Ghosts That Haunt—38
In Casey's eyes, the only thing that could have made the news Beckman delivered to them better was if the bastard was actually dead. He'd spent two and a half decades either trying to kill Generalissimo Alejandro Goya or assisting those intent on overthrowing him. He'd made three assassination attempts on Beckman's direct orders, and he'd fought as an "advisor" during an attempted revolution. The Commie was among the last of a thankfully dying breed: tinpot dictators of Latin American nations with no real standing in the world and no real support or resources after the collapse of the Soviet Union.
It comforted Casey that Castro was likely to die any day—though the wily bastard should have been dead many times since 1959—and now it looked like Goya might be on the terminal list as well.
If he was supposed to be sorry on either account, he wasn't, and he wouldn't pretend to be so. The only thing he was sorry about was that he hadn't managed to actually kill Goya. As a result, when Beckman's face appeared on the monitors and announced that Goya was gravely ill, Casey couldn't help his sarcasm or his thinly disguised glee. Unfortunately, they were supposed to protect the man who was responsible for the deaths of many of his fellow countrymen and who had been a sworn enemy of the United States.
At least Casey didn't have to be on the front lines of this, didn't have to directly save the man. He'd be recognized, after all, and he wouldn't be trusted by anyone from the Costa Gravan mission. It was just as well, he supposed, because Casey wasn't at all certain, orders or not, that he could pivot that quickly and protect the man—not with all he knew and not after having spent a good chunk of his life trying to rid Costa Gravas of its dictator.
On the drive home, he considered his own country's sometimes shifting loyalties. Saddam Hussein had been their best friend as long as he was killing Iranians, but when he gave that up and turned to other friends, the U.S. had been out to get him—managed it, too. They had propped up the Shah of Iran, for that matter, until it was clearly a lost cause. Hell, they were making friends with Vietnam these days after fighting them in a bitterly divisive war.
But Casey wasn't paid to decide who was friend or foe, and he did what he was ordered to do. He was just happy he didn't have to play a direct role in Goya's protection.
Still, he couldn't help wondering if this would be Nicaragua all over again, wondered if those democratic elections the man intended to announce would put someone else in power briefly before allowing Goya back into the palace as the people's elected choice and lending him a legitimacy his coup hadn't.
He saw lights in Ellie and Woodcomb's new apartment, and he wondered if his wife was there or at home as he entered the courtyard. He and Riah had helped the other couple finish moving into their larger apartment earlier in the day, but he'd been called in to deal with an arms dealer, as had Bartowski who'd been at the Buy More. The kid had gone directly home on a chopper because he'd promised Ellie he'd be there to do Nerd Herd stuff, and Casey had stayed behind to write his report.
As it turned out, Bartowski had wound up back at Castle when the news broke, but Goya was Walker and Bartowski's problem, not his, thank God.
After he let himself in his own apartment, he heard a noise upstairs and then the soft, indeterminate sound of his wife's voice. He shot a glance at his watch and figured, given the early hour of the morning, Victoria must have woken hungry. He found them in the rocker where Riah normally nursed their daughter, and given the sleepy look on the baby's face, she'd been fed and changed already. Casey felt a mild disappointment.
He'd never admit it, but he liked being there while his wife nursed their daughter. In large part it was because it was the one time in his day when nothing else was allowed to intrude. Riah smiled at him, and he saw the tiredness in her face and hoped she hadn't been waiting up for him.
Bending to kiss her, he stroked a soft hand over Victoria's head.
"Everything okay?" Riah asked softly.
"Mostly," he told her in an equally soft voice. Her brows went up, and he added, "Going to be busy the next few days."
He could read the question in her eyes, but she didn't ask, didn't push. He couldn't tell her anyway, not until what Goya intended was public knowledge. While she finished getting Victoria back to sleep, he went and took a shower, brushed his teeth before he joined her in their bed.
Riah hadn't left the apartment much since they returned from Newfoundland. She had trouble sleeping, and when she did sleep, she often woke, usually after a nightmare. She was seeing the therapist again, and Casey knew Finley and Kincaid were responsible for that. At least, he thought, it wasn't as bad as he'd seen it before, perhaps because she had Victoria to worry about. He was certain, though, their daughter was the reason she didn't go out much, didn't leave Victoria with Ellie or even Grimes as she'd done before when she wanted an hour or so to run errands or have a little time for herself and he wasn't available.
