‘Don’t get comfortable just yet, you two. Take your jackets from the pack and sit on them, or something may just bite your backsides. Then remove your boots to give your feet some air.’
‘How come we’re not plagued with mosquitoes’?’ I asked.
‘Give it time. They usually get active around dusk. There’s a net for your head in that pocket of the pack.’ He pointed. ‘You’ll find repellent in there too, but if I were you, however hot it gets, I’d put on your jacket when the time comes.’
‘How come the natives don’t bother?’
‘Guess the mosquitoes just like fresh blood.’ He laughed, took his knife from its sheath, and stabbed it in a log at his feet.
Smoke drifted over from where the women were still huddled in a circle. The smell of burning monkey flesh soon followed and cooking got underway. With swollen feet, my boots, which had started out a size too big, now wouldn’t budge.
‘Here, let me help,’ said Carlos, and he pulled off each of my boots.
‘Were you serious about the Indians with the black and white faces, or was that to stop us from running off?’ I asked.
‘Deadly serious.’
‘Shouldn’t I be armed?’
‘Don’t worry – I have enough fire power for the three of us. Nice try, though.’
‘What Indians are these you’re talking about?’ Leandra asked.
Carlos placed his feet on the log in front of him and retrieved the knife. I flinched as he launched the knife in my direction, in unison with Leandra’s scream. I turned at the thud, as the knife struck the trunk of a tree behind my head. Scrambling away, I grabbed Leandra’s arm and pulled her with me.
‘Best not to lean against trees,’ he said and jumped up, strolling over to the tree trunk.
The snake was still wriggling when he clasped it behind its head, removed the knife, and chopped off its head. One of the women rushed over, bowed, held out her hands and he handed her the snake. More food for the pot, I guessed, which churned my stomach.
‘Leandra asked you about the other Indians.’
‘The Indians? Oh yeah. There are only two tribes in the area, each with their own territories. The tradition used to be that if there were disputes, the offending tribe would hand over one of their women to settle the matter. Clever, really, as it extended the gene pool and cut down on inbreeding.’
‘Used to be?’
‘Yeah, it all went wrong when the coca farmers arrived to set up a cocaine production facility. They paid our friends here with outboard engines for their boats and for them to set up a supply route for the coca leaves to get to the processing unit.’
‘What happened?’
‘Well, the tribe here was sustained mainly by fishing and a little hunting, but the cocaleros wanted the cocaine plant further out into the forest, at the edge of their territory. One of the farmers killed one of the other tribe and they wanted the chief’s daughter as payment. The chief refused and it sort of escalated. By the time we got here to try to mediate, the farmers had massacred most of the other tribe. Now they want half the women of this tribe to try and rebuild.’
‘And Perez sent us into the middle of this?’
‘Afraid so. Pedro tried to talk him out of it, but he said he’d rather you two die here than have the Cobras managing to release Leandra and kill you.’
Leandra and I exchanged glances. The horror of the revelation was evident by her open mouth.
‘Kill me?’ I said.
Carlos ignored my question. Leandra threw her eyes upward. ‘The bastard, I should spit in his food the next time I prepare something for him.’
‘You mean you haven’t already?’ Carlos said. He winked and then grinned.
Leandra answered with reddened cheeks.
I was beginning to like Carlos’s new openness. It sort of put a human face on him, but he hadn’t answered my question.
Rummaging in my backpack, I took out a sandwich and started to eat. One of the women approached, holding out a large, broad leaf and offered it to Carlos. He picked up something with the appearance of a barbecued chicken leg and chewed on it. Looking more closely at what he was eating, I spat out what I was about to swallow.
‘How in the hell can you eat that? They haven’t even cut off its hand.’
Leandra threw up and I stuffed the remainder of the sandwich into my backpack. Carlos shrugged.
‘What’s up with you both? Protein, it tastes good. Wait until we run out of provisions and we have to eat grubs.’ He laughed loud enough to set off a flock of birds in flight from the branches above.
