by Glen Carter
“That’s because the coca growers have a better bloody union.”
The three of them chuckled and for a brief moment the tension retreated.
Jack stole a glance at Mercedes, dazed and quiet as she stared out the window. Dark lines seemed scorched on her forehead and her eyes appeared ready at any moment to burst. In the hours since he’d known her, Mercedes Mendoza had become a different person. How could she not, Jack thought, after what had happened? Jack was also certain she had wounded Montello in a way she had yet to reveal to them. The bodies at Trinity Orphanage were grim confirmation of that, each corpse a notch on Montello’s scorecard.
Jack checked the rear-view mirror and saw Seth’s head bobbing against his chest. The man could sleep anywhere under any circumstances. He cleared his throat and quietly began to speak, “Everything changes if you’re involved at all with Montello’s drug business.”
Mercedes snapped around, fire in her eyes. “Excuse?”
Jack returned her glare. “If you’re part of what you’re running away from, I can’t help you. You’ll be treated like any of the others – extraditable – indictable and punishable. The DEA might cut you some kind of slack, but I doubt you’ll avoid prison. I won’t help you if you’re one of them.”
For a moment Mercedes remained quiet. A storm gathering energy.
“Do you understand what I’ve just said?”
“I understand that you have misjudged me,” Mercedes replied.
“Do you blame me?”
“How can I not? You accuse me of being a monster. Like him.”
Jack held up a finger. “Not a monster. I didn’t say that. What I’m saying is there’s a possibility that you are in some way tied to Montello’s drug empire. I don’t know. It’s possible you stiffed him or something on some huge drug deal. You’re on the run. He’s killing everyone in your path, past and present. That doesn’t sound to me like he’s just pissed at you for bruising his ego.”
“You cannot understand.”
“You’re right. I don’t understand. But you can help me by telling me the truth. Why is this guy so goddamn determined to destroy you?”
There was a pause. Mercedes opened her mouth as if to say something. Then she abruptly turned to the window.
Damn, Jack thought. Anything would help right now. Even the smallest piece of information could be a life saver if they ran into Montello’s men. Knowing the depth of her betrayal could help them anticipate the measure and extent of his response. What if FARC soldiers were now searching for them with their much larger weapons and resources? Jack searched passing shadows at the side of the road, where snipers might be lodged, waiting for their quarry. He wondered what they would find when they arrived at Maradona. Another slaughter? Jack shuddered at the thought, concentrated instead on his driving. The road narrowed, heaping claustrophobia upon his growing apprehension. This mirror image in the seat next to him could have been Kaitlin. His cameraman was now coming awake in the back seat. The crew was together again, Jack thought. Reporter, producer and shooter on another assignment. He shifted gears to gain speed around another uncertain twist in the road, higher into the mountains where night had already taken hold, rooting in Jack the uneasy feeling that this was a story no one would survive to tell.
SEVENTY
Eva wasn’t hungry. Neither was Kaitlin. Appetites seemed an intrusion under the circumstances. A layer of cooler air had dropped from the cloudless sky, prompting Eva to ask for a warmer sweater. Kaitlin wore an old pair of her mother’s blue jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt that Eva said Alejandro sometimes wore when he took her to the fancy doctor in Barranquilla. As far as Eva was concerned the time for doctors was over. “You would never have found me,” she said. “Except for a debt which was owed Alejandro.
Kaitlin listened closely, thinking back to the time when she’d first awakened, Alejandro watching her as she walked into the room. His first words. It seemed so long ago now.
Eva smiled warmly. “The doctor says you’ll eventually remember.”
“Let’s hope he’s right,” Kaitlin sighed. “In the meantime…”
“You’re confused.”
“Very confused.”
Eva nodded. “On the day you arrived in Colombia–”
“I was trying to find you.”
“Yes.” Eva smiled. “But it was not the only reason you came.”
Kaitlin’s brow furrowed. One step at a time, she thought. Slow down. “Sorry. Please go on.”
