The Lord of Opium(48)

“I owe you an explanation,” said Dr. Rivas. He had arrived with another pair of bodyguards, who were checking their unconscious fellows for vital signs. Listen ran to the doctor and hugged him.

Cienfuegos went into a defense posture. “Tell them to dump their weapons now. I mean it,” he said.

“I’m sure you do,” said the doctor, gently patting Listen’s head. He gave the order and two stun guns, four knives, a knuckle duster, and a garrote wire dropped to the floor.

“Kick them toward me,” said the jefe.

“Please don’t think I was being disloyal, mi patrón,” Dr. Rivas said. He seemed utterly relaxed, as though no one could possibly suspect him of wrongdoing. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you about El Bicho.”

“You could begin by telling the patrón why he’s still alive,” snarled Cienfuegos.

“So bloodthirsty,” murmured the doctor. “Why don’t you ask Matt whether he wants the boy destroyed?”

Matt hadn’t sorted out his feelings about the Bug, but he definitely didn’t want to order a murder. “I think there’s been enough death in this place,” he said.

“I quite agree,” said Dr. Rivas, smiling serenely. He sat down on a bed, and Listen curled up on the floor by his feet. She held on to his pant leg and sucked her thumb like a much younger child. “Round up some eejits and take the injured men to the hospital,” the doctor told the bodyguards. “You know, Cienfuegos, it isn’t good for El Bicho to be wrapped up so tightly. He gets into terrible sweats.”

“Tough toenails. I’m not letting that little viper loose,” said Cienfuegos.

By now the eejits had returned Mbongeni, powdered and sweet-smelling, to his cage. The little boy was massacring a peanut butter sandwich and getting most of it on his face. “Can I help him?” pleaded Listen. The doctor nodded, and she ran to the cage. On the way she kicked the Bug’s blanket, and the Bug snapped at her.

“Let me explain how it all happened,” began Dr. Rivas. “Would you care for some refreshments, mi patrón? I can have coffee and snacks sent from the kitchen. No? Very well. To begin with, El Patrón ordered El Bicho as a backup for you. You had that distressing asthma and strange bouts of illness we couldn’t understand.”

Matt knew he was referring to the arsenic Celia had fed him. “Go on,” he said.

“When El Patrón died, the order came for all of us to attend the funeral. You can’t imagine what a momentous event that was. The old man had ruled this country for more than a hundred years, and no one could imagine what was coming. I knew the law—the others didn’t—that when the original of a clone dies, the clone takes his place. More important, he inherits. We were told you were dead, and I thought, ‘El Bicho is now the heir. If I destroy him, I’ll be committing murder.’ ”

Dr. Rivas spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. He smiled, and Matt was almost convinced of his innocence, but there was the bite on Listen’s arm and her use as a rag doll for the two boys that argued against it.

“So you stayed behind with a few bodyguards and a stockpile of weapons,” said Matt. Cienfuegos let out a bark of laughter.

“I couldn’t neglect the heir.” The doctor seemed affronted.

“I’m the heir, not El Bicho,” Matt pointed out.

“No you aren’t, poo-poo face!” said the Bug, entering the conversation for the first time.

“Be quiet,” said Dr. Rivas with an edge to his voice. To Matt’s surprise, the Bug obeyed. “The situation is easily remedied,” the doctor said. “I bring the bodyguards together, explain that you are the true ruler of Opium, and they’ll switch their allegiance to you.”

“Will that work, Cienfuegos?” asked Matt.

“Probably, but I’m staying armed,” the jefe said.

An ammonia stench reached Matt’s nose, and he realized that the Bug had fouled his blanket. “We can’t keep him tied up forever,” he said.

“I sometimes put him on a leash,” the doctor admitted. He called for a group of four eejits, and in a moment Matt could see why. As soon as they unwrapped the Bug, he began kicking, screaming, and biting. The eejits held his arms and legs, reminding Matt of ants holding down a grasshopper, and hauled him off for a bath.

“Is something wrong with his brain?” Matt asked.

“All of El Patrón’s clones differ from the original in some way,” said Dr. Rivas. “You were the most perfect. El Bicho is almost as good. He’s very intelligent and his health is good, but he has no impulse control. If he wants something, he goes straight for it, no matter who or what is in the way.”