It was a good site for a camp. Close to water and surrounded by enough rainforest to provide good cover when the military did a flyby. Medina had been smart, hacking small areas out of the jungle to meet his specific needs, clearing the smaller trees and bushes while leaving the canopy intact. A small clearing for the infirmary. Another area for camo tents to house his troops. The kitchen was snugged up near the waterfall where the spray would dampen the rise of smoke and the cool water would help preserve their perishables. There was landing space for a helo or two, but that was it. Troops would have to rappel in from a chopper.
Mitch gestured for Seth to split off and stifled a laugh as the former Special Forces operative scaled a tall tree, M16 slung over his shoulder, and disappeared into the canopy. Mitch dug in beneath the forest floor, pressed his throat mic against his neck, and spoke softly. “You settled in, Monkey Man?”
“Where y’at, sweet thing?”
“If you can’t see me, I’m not telling. Any movement in the camp?”
Seth snorted into the mic. “Siesta time, son. No joy.”
“Best get some rest while we can.”
“No siesta for ground dwellers. This here’s fer-de-lance territory. One of those bastards crawls up your pants’ leg, your dick’ll turn black and fall off.”
Mitch grimaced at the thought. “Nice imagery, Boudreaux. My dick and I both thank you.”
* * * * *
Angelique and Taffe completed the medication inventory in the infirmary tent. Angelique gave Taffe instructions as to how to set up for a general med check and went to do rounds. Most of the injuries and illnesses were typical to the climate—tropical immersion foot disease, infected cuts, dengue fever, and several cases of malaria.
“There seem to be plenty of antibiotics,” Angelique told the medic. “The worse cases of immersion foot need to be started on IV antibiotics immediately. I assume you know how to start an IV?”
“Sí, señora. I am very grateful you have come to tend the soldiers, but there is a young boy you should see immediately.”
Angelique followed to where a young boy of ten or eleven years lay on his bed. She smelled rot before the medic pulled back the sheet. It was all she could do not to gag. The young boy’s leg was black and moldy looking, with dead tissue from his foot to above his knee. Large chunks of skin had fallen off. The child was in serious danger of losing his life to a deadly snakebite.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” She looked at the medic. “Fer-de-lance?”
“Sí, Doctor. The venom is very fast acting.”
“How long has he been like this?”
“Two weeks. His brother carried him here from the village. He was given the antivenom, and it has stopped the progression of tissue death. I have done what I can, but I am no surgeon. As you can see, the skin is falling off.”
“Yes, tissue necrosis from the hemotoxins in the venom. He’s already lost most of his calf, and the necrosis is advancing beyond the knee. That leg is going to have to come off or he’ll die. We can continue with IV antibiotics, but the longer that leg stays on, the quicker he’s going to die. Frankly I’m amazed he’s still alive.”
“You can remove the leg?”
“I-I’m not a surgeon. I mean, I did the usual surgical rotation but…” Angelique closed her eyes. “Yes, of course, I can remove the leg. Are you set up for surgery here?”
The medic uttered a deep sigh. “Not like a hospital, but I do my best to keep it clean. I have an old autoclave for sterilizing instruments. I can have the surgical room ready to go in thirty minutes.”
“You’ll have to assist me.”
“Sí, señora.”
“I’m going to go write out some instructions for Taffe so she can start dispensing antibiotics to the less serious cases, and then I’ll start as many IVs as I can before we begin.”
The half hour passed in a blur as Angelique treated as many patients as possible, her mind constantly on the poor child waiting to have his leg amputated. She shuddered when the medic called her.
The operating room was nothing more than a metal gurney covered with a white sheet. Ether was the only anesthetic available, and before starting, she hollered at Taffe to make sure no one lit a cigarette while they were in surgery. Ether was highly volatile, and they could all be blown to kingdom come.
Angelique murmured words of comfort to the young boy as the medic put him under. An IV drip of a broad-spectrum antibiotic, along with the necessary fluids, was already running. She scrubbed up, donned gloves, and got to work. The medic turned out to be a good assistant, knowledgeable and experienced, clamping off bleeders, anticipating her instrument needs, and keeping the child under during the operation.