It killed him to admit that the bearded manchild was good with his daughter, and he was probably Victoria's favorite babysitter. Given Grimes's perpetual boyhood, Casey was still shocked Bartowski's best friend took Victoria's care as seriously as he did, and after careful inspection each time Grimes watched her, Casey had to grudgingly admit he couldn't fault the boy's care.
As a result, he wondered if Grimes would watch Victoria while he took Riah out for an evening. He had to coordinate the behind-the-scenes part of Goya's detail, so until the announcement was made, he couldn't guarantee when he'd be free or for how long, but as soon as this was over, he intended to give Riah a nice night out.
She snuggled against him and put her arm over his chest. He wrapped his own arm around her and kissed her. "Let's see if she'll let us sleep late," he told his wife. He didn't have to be at the Buy More early, and he found himself suddenly interested in something other than sleep. He turned toward Riah and put a hand just above her knee, stroked up her thigh and under the hem of her nightgown. Riah's hands went to the waistband of his pajama bottoms and then inside as her mouth met his hungrily.
The answer was that Victoria did, but not that late, Casey realized when the first thin cry woke him. The light filtering into the room had an early quality to it, and he figured it was somewhere around six or six thirty. He had things to do before the Buy More, but he wasn't in a huge hurry to do them. Beckman was supposed to have Goya's schedule for the next couple of weeks for them, and he and Walker would consider that schedule and then coordinate with the other agencies that would follow the Costa Gravans around and make sure no one got to the Generalissimo before he could make his announcement.
Victoria gave another cry, this one a little stronger, and Riah stirred next to him. Casey kissed her before he rolled to sit on the side of the bed and put his pants on. Riah sat up and searched for the gown he'd removed while he got up and went to get their daughter. He made coffee and checked his messages while his wife fed their daughter. When Riah followed him downstairs, she handed him Victoria, kissed him, and started breakfast. As he refilled his cup, he told her, "I've got to go to Castle."
She looked over her shoulder at him. "I have an appointment with Danielle, and then I need to run to the store."
It wouldn't be the first time he took Victoria to work, but he hated doing so since the one time he'd had a crying baby there when Beckman called, his boss's displeasure had been unpleasant and made Victoria even angrier. He was always afraid he'd get a call while he had her in Castle and wouldn't be able to find her a babysitter if Riah was equally busy. He wondered if Grimes was working, especially since he knew Ellie was on nights this week. He decided he'd work from the apartment until Riah could get back, so he told Riah he'd stay with Victoria and sent his boss a message to explain. Beckman okayed the change of location.
His wife nodded. "I'll come straight home and get her as soon as I finish with Danielle."
He set Victoria's seat next to his monitors and settled in to get some work done after Riah left.
Goya didn't have but a handful of public events on his schedule, Casey found when he pulled it up. Beckman's e-mail to which it had been attached noted that the plans weren't final. The hardest event to cover would be the gala in the consulate. They'd need to get inside for that, Casey realized, and that was not going to be easy. The Costa Gravans weren't known for trust, so they were unlikely to let any U. S. agents inside.
For a minute, Casey considered his wife, who might be able to get inside since her government had long ago acknowledged Goya's. He rejected it, though, because the fact that she was married to him would bar her from the guest list or, possibly, put yet another target on her. That didn't stop him from making a note to talk to Ellerby, see if she or someone else would be in attendance and if she'd be willing to do Casey a favor.
He had a videoconference with the head of the local CIA bureau, talked through surveillance of Goya and his top lieutenants and tracking Goya's enemies who might be nearby. Shortly after that, as he read through one those enemy's file, Riah called him, told him she was on her way. Since Victoria was asleep, he told her she might as well go on and do her shopping.
It figured that Beckman called almost as soon as he hung up, told him to get Bartowski and Walker.
