Chapter Twenty-Six

It had been a long, hard few weeks. Paulo had huddled with his kids, Maribel and Paulito, and the two grown "kids" from his first marriage, over and over, working hard to handle the trauma and ease their way, coming up with strategies for handling situations at school and work. Their father promised the teens that they could switch schools if they wanted to – if it got too bad – but so far, both of them were toughing it out. Paulo had been forced to issue official company-wide memos the mornings after each arrest, explaining the bare facts. The company had gone into security lock-down after Pablo's arrest, as every single password had to be re-authenticated in person, and every single employee vouched for by their supervisor, all in order to prevent any back-door access by the now-former vice president. Paulo didn't think Pablo would actually break in and steal secrets or wreak havoc, but the procedures were in place for a reason, and so he pulled the alarm out of caution. After all, he hadn't thought Pablo would do what he did, either. And it was unknown at that point if the man had had any outside associates who might also cause real mischief.

Then, just today, the District Prosecutor had called Paulo out of courtesy, informing him that both his ex-partner and his ex-wife had decided to plead guilty to a range of charges, in hopes of getting lesser sentences by not going through lengthy trials. Paulo had rushed home to tell the kids and Javier; it was decided that none of them would leave the house the next day, holding a mental holiday of movies and games at home and letting the worst blow over.

At last, the younger generation had gone to bed. Paulo wandered out to the balcony some time later, spotting his cook leaning against the waist-high wall amidst his potted herb garden. Peering closely, he saw Javier was drinking a bottle of beer, carefully peeling the label off with a fingernail in between sips. He fetched his own beer from the fridge, and went to join him. As he reached his side, however, he was startled to see tracks of tears streaking down Javier's face – and, apologizing, turned to leave him alone.

"No, it's all right. Please stay," Javier said softly, not turning. Paulo leaned against the wall beside him, taking a sip and looking out over the night city towards the port, and waited.

And waited. Glancing to his side, he saw Javier start to speak several times, but swallow it each time. Paulo started musing aloud. "I'm an only child – did you know that? No brothers or sisters. And now, I've no family – only my kids. Pablo..." his heartache showed on his face, "...for a very long time, he was like my brother. Two peas in a pod. But to tell the truth... we had been drifting apart for many, many years. I didn't want to see it, but it's true."

"But you," he went on, "you are like the brother I never had. Even though we've only known each other a short time, we are so simpatico, it's amazing."

"If you knew the truth, you would not say such things," Javier said in a low voice, and it made Paulo angry. He turned to face the other man directly.

"I don't care about history! I know you have done some terrible things... but that was long ago, and that is not the man you are today. And this man, my brother, is obviously hurting. Please tell me why. I want to help if I can."

He waited again, and finally Javier began to speak. "Do you know anything about Argentina, where I'm from?" Startled, Paulo admitted that he didn't, not really. "The Dirty War?" Javier prompted him.

Ah, that. "I know a little about it. I haven't studied it." He turned back to the city view.

"Tens of thousands of people, kidnapped, tortured, murdered. The Disappeared. Most never found."

"Terrible. I can't even imagine..." Then he shot a quizzical look sideways at Javier. "But that was a long time ago; you couldn't have been involved."

Javier shook his head. "No, I wasn't. My father – Oscar Pereira – he was." He said the name with a bitterness that shocked Paulo – Javier had never spoken of his family before. "We didn't know exactly what he did, but we knew he was involved. He worked for the government." He picked at the beer label again – he nearly had it cleanly off. "I asked him once if he felt no shame, and he told me – I'll never forget it – that he had never done anything for which he was ashamed. And mind you, this was just after he had finished verbally smearing me across the floor."

Paulo was stunned at this glimpse into his friend's psyche – but surely that didn't explain the tears?

Javier went on. "But it wasn't just the Disappeared. It was also the Stolen Ones – the Children of the Disappeared. Hundreds of babies, and tiny children, stolen from their parents and illegally adopted by the winners. And nobody knew about it. It's only just now coming out, being discovered."

Suddenly he turned to look at Paulo. "Miguel Perez? The man whose place I took on your ship?" He was pulling his cell phone out of a pocket, thumbed it open, quickly found a picture, and handed the phone to Paulo. It was the shot taken on the docks, of him and Miguel pointing to each other and laughing. "He looked exactly like me. And he was from Argentina. I saw his personnel file. His parents died when he was a baby; he was raised by an uncle, in a little village in the Pampas – rebel territory." Suddenly his voice cracked. "And his date of birth was exactly one day before mine."

Paulo was floored. Jaw dropping, he stared at Javier. "You think he was stolen?"

"No! I think I was!" Javier's face was terrible to see, full of rage and anguish, as the long pent-up words began pouring out of him. "Oscar was with the winning side, remember! I think that's why I never felt connected to anyone in my family, except my sister and my baby brother. I think that's why I could never get his approval – even though the rest of them could. But not me. And I think that's why he felt no shame about kicking me out of the family after the accident that took my baby brother's life – or calling me evil to my face, because I had caused the accident. And then, two decades later, after luring me in with a fake reunion, doing it all over again. Because I was not his son." The last few words had been wrenched out from deep inside, and he had to pause before going on to the next, even worse, bit. "And I think that's why my mother... sat there and let him do it – twice! Because I was not HER son." The pain and bitterness in his voice would have blistered paint.

He took several panting breaths, looking out over the city, before turning back. "Paulo..." he whispered, his voice cracking, the tears starting again. "I knew my twin brother... for five minutes... before he died... and we took each other's place. And we never knew! We never knew..."