Angelique’s feet hurt, and she was exhausted. She peeled off her gloves and cotton surgical smock, disposing of them in their respective containers.
“You should go to medical school,” she told the medic. “You have a gift for surgery. Don’t waste your life in this jungle.”
“I stay because they need help.”
“And you could help so much more if you became a doctor.” She held up her hand when he protested. “Look, just think about it. I’ve got a few months service left with Helping Hands, and then I’m going back to New Orleans. If you decide you want to go to school, contact me; I’d be happy to sponsor you. You can serve your people much better if you utilize your natural talents, my friend.”
He didn’t look her in the eyes, merely mumbled a hurried thanks and went about his business.
Taffe met her outside the surgery and walked with her back to their tent, enthusiastically reporting on everything she’d done while Angelique had been operating on the boy. Then she smiled and urged Angelique to pick up her pace.
“I have a surprise for you, Doc.” She rushed to the door and opened it, the broad smile beaming.
“Oh my God, a tub! However did you manage?” It was a small tub, but it was still a tub, and Angelique nearly swooned with pleasure.
“When the general came to the infirmary to check on you, I told him how tired you would be after the surgery and asked if there was any place you could bathe in private. He had this tub delivered, and the men have been hauling and heating water for you.”
The woman’s expression was so hopeful that Angelique gave in immediately. “Thank you so much, Taffe.” Angelique didn’t think twice. She undressed and sank into the water with a grateful sigh. “Oh, this is just heavenly.”
The two women chatted amiably as Angelique bathed. Taffe gently scrubbed her back, then washed her hair, and when her bath was done, Angelique insisted on returning the favor, since there was enough water left over to fill the tub and allow Taffe to wash her hair. When they were done, the men hauled the tub away. Angelique stretched out on her cot and immediately fell asleep.
The racket of a helicopter woke her. Angelique sat up, yawning and rubbing sleep from her eyes. “What the hell?”
Taffe was already up and peeking through a crack in the door. “A visitor. He must be someone important to be brought here by helicopter.” Then she gasped.
“What? Who is it?” Angelique slid her feet into a pair of flip-flops and joined Taffe at the door.
“It’s Juan Mendoza himself.”
“Of the Mendoza cartel?”
“Yes. I’ve seen his picture many times in the newspaper.” Her disgust for the man was evident in her curled upper lip and tone of voice. “He’s a killer. He wants the rebels to assassinate President Uriba. One day he will probably get his wish.”
“So it’s true; FARC is in bed with the cartels.”
“Always have been. The rebels have their own coca fields; they force the villagers to grow and process that poison. They pay them very little and use the profits to buy weapons. These are very dangerous men, Angelique. We have to find a way to escape from them.” Taffe gasped and closed the door. “García is coming!”
There was a sharp knock on the door, and Angelique called, “Come in.” She and Taff
e were sitting on their bunks, brushing their hair.
“The general says you are to join him for dinner in fifteen minutes. We have a very important guest, so watch your mouths or you will be filling them with more than food, eh?”
Angelique curled her lip and gave him a scathing look. “Get out.”
* * * *
The general’s large tent spoke to the kind of indulgent opulence that was the complete antithesis of Marxist-Leninist beliefs. Of course, that was always the way of things. Petty dictators seized power and took the very best for themselves. It must have cost a fortune to have all this stuff flown in. Medina was no different from any of the others who had come before him.
Unlike the men in this camp, Medina’s quarters had wooden floors covered with thick carpets. A large, U-shaped bench, wide enough to sleep on, took up the entire eastern end of the tent. Twin mattresses served as seat cushions and were covered in bright fabrics. Thick down pillows were scattered across the wooden backing, assuring that loungers were comfortable. In the center a large table was set with white linen tablecloths and napkins, expensive china and cutlery, and sparkling crystal goblets glinted in the light of several candlelit chandeliers mounted to the beams. Comfortable chairs surrounded the table to allow the guests to linger over their meals and while away the hours. It reminded her of the type of opulent comfort a member of royalty would demand back during the days of colonization. Except this resembled a harem more than a general’s quarters.