“On the day you arrived you visited the Regional Records Office,” Eva continued. “The bureaucrat in charge is a man named Sousa. Alejandro and Sousa go back a long way – to the army. He’s a bureaucrat now, but he owes Alejandro his life and doesn’t forget. Many years ago Alejandro went to him and asked for a favour which he could not refuse. If anyone came looking for me or the two Mendoza girls, Alejandro would be told. Of course Sousa told you nothing at the time. In fact, the file he keeps locked in his desk.”
An image flashed in Kaitlin’s mind. A cavernous room. The musty smell of old paper. A long counter and a man with a chubby, round face. The recollection slowly dissolved, making Kaitlin want to snatch it before it vanished into thin air.
“Sousa asked for your name and your hotel, and then he got word to Alejandro that someone was looking for me. Alejandro called you later that day with instructions. You were having dinner that night so he asked you to meet him outside the restaurant at precisely nine o’clock.”
“Why the precautions?”
Eva thought about it for a moment. “Serpez and his cadre are long gone, but there are others who nurture the old superstitions. The old resentment. Your grandfather’s name has never been forgotten, nor what happened. Alejandro does tend to be overly dramatic at times, but then again, the U’wa still consider twins as evil. Not too long ago the parents of twin boys gave their babies to a clinic not far from here rather than see them abandoned in the rainforest or thrown into the river. The parents were cast from the tribe.”
Kaitlin was mortified. “That’s unbelievable,” she said. “Why isn’t the practice stopped?”
“The tribe uses the courts to defend its rights,” Eva replied. “They fought for the return of the boys, perhaps to carry out their death sentence. Thankfully it was a case they lost.”
Kaitlin folded her arms tightly, as if warding off a sudden chill. She and her sister had been sentenced to die, and would have, were it not for the blood which was spilled in this house so long ago. In a flash of anger she cursed inwardly.
Eva told her next about the suicide bombing, easing into the worst part of the story. “Many people were killed, including the justice minister and his family. They believe he was the target. You were there that night.”
Kaitlin gasped.
“But you were spared.” Eva exhaled. Reaching over to wipe a strand of hair from Kaitlin’s shocked face, she added, “When you walked out to meet Alejandro, it saved your life.”
She had been thrown into a cement stairwell in the alleyway next to Café Umbria. “A miracle,” Eva said as if it were delivered by the hand of God.
These facts simply didn’t exist in Kaitlin’s mind. Nor did she have any recollection of the old man who hobbled through smoke and fire and debris to reach the stairwell, her tiny fortuitous bomb shelter. His rough little curses, as he hoisted her with sinewy arms on bony shoulders and carried her to a rusted pickup truck parked two blocks east of the demolished restaurant.
“When Alejandro brought you here you were unconscious. The doctor came and cleaned your wounds and changed you into one of my old dresses. He told us you’d be fine, and thankfully you were. Except for your memory.” Eva paused a moment. “Wait here,” she said.
She went into the house and came back a few minutes later. She placed a folded garment on Kaitlin’s lap.
Kaitlin stared at it blankly. “What…”
“Open it,” Eva said.
Kaitlin unfolded the garment. It was a cream-co
loured dress, stained and torn. Kaitlin savoured the feel of the expensive material. “It’s beautiful. Too bad it’s destroyed,” she said, frowning at the tattered state of what had clearly been an expensive item of clothing. Kaitlin hadn’t seen it before, even though she had helped Eva dress on several occasions. It must have been something Eva had squirreled away – ruined, but still holding sentimental value. “You must be sick about it,” Kaitlin said.
“Such a dress you have no need for around here,” Eva replied. “This was the dress you were wearing when Alejandro brought you.”
