Trent nodded his head, “What do you want from me?” he said. His finger was throbbing and he had a shooting pain all the way up to his elbow.
“The name of the man you hired to kill your daughter,” Niki said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Trent said, unconvincingly, and Niki broke his thumb. Trent screamed out in pain and started to cry.
Niki held up Trent’s hand, “I need a name, Mr. Trent,” Niki said.
“I didn’t . . .” Trent started to say, but Niki snapped his wrist before he could finish his sentence. Trent screamed again and began blubbering like a baby.
Niki removed his knife, went to the dresser, picked up Trent’s lighter and held it up to the end of the knife. “The next word that comes out of your mouth better be a name,” Niki warned. The end of the knife was glowing red as Niki approached Trent. He held the knife up inches from Trent’s face and pointed it towards his right eye. Then he repeated. “Who did you hire to kill your daughter?”
“Martine Corazon,” Trent said, choking on the words.
“And where do I find Mr. Corazon?” Niki asked.
“He’s Colombian,” Trent cried, “Bogota.”
Niki’s heart sank. He wanted to ram the knife right into Trent’s heart. “Let me have him,” Niki growled, and Jason released his hold. Niki clenched his hand around Trent’s throat and backed him up against the wall and held him there. “If I don’t find her, you’re a dead man,” Niki said, glaring into his eyes. He let go and Trent fell to the ground, coughing and whimpering. “Let’s get out of here before I kill him,” Niki told Jason.
Jason stepped over Trent then turned around and kicked him in the ribs. “That’s for Stacy, you sick fuck!”
Niki and Jason left through the front door. “I need a drink,” Niki said.
They drove back downtown and left the car at the hotel, then walked to a bar and drank long necks until the bar shut down. They ended up back at the hotel just after 2:00 a.m., and Niki called Eli to fill him in.
“Martine Corazon,” Niki told him. “See what you can find on him. Jason and I are flying to Bogota later this morning,” he said.
“I’ll meet you in Bogota then,” Eli said.
“You don’t have to. This isn’t business anymore,” Niki said.
“You think I’m not going to help you just because there’s no money in it? What kind of asshole do you think I am?” Eli said angrily. “You’re my fucking brother.”
Niki didn’t say anything.
“Are you still there?” Eli asked.
“Yeah, I’m here,” said Niki. “I was just thinking.”
“I’m going back to sleep. I’ll see you at the airport,” Eli said irritably, and he hung up before Niki could talk to Carlos.
Chapter 24
The helicopter had taken off with Stacy screaming hysterically. The man who had pulled her into the helicopter had held her down while Stacy punched and kicked at him, and yelled obscenities.
“Shut her up!” the pilot yelled, and the man punched Stacy in the face and knocked her out.
When she woke up, her hands and feet were bound and she had a dirty rag in her mouth with electrical tape covering it. She didn’t know how much time had elapsed since they had left the island, be it minutes, hours, or days. The side of her face was throbbing and her head was spinning. Her mind was completely fuzzy and all she could think of was Muhammad Ali and that she hoped she didn’t have permanent brain damage.
The helicopter landed and the man who had slugged her transferred her onto a small airplane, and they took off again. They landed some time later on what she assumed was a private airstrip, because there were no other planes around. From there, Stacy was dumped in the back seat of a car and she was bounced around for several more hours on poorly maintained roads as the driver dodged potholes and wandering livestock. Finally, the driver pulled the car off the road at a dirty roadside motel in the middle of nowhere. The man carried Stacy to a filthy room and removed the rope that bound her hands and feet. He gave Stacy a wicked smile.
“This is going to hurt,” he said, in heavily accented English, and he ripped the tape off her mouth.
The dirty rag had protected her lips, but her cheeks stung like she had been slapped and she instantly thought of Niki and how she had slapped him in the kitchen. Stacy pulled the disgusting rag out of her mouth and tried to get up enough saliva to swallow. Her throat felt like sandpaper.
