The Lord of Opium

“They’ve been extremely successful.” The doctor smiled, pleased that he’d gotten a reaction. “The animals here have never been hunted, and they didn’t know they were in danger. Happy Man bagged a dozen pronghorn antelope, even more white-tailed deer, two bears, a jaguar—they’re very rare—and a puma. It won’t take him long to clean this place out.”

For the first time Matt realized that the doctor was not only evil, he was insane.

“The machine guns were so powerful, they blew the animals to bits. One of the antelopes was standing in front of a window at Malverde’s chapel. I suppose the beast thought it was under the saint’s protection, but it soon learned its mistake. When the buzzards came down to feed, the soldiers blasted them, too.”

“Why tell me?” said Matt. He carefully kept his face blank at the mention of the chapel.

“Because I want you to see your country in ruins. I want you to watch your friends die and know that you yourself have fallen into the hands of your worst enemy.”

“What do you have against me? I didn’t do anything to you.”

“You destroyed my son and drove my wife to suicide,” said the doctor, as though he hadn’t heard Matt. “You burnt up my life’s work, but it’s all worth it if you suffer.”

“El Patrón did those things, not me.” Matt despaired of getting through to the man. He was locked into a mental bubble.

More soldiers came to the door. They talked excitedly in some African language. Boris and Samson jumped from one foot to the other, trying to make themselves understood.

“I’m not El Patrón,” Matt repeated.

“Oh, but you are,” Dr. Rivas said softly. “You have the same gestures, the same body, and the same voice. You’re the most perfect copy of him I ever made.”

The soldiers beckoned to the doctor, and they conferred in low voices. “Glass Eye had a slight relapse this morning,” Dr. Rivas said when he returned. “That’s why he didn’t call for you. It seems that Happy Man took advantage of the situation to go hunting again. He didn’t come back.”

“Tough toenails,” said Matt. With any luck, the fake general was in the stomach of a jaguar (very rare).

“It means that your time has run out. Dabengwa wants the border opened, and he wants it now.”

Matt grabbed a fork from a table and stabbed at his right hand, but he wasn’t fast enough. The African soldiers were as well trained as the Farm Patrol, and one of them twisted his arm behind his back while another kicked him in the stomach. Matt collapsed, gasping for breath.

“That was a trick worthy of the old man,” Dr. Rivas said. “Too bad it didn’t work. Your hand is going to stay in perfect condition until we’ve had the use of it.”

The soldiers pulled Matt to his feet and shoved him out the door. He wondered how long he could endure pain. He’d heard about things Glass Eye had done to his enemies. Unlike El Patrón, the African drug lord didn’t dispose of them quickly. Terror was the way he kept power.

“I’ll die before I betray Opium,” he said.

“Oh, you won’t be the one to suffer,” Dr. Rivas said, nodding at Listen as they hurried across the garden. “She will be.”

48

EL PATRÓN’S ADVICE

You’re in a fine mess, aren’t you? said El Patrón.

Stop gloating and help us, thought Matt.

Why should I? I’ve already told you what you need to know, the old man said peevishly. Matt imagined him sitting under a grape arbor, watching the statues of his seven brothers and sisters.

Tell me again. If I don’t survive, your ninth life is over. Matt knew there was no use appealing to El Patrón’s better nature. He didn’t have one. But only silence followed this appeal to self-interest. The old man had gone back to whatever entertainments the dead had.

They passed a stirabout and a heap of ruined animal skins. They hurried through the halls of the hospital. Samson carried Listen, who was trying to shred his arms with her fingernails. He bore it stoically.

There was chaos in Glass Eye Dabengwa’s room. Bottles had been overturned, a lamp lay shattered, a nurse knelt at the drug lord’s feet, holding her arm and sobbing. Soldiers were ranged against the wall in postures of defense. Glass Eye himself was swaying like a heavyweight boxer about to land a crushing blow.

“I’ll kill him,” he snarled. “I’ll kill him.” No one dared to answer. Either Happy Man really had run off, or he was pushing up daisies in the forest. “You! Boy! Open the border. I will have more men now!”