I turned and walked slowly back to the car.
It was a quiet drive back to Jake’s as I rehashed in my mind my visit with my mom and dad.
***
As we entered Jake’s house, Susan was getting the boys washed up. She had supper ready. Although I had only been there less than a week, I was getting quite accustomed to family life. I began comparing Jake’s and Don’s lives. With the Devil’s help, Don had acquired mass wealth but never seemed happy. I didn’t even know if he was married or had kids. Most of the time, he had a different woman by his side.
Jake, on the other hand, was incredibly happy. He had wealth in a different way: his family. If given a choice, I would take Jake’s life over Don’s.
Chapter 29
The eve of my journey to Ecuador was here. Susan cooked a fabulous meal of steak and potatoes. It was like a celebration before the fact.
“When you come back, we’ll do it up right,” Jake said optimistically.
After supper, the hair dyeing commenced, and Jake had me try on the clothes he had purchased for me. My transformation was complete. I would have no trouble blending in with the natural citizens of Ecuador.
The night before I was released from prison, I had slept like a baby. But the night before leaving for Ecuador, I was restless and stared at the ceiling with all sorts of scenarios going through my head. I had carefully packed my duffel with my rings in the secret lining, my father’s shoes buried on the bottom, and my Holy Stick rolled up in a shirt so it wouldn’t poke out of the bag.
It was also occurring to me that I really had no plan of attack, which led to more anxiety and doubt about my situation.
Susan was the first one up. I could hear her rattling pans and preparing breakfast. I rose from my sleepless night, dressed, and headed for the kitchen. It was the first time we had ever been alone together, and I was always quiet when she was in the room. Her beauty intimidated me. I thanked her for her hospitality and complimented her on her family and home. She smiled.
Jake entered the kitchen and appeared in a hurry.
“Hurry up, Steven. We have to be at the airport by six a.m.”
I gobbled my food, grabbed my duffel bag, and then headed for the door.
Susan yelled, “Steven! Wait!” She kissed me on the cheek and told me to be careful. She gave me some rosary beads. I stuffed them in my bag. I guessed I’d never asked Jake if she knew what was going on or even if she knew about him selling his soul to Miguel. We jumped into the old Ford and headed out.
I asked Jake, “Does Susan have a sister?”
“No,” he said smiling.
“Too bad.”
***
We arrived at the airport just before scheduled takeoff. Don’s jet was on the tarmac refueling as the three of us walked through security.
“Another business trip, Mr. Karcher?” the security guard asked.
“Yes,” Don replied. “Talara, Peru, this time.” The attendant took a brief look at our passports and waved us through. Leaving the country without notifying the courts was a violation of my probation. So I was, once again, a felon on the run.
As the jet took off, I looked out the window at the sun coming up over the horizon. It was a new day and a new chapter in my life. I confided to Jake that I really didn’t have a plan other than going to the presidential palace and trying to kill Miguel.
“We’ll talk about it when we get there,” was his response. He seemed confident.
Don opened the cab to the cockpit and gave the pilots our destination.
“Victor Montes Arias International Airport, Talara, Peru.”
The pilots nodded, and Don closed the door
While Ecuador seemed worlds away, Don’s jet made it seem like a trip to the grocery store. I was beat from a sleepless night but excited about the journey.
“First time on a plane, Steven?” Don asked.
I nodded with my nose close to the glass as I watched the ocean below us.
I overheard Jake ask Don, “Have you been to Peru before?”
Don reluctantly responded. “I had some dealings with some unsavory people on Miguel’s behalf. Real nasty guys that own some oil freighters. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to come back.”
***
We began our descent to Talara. It looked very modern, not at all like the pictures I had seen before. In the book of Ecuador, all I had seen was 16th century architecture with fountains galore. The pilots taxied the jet to a hanger and began shutting down the engines. Don and Jake were exiting the plane as I was still struggling with my seat belt. They were far ahead of me as I awkwardly tried to maneuver down the steps of the plane with my duffel bag in tow.