The kid and his partner arrived before his wife did, and a text told Casey Beckman was busy and to wait. Casey told them he was going to have to recuse himself and why, but before he could further explain, Bartowski started making fun of something the kid really didn't understand. Before he could retaliate, Casey heard voices outside, and when he looked, Goya's private guard were taking up positions in the courtyard. Casey went on autopilot, opened the weapons locker above the fireplace and plotted how to get out and stop Riah from returning home. He didn't want his wife there where she could be taken and used against him or where she or Victoria might get caught in the crossfire. It was bad enough Victoria was upstairs, down for a nap. Casey had no illusions that the Costa Gravans would leave him to go quietly about his business if they knew he was there. They were his sworn enemies just as he was theirs, and if they got an opportunity, they'd kill him. Collateral damage wouldn't matter.
To his shock and Bartowski's horror, Goya knocked on the Woodcomb's door. Goya invited the Woodcombs to his gala, and Bartowski got himself invited along as well. Casey, inside his apartment out of sight behind closed blinds, nodded. As Goya's men prepared to leave, he started calculating what the two of them would need that evening and wondered where Riah was.
He was about to move to his door when he saw her come through the archway just as the last of Goya's men left. Casey held his breath, even though he doubted any of them had a reason to recognize her. Bartowski and Walker followed her into the apartment, and Casey convinced Bartowski to go get the groceries from her car since he didn't think he needed to be spotted by Goya's men if any were still lurking. Walker went with the kid, and Riah eyed the shotgun in Casey's hands.
"Am I allowed to ask why Alejandro Goya just left our apartment complex?"
"Came to see Woodcomb." He returned the gun to the hidden safe and closed it.
"I heard a news report on the radio," she said quietly, and it wasn't hard to see she'd like an explanation.
"Woodcomb saved his life," Casey groused.
Her expression told him she was making an accurate guess about what had caused Goya's need to be saved in the first place. What she asked, though, was, "Where's Victoria?"
"Asleep."
She quickly unpacked groceries, put them away, and went upstairs. The entire time, she talked to Chuck and Walker, kept the conversation on topics that never strayed even tangentially to what a Latin American dictator had been doing in their neighborhood. She went upstairs when she finished.
Beckman called shortly after, and they received their orders. Casey ran upstairs, told Riah he was going, kissed her, and went to get ready for a job he really didn't want.
-X-
When Mariah came home to see Alejandro Goya and his personal guard leaving their apartment complex, she'd wondered what in hell he was doing there. She had a moment of panic, thought about the fact that John's government and Goya's were sworn enemies, but then she calmed when one of Goya's men nodded to her. She gave him a slight smile and tiny nod but didn't speak. That told her they hadn't likely just killed her husband or her friends. It didn't explain what they were doing in Echo Park, though, especially since, according to a news report she'd heard during her drive home, Goya was just out of the hospital after a health scare.
Chuck and Sarah Walker were talking to Ellie and Devon, and Mariah lifted a hand before continuing to her own apartment. The door was unlocked, which was unlike John, and when she stepped inside, she was surprised to find him armed and peering out the living room window like a man anticipating imminent attack.
Chuck and Sarah Walker followed her in, and she left them to it. When Chuck and Walker left, John still didn't tell her what was going on, and she didn't press. Instead, she considered her options.
After she and John were married, it hadn't taken her long to realize the NSA was monitoring her phone, e-mail, and Internet usage. That meant she couldn't use any of her usual methods to find out what was going on, so she gave some thought to how she might be able to learn what she wanted to know. From the look of John when she came in the door, he considered Goya a definite threat, and she wanted to know if she should, too.
She intercepted Ellie on her way to work, and the other woman gushed about the invitation to the Costa Gravan consulate's gala. Without prompting, Ellie told her how Devon had been called in when the man was hospitalized, and she told her what Devon had indiscreetly told her about the man's condition.
That gave Mariah much more to think about, and she decided she'd pay Mona Ellerby a visit the next day, suggest they have that lunch they often talked about, and pump her for information.
Mariah could make a good guess, though. The intelligence analyst in her hadn't been able to give up reading numerous newspapers from all over the world since it often provided clues where to look for exploitable intel, and she knew a lot about what was going on in Costa Gravas from the Spanish-language newspapers she periodically read. Speculation was rife that Goya, in a bid to end criticism of his rule, planned elections. He had no family member to whom he could pass power, unlike Castro, unless she counted Hortensia Goya, the Generalissimo's wife. While the man professed love for his wife, Mariah knew he was no fool, and he'd have to be a fool to pass power to the woman who appeared to have taken one of her husband's chief lieutenants as a lover.
