Arauca: A Novel of Colombia
Page 24
Now that the housekeeping was done, Ann felt a cold hollow in her stomach as her boss led her by the hand into her small living room. He sat her down then sat close beside her, putting his left arm around her shoulders. She liked the feeling, but now she was confused more than frightened. He brought me roses, didn’t he? Didn’t we have wonderful conversation laced with sexual innuendo during dinner? But now, he seems so serious. Will he give me the bad news sitting with his arm around me?
They both stared straight ahead. The silence was her enemy. But she knew it was Whitehorse’s silence to break. Thirty seconds. Ann watched the second hand on her wall clock. Forty-five.
“Listen, Ann. This operation has cost us, you and me. We will be the scapegoats. We had a whole string of agents wiped out on our watch, not to mention the largest FARC attack in history against the Colombian military. And we didn’t see it coming. We’ll be transferred someplace with a much smaller responsibility, with a smaller footprint. There we can be out of the limelight and perhaps become rehabilitated.”
He paused again.
“I have a plan how we can get through this.”
“Oh kaaay”, Ann said with a hint of suspicion in her voice.
“Marry me.”
“What?”
“Marry me.”
She turned and faced him, pushing him back so that she could look at his face.
“Is this a career move, or do you love me?” she asked.
“Yes,” he answered with conviction.
Then he kissed her for a long time. They both laughed and held each other tight.
0900 Tuesday July 30
Offices of Cactus Air Support
Junction Texas
“Hello, is this Mr. Pataski?”
“Yes it is.”
“This is General Tackaberry from the US Army Southern Command. I understand that you are now the boss of Cactus Air Support. I need to talk with you about leasing two of your gunships and having them stationed in Colombia.”
1130 Tuesday, August 6
CIA Safe House
Highway 17
Six miles north of Warrenton, Virginia
Yolima sat on the couch and watched a Colombian soap opera on the television. She had been delighted when she got here to find so many Spanish stations on the TV. Situated in the middle of a big horse farm, the huge house was a mix of opulence and oppression. Most of the day she lounged around or went to the basement gym. But the two or three hours of recurring interrogations terrified her. Sometimes the sessions were friendly, but most of the time they were confrontations. The worst were the mixed up kind.
“Why are you lying to us?” Ed would ask. A kind, older woman would pull him away from Yolima’s face, and then push him out of the room.
“Honey, you know that if you don’t tell us the truth, we’ll have to send you back to Colombia.” She would ask the same questions again. Then again. Yesterday’s interrogation had been the longest and the worst.
They have to believe me. I’m telling them the truth. Why do they keep asking me the same questions? What if I don’t pass these sessions? Would they send her back to Colombia? If they did, the remaining FARC would surely kill her. Worse, she had no way to measure if her responses were acceptable.
The weasel they called “Ed” opened the door to the interrogation room and called out over the loud music that signaled the end of the show.
“Yolima, please come in here. We’d like to talk with you.” She pushed off of the couch, and a shudder took her as she tried to squint back her tears. Ed guided her through the door holding her left elbow.
“Hola, mi muñeca.” Hello, my doll. Mad Madison stepped forward and took her in his arms.
“Mad! How did you get here?”
“Don’t worry about that. Are you ready to go?”
“What do you mean?”
“We can go, sweetheart. We’re free. I’ve got another job starting in October over in the desert. But until then, we can enjoy the time, and decide what to do with our lives.”
Ed stepped forward and gave Yolima a packet. “Here’s your Colombian passport with a resident visa. We may be calling if we need some more information. Sorry about being a little rough on you. Just part of the debrief.” Yolima wanted to glare at him, but she was smiling too much being near to Mad.
“Let’s go. We’re off to Las Vegas.”
7
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[1] Seventh Special Forces is normally assigned missions in Latin America.