Captive Dove

by Leon, Judith

  Before she could rise, one dog sunk his teeth into her pant leg and started shaking. She kicked at the beast with her other foot, wishing she was wearing her heavy hiking boots rather than the flimsy climbing ones.

  One thug grabbed the dog’s collar and pulled the Doberman off her. It continued to snarl. She rolled onto her back. The man glared down at her, his enormous mustache drooping like great black cigars down each side of his mouth. The other ranch hand had caught onto the collar of the other dog to hold it back as it barked.

  If it weren’t for all the screaming and yelling in the fighting pit, the dogs’ clamor would have been drawing a crowd. The gaucho grabbed her by one arm and hauled her up. She thought about attacking him. One she could take. Even two. But the odds were against her with three, two of them with guns. The guy with the drooping mustache asked in Portuguese who she was. When she didn’t reply he switched to Spanish. “Quien esta?”

  She shook her head.

  Mustache and Gaucho exchanged heated words in Portuguese, the gist of which seemed to be that they weren’t sure whether to treat her like a woman or like a threat. Squeezing her arm, Gaucho shoved her toward the end of the shed nearest the fighting pit. The two ranch hands kept their grips on the dogs. They didn’t put away their guns.

  When they marched her into what appeared to be a shabby office—five chairs, desk, three filing cabinets—she wasn’t surprised to see Felipe Martinez. He hadn’t made himself comfortable behind the big desk, though. The desk and the huge swivel chair behind it were probably reserved for Escurra.

  Martinez sat in a big leather armchair with his cell phone pressed to his ear. Seeing her, he said in Spanish, “I’ll call you back” and snapped the device shut.

  All four men now studied her intently and silently. She had to be quite a sight. The tight camouflage outfit, her hair braided up in back, the nice touch of pearl studs in her ears, and the dark brown woven bag across her chest.

  “Go get the Eagle,” Felipe said to Gaucho, who immediately left.

  Felipe gestured toward the bag. Mustache helped himself to it. He dug a big, dirty hand inside and came up with her silk outfit, her cell phone, the wedge heels and her makeup kit. The men watched as he placed all the items, including the flashlight and tissues, on the desk.

  She mustered long-practiced control to keep her breathing steady and her look innocent, but the hardest thing was to keep her gaze off the handbag. Would he find the Glock? Could he feel that the weight was too heavy for a woven bag holding only some makeup, clothes and a flashlight? Maybe not. How often would this rough man have a woman’s purse in his hands?

  Giving her a squint-eyed look, Felipe asked, in Spanish, “What are you doing here?”

  She smiled and shook off the hold the Gaucho still had on her. “No Español.”

  “Search her,” Felipe said.

  Things would now get unpleasant. She noted that Mustache, apparently delighted by the prospect of searching her, stepped toward her, then discovering he still held her purse, he laid it on a chair beside her.

  The camouflage outfit was skintight, not loose, so a search didn’t take much time. But Mustache seemed to savor every minute of running his hands over her shoulders, down her sides, between and under her breasts, especially slowly between her legs and finally down to her ankles. The only way they would find the GPS inserted in the hollow of her navel would be to have her undress.

  Before their brains could fix on that idea, Escurra burst into the office. Every last one of the men, including Felipe, gave him immediate and full attention, doubtless moved by respect, fear or maybe both. Nova used a foot to scoot her purse out of the chair onto the brown dirt floor.

  “She’s not armed,” Felipe said.

  Escurra caught sight of the stuff on his desk. He walked to it, and while the men followed his movement, she kicked her purse with her heel toward the dim corner of the office as hard as she could without moving the rest of her body or looking to see if she’d been successful in hiding it. Out of sight, hopefully out of mind, she prayed.

  Escurra snapped her cell phone open, turned it on, and discovering that everything was in English, turned to her and said in English, “Didn’t I see you at my house dressed in this pretty little thing?” He held up her spaghetti-strap top.

  She stuck with silence.