When John came home that night, she was upstairs nursing Victoria. She often fed their daughter in the spaces where she knew there was no surveillance because the idea someone outside the family might see her do so made her want to cringe. He called out from below, and she told him where she was.
John carried a glass of scotch when he joined her, and that told her his day hadn't been a good one, so she smiled and told him she'd fix him dinner when she was finished with their daughter.
He nodded absently, sipped at his scotch, and sat on the end of the bed. "I have to help protect Goya," he said, and she could hear a thread of underlying venom in his voice. "I'd rather take one more crack at killing him."
She raised her brows, and he told her—despite the fact he definitely shouldn't, which spoke of how badly this bothered him—about the attempts in 1983 and 1988, about the final attempt in the early nineties. He told her about fighting with the best organized of the groups who had attempted to overthrow Goya, and she froze when he told her what they had called him in Costa Gravas. Good Lord. They had all been right, she thought faintly. She hadn't completely understood who she was marrying.
After a few moments, she recovered, though, decided it didn't change how she felt about the man she knew, but Mariah gave John a concerned look as she shifted Victoria to her other breast. She knew his record, knew the kinds of things he had done, but it was odd to find herself on the opposite side from him on this one. She, after all, had twice served as protection for Generalissimo Alejandro Goya after Canada had recognized his government in the mid-eighties, though she had not had to go up against John either time. She was thankful for that, thankful that by the time she had been assigned to Costa Gravas John had long moved on from Latin America, especially since she knew what had happened during John's three attempts.
Like with Castro, the Americans kept trying and kept failing. Then she saw the humor in it, though she doubted he would. "What?" he barked crankily.
"El Ángel de la Muerte?" she laughed, glad she was able to given what she knew.
"Why does everyone laugh when I say that?" he groused.
She grinned. "Trust me, John, it isn't that kind of laugh." She realized this was going to take some delicate negotiation.
Mariah had heard of el Ángel de la Muerte, but she had not known he was John. No one in Costa Gravas had ever given her the agent's actual name. He was a legend, the bogey man mothers in the Latin American nation used to scare their children into submission. She had laughed because she had trouble picturing her husband as the truly evil, satanic bastard of whom she had heard so much during her times in Costa Gravas. She'd known the stories were exaggerated, but now she had a better idea of just how badly exaggerated they were. She could also better see the truth in all the warnings she inevitably got about the man she married.
He frowned, puzzled. "What do you mean it isn't that kind of laugh?"
Normally, this was a nice, quiet time. John was home from work, and he came upstairs and sat with her while she fed their daughter. It was peaceful, and they could talk in private. "You know my government recognized Generalissimo Goya's government nearly twenty-five years ago?"
John got that look—that lowered brows, narrowed eyes and pouting look that was actually a little scary and that he wore when he was pissed off—but this time there was something in his face that told her he wasn't angry but he certainly wasn't happy. "Hardly surprising since you're the next closest thing to communist."
She smiled, amused. It had become a joke between them, so she made her usual response. "Socialist, John. Not at all the same thing."
He took a swallow of his scotch.
"ISI has sent him protection a time or two over the years," she said quietly, watching his reaction carefully. And there it was, she thought. He lifted his chin slightly and those eyes bored into her. He was working it out.
"So your father was on one of his protection details," he said.
She nodded.
The look on his face soured. This really was a greater sore spot than she had thought it would be, but then he had tried at least three times to kill the man she had been ordered to protect. Then, he worked the rest of it out. "You, too." She nodded cautiously, and his look turned thoughtful. "When was the last time?" he asked.
She shrugged. "After your government's last attempt on him in 2004." She was thankful that one had not been John. By that time, he was busy elsewhere, and Costa Gravas was someone else's problem.