I was greeted by exhausting humidity, and the air reeked of oil from the wells that were seen pumping in the distance.
I heard Don exclaim, “Smells like money.”
I caught up to them as they were greeted by men in uniform.
Don led the introductions. “General Suarez, my name is Don Karcher. This is Jacob Swift.”
He left me for last, and he introduced me as an experienced soldier and a warrior with no equal.
General Suarez was five foot nothing, overweight, and spoke fluent English with a heavy Spanish accent. He also looked like his fighting days were well behind him. He greeted me with a hug and welcomed me into his army that was “dedicated to restoring democracy to Ecuador.”
I nodded, smiled, and gave Don and Jake a discerning and confused look.
Suarez gave me an oral orientation on what had transcribed and laid out his strategy for gaining back President Santiago’s democratic control of his nation.
“Miguel has gained the confidence of all the upper and middle echelon officers. He has neglected the infantry and the foot soldiers. Those are the ones we are trying to sway to leave and join our ranks, so far, with not much success. But we have gained numbers with the citizens. We train them the best we can.”
I nodded and smiled again.
Jake interjected. “To fully take advantage of Steven’s knowledge of guerilla warfare, he’s going to need a translator. His Spanish is a bit weak.”
Again, I gave Jake a confused look, as I knew no Spanish at all.
“I will assign him to my son, Captain Benito Suarez. He speaks five languages, each one fluently. He was a top graduate of Eloy Alfaro Military Academy. A fine warrior in his own right.”
I nodded and smiled.
Suarez finished his presentation and remarked that I should say goodbye to my friends, as we would make our way back to headquarters before dark.
I walked back to the plane with Jake as Don stayed behind to converse with the General.
“Is this your plan? And how am I an expert in guerilla warfare?” I asked with much enthusiasm.
“Look, Steven,” Jake said. “You’re in a foreign country. You don’t speak the language, and you know none of the local customs. This is your best bet. And yeah…well, we embellished a bit on your abilities. We had to get you in Suarez’s inner circle. We don’t feel you can kill Miguel without their help.”
They made a convincing argument, but I countered with my thoughts. “Fine, but I’m not getting my butt shot off for Ecuador.”
After talking with General Suarez, Don made his way back to the jet carrying a piece of paper. “Steven, here is a list of short-wave frequencies that Suarez uses for communication. I have a friend in Manila that has a short-wave radio on the tallest peak in the Philippines. If you need anything, send a message to him, and he will relay it to me.
The jet’s engines roared to life, and Don climbed the stairs, only to leave myself and Jake for our goodbyes.
“I’ll have your car waiting for you when you get back,” Jake yelled over the sound of the turbines.
“I should have written down the mileage,” I joked.
We both smiled, hugged, and wished each other well.
“You know, Susan’s got a couple of good-looking cousins. Maybe we can double date when you
get back.”
“Sure,” I replied.
Chapter 30
I walked back to the hanger, looking over my shoulder at Don’s jet, and instantly regretted my decision. I grabbed my duffel and followed General Suarez to his main mode of transportation: a former Ecuadorian presidential limousine that looked like it was destined for the scrap heap and then reincarnated for this fight to restore democracy. All I cared was that the air conditioning worked.
It was a grueling twelve-hour drive from Talara, Peru to the Freedom Fighters headquarters in Los Rios, Ecuador. I had no idea when we had even passed the border, but I dug through my duffel, retrieving my rings and sliding them onto my fingers. I felt my Holy Stick through the fabric, ready to grab it in case we were attacked. The land looked so barren. So much of it had been burnt, and not a “soul” was to be seen.
It looked like the remnants of a visit from Miguel.
General Suarez turned me over to one of his subordinates who, with broken English, issued me a uniform, complete with combat boots, and gave me a tour of the facility, which was nothing more than a huge abandoned warehouse. And since Miguel’s forces had bombed the adjoining substation, they had two huge diesel generators providing power for the lights, radios, and any other electrical needs.