  The man could frighten with just his appearance, to say nothing of his powerful reputation. Big shoulders, deeply set dark eyes and a hook nose. He’d been given his nickname, the Eagle, because the largest eagle in the world, the harpy eagle, made its home in Brazil. Escurra sure had the penetrating, dead-level gaze of the eyes of an eagle. Or perhaps, more relevantly, of a sociopath. In her career with the Company she had interacted closely with three such men, and she had read somewhere that virtually all sociopaths, whether they were charismatic ones beloved by many people or notoriously evil, shared the same trait—dead eyes. Their lips smiled, but their eyes never did.

  Escurra strode to her. He towered over her. He used thumb and forefinger to feel the quality of the camouflage material.

  “Are you American?”

  When she didn’t answer, Felipe said in English, “They caught her out back.”

  Escurra pushed her into the chair. He started to pace from her to his desk. “She came here with Bebe Garcia.” He turned to Felipe. “Go to the Casa Grande and get Bebe. Be discreet. But bring him here. Right now.”

  Felipe stood. Escurra turned to Mustache and commanded in Spanish that he stop the cockfight. From the door, Martinez said, “Are you sure that’s wise? Don’t we need all the cover we can get? The more people here the better.”

  Escurra nodded. “You’re right. We let the fights continue. But we have a serious problem. Someone with access to some fancy camouflage material is on to us.”

  Chapter 39

  To his man who had until now remained silent and done nothing, Escurra said in Portuguese, “Move the American boy to the cave immediately. And make sure you double the guards. Tell them to maintain strict radio and audio caution.”

  Nova fought down panic and disappointment. She had found Alex only to be caught, and now Escurra was moving Alex to some damn cave. Of course, the Company had doubtless tasked an eye-in-the-sky satellite to watch every move on this ranch. It would most likely pick up and follow any transfer. But if they disguised Alex, the analysts would have no way to know what was happening, and there were probably close to a hundred vehicles coming to and going from the ranch tonight. Bad luck.

  Now in the room with her were only Escurra, Mustache and Gaucho. She calculated the odds of being able to escape from three men, at least two and possibly three of them armed, and quickly chucked the idea.

  Bebe would surely be long gone back to the hotel, so what would happen when Felipe returned without him?

  Escurra started pacing again. He was rightly alarmed. A big noose was slipping over his head and his animal instincts knew it. He pulled out his own cell phone, stopped and studied it. She guessed he was trying to decide whether he could risk a call out or not.

  Apparently deciding he must take the risk, he punched in a code. She listened as he talked in Portuguese. He was talking to Luis in the bunker on Martinez’s place, and she felt grimly pleased because James clearly was still on the job and Luis was still producing convincing assurance that everything in the bunker was secure and quiet.

  When Escurra rang off he told Mustache and Gaucho to watch her, saying that he was going back to the pit to watch a fight between a mastiff and a boar until Felipe returned. It seemed that a lot of money was riding on the match, and Escurra, having never seen a boar go up against a mastiff, didn’t want to miss the action.

  The two ranch hands grinned. Mustache asked if maybe he could go with Escurra and just let Gaucho watch the woman. Escurra’s eyes burned a hole right through his underling’s skull. “Look at how she’s dressed. You think this is just some woman?” He stomped out.

  Mustache was clearly disappoin
ted that he’d miss the blood and gore. For a brief moment, as she listened to the still roaring voices of men, Nova suffered a loathing of the opposite sex. It passed quickly enough. Her father would have been repulsed. So would Jean Paul König. So would Bebe. So would Joe. The sickness to take joy in death and blood didn’t infect all men—it just sometimes seemed that way.

  When Felipe returned, he came with two captives: Bebe and Solange. Nova felt nauseated and swallowed hard. Bebe and Solange looked bewildered, especially Solange.

  Felipe had apparently been required to pull his weapon at some point to convince them to accompany him. They looked around the grungy office, taking in the dirt floor and then Nova dressed in camouflage. She could imagine their dismay. Why, oh why, Bebe did you not leave? And why, Solange, did you come to this damn party?

  “Solange decide to join us at the party. A surprise,” Bebe said.

