by M. G. Harris
Tyler takes a deep breath. “Look, mate. If you think I’m just going to let you hand yourself over. . .”
We exchange an angry glare.
“You agreed.”
“No, I never. Benicio’s the one who wants you to walk in without a fight. Not me.”
What can I say? I can’t believe a friend would risk his own life for me. Do I have the right to stop him?
Then he leans close to me and hisses, “You don’t fool me, anyways; I know you want to rescue them. You were glad that Montoyo wouldn’t hand you over – I saw it in your eyes. You want to be free to help with the rescue. Then she’ll like you, right?”
Astonished, I stare at Tyler.
“It’s only natural,” he murmurs, stretching as he settles back into his seat. “If my mum and my girl had been taken, no one would stop me getting them back.”
Just then a map of Brazil appears in the air before us. The image zooms in on a region near the centre, by the border with Colombia and Peru. A thick stretch of river dominates the area.
The Amazon?
The zooming continues as detailed satellite images layer through the air. In the middle of dense green jungle a tiny town appears. I can’t even see any roads leading to or from it. The town itself is nothing more than one street, a picturesque square and a few houses. Including one large hacienda-style mansion set in a lush tropical garden.
“Nice little town, this Gesolo,” comments Benicio. “Very pretty to be so off the beaten track. My guess is that the owners of that hacienda run the whole town. Nowhere will be safe. You’ll need to get right into the hacienda.”
“Is that where they’re being kept?”
“The numbers you gave me trace to phone lines on the hacienda estate. If you’re right, Josh, that was some amazing information you got from that house at Lake Bacalar.”
“What was it like to see your sister again?” Tyler asks. “Was it like in a dream?”
I consider. “It wasn’t really her. I could tell. Something missing in her eyes.” A heavy sigh escapes me. “She was like an echo. Not like a dream.”
What had been missing was in me, just as much as in the ghost-Camila. I’d felt numb around her. Cold, distant – no more alive than a ghost.
Seeing Camila, I’d felt nothing . . . not like when I saw my dad again on the volcano.
“We’ll be in Gesolo in thirty minutes,” Benicio announces. “It should be dark when we get there – it’s two hours ahead. I’m gonna find somewhere to land in the jungle nearby. We’ll use headsets to communicate. I’ll guide you to the hacienda. Once you’re in there, guys – you’re on your own. I have no clue where they’re being held.”
Benicio overheard our plans.
Puzzled, I ask, “So . . . you’re with us on the rescue plan?”
From the cockpit comes Benicio’s languid voice. “You win, Josh. You get to be the hero – or be captured trying. So long as we get our friends back.”
My mind is already thousands of miles away, in Gesolo. I’m helping Ixchel into the Muwan. I’m climbing in after her, flying away. There’s only me and Ixchel.
In my mind, she’s clinging to me, filled with gratitude.
From way above the clouds, Benicio lets the Muwan drop into the jungle. It’s over so quickly that we don’t see anything but a rush of fluttering greenery lit by the craft’s landing lights. We ruffle leaves all the way down. Amazingly, Benicio’s used the satellite navigation system to locate a tiny clearing in the jungle. Still, it’s not much more than the width of the Muwan.
This isn’t a rainforest jungle like in Mexico; it’s fully tropical with broad-leaved, enormous trees and a canopy so thick that underneath it’s almost pitch-black, even with the last rays of sun still glowing purple in the sky. In a few more minutes the real dark will set in. I check my watch – there are just two hours left from the deadline to agree to hand me over.
Two hours to rescue Ixchel and my mum.
We can do this.
When Tyler and I clamber out of the Muwan, we’re hit by a wall of sound – rushing water. Benicio checks his map.
“Guys . . . I’m sorry about this. Looks like there’s a stream you gotta cross.”
Tyler and I follow the sounds of water through some trees and find the source of the noise. We flash our torches over the water. It’s not a stream – more of a whitewater river, at least three metres wide and running very, very fast. We walk back to the Muwan, guided by its faintly glowing lights.
“You have to put us down on the other side of that river. There’s no way we can swim across.”
Benicio sounds annoyed. “You think I didn’t think of that? There is literally nowhere to land on the other side. Unless you want me to put you into the garden of the hacienda?”
I pause. “That’s actually not a bad idea. Not that garden, though – they’d see us there. But how about the roof?”
Benicio nods. “That could work . . . to get you in. I could turn all the Muwan lights off, go in on stealth mode. Even in the dark, they might still spot us. I won’t be able to stay long – would have to be a lightning drop.”
Tyler says, “So how would we get out?”
“You’d have to meet me somewhere. Right here. We’re almost exactly due east of the house – no more than one kilometre. Take a wrist compass – look in the panel under your seat. Without a compass, you’ll never find your way through that jungle.”
Tyler leans into the Muwan and rummages in the drawer. He pulls out a compass on a cloth wristband and velcro fastening, starts wrapping it around his wrist. “And the river?”
