Ana Mitchell
Let me tell you the story of how I started a civil war in South America.
Ana Mitchell.
The first time I met her was two years ago, a year and a half after I'd arrived in San Marcos.
Back then I was worn down by a country with neither dreams nor hope, and when I heard that an American from Texas had been specially appointed as a presidential bodyguard, I went to find him. I wanted to tell him he needed to run—the sooner, the better.
"Uh—nice to meet you. I'm Eugene Choi, Minister of Resources and Tourism."
Well. I got flattened by the sheer force of the man's presence, managed a greeting, and came right back. That was my first meeting with Javier.
Time passed, and as fellow outsiders we found common ground quickly. Before long we were close enough to split a beer now and then.
We'd been friendly for about a month when Javier brought Ana along to one of those drinks.
"Oh my goodness! You're already a minister at your age? That's amazing!"
A cheerful beauty. That was the impression she left the first time I met her.
Looking back on it now, maybe there had been a flicker of personal interest there too. I was living in a foreign country, and I'd finally met an American I could actually talk to—and she happened to be beautiful.
I never took it any further than that. I was planning to leave for Korea the moment my term as minister ended, and I didn't have the courage to make a move anyway.
Just a bright, beautiful woman. That was all Ana was in my memory.
But.
"...Ana?"
The woman I met again was nothing like the one I remembered.
I passed through a tight cordon of SIA agents and stepped into a room in the VIP ward of the Libertad Armed Forces Hospital, a room thick with the smell of disinfectant. The moment I saw Ana lying there, I lost the ability to speak.
The Ana in my memory had been a woman like the Texas sun—healthy copper skin, blonde hair overflowing with life. What lay in front of me now was a person so wasted that "skin and bones" didn't even begin to cover it.
The forearm visible below the sleeve of her hospital gown was so thin it looked ready to snap. The blonde hair that had once shone was dry and brittle, broken off in sparse patches.
"Hey. Look at me."
I approached the woman sitting there and met her unfocused eyes.
Then—
"Hhk!"
Ana shuddered violently, as if she'd been electrocuted.
"Ana, it's all right. It's me. Eugene."
She didn't recognize me. She trembled like a terrified animal.
I kept as much distance as I could, bent my knees, and brought my eyes level with hers.
"Ana. Look at me."
"..."
"You don't remember me? Javier's friend. Eugene."
"...Eu-gene?"
At the familiar name, the frantic trembling eased, just a little.
I reached out slowly—very slowly—and covered the back of her wasted hand with mine.
It was as cold as ice.
Only then did those hollow eyes drift toward me. A faint flicker of focus began to gather in her clouded pupils.
"How did you... get here?"
"How do you think? I brought you."
Her voice was cracked. The instant she recognized me, fat tears began to drop, one after another.
"Hh-hhk... nngh..."
Whether it was relief or sheer grief, I couldn't tell. She clutched my hand as if she meant to break it, and then she went limp and collapsed.
"Damn it—Ana! Stay with me! Doctor! Doctor!"
At my shout, the agents sprinted out and came back with a physician. He checked her over and took a few measures.
"It appears she's lost consciousness from a combination of exhaustion and malnutrition. We've started her on a nutrient drip. Let her rest and she should come around."
I said nothing. After the doctor left, I went out into the corridor and found Lucio.
"What the hell happened?"
"We found her living on the streets in Florida."
"On the streets?"
"I don't know the details myself. But if I may explain how we found her..."
Lucio's account went like this.
To find Ana Mitchell, he had decided against sending agents and instead asked a cousin in Florida for help. The cousin had connections everywhere, and of all the places you could realistically reach from San Marcos in a small fishing boat, Florida was the most likely.
Months went by. Then one day, Lucio's cousin heard that a woman from San Marcos was living homeless on the streets of a local island community. He was from San Marcos himself, so he went to offer help—and something about her face was familiar.
He dug through his memory and realized she was the woman Lucio had asked him to find. He contacted Lucio at once. Lucio had her brought back to San Marcos in secret, finished the identity check, and only then reported to me.
"A coincidence stacked on top of another coincidence. That's how we were able to bring her in."
"That wasn't coincidence. We got her back because of your network and your judgment."
"...Thank you."
I nodded, and thought: whatever the case, we wouldn't know the full story until Ana woke up.
I went back to Ana's room the following morning.
Unlike the day before, she had her wits about her. She could look me in the eye.
"Ana."
"Eugene."
The sight of the agents made her shoulders flinch.
"Wait outside."
Once the SIA agents had filed out, she let out a small breath.
"Thank you. They were a little scary."