  Felipe and Gaucho shoved Bebe and Solange into chairs.

  Nova swallowed back her urge to scold Bebe with, “Why did you not go home?” Scolding would do no good now. “I’m damn sorry I got you into this.”

  Escurra strode into the office and signaled to Felipe, who closed the office door. The roaring outside continued, barely diminished.

  “So, Bebe,” he said in English. “Who is this woman? She came with you.”

  Bebe, though his face was pale, summoned courage. He said nothing.

  Escurra pulled a nasty little folded knife from his pocket, pressed a spring and the knife sprang open, its blade maybe three inches long. He cut Bebe across one cheek. Not too deep, but it would be painful.

  Nova balled a fist and bowed her head.

  “I asked you, Bebe, who is she?”

  Again Bebe said nothing. Nova’s mental wheels raced. This could escalate into a nightmare. She had to do something. But what? Confessing to Escurra would serve no purpose, just get them all killed for certain.

  Escurra placed the knife along the edge of Solange’s chin. Nova leaped out the chair and Felipe slapped her back down into it.

  “Her name is Nova Blair,” Bebe said swiftly.

  “Fine. Now we are getting somewhere. That’s her name. Who is she? Who does she work for?”

  “She’s a friend. A travel agent. She told me her sister has been kidnapped and she is looking for the sister.”

  Escurra looked at Nova with his dead eyes, then back to Bebe. “How do you know her, Bebe?”

  “She is a travel agent. We met years ago in the Galapagos.”

  “I find that hard to believe. Look at her, Bebe. Do travel agents dress like that?”

  “I don’t know why she’s dressed like that, Tomas. She just told me she is looking for her kidnapped sister. That’s all I know, I swear.”

  “Who did she come with?”

  “Alone. She’s alone.” Sweat covered Bebe’s pale face.

  Escurra cut a line along Solange’s chin, another shallow cut but bright blood sprang from it.

  Nova felt her own face burning and perspiration trickling down her back. She made a promise to herself. If—no, when—she got loose from Escurra, she would come back and pay him back for that cut to Solange.

  “You can get a good cosmetic surgeon to fix that, Bebe. But the next ones I make will be deeper and across her cheeks. I want to know who this Nova came with.”

  Chapter 40

  With tears running down his cheeks, Bebe cried out to Escurra, “I swear to you on my daughter’s life, this American woman came to me alone.”

  Thank you, thank you, Bebe. In spite of his terror for Solange, Bebe remained a damn smart man. Keeping Escurra in the dark was their best and only hope. Bebe knew Nova had to be with others, but he didn’t know who they were so why even give Escurra the idea that she might not be alone.

  Martinez yelled, “Then why is she here? How did she learn about us?”

  Escurra strode to Nova and planted himself squarely in front of her. With one of those big hands, he slapped her so hard her head snapped backward. He then put the tip of his little knife to her cheek.

  She heard Solange gasp. Solange was also crying, but silently.

  The time had come for some creative lying. And some convincing acting. “Don’t, please don’t,” Nova begged. She had missed sending her every-five-minute text to Joe. He would be alarmed.

  “Talk, then.”

  “Bebe is telling the truth. All that he knows. I came to find my sister. The man helping me is from Asuncion.”

  Escurra pressed the knife to her skin, it stung, and she knew he’d drawn blood. A little warm trickle down her cheek seemed to settle at the edge of her chin.

  “He’s a…a long-time lover. He saw everything about my sister on television, and he called me and said that he knew where a bunch of Americans were being held captive. He said he figured it had to be the ones on the TV.”

  Martinez exploded. “What the fuck!”

  “Shut up, Felipe,” Escurra commanded, his voice a low growl. To Nova he said, “Go on. That doesn’t begin to explain why you are here and dressed in fancy camouflage.”

  “When I got here, to Asuncion, he said that you—I guess you are Tomas Escurra—he said that Tomas Escurra was the big man in the tri-border area. That if anyone had organized a kidnapping this big, it was you.”

  “What’s your friend’s name?”

