you mean bugs?”

  “Yes. Bugs. Thank you for correcting me.”

  “Are you telling me my apartment is bugged?”

  “Your apartment and your car. I’m surprised at you, Señor Hobson. You’re supposed to be an electronics expert. You should have noticed the devices by now.”

  “I’m knowledgeable about computers, not electronic listening devices,” I muttered. “There’s a big difference.”

  “Whatever,” he shrugged.

  His cologne was strong, and I remembered where I’d smelled it before. “So, you’re the person who broke into my apartment the night Cat and I went out to dinner,” I surmised.

  He shook his head. “No. I followed you to the restaurant that night. My twin brother bugged your apartment while you were out.”

  “There are two of you? Where is your brother now?” I was starting to panic. While this man was holding me captive, had his twin gone after Cat? Again, I tried to free myself from his grip, without success.

  “This is my brother’s day off.” My captor checked his watch. “Pietro’s probably in church right now.”

  That knowledge made me feel better, but not very much. “Why have you been following me?” I again demanded.

  He guffawed loudly. “I have not been following you, Señor. I have been following the señorita.”

  “You’re from Granada Negra, aren’t you? You’re one of the rebels? Well, I won’t let you do anything to harm Catarina. You’ll have to kill me first!”

  “You devotion to Señorita Perez is admirable,” he clucked.

  As if to demonstrate the impotence of my threat, he continued holding me, still immobile, with one hand only. With his free hand, he removed a fresh cigar from his jacket pocket. After clenching the cigar between yellowed teeth, the man fumbled in his pants pocket until he retrieved a disposable cigarette lighter. When the cigar was lit, he blew the acrid smoke in my face.

  “Yes, Señor, I am from Granada Negra. And you state you are going to protect Señorita Perez. How, may I ask you, are you going to protect her while you’re lying here on the ground? Perhaps someone else is with her at this very moment.”

  He laughed at what he considered to be a huge joke. I struggled to get up, but remained completely unable to do so.

  “Let me introduce myself,” he said. “My name is Pablo Santos. I mean no harm to you or to Señorita Perez. On the contrary. My brother and I work for her father. We are here to make certain nothing bad happens to her. She is well aware of our presence.”

  I guess my jaw must have dropped open in surprise, for he grinned broadly. “She did not mention us to you?”

  “No. I thought you were one of the rebels and were planning to murder her.”

  “If I had been an assassin, I could have done the job many times over. You said you want to protect her, yet you have been very careless, Señor. Very careless, indeed. But as long as Pietro and I are on the job, Señorita Perez is safe.”

  “Well, if that’s the case, why won’t you let me up? Or, do you get your kicks seeing me lie here on the ground?”

  “It will be my pleasure to release you. I have not received enjoyment from this unfortunate incident, I assure you. But, I did not want to take a chance on having you harm yourself in a futile attempt to fight me. As you have learned, despite my size, I’m quite capable of holding my own.”

  “You certainly are,” I grudgingly conceded.

  Like a jack-in-the-box, Pablo sprang to his feet and then helped me to mine. I dusted myself off, none the worse physically, but my new clothes had been badly soiled.

  I decided that Catarina and I needed to have a long, serious talk.

  BY THE TIME I got the beach towels from the trunk of my car and walked back down the trail to the hot springs, I’d reached the decision not to confront Cat immediately about Pablo a
nd Pietro. I didn’t want to ruin the day by arguing.

  Cat spotted me as soon as I entered the clearing where the hot tub was. As I’d suggested, she’d removed her clothes and was already in the water, waiting for me.

  “Alfredo, what took you so long?” she called out. “I was getting worried about you. I heard noises, and thought maybe a big bear had chased you up a tree.”

  Then, she noticed my soiled clothes. “Oh, Alfredo, what happened to you? Did you hurt yourself?”

  I gritted my teeth and lied. “Yes, a big, brown bear chased me.”

  Cat’s eyes became the size of saucers. “Really? Where’s the bear now?” Cat crossed her arms over her breasts, as if she were afraid the bear would amble up and gawk at them.

  “There isn’t any bear,” I assured her. “I was only kidding. I just tripped and fell because I was in a hurry to get back to you and not paying attention to where I was going. The fall knocked some of the wind out of me, but I’m okay.”

  “Come quickly and get into the water with me. I will make you feel better, Alfredo,” she purred seductively.

  I peeled off my clothes and lowered myself into the makeshift wooden tub. The hot water did feel good, and when Cat started rubbing up against me, I did feel better. A whole lot better. We started kissing and fondling, and then …

  And then I remembered Pablo. Pablo following us everywhere we went. Pablo listening to us make love in our apartment. Pablo watching us with binoculars. Was Pablo somewhere up the trail, observing us now? I wondered.

  Cat’s face grew long when she discovered the effect that my thoughts about Pablo had on my male anatomy. “What’s wrong, Alfredo?”

  “I don’t know,” I alibied. “Perhaps it’s the mineral water. Yes, that must be it. There must be something in the water.”

  Thirteen

  Upsetting News