Carlos tossed the bone to one side and opened his backpack. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Take one each with a drink of water.’
‘What are they?’ I asked
‘Quinine tablets. They’re for malaria, but they also relieve cramps.’
‘Wait – I read somewhere that they’re banned in the United States by the FDA as a cure for cramps.’
‘Isn’t everything banned up there? This isn’t the United States,’ Carlos said and raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s not like I’m asking you to smoke a joint for chronic back pain. Take it. I’m not carrying either of you. Just pretend you have malaria.’
Thinking back to the cramps I had experienced in the trunk of the car and at the barracks, I popped the tablet in my mouth and swilled it down my throat.
‘I hear they’ve legalized cannabis for medicinal purposes in some states. How do you feel about that?’ Carlos asked.
‘I don’t feel anything, but it seems to be counter-productive. I just do my job.’
Carlos glanced over my shoulder and said, ‘It looks like they’re getting ready to move on. Grab your packs and let’s go.’
My stamina waned, despite the rest. Leandra surprised me by trudging along without complaint, considering I had to grit my teeth at times to keep going.
The smell of the cocaleros’ camp hit my senses before I saw it. A foul odour of chemicals hung in the air. Discarded rusting cans, some marked Hydrochloric Acid, littered the side of the trail. The convoy ahead stopped.
‘Follow me, you two,’ Carlos said.
He brushed past us, and we followed him up to the head of the convoy.
‘Welcome,’ said a young man in Spanish, wearing only grubby blue Bermudas and carrying an AK-47 cradled in his arms. Leandra stepped forward, ahead of Carlos, as if she intended to sit on a boulder. Carlos grabbed her arm.
‘Don’t move,’ he said. ‘Stay absolutely still.’
She froze. Looking down at her feet, I could see wire resting on her boot. Carlos sidestepped to an exposed root of a tree and brushed away some of the dead foliage to reveal a hand grenade. He knelt and fiddled with the wire attached to the pin and turned, giving the thumbs-up sign. Leandra extracted her foot and moved behind me. The convoy passed on by.
Carlos shook hands with the young man, reached into a pocket on his fatigues and pulled out an envelope. The young man opened it and flicked through a thick wad of bills. A huge grin developed across his face and he waved us on. Carlos turned and reset the wire to the grenade.
‘Let that be a lesson not to stray from the camp,’ said Carlos.
‘Who are they expecting?’ I asked.
‘Anyone with no business here, from soldiers to those Indians I told you about.’
‘I can understand the natives knowing, but how did you know about the booby trap?’
‘I visit twice a year during the harvest seasons to pay them for the product. I was scheduled for a visit. Maybe that’s why Perez decided to send you along, like I said.’
Carlos was right. Our survival depended on each other, although for now, we were more reliant on his skills. Glancing around the dense rainforest, I decided that escaping to civilization seemed akin to a suicide mission. I turned to Carlos.
‘Why do you think the Cobra cartel would have wanted to kill me?’
He hesitated. ‘Just an assumption.’
His demeanour told me he was hiding
something. I changed the subject, deciding to press him later. ‘Wouldn’t it have been a good opportunity for you to leave the cartel back at the river and for us all to have kept on going while you had the money in your pocket?’
‘Not for the pittance I’ve just handed over.’
That he hadn’t said a definitive “no” gave me the idea that he would get out if the price were right.
Chapter 29
Destination
It crossed my mind that this was by far the weirdest experience I had ever encountered. There I was, sitting next to Leandra on a damned plastic patio chair in the depths of the rainforest. We watched the cocaleros’ children preparing the coca paste, straining it though muslin to remove the mix of toxic chemicals. Quite the family affair, the camp was a hive of activity. No sooner had the natives stacked the bales and provisions, than a cocalero walked over and counted them all. He split one of the bales open with a knife and poured the dried leaves into a homemade vat lined with plastic sheeting. More leaves followed. Once the vat was full, he sprinkled in what looked like a scoop of cement powder and began mixing it in with the leaves by treading them and kicking them around with his grubby feet.