“I need some water,” she said in a raspy voice.
The man motioned to the sink and disappeared outside. Stacy turned on the water and a murky brown sludge came out. Gross. She turned the tap off and the man came back in with some sweatpants and a T-shirt and threw them at her. “Put these on,” he said, then he left again and closed the door behind him.
Stacy went into the tiny bathroom and wormed her way out of the wetsuit and put on the clothes the prick had thrown at her. She looked in the dirty little mirror that hung over the sink and her hand instinctively went up to her cheek. There was an ugly bruise that went from her temple down below her cheekbone and she had a wicked black eye.
She went back out to the room and sat down on the bed. The mattress didn’t give a bit and she pulled up the bedspread to see if it was indeed a mattress. What kind of company would make a piece of shit mattress like this? Stacy thought. Her mind wandered. How would I market and advertise this piece of shit? she asked herself, then she answered, I would take its most awful feature and trumpet it as an advantage: “The world’s firmest mattress, by Piece-of-Shit Mattress Company!” I could sell it, she thought.
The door opened and Stacy snapped back to reality. The prick was back with a can of Coke in his hand and he offered it to Stacy.
“Thank you,” she said, accepting it, but the can had already been opened and Stacy was afraid to drink it, thinking it may have been drugged. She handed it back to him, “You first,” she said.
He took it from her and turned it upside down and drank the whole thing, then turned around and went back outside.
“Prick,” Stacy said, under her breath. She laid down on the mattress of steel and tried to think clearly and about something relevant, but her mind kept wandering. I must have a concussion, she thought. That’s relevant. But then her mind went off on another tangent. How many concussions did Troy Aikman end up having? she wondered. She got up and shook her head, trying to clear her mind, then she went to the window and opened the blackout curtains just a fraction and peeked out. The prick was standing by the car talking on a cell phone and there was a second man standing outside her door with a sidearm. There were two other cars parked outside the motel, but she didn’t see any other people around. The prick was off the phone and he was headed to her room. Stacy ran to the bed and sat down just as he opened the door.
He stood in the doorway. “Make yourself comfortable. You’re here for the night.” He closed the door and Stacy heard the car start up. She ran to the window and cracked the curtains again. The prick was leaving, but the guard was still posted outside her door. Stacy was psyched. One on one, I can handle. But she had to work fast. There was no telling when the prick would be back.
Stacy went in the bathroom and closed the door. She took the grimy mirror off the wall and tapped the corner against the sink, breaking off a long and narrow triangular shard of glass. She wrapped a stained washrag around the bottom portion and practiced different grips until she found the one that felt best, then she went back out to the room. Stacy took a deep breath, and knocked on the outside door.
The guard opened the door and while he still had his hand on the doorknob, Stacy slashed deep into his wrist with the blade and blood gushed out everywhere. She shoved the door open and the stunned guard lost his balance and fell forward, but he grabbed Stacy by the hair as he went down and smashed her head against the cement floor. Stacy could feel her teeth rattle and she was fighting to stay conscious. She was scrambling backwards on the floor, but he grabbed onto her leg and p
ulled her back towards him. The guard was losing a massive amount of blood but he was undeterred. He got on top of Stacy and backhanded her hard in the face several times and his blood splattered everywhere. She was seeing little white dots floating around and the room was spinning. He pulled his hand back to hit her again but Stacy swung her hand up and brought the blade down deep in the guard’s neck. His eyes glazed over as he reached up to try to stop the bleeding. Stacy squirmed out from underneath him, the guard’s mind now on his own survival, and she crawled into the corner of the room and watched in horror as the man bled to death in front of her.
Stacy broke down in sobs and she leaned over and threw up what little contents were in her stomach. She got up and pulled the bedspread off the bed and tried to wipe herself off, then she went outside. The sunlight was blinding and she had to shield her eyes. Stacy ran to each car, but there were no keys in either of them, so she started banging on the doors of the motel. The curtains moved from inside one of the rooms but no one answered.