John gave her another of his looks; this one was the one she generally saw when he was trying to figure out what her relationship to another man had been. She had first seen it with Gray Laurance, then with her stepfather, with General Patterson, and now, Goya. The man was a notorious womanizer, but Mariah had gone into Costa Gravas forewarned. It had been a delicate dance to not offend the Premier and to stay just far enough away from him to avoid his seduction attempts and yet get close enough to do her job. It didn't help that Goya could be charming, but she knew better than to say that to her husband.
"The first time I was there two weeks," she confessed. "It didn't take long to deal with the threat. The second time, it was two months." Two unpleasant months, she could have told him, because Hortensia, the Generalissimo's wife, had been jealous of Goya's flirtation with Mariah. Of course, the other woman was playing with one of Goya's trusted guardians. Mariah had been very glad to get on the plane back to Ottawa that time.
John grunted, lifted his glass of scotch. She wished a moment she could drink, too. He watched her, but the flare of anger or jealousy or whatever it had been was gone. "The U. S. plans to recognize his government."
She nodded. It wasn't hard to read between the lines of news reports, and the Latin American papers she read had suggested several times in the last two months Goya might make an overture to the Americans.
"We're supposed to keep him alive until he makes his announcement about democratic elections while he's here in Los Angeles."
Mariah nodded again.
He sighed. "It's up to Walker and the Moron."
Victoria dropped her nipple, and Mariah eased her daughter upright. John's eyes followed her movements as she rubbed their daughter's back. He set his glass down, took Victoria and continued rubbing her back. He gave her a look, one she had no problem reading. Mariah put her bra back to rights and began working her buttons back into their holes. "I'm no longer in the business, John," she said quietly.
"The new Intersect is unstable, Riah," he told her. She knew that, had observed Chuck's lack of control, and even if she hadn't, John had mentioned it before. "Walker could use the help."
She was tempted. She was seriously tempted, and that surprised her. The thrill of the hunt, she supposed, but she had given that up. As she eyed John and their daughter, she reminded herself the tradeoff was worth it.
"You're friends, an ally," he said neutrally. "He'd invite you."
Mariah arched a brow. "The wife of el Ángel de la Muerte?" She shook her head. "I sincerely doubt it, John." He believed it, though, which was obvious from his expression. She tilted her head. "You're serious," she breathed.
He sighed. "I'd rather see the bastard dead, but a job's a job." He shrugged. "Orders, Riah, and I'm not sure, given Goya's enemies, that Walker and Bartowski are enough protection. I can't go inside, but you could."
"I can't, John," she said emphatically. "You know what I agreed to—what you agreed to—when we got married. No intelligence work—especially not for the Americans."
"You wouldn't be working for us," John told her, shifting Victoria off his shoulder and standing to change her. "You'd be there as a private citizen. If something happened, though, it wouldn't be outside the bounds for you to provide Walker with assistance."
She watched him change Victoria's diaper and wondered what Goya would think if he saw the Angel of Death doing such a mundane task. She thought about what John had said. She could argue that as she had twice been on Goya's security detail that when he was endangered she had an obligation to intercede. Beckman would most likely let her get away with it since it would serve the American's interest. Her father and her government would probably be an entirely different story.
"No, John, I can't." She found a clean gown for their daughter and stepped over as he finished his task and changed her clothes while he went and disposed of the dirty diaper and cleaned his hands. When he returned, she picked up where she had left off. "There's no one to leave Victoria with," she reminded him, "and Ellie would only wonder what I was doing there without you." She shook her head and put Victoria in her crib. "No, I better sit this one out."
John sighed and slid his arms around her waist. "Probably just as well," he grumbled. "The first time Goya slobbered on you, I'd have to kill him."
She grinned at her husband. "You wouldn't," she assured him.
His face went sour a moment. "No, but I would really want to."
It did go wrong—horribly wrong. When Mariah answered her phone to a nearly hysterical Chuck, when she finally understood his excited rambling, she went lightheaded. John was imprisoned in the Costa Gravan consulate, the guards under the belief that he had planned another attempt on Goya. They would kill him, and she knew it. John was a dead man. They would execute him, and it would be done before the Americans could even begin to negotiate.
Suarez. She would call Antonio Suarez. They had worked together, liked one another, and she could probably get him to get her an audience with the Generalissimo. She would beg for her husband's life.
