The Lotus Eaters

Belalcázar, Santander, Terra Nova

Señor Estevez sat on an imported leather couch sipping brandy. A great fire raged in the grand marble fireplace opposite, a guard against the mountain's cool night air. Estevez stared into the flames and contemplated the future.

I think it was a mistake to try to coerce the Balboans, a mistake to let my anger get the better of me. Oh, yes, we killed some police officers . . . and more civilians. All that has done is to make them tighten up their internal security laws. That, and give them more sources of intelligence on us.

And now? Now I cannot even go outside my own estates. People who look and sound just like our own, waiting to kill us, using diplomatic access to get into Santander which we can't, usually, use to get people into Balboa. And they are at least as ruthless as we are . . . at least. Why, just last month they blew up Rodriguez' mistress and the two children. Before that, they found and kidnapped Chavez' uncle and sent him back in a dozen pieces. Now all of us are stuck behind walls, with everyone we care about stuck with us. And I am so tired of my wife and mistresses fighting with each other.