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The agent didn’t immediately answer her. Instead, she accelerated uphill, while casting a wary eye down each perpendicular road as they approached it. “It’s a welcome party.”
The din grew louder as they neared the same wide intersection where they’d run into police the night before. Grace’s eyes widened to see that an enormous crowd had assembled in the wide tree-lined avenue. Carrying the lids of garbage cans and sticks, the crowd blocked the intersection entirely as they marched uphill, chanting words impossible for Grace to understand.
At the far end of the stately street stood an immense white building surrounded by the same official SUVs that had stopped cars on the highway the night before. Policemen decked out in riot gear faced off against the protesters, throwing smoke grenades and firing what she hoped were rubber bullets. Lena braked abruptly and backed up, taking them another way.
Grace glanced over at Lena’s set expression. “Are all those people in support of the Rebel Army?”
“Yes. It’s a concerted effort to keep the police distracted so the rebels can advance more quickly on the capital.”
The woman seemed to know an awful lot about what was happening. She executed a swift one-point turn, then veered right into the first narrow alley they came across.
“Were you born here?” Grace couldn’t keep herself from asking that much. Dozens of questions vied for articulation.
“Yes.” Lena’s dampening tone warned Grace not to ask any more.
They sped along the dimly lit alley, shot across a road, and went straight into another alley, scarcely wide enough for the agent’s car to squeeze through. More than once, the little Russian-made vehicle tore through a clothesline laden with laundry hung out to dry. Grace cringed on behalf of the housewives who would have to retrieve their clothing from the filthycallejuelo.
But at least they’d circumvented the clash between the citizens of Caracas and Maduro’s police force, for they were soon speeding downhill on a winding, narrow street, chasing the sun as they headed toward the outskirts of town. Here the roads were deserted. The homes and stores they passed were tightly shuttered. A stray dog stared at them as they flew past.
At last, they shot into the valley, driving out on a wide, flat highway while the evening sky blushed to mauve. Lena did not turn on her headlights.
“You drive this far to work?” She couldn’t help the incredulous question.
“It only takes me forty minutes. Do you work?”
“I’m a first-grade teacher.”
Lena shot her a sidelong glance impossible to interpret. Was that pity or envy in the woman’s lovely eyes?
To Grace, who noted the road signs as they passed them, it appeared as if they were headed into the middle of nowhere, though now and then she thought she glimpsed the ocean out of Lena’s window. As Mateo squirmed in her lap, growing restless, she pulled him higher on her lap, urging him to look for animals in the tall grass next to them. Just then, a capybara cut across the highway right in front of them. Lena swerved around it expertly. She had to have been trained to drive as competently as she did. Questions formed on Grace’s tongue, but she kept them to herself.
Many minutes later, Lena exited the highway onto an unmarked road. They followed that for another five minutes before Grace spotted a sturdy chain-link fence topped with barbed wire. As Lena approached a gatehouse, Grace noted the large sign warning of live ammunition and the penalties for entering the compound without authorization. She shrank in her seat, trying to remain unseen as Lena slowed to talk to the guard.
“Relax,” said the woman before lowering her window. The distinct smell of the ocean wafted in. “Hola, Fernando.” Without coming to a full stop, she waved at the middle-aged man who had already hit a button, causing the gate to slide open. By the time the guard caught sight of Grace, they were already passing him.
“He saw me. Are you sure he’s not going to say anything?”
“Pretty sure,” Lena answered after a pause. At long last, she snapped on her headlights, making it easier to see an enormous metal warehouse surrounded by nothing but sandy soil and a few gnarled trees. Not far from the warehouse stood an idle railroad car suggesting a train track was sometimes used to carry cargo in and out.
“What is this place?”
“It’s a weapons depot.” Lena cut to the right of the warehouse, away from the enormous cargo bay doors. “I’m in the HR department, responsible for payroll—allegedly.” The word she tacked on let Grace know that wasn’t her real job.
“Do you normally work at this time?”
“Yes. I work nights so that I’m not privy to what comes in and goes out.”
Her tone alone suggested she knew way more than anyone suspected.
“I’m sorry,” she added as she nosed her car under the boughs of a bent tree, “but you two are going to have to sit tight. I know this will be hard with a kid and all, but don’t get out of the car except to pee behind this tree. I’m not expecting anyone to show up, but that doesn’t mean the National Army won’t come and salvage their weapons before the rebels bomb the place.” She met Grace’s widening eyes, ruffled Mateo’s hair, then exited the vehicle, taking her car keys with her.
Grace watched Lena walk casually up to the side of the building. Her efficient walk had morphed into a lost-in-her-thoughts stroll as she made her way to a closed door and punched in a code to unlock it. She disappeared into the building with the resignation of an employee about to work a job she could scarcely tolerate.
“So.” Grace looked down at Mateo, who was staring up into the tree next to them as if wondering if he could climb it. “I wonder how long we’ll be here.” She checked her watch. It was 5:45 P.M. and almost completely dark, but Mateo wouldn’t fall asleep until at least 8:00.
Glancing about and seeing no one, she pushed the car door open and turned sideways to stick her feet out and give herself more legroom. Mateo made pleading sounds in his throat, asking to be let out so he could explore.
“No, darling. It’s not safe here. After a bit, we can walk around the tree. If you’re good, I’ll let you climb to the first branch. I know, let’s play rock, paper, scissors.”