“Please, help me!” Stacy cried, banging on the door. “Please!” Stacy could hear people arguing from inside and finally a middle-aged man with a full beard and mustache opened the door a crack.
The man took one look at Stacy and gasped, horrified. He looked around outside and pulled Stacy into the room and closed and locked the door. A woman had gotten up out of bed and was putting on her clothes, and both she and the man were rattling off Spanish so fast that Stacy had no idea what they were saying.
Her legs were shaking so badly Stacy could barely stand so she leaned against the wall for support. She was crying hysterically but managed to ask, “Do you speak English?”
“Who did this to you, chica?” the man asked.
“I was kidnapped,” Stacy said, trying to stop crying. “Am I in Mexico?”
“No, Colombia,” he said.
“Colombia?” Stacy said under her breath. Her head was pounding all over and she felt like she was about to pass out. “I have to get away from here. A man is going to come back for me. Please help me.”
The man looked over at the other woman and Stacy could see that he didn’t want to get involved.
“I have lots of money, tengo mucho dinero. I’ll pay you,” she said, pleading with the man. Her legs gave out and Stacy fell to her knees and she reached out for the man with her bloody hands. “Please,” she said, sobbing. “Please, get me away from here.”
“You’re American?” the man asked.
She shook her head yes. “United States,” she said.
The man looked down at Stacy and put his hand on her head, then he looked over at his wide-eyed woman friend. “Vamanos,” he said.
He helped Stacy into his little car and the three of them sped away from the motel. Stacy curled up in the back seat and immediately passed out.
When the man woke her up she was in Bogota. Stacy’s head was pounding so hard she could barely sit up. She propped herself up on her elbow.
“La Embajada,” the man said, pointing to the building.
Stacy looked out the window and tried to focus. “The Embassy,” Stacy whispered, then she passed out again. The man pulled Stacy out of the car, and picked up her lifeless battered body and carried her toward the building.
“She’s American,” the man said, and the guard opened the gate.
Chapter 25
Niki had fallen asleep on top of the covers with his clothes on and four hours later, Jason was at his door.
“You awake?” Jason said, pounding on the door.
Niki dragged himself off the bed and opened the door. “What?” Niki said, squinting.
“Are you still asleep?” Jason asked, surprised. He walked into Niki’s room and opened the curtains and looked down at the Riverwalk. “This place is cool,” he said. “I’m coming back here for vacation.”
Niki yawned and lay back down.
“Get up. We’re going to breakfast at Mi Tierra,” Jason said.
Niki groaned. “Aren’t you tired?” he asked.
“No. I’m hungry. Get your ass up and go shower.”
Niki showered and they checked out of the hotel. “You drive,” Niki said, tossing Jason the keys.
Jason drove down Commerce Street to Market Square. There was a large produce market and a Mexican market with all kinds of Mexican curios. It was just like being in a border town, only with air conditioning and clean restrooms. There were people setting up food booths for some celebration in Market Square and Mariachis, dressed in black pants with silver studs all the way down the pant legs, were tuning their guitars.
Mi Tierra was already packed and Niki and Jason checked out the bakery while they waited to be seated. When they were finally led to a table, Jason polished off a Mexican breakfast plate while Niki picked at his food. When they finished, they headed for the airport. It was just past 4:00 when they landed at the airport in Bogota, Colombia. Eli and Carlos were already there.
“Thanks for coming,” Niki said, when he saw them. “What’d you find?” he asked Eli.
“A lot,” Eli said. “Corazon’s a known narcotrafficker in Bogota and in Medellìn and he’s a member of the National Liberation Army.” He hesitated, “He’s not a nice guy. He’s suspected of being involved in everything from kidnapping to hijacking. The guy from the island worked for him.” Eli was leading them to the airport exit. “We need help on this,” Eli told his brother. “I called in a favor from a local. He’s picking us up.”