‘Have you not seen this before?’ Leandra asked. ‘You look awestruck.’
‘No, I’ve only seen the finished product. It looks disgusting.’
‘Yeah, it smells that way too, and it’ll get even worse, what with the acid, bleach, and kerosene that will be going in there.’
‘You seem pretty familiar with the whole thing.’
‘My father. Remember, he’s a cocalero.’
As I watched in horror, the children upended buckets containing the toxic run-off from the coca paste down a slope. Knowing there was a stream at the bottom made me cringe. I thought back to the children playing in the river. This unit would be just one of thousands. I dreaded to think what damage they were doing to the environment.
‘Why did he get into growing coca?’
Leandra chuckled. ‘He didn’t get into it.’ She gave me a playful tap on the shoulder. ‘Father was born into it, being from Bolivia – unlike Mother. They’ve been producing coca leaves in our country ever since the Incas, maybe for at least eight thousand years. We chew the leaf to stave off altitude sickness, amongst other things. We even make tea leaves from the plant and sell it in supermarkets.’
‘It’s still a drug.’
‘Really? You know, in its natural form, there’s nothing narcotic about the coca leaf. I think it only contains less than one percent cocaine. It’s no different than drinking energy drinks.’
There and then didn’t seem to be the time and place to be debating the rights and wrongs of chewing the leaf. Although saying that, I was interested if Leandra had ever chewed the leaves.
‘You said “we”?’
‘Okay, well, not me. My mother is from Argentina. She wouldn’t allow us to chew on the leaves, but I’ve drunk the tea.’
‘I’m not judging, just asking.’
‘Father never used to be involved with cocaine. Our main crop was bananas.’
‘Then what was it, the money?’
Leandra shook her head. ‘Sort of. Mother told me that when the army was in charge of our country, the Junta signed the UN pact to eradicate coca growing. Then one year, our banana crop failed. Soldiers turned up that same year during harvesting of the coca leaves and burned all the bushes. They shot dead some of our farmhands when they tried to intervene. They had nothing – no food – nothing. You don’t get food stamps in Bolivia.’
Leandra picked up a twig and poked at the dead foliage on the ground.
‘So it was for the money – and survival?’
‘And revenge. My father’s brother lived on a neighbouring farm. He committed suicide when the soldiers arrived, along with an American observer team, and they destroyed his coca crops. After that, Father travelled to Argentina and that’s where he met my mother. When he returned, he started to grow coca illegally and to produce cocaine. Later he organized other growers into cooperatives and he bought their illegal crops. Most of the cocaine went to Brazil, but then the Mexicans turned up offering more money and he’s been supplying them ever since. It was better for him, because they only harvest the leaf twice a year. The Mexicans bought it in bulk and shipped it direct to America.’
My eyebrows raised and I stroked my chin. This would be news back at the office. As far as we knew, very little cocaine worked its way from Bolivia to the U.S.
Leandra continued. ‘When Morales came to power as president, Father wanted to go legitimate again and apply for licenses, but Perez had other ideas.’
‘So isn’t that a more likely reason for Perez to take you captive, and that’s why you’re here?’
‘I’d like to think so, but I can’t discount Father having a hand in it, or the death of Andreas. He could have suspected we were an item.’
One of the women scooped some coca paste and filled a five-kilogram mould. She put a star-shaped brander on the top, placed a board over it and using a press contraption, she ratcheted the gear to press the final moisture from the cocaine.
‘What do they do next?’ I asked Leandra.
‘They’ll leave it for a while to set and then pop it in the microwave to zap it and hey, presto, cocaine ready for wrapping.’
It defied credulity that they would have use of a microwave here in the forest, but there it was – standing on a makeshift bench next to a small generator.
A water bottle landed in my lap.
‘Come on,’ said Carlos. ‘It stinks around here. This place makes me sick. Let’s get to where we’re going to be billeted.’
‘Thanks for the water.’