As crude as the surroundings were, it was very organized. A mess hall, hospital, and living quarters were all housed in this once-sprawling manufacturing complex. I was instructed to get a meal and grab an available cot, as I would be heading out in the morning for Cumbayá to join Captain Benito Suarez and his troops.
Supper consisted of rice, beans, and potatoes. Little did I know that this was every meal, every day. Sometimes a soldier would bag a chicken or a wild boar while out on patrol, and there would be a celebration, but tonight was slim pickings. I remembered to take a quinine tablet to ward off malaria. I tried to chase it down with some liquid that they claimed was water. I choked it back up, then swallowed it dry. This was going to take some getting used to.
The next morning came sooner than expected. There were no bugles blasting reveille, just a nudge from a fellow soldier. I awoke swimming in my own sweat and was persuaded to down more rice, beans, and potatoes. While the rest of the soldiers spoke fluent Spanish and seemed to know what was going on, I was lost and just tried to follow the crowd.
We were all issued a rust-pitted rifle, a handgun with a holster, and a bag of ammunition. I wrapped my newly acquired firearm around my waist, then dug my Holy Stick from my duffel and slid it through a belt loop. I gained many awkward looks. We all headed for a strange-looking vehicle that I was later told was a “halftrack.” It was an army mode of transportation that had tank tracks on the back, wheels up front, and machine guns mounted on the front and back.
The driver barked orders in Spanish, and my fellow soldiers loaded their weapons as the halftrack’s diesel engines roared to life. The first thing I thought was that there would be no sneaking up on anyone in this vehicle. Trying to load my guns was impossible once the halftrack was in motion. For one, I had never even held a gun in my hands, let alone fired or loaded one. A helpful soldier loaded mine for me.
I nodded and smiled.
That seemed to be the extent of my Spanish: nodding and smiling.
After several stops to retrieve water to pour into a leaky radiator and reaching a top speed of twenty miles per hour driving through the underbrush of the Amazon jungle, the halftrack stopped some twelve hours later at our destination, the Freedom Fighters camp at Cumbayá, Ecuador.
There was more order barking from the officer in charge. I followed the other soldiers as we lined up at attention. After standing in the sweltering heat for longer than needed, Captain Benito Suarez graced us with his presence. He came riding in on a gallant steed, with a panama hat, two pearl-handled six shooters strapped to his sides, and a long rifle and a lasso. He was taller than his father, but still very shy of six foot tall. He had the same handsome features that Miguel had displayed when he came to my hometown. This made me very wary of him. He dismounted, briefed us on the situation, and gave an inspiring pep talk that led to the soldiers cheering in unison. I was still in the dark, as I didn’t understand a word he said.
He dismissed the new recruits, pointed at me, and asked, “Are you Steven?”
I nodded and he instructed me to follow him to a corral. He began brushing the black stallion he had ridden in on. A white stallion was also present.
He “introduced” me to his horses, Olympus, the black one, and Mercury, the white one. He spoke like they were his children.
“As a favor to Mr. Don Karcher, and because of his generous donation to our cause, I have agreed to take you under my wing and guide you on this journey of destiny and fate.”
He used air quotes when he said, “destiny and fate,” which led me to believe that he wasn’t totally in belief of my situation.
He continued: “I understand you are a formidable warrior.”
He spoke English as well as I did, but he looked like a native Ecuadorian.
I answered, “Well…thanks. But I’m not much of a warrior. I’m sorry you’ve been misled.”
“No matter. We’ll turn you into a soldier.” He seemed confident.
Curiosity got the best of me. “Captain Suarez…your English…”
He answered with a smile. “Chicago, USA. My mother was an American. She married my father after a whirlwind romance back when Ecuador was a destination for the wealthy. Their marriage lasted a short while, and my mother moved us back to the states. After she died, I moved to live with my father. He sent me to military school, and I joined the army to serve under him.”