At the far end of the tent, an ornately carved screen shielded the sleeping area, while a heavy mahogany desk and several chairs graced the side opposite the bed. Angelique struggled to keep her contempt from showing. There was so much poverty in Colombia, and yet one of the proponents of rebellion in the people’s name lived like a king. It was disgusting.
“Alejandro.” Angelique greeted the rebel general with a polite smile. “I feel very much underdressed in these surroundings.” And she was, wearing only a pair of navy blue cargo pants, a smocked peasant shirt with spaghetti straps, and flip-flops. She and Taffe were dressed similarly, and both had braided their hair in an attempt to look as schoolmarmish as possible.
“You look lovely, both of you.” He turned his smile on Taffe to include her in the compliment, then gestured to a short, heavyset man lounging on the bench seats. “Please allow me to introduce Don Juan Menoza. He is one of our most staunch supporters. When I told him you were my guest, he insisted on flying in to meet the Angel of Manos de Ayuda.”
“Don Mendoza.” Angelique nodded politely. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” She gestured to Taffe. “This is my friend and assistant, Taffe. She has been helping me in the infirmary.”
The older man gave them both a predatory smile and rose from his seat. Angelique nearly gagged at the strong smell of some designer cologne combined with whatever grease he wore to slick back his hair.
“On behalf of myself and the revolution, I thank you for tending to our sick and injured. I understand you did some surgery this afternoon.” He took Angelique’s elbow and guided her to the seating area. “Tell me how it went. Will the boy survive?”
Angelique offered a tired smile. “He should, if we can keep infection from setting in.” She looked over at the general. “It is my hope that the general will allow me to take the boy back to the refugee camp when I leave. I would like to make a mold of his stump and send it back to the States to a friend of mine who specializes in prosthetic limbs. I think in this rugged country, the boy will need to have two good legs.”
Medina gave her a surprised look. “Why would you do this? I am aware of your feelings for FARC, Doctor. You have been very forceful in your opinions whenever my men have entered your camp. Not to mention the fact that he cannot pay.”
Angelique raised an eyebrow. “Your soldiers cannot pay either, and yet I treat them when they come to the hospital for help. I am not here for political reasons, Alejandro. I took an oath to help those in need, regardless of whether their actions violate my own personal code of ethics. And when I leave Ecuador, I will go to some other country where my skills will make a difference between life and death.
“That child is a little boy whose life has been unalterably changed, through no fault of his own. Why wouldn’t I do it? If need be, I’d have him flown to the States to be fitted for a new leg. Does he deserve any less because he cannot pay? Or because he lives on the wrong side of the border?”
Mendoza cleared his throat. “Since you feel so strongly the need to help this boy, I will personally take him to the hospital in Bogotá and see to it he gets the best leg money can buy. This will make you happy, chica?”
Oh Jesus, the fat little fucker is putting the moves on me! She had to be careful with her response. She decided to play clueless and gave him a confused look. “It’s not a matter of my happiness, Don Mendoza. It is my responsibility as a doctor to provide the boy with whatever help it is in my power to obtain. I’m very lucky to have the contacts in the States to do this. But if you wish to see that the boy gets the care he deserves, he would undoubtedly feel more comfortable among his own people. It’s just…he put his trust in me, and he is in my heart now.”
Mendoza patted her hand. “You are most compassionate, Doctor. As caring as you are lovely.”
Angelique wanted to gag with disgust but restrained her revulsion. Mendoza was a dangerous man, and she couldn’t afford to anger him. She looked over at Medina and gave him a winning smile.
“So, Alejandro,” Angelique continued, “the men in the infirmary are being treated. Some of them have severe cases of tropical immersion foot, so it’s critical that their commanders stay on top of them. They need the appropriate footwear and need to wear flip-flops whenever they’re off duty, so the air can get to their feet. If you’d like, I can write out the instructions for your medic.” She gently extracted her hand from Mendoza’s and rose. “One of the soldiers’ greatest enemies is wet feet.”