“I’ll hover . . . you can all climb on to the rope ladder and I’ll fly you over here so you can climb in properly.”
I frown. “Sounds dodgy. It’s a lot to ask of Ixchel and my mum . . . running a kilometre through the jungle . . . in the dark, probably being chased. And then to dangle from a rope. . .”
Tyler remarks, “I’d say it beats where they are right now.”
We climb back aboard. I like the idea of the lightning strike. I’d kind of like an option for a lightning getaway too. But with just one Muwan, our options seem limited.
Have I made a huge mistake by not handing this whole mission over to Montoyo?
I push the thought out of my head. At least my plan has the backup possibility – if we get caught, I hand myself in. Something that Montoyo would never do.
Benicio flies us in low above the trees. The hacienda is just visible under the glow of light from the windows and a few ornamental lamps in the garden. He lands as softly as a feather, on the flattest part of the tiled roof. When we climb out, we realize that the Muwan’s landing gear can adjust to a sloping surface, but of course we can’t. We immediately struggle to stay upright.
Just then a huge beam of light appears in the garden. It’s a searchlight. It swivels into the air, sweeping the sky. Tyler and I hold our breath as Benicio lifts the craft two metres into the air and then shoots off vertically. The searchlight sweeps the empty air a fraction of a second later, only metres above our ducked heads.
I’m elated by our narrow escape – but at the same time horrified that we were almost caught so early into the rescue.
Got to stay positive. We can do this.
I adjust my headset. In the earpiece I hear Benicio say, “OK, gentlemen, I’m clear. Now get going. Your window is on the lower roof level. So long as there’s no guard there – that’s your way in.”
Tyler and I sidle carefully down to the edge of the roof. About two metres below is another level of sloping tiles. About five metres along there’s a window. From our vantage point, we can see that there are two guards in the front garden. I can just spot them under a low coconut tree that’s lit by a string of blue fairy lights. They’re carrying semi-automatic rifles slung casually over their shoulders as they chat.
All it would take is a single torch beam in our direction. But their attention is focused outwards – towards the entrance of the property. Mean
while the searchlight continues to criss-cross the sky, a dramatic sword of light in the darkness.
I guess they anticipated that someone from Ek Naab might just drop by. . .
East is behind the house, I note. So when we hightail it out of here, we’ll be headed for the back garden. It backs right on to the jungle. Presumably there’s some kind of fence to keep wild animals out? I try to push away worries about how we’re going to escape – for now.
First we have to get in.
Tyler and I easily lower ourselves to the window. It’s slightly open – a trivial job to get in. We’re in a bedroom with an ensuite bathroom. Silently, I indicate to Tyler that he should almost close the window, the way we found it. Just then I hear the sound of the toilet flushing. Tyler and I bolt towards the main bedroom door. We escape just before the bathroom door opens.
Then we’re in a corridor. This house is huge. I realize now how hard it might be to find them.
Voices approach – two guys. It sounds like one of them is ordering the other around. We hunt for somewhere to hide, and duck behind a carved wooden shrine covered with votive offerings and a statue of the Virgin Mary.
They’re muttering away in Portuguese. After the time we spent in Brazil I’ve finally started to tune into the language. It’s sort of like Spanish spoken through some weird filter – once you get the phase shift, it’s possible to catch the gist of what people are saying. I can just understand enough to figure out that the younger guy has been asked to take food to the prisoners.
The second they’re out of sight, we follow. They make their way down the main staircase and then keep going towards the basement.
But we’re stalled at the ground floor level – there’s an armed guard by the front door.
“Reckon he could do with a nap,” Tyler whispers. He takes careful aim from behind the banister. The guard barely even reacts to the sound of the tranquillizer dart flying through the air before he collapses in a heap. We’re down in an instant, taking his weapon. We can’t leave him, though – in the middle of the entrance hall he’ll be discovered any minute now. So we drag his crumpled body into the cloakroom and stash him inside.
“Lorena reckons it lasts for ten minutes, no more. We’d better move,” Tyler says, prising a pistol from the guard’s fingers.
We descend the last flight of stairs, Tyler carrying the guard’s pistol, me with the tranquillizer gun. Stealing a gun wasn’t part of the plan, and I find myself wondering if Tyler would really be able to use it.
Any minute now we’re going to find Ixchel and my mum. It’s the first time the reality of our situation has properly sunk in.
The stairs lead to a corridor that was clearly once the servants’ quarters. In contrast with the heavy wood and freshly white-plastered walls of the rest of the house, the walls are bare concrete and we’re stepping on brick-tiled floors. There’s no sign of anyone in the corridor, but we hear voices in a room filled with the noises of laundry equipment. In the far end of the corridor there’s a door slightly ajar. As we pass the laundry room, one guy emerges, shortly followed by another, from the doorway at the end of the corridor.