  “He doesn’t have to be—”

  “Did you hear me?” Escurra said, leaning close to her and yelling. “What is your friend’s name?”

  “Ra-Ramone Villalobos.”

  “So how would this Villalobos come by all this information? I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true. I don’t know how he got this idea. And maybe he’s wrong. Maybe this is all a big mistake.”

  “Why did you believe him? You’ve come a damn long way.”

  “Ramone, well, we’ve known each other a long time. He has…contacts. You know. Criminal elements.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  The little knife pricked her chin again.

  “Pl-please. Ramone traffics in exotic birds and orchids. I figured he could know what he was talking about and I’m desperate. I just want to find my sister. Clearly she’s not here. You can let us all go. I’m sure Bebe and Solange will say nothing.” She looked at Bebe. “Isn’t that right?”

  Escurra pulled a pinch of the material of the camouflage outfit on her arm. “How do you explain this?”

  “Well, like Bebe says, I’m a jungle tour guide. I know my way around. I thought I could get in here with Bebe’s help, and then look everything over myself. No one at home would listen to me. They think I’m crazy to think the Americans are down here.”

  Escurra backed away and leaned against his desk, one ankle crossed over the other.

  Felipe Martinez sent his boss a defiant look. “We can’t let any of them go.”

  “I told you to shut up, Felipe,” Escurra shot back.

  The room fell silent, then Escurra shifted to both feet again. “Juan,” he said in Spanish to the guy with the huge mustache, “get stuff to tie them up and gag them.”

  Nova felt a cold hand slide over her heart. Escurra hadn’t bought her story. He knew she was lying, probably because of the camouflage outfit, and he’d decided they were all to die. It was just a question of how and when, not whether.

  Escurra looked to Martinez. “The story is just crazy enough to be at least partly true. You call our best man in Asuncion. Now. Wake him up. Have him find out about this Ramone Villalobos. But first call Luis again and make certain that everything is secure there.”

  Juan of the huge mustache returned carrying thin nylon rope and some rags. Martinez left. Juan and the Gaucho set to work securing her, Solange and Bebe.

  As soon as they had been bound and gagged, Escurra said, “You know, I had planned something special for my boys tonight. I always give them something special on Christmas Eve. I had planned a fight between a Negro and a Guarani, but the Negro is no longer with us. So I thin
k I’ll offer them instead a really special treat. A cat fight.”

  When Escurra said cat fight, the first image that popped into Nova’s mind was a jaguar. But as Escurra continued to grin at her and then Solange, his meaning clarified.

  It solidified horribly when he said, “None of you is going to leave here alive. But I can make it easy or hard on the old man. I’ll put you two females in the pit. The boys will love it.”

  Solange twisted in her seat, straining against the rope. Bebe sat absolutely still. And even though it was well after midnight, Nova began to perspire again.

  Seeing the discomfort on the three faces of his captives, Escurra laughed. Nova wasn’t at all surprised that the humor did not touch his dark eyes, which remained dead, flat and cold.

  To Juan and the Gaucho, Escurra said, “My money says that the big mixed-race bitch will tear the heart out of the soft, white tourist agent.”

  Chapter 41

  Joe sat perched in the tree that he imagined Nova herself might have used to spy on Escurra’s place. He had kept his binoculars on the house to the point where his arms ached. She had faithfully text-messaged I’m Okay until five minutes ago, and five minutes was their agreed upon maximum lag time. He felt smothered in panic.

  “Dammit, Nova. I wish to God you had quit this life after Italy.”

  He flipped open his cell phone and connected with the Special Operations command tasked to extract the Hill boy. “Give me the position of the Dove.”

  “Here’s how it will be,” Escurra said, looking from Nova to Solange. “I take you to the pit. Give you both a machete. The fight’s to the death. Don’t fight and I’ll signal Juan. He’ll be with Bebe.”

  Escurra looked hard at Solange. “Juan will torture your father slowly. If you fight well, I’ll kill Bebe cleanly when your fight with the American woman is over.”

  Solange looked at her father with terrified eyes. Nova thought, You sick bastard.