She told Chuck not to worry and that she would involve her government. She had no such intentions, knew her father would refuse and so would the Canadian foreign office. She raced for the phone book the second she disconnected the call. She would start by calling the Costa Gravan consulate, and she would ask for Captain Suarez. She pulled the book out of the drawer and turned on the security feeds from Chuck's and from Castle. The number for the consulate got her a recording about business hours. She gave a frustrated growl, one that got uglier when she heard Beckman tell Walker and Chuck that there was little she could do and John would just have to take care of himself for the time being.
Within seconds, Beckman filled the monitor on the wall. The other woman didn't mince words. "Mrs. Casey, I'm sure you're aware of your husband's situation as well as what I just told Agent Walker and Mr. Bartowski." A quick look at the computer screen told her Beckman knew she had had the feed on. Mariah neither apologized nor denied it. "Please do nothing."
"General—"
"Nothing," the other woman told her tartly. "The Colonel's situation is precarious enough, Mariah," she said a little more gently. "The hostile forces in Costa Gravas would take any Canadian interference as a bad sign. We're worried there will be a coup before the Generalissimo can make his announcement. I repeat: Do nothing."
That gave her no choice, she realized. She would not be the one whose actions tipped the scales out of favor for John. "Yes, Ma'am."
The General leaned forward. "That's not to say, Mariah, that if an opportunity presents itself you shouldn't take advantage of it. You are, after all, Colonel Casey's wife, the mother of his child. I understand the Costa Gravans take family very seriously."
When she was gone, Mariah sat bemused before the seal and its blue background. Perhaps the General was right, Mariah thought, and then she realized that the feeds from Castle were still playing and that Devon Woodcomb was there. She listened as he explained that he had been called to the consulate. She would see if they could get John free. If they didn't, then she'd try.
A couple of hours later, she assumed they had failed. Walker or Chuck would surely have called her if John was safe, but she had heard nothing. She would wait no longer, especially since she was certain that time was most definitely not on John's side.
She took Victoria, certain they might more likely believe her story if for no other reason than that no operative would so endanger a child as to take her on a mission—especially a rescue mission that might turn deadly.
When one of the guards at the consulate gate spoke to her, she gave him her name, omitted for the moment her married name, and asked him to get Captain Antonio Suarez for her.
After a considerable wait during which she was careful not to move and stared down the remaining guard, the first guard returned with Suarez. "Señorita Adderly," he said. She nodded. "How may I be of assistance?"
"My husband is inside," she said, deciding not to prevaricate. "I would like to see him."
There was a flare of surprise in the other man's eyes. "The doctor?" She heard the incredulous note, and she knew that he had likely met both Devon and Ellie.
"El Ángel de la Muerte," she said firmly.
Suarez paled. The guard behind him actually looked faint and made the sign of the cross. Mariah must have inadvertently tightened her grip on Victoria because she squirmed and let out a faint cry. Suarez's eyes dropped to the baby she held. "El Ángel de la Muerte's child?" He sounded shell-shocked.
She nodded. "I've come to plead for his life with the Generalissimo," she told him.
To her relief, he gestured to the guard to open the gate. Mariah was even more worried that she hadn't had to work any harder than that to get inside. Something was wrong. Friend or no, Antonio Suarez would never have let her in just because she asked. She simply hoped she wasn't going to find they had already killed John.
The Captain led her inside the consulate and through the public rooms to the private suites. She followed him along a hallway to a door guarded by sentries. Mariah had grown more nervous as they walked deeper inside. She supposed she should be glad she wasn't being taken to a dungeon. Of course, the door could conceal the stairs down, she realized.
The first person she saw when she stepped inside was Devon Woodcomb. He stood over Goya, who lay in a hospital bed. Her eyes automatically searched for John, and when she found him, she rushed toward him. "What have you done?" she demanded from Devon.
John lay on a sofa next to Goya's bed. The two men were connected by a tube, and Mariah realized they were transfusing Goya using John's blood. Her husband's left leg was bare, the lower part of his thigh bound by a bandage stained red—as were the remains of his pant leg. It didn't take much imagination to realize what had happened, and she rounded on the doctor, intent on getting an explanation.