Kaitlin studied it quizzically, rubbing her fingers across a shapeless brown stain. She traced a long gash that ran from its hem, and then for a reason she could not explain, she brought the garment to her face and breathed deeply. Traces of perfume swept into her nostrils, faint with the hint of seduction. Suddenly, a thousand switches fired in her brain, creating a cacophony of snaps and crackling like dormant embers latching onto oxygen. Oh, God. She squeezed shut her eyes. Suddenly, pulsing lights pierced the ebony, tantalizing in their promise, each one a lost moment encapsulated. They began to burst, one by one, and then an entire constellation against a bleeding black universe. The dress. It had been so expensive, she remembered. But she had purchased it anyway. God. Yes. There was a reason she had wanted the dress. Other memories were painfully just beyond her reach. Kaitlin ached, as though blood were returning to deadened nerves. A moan escaped her lips and she sank into her chair. She breathed deeply again as if to energize the fusion process which was taking place inside her brain. Then, instantly, everything went black. Damn! Kaitlin sighed. She was about to open her eyes, until…something else began to appear. Slowly. Flesh and bone morphed on a shapeless frame. Shadows moved like tides around the contours of a forming face, obscure at first as if pressed behind a sheet of melting ice. Kaitlin’s heart pounded with excitement and then in the warmth of revelation and relief, she smiled to herself. She whispered a name and before her breath faded she braced herself against the rush of her past. Everything swept in. It was all there now.
Then came the gunshot.
SEVENTY-ONE
Mercedes jabbed excitedly when she spotted the turn off to the left about fifty yards ahead. Jack saw it too, slowed the car, and quickly consulted his mental compass.
A guy in the village, manning a tin shack where you could buy cold cerveza, had pointed towards the summit of a distant hill where it was barely possible to see the roof of a house behind some trees at the edge of a broad plateau. Jack decided it made sense that this was the way in. A moment later he braked abreast of a narrow pathway that stretched far away into the darkness, revealing no signs of human activity except for the deep ruts made by off-road vehicles with a lot more road clearance than they had. He felt dread at the sight of it. “We’ll walk in,” he said.
Mercedes and Seth stared anxiously at the coal black of night which engulfed the car like a malevolent entity.
Seth turned. “You sure, Jack?”
“We’ve got no choice. Besides we’ll be harder to spot on foot,” Jack replied, trying to sound as confident as he could.
Seth wasn’t convinced. “If you say so, mate. But if they have night-vision equipment we’ll look like glow sticks.”
Jack pulled into a small clearing at the side of the road and killed the lights. Seth was absolutely correct, but it was a chance they’d have to take. Besides, the car offered little or no protection, and because of the terrain, less in the way of hasty retreat.
No one said anything. Then Seth chambered a round so excruciatingly loud that it made them jump. “Sorry,” he whispered.
Jack pulled out his revolver and turned to Mercedes. “You stay here.”
She shook her head vigorously and reached for the door handle. “I don’t stay here. I’m going with you.”
Jack knew argument was a waste of time, so reluctantly, he nodded.
The three of them got out and moved quickly to trees at the side of the road. When they reached the opening, Jack halted them. He peered through the darkness, feeling dread from the sight of it. He wondered nervously who and what would be waiting for them.
The flap of wings startled them; the silhouette of some night hunter appeared above their heads and climbed away until it disappeared to another perch a few tense seconds later.
Jack moved forward, crouching low while he led them into a hardened mud rut. He looked back at Mercedes’ expectant face.
“What’s the plan?” said Seth behind her.
“Quiet,” Jack whispered, not really knowing what the plan actually was. He supposed they would reach the house, hunker down while they scoped the threats, and then assess the situation. Beyond that there was not much else Jack could have told them. Truth was, most of what he was doing at that moment was improvisation, except the praying. Jack searched his intuition but felt nothing. He decided that was a good thing, since his intuitions were normally of the dark variety. Twenty more steps along the path he abruptly stopped. A sound. No, the echo of a sound farther ahead in the darkness. Jack froze. Shit. What if they were waiting? Then they’d be walking into an ambush. Something jabbed into his back. He jumped and spun around.