‘There are plenty of supplies now that we’re here. You may want to grab some leaves to chew,’ he said, and taking his knife from its sheath, he slashed at a bale, scooping a handful of leaves and stuffing them in his pocket.
‘We can’t be at that high an altitude.’
‘Well, we’re going to climb uphill and it’s good for stamina, but also, the trees in the forest may give off oxygen early on, but at this time there’s more CO2 about and it’ll keep you from getting dizzy.’
‘No, thanks, I’ll manage.’
When I glanced at Leandra, she was busy loading her backpack. As we prepared to head in one direction, the cocaleros handed the natives sacks of the finished product and they set off back to their village. I couldn’t be sure if it was out of deference to my feelings on the subject, but Leandra ignored Carlos’s suggestion. We set off walking with Carlos up front.
I don’t know about coca leaves, but I could have done with a sports drink. The climb and the uneven terrain took its toll, sapping my energy. When I was just about ready to collapse, the ground underfoot levelled. The sound of rushing water greeted us and we came out into a clearing next to a waterfall, cascading into a gorge. There was a single tent and the remains of a fire with a cooking pot perched on a stone in the ashes.
We all dropped to the ground and sat, removing first our backpacks and then our boots.
Leandra tried her backpack as a pillow, and then inched over to me like a crab on all fours.
‘I need to borrow your lap. The backpack doesn’t do it for me,’ she said.
Before I could agree, she curled up at my side and rested her head between my thighs. With Leandra in teenager mode, I ran my fingers though her hair.
Carlos said, ‘Don’t get too comfy.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
‘Because there’s only one tent and we need to make something to sleep on for tonight.’ He tossed his knife to me; it landed on the ground beside me. ‘I need you to cut down some bamboo, and for you and Leandra to collect some large leaves. I’ll get some vines to use as twine.’
As I picked up the knife, my mind went into hyper-speed. Our eyes locked. Trying to put myself in his mindset, I didn’t get it at all. It seemed akin to removing a prisoner’s cuffs and giving him my can of mace. But looking aroun
d, there wasn’t anywhere to go.
‘What are we making?’
‘Hammock – snative style. Best we keep off the ground.’
‘Can’t we use the tent?’
‘We could, because it’s the cocaleros’ tent and they’ll be busy tonight. But if you take a sniff inside, you’ll see why we can’t use it for sleeping.’
‘That bad?’
‘Afraid so.’
‘Doesn’t it bother you, all the damage they’re doing with the chemicals?’
‘What can I do? The powers that be don’t care. I must have burned down more than a hundred camps for the government, but all we could do was to pour out the chemicals so they couldn’t use them in the future. There wasn’t the funding to have the cans removed, so everyone is guilty. Maybe if those who snort cocaine knew the shit that went into it, they’d think twice.’
‘Amen to that. I think that the users either don’t care, or the further away you get from its production, the more they think it must be produced in hygienic laboratories, with staff in white coats.’
‘Whatever, it doesn’t matter which side you’re on, we’re all pinpricks in the scheme of things.’
He turned away. Subject closed.
When he said he’d worked in Special Forces with the CIA, I hadn’t thought he might have been involved in counter-narcotics. I wondered if maybe he’d been seconded to assist the Columbian army. That would have made sense, because of the terrorists there who used trafficking to fund buying weapons. Working with the CIA, I could understand where his command of English came from. It was such a pity that he’d sold out. I was getting to like the guy.
The mosquitoes arrived in a frenzied search for blood. Leandra started slapping her face and jumped to her feet. I quickly followed her, swiping my arms across my face and arms.
‘Nets and spray,’ said Carlos. ‘Then let’s get to work before we lose the light. There are some nasty creatures out there when it gets dark. Just don’t venture out more than a hundred yards – trip-wires.’
They had picked a good spot. The gorge covered our rear. The slope would give a commanding advantage of the high ground. The only way into the camp was ahead and that was booby-trapped. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the likes of Carlos had used their experience to pick the spot.
Deadly Journey Page 17