"The Generalissimo needed a transfusion, and Casey's the only one with the right blood type." Devon forestalled her, and she noted he sounded defensive.
Mariah gave him a disbelieving stare. "How much did he bleed out before you fixed the wound?" The green fatigues had a large stain where the blood had seeped out, and she could see another blood stain spread on the upholstery of the couch on which her husband lay.
"Actually, I took care of his wound."
She turned incredulous eyes on Chuck, and then she felt faint. He wasn't a doctor, and if he had made mistakes, he could have killed John.
"Relax, Mariah," Devon said. "I've got it all under control."
"Have you done this before?"
Devon got that weird smile he got when he was about to lie. "Sure."
She raised a brow and dropped her voice dangerously. "Like this?"
The smile faded. "Well, not like this," he admitted.
"Then listen up," she told him tightly. "If John dies, becomes ill, has his immune system compromised or," she looked at her husband's leg, "gets gangrene, you will not enjoy what happens to you. That I promise."
With that, she turned to John, checked his pulse, and was relieved to feel a steady heartbeat. Captain Suarez touched her arm. She turned to look at him, and he gestured toward a chair one of his men held. When the guard had set it next to John, she sat, dropped the diaper bag and moved the sleeping Victoria to a more comfortable position. Then, as she had done the only other time she had visited him when he had been incapacitated and under medical care, she took John's hand and held it. She continued to do so once Devon disconnected the transfusion tubing and cleaned and covered where they had tapped John's vein. She gave Devon a hard, steady stare as he worked, and when he stepped away, she turned her attention back to John. She only released his hand when Victoria woke, and she needed to feed her.
"When I asked the Madonna to intercede for me," she heard Goya say weakly in his native tongue, "somehow I never expected she would appear as you, Mariah."
Mariah looked over at him. "I'm no divine apparition."
"Why are you here?"
"I came for my husband."
She watched the Generalissimo frown. "I know you are not married to Doctor Devon Woodcomb, and the other," he weakly waved a hand in Chuck's direction, "is with the blonde."
"John Casey," she said softly. "My husband is John Casey." The name the Costa Gravans had given him had managed to get her in the door, but she was reluctant to use it or even John's military rank with this man. It might be best to remind him that John was a human being, not a legendary figure known for slaughter.
Goya looked past her to where John lay unconscious. "El Ángel de la Muerte," he said faintly. Mariah suspected he would have spat it had he been stronger. He narrowed his eyes. "Suarez," he said, but before he could say anything to the captain, Victoria whimpered. Goya lifted his head, looked harder at Mariah and the baby. "You are married to el Ángel de la Muerte?"
She could hear the incredulous note, and she nodded. She shifted Victoria. Mariah decided the truth was probably her best bet. "The Americans sent him to protect you until you could make your announcement," she told him. She frowned at Walker and Chuck. "Did no one explain that?"
When she turned back to him, Goya studied her. "You are truly married to him?"
Mariah nodded. "Yes, and he and the others are really here to protect you."
At that point Devon interceded, explained about the transfusion, and Goya looked incredulous. Mariah had a feeling John had been in no condition to agree to this, was certain he would never have agreed to let them use his blood if he had been, so she remained silent. When Devon finished by saying it had saved the Generalissimo's life, Goya blanched.
"This is el Ángel—Colonel John Casey's child?"
Mariah appreciated the shift in name. "Her name is Victoria."
Goya gave a weak smile. "A good name." She had a feeling he had intended to say something else. He sighed, and his eyelids drooped. "I am tired now. Captain Suarez." Antonio Suarez stepped closer. "When Doctor Devon Woodcomb is ready to leave, his friends and Colonel John Casey may go with him."
She expected Suarez to object, so she met his eyes. He gave her a nod and then told his boss he would see them safely out of the consulate. She relaxed then and focused back on her husband.
John remained unconscious, and when Devon finally felt able to leave Goya in the care of his men, she watched as four of Suarez's men loaded John onto a gurney—noted that it was not gently done—and put him in the ambulance the others had brought with them. Walker told her they would take her husband to Castle, and she nodded. Captain Suarez seemed puzzled that she didn't go with them. She smiled at him as the ambulance pulled away. "I'm no longer in the business," she explained.
"So I had heard."