They see us right away and call out in shocked voices.
Before I’m aware of what’s happened, I’ve shot the front guy in the leg with a tranquillizer dart. He stares at me in amazement, then down at his leg, then he topples over in front of the other guard.
“Don’t move,” Tyler shouts. He points the pistol at the remaining guard.
The second guard slowly lowers his gun. Aiming at his thigh, I shoot him full of a dose of the tranquillizer.
Then, chillingly, we hear another voice, this time from inside the room.
“Whoever you are,” the woman says, speaking English with a heavy Brazilian accent, “you’re gonna drop your weapons and come in here with your hands up. Or I’m gonna shoot one of the hostages.”
We both stand absolutely still.
In our headsets we hear Benicio say, “She’s bluffing. If she’s just a foot soldier, she doesn’t have the authority to shoot a hostage.”
But what if she isn’t just a “foot soldier”?
I get an idea. Using hand signals, I send Tyler along the corridor so that he’s right next to the door. Pressed against the wall, he’d only be seen once someone was all the way out of the room.
“I’m Josh Garcia, come to give myself up,” I announce. “I’m alone. But Carlos Montoyo doesn’t know I’m here with his rescue team. They’re outside right now, taking out your guards in the garden. If I don’t see my mother and Ixchel right now, I’ll give the signal.”
There’s a pause and then a chuckle.
“I just spoke to the guards on my radio. They’re fine.”
Then I hear Ixchel, loud, almost hysterical. “Josh, she doesn’t have a. . .”
Abruptly, Ixchel’s voice is muffled.
What was she going to say? She doesn’t have a gun? Or she doesn’t have a radio?
I guess that the guard does have a gun – or else why would Ixchel and Mum even stay quiet?
But maybe, no radio. She’s cut off, for now.
I step forward. “I’ll give myself up, right now. But you need to bring them both out, Ixchel and my mum. I want to see they’re OK.”
“Josh, think I’m an idiot? If you want me to come out, it’s so you or one of your team can shoot me. You have five seconds to come in here or I’ll shoot the girl.”
“Get in there, Josh,” Benicio hisses over the headset. “Distract her; then Tyler, you follow. And shoot the guard. Don’t hesitate.”
I stride over to the doorway, being careful to avoid a sideways glance at Tyler. Standing there, I see the three of them – a dark Brazilian woman in her twenties with thin hair in a ponytail. She’s pointing a gun at my mother. Mum and Ixchel are tied to chairs, both hands behind their backs. Their eyes light up for just a second when they see me, but both looked exhausted and scared.
“Drop your gun,” the woman says.
I let the tranquillizer-dart gun clatter to the floor. My eyes sweep the room as discreetly as possible. It’s a small room, hardly more than three metres square. Hard to think of any distraction I could create in here. . .
“Step forward,” she says, slowly moving away from my mother. She raises the gun, now pointing it at me.
Then commotion breaks out – the woman cries out as Ixchel kicks her hard in the shin. She staggers for a second, still vaguely pointing the gun at me. But I drop into a ginga, shifting my body from side to side. Tyler slots into the gap between me and the door.
It’s just enough to distract the guard – for one second her attention flits from me to Tyler. In that split second I use a hooking gancho kick to knock the gun out of her hand, then a low ponteira kick to floor her. Then Tyler is standing over her with the tranquillizer gun. He shoots a dart into her leg. We watch as her eyes close.
Without a word we start cutting Mum and Ixchel free. They look dishevelled, still scared, but incredibly relieved to be free. I’m not prepared for the rush of emotion I get when I see them both. It’s actually pretty hard to speak. Even though I’m dying for a chance to hug Ixchel, there’s no time to talk, or even say hello. I pick up the second gun.
“Where’s everyone else?” Ixchel says hurriedly, glancing at the door.
“It’s just us two,” I say.
A mixture of bewilderment and dismay crosses their faces. I’m horribly aware that we’ve already used two or three of our ten minutes before the first guard comes round from the sedative.
We have less than seven minutes to get out, and at least a kilometre of jungle to get through. And on top of everything else, whatever dangerous wild animals we might encounter out there, prowling around in the dark.
Tyler leads the way out, tranquillizer gun in his right hand. Mum and Ixchel follow; I’m at the back, with my own dart gun. Both Tyler and I have the guards’ pistols in our back pockets too, just in case. I guess we’re all scared, but there’s no ti
me to think about that. Time is running out; every second counts.
“We’re on our way out,” I tell Benicio over the headset.
“Go carefully,” he replies. “You’re a long way from safety.”
Approaching the laundry room, I’m grateful for the heavy thumping noise from the equipment. So far, it seems to have saved us from discovery.
Just as we’re past the door, it springs open. Two dark-skinned, muscular guys in their late teens rush towards us. I try to turn and take aim, but before I know what’s happened, the nearest one has thrown himself into a handstand, his feet aiming right at my shoulder.