“That will be good, Angelique.” There was a knock on the door, and several servers entered. “Ah, dinner is served.” He gestured to the table. “Ladies, please be seated.”
Chapter Twelve
Mitch pressed his mic against his throat. “What’s going on in there, Monkey Man? I don’t like the idea of Angel being in there with those two thugs.”
“Nothing much. Looks like they’re just serving dinner.” Seth paused for a moment. “Uh-oh. Looks like something’s going down. Goddamn it. I bet that girl’s mouth got the better of her again. Get ready, son.”
Mitch’s stomach clenched as Seth, in the space of a heartbeat, went from teasing Cajun good old boy to dangerous Special Forces operative. Mitch carefully disinterred himself from beneath the damp, moldy leaf bed and crawled silently toward the outer perimeter of the rebel camp. There was a shout, some rapid Spanish, then the breaking of dinnerware. Fury nearly blinded him when the tent door opened and Angelique flew through the air, hitting the ground hard. His first instinct was to hurl himself across the perimeter, guns blazing. Angelique, for all her bravado, was no match for a man like Medina. She didn’t possess that killer instinct. Add to that her need to protect, and she would fight for her weeping companion, whom Mendoza dragged outside behind them, in the only way she knew how—by trying to reason with the man. And Mitch knew damned well you couldn’t reason with a maniac. He was going to kill the bastard, take him apart piece by piece for even thinking about harming a hair on Angelique’s head. Jesus, if anything happened to her—
“Filthy puta!” Medina screamed at Angelique. “Do you know who I am?”
Angelique scrambled to her feet, backing away from the infuriated rebel general.
“I know you’re a fucking thug with the morals of a goat, and I wouldn’t let you touch me if my life depended on it!”
Medina backhanded her. The loud slap echoed through the jungle. She stumbled and spit blood as she swayed on her feet, struggling to stay upright.
“You can hit me all you want, General, but that doesn
’t change the fact that you take from those who can least afford it and live like a prince in your petty little kingdom.”
Medina hit her again, opening a cut above her eye. The force of the blow spun her around, and she fell. She rolled onto her belly and got to her hands and knees, finally gaining her feet, her breath labored.
“Motherfucker.” Mitch pressed the mic against his throat. “I’m going in to get the women. Cover me, Monkey Man. That bastard raises his hand to her again, you take him out.”
“I guarantee.”
Mitch pulled out two GLOCK 36 pistols and checked the loads, chambering a round in each. He only had six rounds per pistol. His heart skipped a beat when the general chambered a round in his service pistol.
Medina grabbed Angelique by the throat and backed her into a whipping post in the center of the compound.
“I’ll gladly give up the ransom to see you on your knees begging for your life,” Medina shouted.
“Dream on, asshole,” Angelique spat.
Mitch cringed at her words and stepped into the early evening gloom. “You’re going to want to take your hands off my woman, General.” His voice was calm, casual even, which came as a surprise to him, considering the general had a weapon pointed at Angelique’s head.
Medina squinted in the waning light. “I have heard that voice before. Step into the light so I can see you.”
Mitch stepped forward, legs slightly apart, pistols gripped in his hands. “Can you see me now, General?”
Medina stiffened. “You’re one of the mercenaries.”
Mitch smiled and shook his head. “Correct, but that doesn’t mean I won’t blow your fucking head off, General. You made my woman bleed. I’ve killed better men than you for less than that.”
Mendoza stepped forward and glared at him. “I was going to tell Alejandro about you tonight, Major Acosta.” His gaze swiveled to Medina. “He and his friend are Special Forces. They’ve been sent here to find your prized hostage.” He laughed and looked over at Acosta. “Your cousins Arturo and Graciella send their regards. Of course, Arturo had an unfortunate accident, but Graciella…lovely Graciella is tied to a bed in one of the camps, servicing the revolution in the way a woman does best.”
Beyond Redemption Page 11