"You've been well?"
He nodded. "You truly married him?"
She smiled at his suspicious tone. "I truly did."
Suarez sighed. "I suppose there is no accounting for taste."
This time Mariah laughed. "Apparently not," she agreed. "Thank you."
He shrugged. "It was nothing."
She went home to wait and grew impatient as time passed. She couldn't sleep, so she soon gave up trying, and when she finally gave in and tried to call Chuck, it went to voicemail. Since she had no way to get into Castle, since the video feed was now blocked, she had no recourse but to wait.
By midmorning, though, she was ready to interfere, and as she sat in the courtyard outside with Victoria, she considered options and allies, mentally ran several scenarios and considered their strengths and weaknesses. She heard voices, then, and turned to see Chuck wheeling a groggy John in a wheelchair.
"No crutches," her husband said happily with a goofy grin that told her he had some really excellent painkillers in him when he spied her.
After she made Chuck help her get John inside and upstairs, made the younger man help her get John undressed and in bed, she led Chuck back downstairs and prepared to unload—both barrels.
Chuck obviously recognized her intent because he started before she could. "Casey wasn't supposed to be inside," he told her in a rush. "Devon tackled him thinking he was an assassin, and the guards recognized him."
"How did he get inside?" she demanded, cutting off the babble before he could gain too much momentum.
Brown eyes pleading, he told her, "Sarah and I got thrown out after we took out a dissident, but then I saw the real assassin, and Casey went in to keep an eye on Goya."
She loosened her clenched jaw and tried to count, breathe deeply and calm down. "How was John able to get inside when you, who was actually invited, couldn't get back in?" She could have been wrong, could have jumped to a conclusion there, but Chuck's face went crimson and she figured she scored a bullseye.
"He put on a uniform," and when she was about to launch more questions, Chuck quickly added, "I don't know if he took it from a guard or had it with him, but he went in dressed as a guard."
"Then what?" she bit out, and listened in horror as Chuck told her what Devon had told him, how the guards had recognized him when Devon tackled him, and had taken him away.
"How did he get shot?" she asked, and she felt faint a moment, because she knew damned well Suarez and Goya's other men were crack shots, so she doubted one of them shot John in the thigh while trying to execute him.
"I don't really know," Chuck said. "I think the assassin was going to kill him, but Casey got away from him and one of the guards got him as he tried to escape."
Mariah nearly told him she doubted that, but she supposed a young guard scared of the legend might have done something wrong and stupid. "How is it you instead of Devon operated on his wound?" she asked through clenched teeth.
This is what she really wanted to know, after all, and she wanted to know every little detail.
It tempered her anger when Chuck paled and looked faint. Apparently, he understood exactly that he could have killed John. "That big guard you spoke to made me. He didn't trust us, and I think he thought I'd kill Casey for him." Chuck gulped air and plowed on before Mariah could start in on him. "I flashed, Mariah. I flashed on exactly what I had to do to remove the bullet and make sure Casey wouldn't bleed out."
"Speaking of bleeding out," she said, anger the only thing keeping her from either fainting or running up to check John's wound for herself, "how on earth did Devon decide John could give up more blood by siphoning it off and into Goya?"
"AB negative."
She knew that was John's blood type, but she failed to see why that mattered when type O was the universal blood type. Surely someone had been type O and could have been the donor instead of a man who had been shot and bled profusely. She gave an angry sigh, and even as she thought she should just let it go, she couldn't quite.
Mariah advanced on Chuck, who backed up until she had him pinned against the living room wall. "You're going to spend every spare moment you're not at the Buy More or on a mission from Beckman taking care of John."
"Isn't that your job?" he asked.
She gave him a hard smile. "Oh, I've done that job," she assured him, thought of what John had been like after Gaza and decided Chuck could just experience the most annoying injured man in the world as his punishment, "and a hurt, operating at less than full-capacity John Casey is a very vicious, very demanding bastard, so it's your turn. This was your fault, Chuck, and you're going to make amends."
Chuck cringed, and Mariah had a moment of amusement riding under her anger at the idea that a man over six feet was intimidated by a woman barely over five feet. "I'm sorry."
"Not as sorry as you're going to be," she assured him.