“Who is it?” Niki asked.
“Ramos,” Eli said, knowing Niki might be pissed.
Niki stopped and looked at Eli. “The Revolutionary Forces guy?” Niki asked.
“Yeah,” Eli said.
Niki smiled. “Good work, little brother,” he said, clasping his arm around Eli’s shoulder. “They’ll make a terrorist out of you yet.”
Eli smiled because it was good to see his brother smile.
“Did you get anything on missing persons, anything that matched up with Stacy?” Niki asked.
“There were four other women kidnapped who pretty much fit Stacy’s description if you don’t count height and weight. They were all U.S. citizens, and all had red hair and green eyes. This was within the last seven years, and they were all taken between Medellìn and Bogota. Mind you, not all the reports I found had vital statistics on the victims, so it could be more.”
Niki swallowed hard. “Any of the four ever turn up?” he asked, not wanting to know the answer.
“No. I’m sorry, Niki,” Eli said.
“What are you sorry about?” Niki said irritably. “You didn’t do anything. You’re just the fucking messenger.” Niki turned to Carlos, “Have you had any luck?”
“Not for a while,” Carlos said. “I was getting images from her earlier.”
“Like what?” Niki asked.
“Like a small plane, a landing strip, a dirty motel room,” Carlos said. “That type of information. She didn’t know where she was, but she was transferring images of things around her.”
“That’s amazing,” Niki said. “Could she tell you were getting her messages?”
“I don’t even know if she knew she was sending them, to tell you the truth,” Carlos said.
“Do you have any idea where she is?” Niki asked.
“I know they followed a river from the landing strip to the motel, probably the Cauca or Magalena, but that’s not from Stacy – that’s strictly what I feel,” Carlos said. “From there, I’ve completely lost her.”
They got outside and Ramos waved them over. They piled into his car and Eli filled him in while they drove.
“We’re looking for an American woman who was kidnapped by a man named Martine Corazon,” Eli said. “He’s a known drug trafficker, and we think he’s trading the girl for cocaine. We don’t know that, but it’s our assumption.”
“Who is the woman?” Ramos asked.
“She’s a personal friend,” Eli said. “Her name is Stacy Trent. I’ve done some research and there’s
a pattern of kidnappings that involved American woman that fit her description. Four others have disappeared within the last seven years between here and Medellìn.”
“She blonde?” Ramos asked.
“Red hair and green eyes,” Eli said.
“Really? That should make it easier. Most of those perverts go for blondes.”
Ramos got on his phone and made three phone calls, relaying different parts of what Eli had told him to different people. He pulled into a restaurant and parked the car. “We’ll eat while my men work on your problem,” he said.
Two hours had elapsed by the time they finished their meal, but they lingered at the table for another hour until Ramos’ men started calling with information.
“Your friend has been taken by a very nasty man,” Ramos said. “May I ask how she came by such misfortune?”
“Her father hired him,” Niki said.
Ramos shook his head. “Apparently your Martine Corazon is well known but not well liked in these parts. Which is good for you,” he added, “because people will talk. He lives on a compound close to Medellìn. It will take three or four hours to get there, depending on the roads. We’ll leave first thing in the morning. Do you have accommodations?”
“No,” Eli said.
“We’ll get rooms in Bogota.”
Chapter 26
Stacy had been in and out of consciousness, and when she finally woke up, a nurse was standing at her side. Stacy looked around, confused.
“Where am I?” Stacy asked. She reached up and touched her face and it was swollen up like a balloon.
“You’re at Methodist Hospital, Stacy. Welcome home,” she smiled.
“I’m in San Antonio?” Stacy said, looking around the room in disbelief. “How did I get here?” she asked groggily.
“You made it to the U.S. Embassy in Bogota and you were flown here this morning. You don’t remember?” the nurse asked sweetly, propping Stacy’s pillow.
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