We both stood awkwardly until he asked about my Holy Stick that dangled from my belt loop.
“What’s the piece of wood for? Is it magic or something?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Or something.”
Chapter 31
A surprise attack on the east side of the presidential palace was ordered by Captain Suarez for my first night there.
Soldiers were readying themselves by praying, drinking wine, and taking something that was called “peyote buttons.” I asked Captain Suarez about this behavior. He said it had been a centuries-long tradition to drink wine and pray for guidance.
“And this peyote stuff?”
“It’s an ancient hallucinogenic drug that makes you feel like you are in touch with the gods and no one can hurt you.”
“Do you take it?” I asked.
“No, I don’t believe in the gods.”
Interesting.
As Captain Suarez mounted Olympus, the order was given to load up into the halftrack with weapons fully loaded. I felt like the only sober one there as we headed north to combat Miguel’s Army. There were nearly fifty of us on a vehicle that was designed for twenty. Some were sitting on the fenders or hanging on the side rails. Some were singing hymns and still drinking.
I was constantly checking my ring for some sign of Evil. But nothing.
Captain Suarez raised his arm to stop our one-vehicle convoy. He instructed us to exit the transport and begin walking to our destination. He dismounted his steed and grabbed a long rifle from his saddle. After walking in silence for less than a mile, he motioned again for the troops to stop. The soldiers who had been through this before pulled out their crucifixes, kissed them, and said a prayer.
A shot rang out from Suarez’s rifle. A body fell from the third-story balcony. Soon, shots were coming from everywhere! Our troops were ordered to advance to the palace. I ran towards a huge door, following my comrades-in-arms. I watched them being cut down mercilessly. Amid orders to continue advancing, I turned and ran in the opposite direction, stumbling over the dead bodies of my fellow soldiers.
The whole battle lasted ten minutes or less. My heart was pounding as I reached the halftrack, waiting for the others to return―or what was left of them.
Of the nearly fifty soldiers that were involved in the attack, half had been killed. Captain
Suarez approached me to inspect my weapons. He checked my ammunition and concluded that I had never fired a shot.
“You’re right, Steven. You’re not much of a warrior.”
The ride back to camp was a solemn one. No one spoke.
I lay down in my cot and realized that the two beds next to mine were empty. Last night, they had had bodies in them, but tonight they didn’t. I felt in over my head.
I remembered trying to convince Jake to just let me go to prison and that spending nine years in the “big house” would prepare me to travel to Ecuador to kill Miguel. Nothing could have prepared me for this.
I took my Battle Ring off and inspected it, as if I knew how it worked. Maybe it was broken. It had not sensed Evil since I had thrown all of those policemen around before my hearing.
I fell asleep.
***
The next morning, instead of a nudge from a fellow soldier, my covers were pulled quickly from my bed. It was Captain Suarez.
“Grab your guns and come with me.”
I followed his orders, and he led me to an open field. He had me step off fifty paces and set up twelve tin cans.
Six on each side of me.
Side by side.
He stood poised to draw his pearl-handled six shooters. He squeezed off twelve shots in a matter of seconds, alternating hands as well as alternating the sides that the cans were on, hitting eleven out of twelve and leaving me with urine-stained pants.
I apologized. “Sorry, I hadn’t had a chance to go to the bathroom this morning.”
He seemed unfazed at my lack of bladder control. He ordered me back to my cot to change into some dry pants.
When I returned, he had set up some cans much closer than the fifty paces. With his expertise, instruction, and some banana oil to lubricate the gun’s mechanism, I was soon killing innocent tin cans at an alarming rate.
During the next several battles, my performance increased. I didn’t think I killed anyone, but I was good at drawing fire and leaving them open for another soldier to kill or wound them. I was gaining the respect of my fellow comrades, but I was still miles away from my main objective: the killing of Miguel. I found it strange that all of our attacks were held at night and the strategy was always the same. The results were always the same: fifty percent casualties.
The Killing of Miguel Page 14