Mercedes mouthed an apology and stabbed the air as a small furry creature scurried across their path.
Jack clenched his teeth on a curse and toed forward, heart still pounding.
Five minutes later the road veered left and opened into a large clearing. The three of them melted into the shadows, which were thickest at its margins. After a few seconds, Jack pulled up short. In the distance there were two buildings, one decrepit and collapsing that might have been a barn or large storage shed. The main house was in better shape, a small one-storey clapboard structure with a long sloping roof that extended to a wide porch facing in the distance a dark wall of scrub, trees and giant broad-leafed bushes.
As he scanned the edge of the clearing, Jack imagined glassy eyes, hard and cold, sighting them from a deadly sniper position. At any second a bullet could rip into his body. Maybe a head shot, he thought gruesomely, or a round that would vaporize his heart. He shook loose the feeling, wiped the sweat from his face and chastised his overactive imagination. Jack inched them forward, carefully searching for signs of danger. There were none, at least none that could be seen. Jack took only a small measure of relief in that. Still, he managed a calm breath which was repeated twice behind him.
Then Mercedes whispered at his back.
Lights were on inside the house. Someone was home.
Seventy-five yards from where Jack, Mercedes and Seth were crouched a radio crackled lightly. None of them would have heard it. Suarez keyed his transmit button and quietly ordered silence, cursing the idiot who was about to tell them what he already knew. Visitors had arrived.
He saw them immediately – two men and a woman. The woman. Suarez studied her through the scope and decided he was hallucinating. He shook his head, bringing on a dull throb that threatened a full-blown headache. He wanted to smoke another rock, but there was no time. He’d have his hands full in a moment and he couldn’t count on the morons who were similarly entrenched around the house, including the idiot who had just broken radio silence. Suarez touched the spent casing next to his rifle, still warm. One shot, one kill. He could have taken the others just as easily but had decided against it. The shot had produced an enjoyable moment:the look of terror on the woman’s face when she realized death had reached out to them. The terror was followed immediately by her panicked screaming, and then the little man had burst from the house, shocked and confused, before collapsing to his knees when he saw her, her head lolling lifelessly at her chest. Blood on his hands now as he ripped at clothing to find her wound, he had shouted her name, no cried it, a piercing pathetic wail that reached Suarez, making him tingle with exhilaration. The little man spun around, fear and rage as he searched for the source of her death, darting eyes which would never spot the sniper. He’d gotten smart then, hoisting the corpse from the c
hair, though he should have left her, and then retreating with the help of the other Mendoza woman inside the house.
Now, these new arrivals. He didn’t recognize the two men, the woman he did. He could take the men easily and then spend his time with her, produce an even more enjoyable moment, longer than a moment, of course.
Suarez sighted the taller man through his night vision scope, a figure in ghostly green moving towards the house. An easy head shot. Slowly he began to pull the trigger.
Suarez suddenly jerked. A spear of pain penetrated his skull. There was a flash of blinding light and he could pull no more.
SEVENTY-TWO
Jack saw movement through a dimly lit window and his heart raced. He pulled Mercedes to the side of the house, followed by Seth who dropped his shotgun and then bent quickly to retrieve it.
Jack shot him a disapproving look, then said to Mercedes, “I saw a rear door. Go and wait there for our signal.”
She appeared to be thinking about her options.
Jack moved his face close to hers. “If there’s trouble you can go for help.”
She thought for another second and then disappeared at the back of the house.
Jack and Seth moved silently to the front of the porch and mounted the steps. Jack spotted a trail of blood and stopped dead in his tracks. Shit. Immediately the sight crushed his prayers for a bloodless night. He motioned for Seth to stay back as he crept to the front door, leveling his revolver, flaunting a bravado he didn’t possess. Like drawing down at high noon, he thought. Jack waited a moment and then did something that seemed ridiculous to him. He lowered his gun. He knocked.
Seth looked at him incredulously, whispering harshly, “You’re knocking?”