The beer bottles had been left on the low wall. Paulo put one hand on Javier's shoulder, his face a study in reflected misery, trying to figure out what he could possibly offer in the face of Javier's agony.

"Paulo, my whole life has been a lie. I don't know who I am. I don't know what's real... what's genuine..." He shook his head and shrugged helplessly.

"I do," Paulo replied, suddenly sure of what to say. Putting his other hand on Javier's cheek, he stopped him from turning away. "No, listen to me. Listen to me. When we are young, children, our families, and where we are from... yes, they determine who we are. But when we are grown, adults, then who we are comes from ourselves – it comes from what we say, what we do, what we believe. And we are in control of all those things – that makes them absolutely real. This new life you are trying to build here, this man you are becoming – have already become – they are real. They are genuine – because they come from here." He moved his hand to place the palm over Javier's heart. "That's as genuine as it is possible to be." Another thought struck, and he pointed vaguely outwards. "And when you take that last step – when you stand before the judge and take the oath, and become a citizen of this country with your new name, and get an Ecuadorean passport – that will be one hundred percent legitimate." He pronounced the last few words carefully and distinctly, capping off all the rest.

He had hoped to salve his friend's wounds, but Javier's eyes just filled with more tears. "But I can't," he whispered, shaking his head, his voice broken. "I can't take that last step... not until I find out what has happened to Letty." He held up his left hand, palm in, showing off the wedding ring he had never once taken off. "She's still my wife. I'm only half alive without her. We're still married – until one of us is dead, or she tells me to my face that she no longer wants to be. But I can't find her. Not from here. I've tried – I've tried every way I know – and I know a lot of ways. But nothing. There's no trace." Neither of the two dark web tracers he contacted had achieved any more success than he had on his own - she was simply not listed in any of the databases any of them had access to. He stopped for a beat, then made the point. "I have to go back, Paulo. Back to the US. I can find her in person – I did it before. But I can't from here."

Paulo didn't try to dissuade him. "Will you come back?" he asked simply, and Javier at last gave him a small smile, and nodded.

"If you will hold the job open for me."

"The job – " He broke off in exasperation. "I just got done telling you that you're my brother. There will always be a place for you here, job or no job." Wanting to lighten the mood just a bit, he made a face. "But I do like your cooking," he confessed.

That time Javier really did laugh, if only a short chuckle. "I like cooking for you – and the kids. You're all good eaters, and you appreciate good food."

"Then you will come back." It was no longer a question, but Javier nodded.

"The only way I will not come back, is if Letty has found a place and made it a home, and doesn't want to leave – but wants me to stay there with her." Then he tipped his head to one side with a wry grin. "But knowing her, that is extremely unlikely."

Paulo took a deep breath and let it out. "Okay," he agreed – then suddenly pulled Javier into a tight hug, which the other man returned.

Letting go, they turned again to the city lights by unspoken mutual accord, leaning on the wall once more and picking up their beers. After a moment, Paulo spoke up again. "As your big brother," he began with a grin (he was a few years older, after all), "may I offer you some advice?"

Javier snorted. "Of course."

His companion turned serious. "Take that last step anyway, before you go. Become an Ecuadorean citizen with your new name. I do know enough of your past – you told me – to know that it is very dangerous for you back in the US. I know, the authorities there believe you are dead – but if they discover they were wrong, that you are still alive... Little Brother, it could mean your life." Pausing for emphasis, he gestured with his beer bottle. "But if you take that step, and go back with a legitimate passport with your new name... it will be a little bit of protection. Maybe not much, but some. Maybe enough to make the difference between coming back, or not."

Javier took his time, taking several more sips of beer – he was nearly out – while he thought it over. Finally, he agreed: the slight protection was worth it. "Okay," he said simply – then he added, "But I want something in return. I may need your help with something."

"What's that?"

"I am probably going to have to smuggle her out of the country – and into this one. I know you don't like stepping outside what is legal, but we will need to make her disappear, like I did, so she isn't traced here – to me."

"But how can I – my jet." Paulo grinned as the answer hit. "Of course! They never inspect it – at either end – when I am returning to this country. Okay! That's easy. When you find her – when you find her! Just call me, and tell me where you are, and I'll fly up 'spur of the moment' and tour whatever port is nearest you. And when we come back, there will simply be two more people on board."

"Exactly," Javier grinned, then turned serious again. "Are you certain you're okay with it?"

Paulo gave him a wry grin. "I smuggled you in a few months ago."

"That's right," Javier remembered. "You did. Okay." He had one sip left, but Paulo stopped him from taking it by turning back and raising his own bottle in a toast.

"To family."

"To family." The toast was clinked and drunk.

Another thought occurred to Paulo. "Wait a minute. Do you have any idea how long you might be gone?"

Javier shrugged. "No, no idea. Sorry. Why?"

Paulo heaved a huge sigh. "I'd gotten used to not having to eat out or heat frozen meals. I don't suppose you could teach Maribel how to cook before you go?"

Javier leaned on one elbow on the wall, an exaggerated look of disappointment sliding over his face. "You really have not been paying any attention, have you?" At Paulo's puzzled look, he laughed. "I have been teaching them – both of them – how to cook."

"You have?" Their father was astonished.

"Mm-hm. Every day, after school, before you get home, they have both been helping me with dinner." He gave a self-deprecating shrug, glancing away. "It gave them something else to think about," he admitted.

Paulo was about to say something about his caring too much, but Javier cut him off, leaning over to pat the older man's belly. "So don't worry, Big Brother, you won't starve while I'm gone."