"Don't mention it. Of course I'd do that."
A brief silence settled. Then Ana asked,
"Um... you weren't hurt, were you? I heard the explosion was enormous..."
I shrugged at the question about the attack.
"I got lucky. I was in the back garden. Why? Disappointed?"
"N-no. I'm just so glad you made it..."
"I'm kidding."
The slightly cruel joke loosened the air between us.
"My brother's grave... is there...?"
"He was too close to the blast center."
At the implication that they had never found a body, she squeezed her eyes shut and let out a long breath.
"So that's how it ended, after all."
"It's a damn shame."
The difficult part still sat between us. The corner of her eyes trembled, and she opened her mouth.
"I know what my brother did. Even if he'd survived that day, he probably would have been executed."
"...I know it wasn't Javier's fault alone."
Of course, the crime of a man who had gotten dozens of people killed was not something that could be forgiven. But if you weighed the guilt, my judgment was that the people who had forced him to carry it out were heavier than the man who had actually done it.
And besides.
"It all happened because of me. So... I'd rather you didn't hate my brother too much."
In this case, Javier had been a victim too.
"It'll be hard. But could you tell me everything in detail?"
A chill settled over Ana's eyes.
"A little over a year after I came to San Marcos, I became friends with a woman named Katarina Costa."
"Katarina Costa?"
I'd never heard the name.
"Was she a San Marcos native?"
"I don't know. But she knew things a foreigner would have a very hard time knowing."
"Then she'd either done her homework thoroughly, or she was a local. So how did you two get close? What did you do together?"
"Just... the things friends my age do. We went to the beach. We stopped at nice restaurants and had meals."
She'd met Katarina a year after arriving in San Marcos. Six months from that point put them right up against the eve of the attack.
"One day I got an invitation. Same tone as always. She was going to drink wine at her place and wanted me to come."
"And?"
"I said yes without a second thought. I'd known her for six months. And the moment I stepped inside, there were men I'd never seen before. I didn't even have time to run. They had me subdued in an instant."
"A gang? Or soldiers?"
"No. It didn't feel like that."
"Why not?"
"The atmosphere was completely different. They didn't feel rough. They seemed extremely composed. And more than anything, they spoke very polished English."
Men speaking polished American English in San Marcos. That was definitely not a normal situation.
"The two who grabbed me called my brother and threatened him. They handed him a bag with a bomb and told him that if he didn't do exactly as they said, they'd kill me and send him the pieces."
Just as I'd expected.
"And the terms? They wouldn't have started something like that for nothing."
"They said if the job succeeded, they'd make new identities for me and my brother and send us to the United States. Along with enough money to live on for the rest of our lives."
Ana went on in a quiet, sad voice.
"The day the bomb went off, a man named Smith came up to me and said my brother had botched the job. Everyone was supposed to die, he said. Someone had survived. I didn't understand what he meant at the time. Later I found out the survivor was you, Eugene."
"...What happened after that?"
"The two of them tried to kill me. If Katarina hadn't protected me then, I really would have died."
"The perpetrator... protected you?"
"Yes. I don't know why, but... I think it might have been guilt."
That tracked. They'd been attached at the hip for nearly six months. Feelings would have formed whether she wanted them or not.
"Katarina wouldn't back down, and in the end the two of them lowered their guns."
"So in a two-on-one, the side with more people gave up... Then how did you get to the United States?"
"Katarina took me. She said if I stayed, there was no telling what would happen to me."
"Do you know where Katarina is?"
I asked because she might know who was behind the attack. Ana gave a small shake of her head.
"I dozed off on the boat. When I woke up, she was gone. After that, it's what you already know. The money ran out, so I picked through trash and lived on the streets, and that's how I got picked up and brought back."
I rested my hand on the back of hers.
"I understand. From here on, I'll take care of it. You just focus on getting better."
"I... Eugene?"
"Yes."
"Am I going to be executed now?"
"What?"
A disbelieving laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
"Ana, why would you be executed?"
"I'm involved in the case. In a way, I'm one of the perpetrators too."
"You're not a perpetrator in this. If anything, you're a witness the state is obligated to protect."
"But my brother set off the bomb..."
"San Marcos law has no guilt by association. Javier took his crime with him. You can rest easy."
Only then, as if she could finally breathe, she let out a long sigh.
"...You're a lot kinder than what I'd heard."
"And what exactly did you hear?"
"That after you took power, you purged more than three thousand people..."
"No."
So she'd fainted the second she saw me because she thought she was about to be executed?
Great. Anyone listening would think I was a dictator with ice in his veins and not a drop of human feeling.