Running from the Devil ec-1

by Jamie Freveletti

  “We’re in deep shit, Luis.”

  Luis shrugged. “Jorge has killed how many people? Thirty? Forty? He must have pissed off someone in the cartel. It has nothing to do with us. Besides, we have the FFOC behind us.”

  Alvarado stared at Luis. That he would be so blasé about an open threat from such a powerful cartel was insane. Alvarado didn’t know what to say. He stood up and took a deep breath.

  “Let’s keep looking for Maria and Mathilde.”

  Alvarado edged around the tree line. He found Maria’s body lying facedown. He recognized a small bracelet that he’d given her on her twenty-fifth birthday. She’d been thrilled beyond belief. Her life had been spent in the slums of Bogotá. No one had ever given her a gift of that value. Alvarado had not loved her, but he couldn’t help but feel sadness for her now.

  Mathilde’s body was not among the dead. Luis reported this fact with satisfaction.

  “That woman makes the snake in the Garden of Eden look like a saint,” he said.

  They put the passengers to work collecting the dead. By now, most walked through the day with a sense of resignation. Luis liked it like that. Each day they presented less and less of a problem to him. He kept to his daily beatings, nonetheless. No sense letting them get any ideas.

  That evening, during dinner, Mathilde strolled into camp. Alvarado jumped up from his position at the fire and watched as the light played over her sweat-soaked T-shirt. She looked tired but none the worse for her near miss with the Cartone cartel.

  Luis watched her amble up to him. “So you live, Mathilde. I knew you would.”

  Mathilde shrugged. Her beautiful brown hair rippled over her shoulders, and Alvarado felt an almost physical reaction at the sight of her.

  “I was talking to the two escaped passengers when the helicopter came.”

  Luis’s head snapped up. “What two passengers?”

  “A man with brown hair and a woman. They wanted to use the radio to call the American embassy.”

  “You let them go?” Luis’s voice took on a quiet, menacing sound. If his show of menace bothered Mathilde, she didn’t show it.

  “I had no choice, now, did I, Rodrigo? The copter, he came and killed them all. There was no time for capturing.”

  Luis grabbed Mathilde’s arm. “Did the tall man get away?”

  Mathilde snatched her arm back. “Don’t touch me like that, Rodrigo, if you know what’s good for you. I will tell my father, and he’ll have your liver for lunch.”

  Mathilde’s father ran the Putumayo division of the FFOC. He had several children by various women in different districts. He’d paid for Mathilde to attend school and even paid for her to learn English. Nevertheless, his parenting skills left something to be desired, because he’d seen her only a few times during her life.

  Mathilde’s threat set Luis back on his heels, because her father was perfectly capable of killing him and his entire crew before breakfast. Tales of the man’s vicious exploits ran rampant in Colombia, and Luis wasn’t entirely sure he wouldn’t fry a human liver and eat it. He let go of Mathilde and made a show of his nonchalance.

  “It is just that the tall man is a thorn in my side, and I would like to have him and the woman returned to me.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have let them go, eh, Luis?” Mathilde’s voice was taunting.

  Luis reddened. “Jorge let them go. But he has paid for his stupidity.” Luis waved an arm at the head still sitting on the edge of the camp.

  Mathilde’s eyes widened at the sight. “Who did that?”

  “The Cartone cartel. It is a warning about the hostages. But tell me, which way did the tall man go?”

  Mathilde waved at a small path. “To the stream. You will find them there, Rodrigo.”

  Rodrigo nodded. “Tomorrow I will call to the FFOC and have them send a helicopter. I need to find the tall man, or my luck will not change.”

  “And I want the woman dead, Rodrigo. She insulted me.” Mathilde put on a pout.

  “We can’t have that, now can we?” Rodrigo said.

  No, we can’t, Alvarado thought.

  31

  BANNER AND WHITTER SAT AT A SMALL CAFÉ IN THE LITTLE Havana area of Miami drinking after-dinner café cubanos. The ever-present sound of electronic dance music filtered to them through the traffic noise. It seemed that wherever Banner went in Miami, salsa, Latin, or electronic music blared nearby. Banner’s rolled sleeves and missing tie were his only concessions to being “off duty.” Whitter wore a green neon-colored polo shirt and khakis. Banner thought the combination unfortunate, but by no means the worst the man had worn.

  It was Whitter who suggested they have dinner away from Southcom’s headquarters, and Banner had agreed wholeheartedly. He needed a break. They’d been eating for an hour and during that time Whitter kept the conversation light, but Banner suspected he had some private information he wanted to pass on. As did Banner.

  “We have information that the first transaction for a passenger occurred sometime today,” Banner said.

  Whitter looked pained. “What? Who?”

  Banner shook his head. “We can’t confirm it, but a family of one of the victims told Stromeyer that their insurance company paid out on a kidnap policy. The passenger was an oil-company executive. The transfer took place using a private recovery company.”

  Whitter turned to Banner. “Perhaps your company arranged the deal?”

  Banner refused to take the bait. “Darkview doesn’t currently provide that type of service. Although we may in the near future.”

  “You’d be creating a whole industry based upon kidnap and ransom,” Whitter said.

  Banner snorted. “The insurance companies have already capitalized on that industry. Why else would they write kidnap insurance?”

  “Still,” Whitter said, “most of the passengers are regular citizens. They don’t have kidnap coverage on their home owners’ policies.”

  “Which is why we will get them out of there. And why you need to authorize movement of those five hundred special forces soldiers currently on the pipeline.”

  Whitter shook his head. “We keep going around and around on this one. But something’s happened that will make that impossible. The Colombian president responded to Margate’s ultimatum with one of his own. He insisted that all American forces leave Colombia immediately.”

  “I didn’t see any press conference to that effect,” Banner said.

  “It was a private call between the Colombian president and Margate.”

  Banner felt his anger growing. What had Margate expected? “Does the withdrawal include the five hundred on the pipeline?”

  Whitter nodded. “He mentioned them specifically.”

  Banner sipped the hot coffee laced with so much cream that it tasted thick.

  “Does the Colombian president realize that he’s biting off his nose to spite his face? The paramilitary guys won’t back down just because he makes a show of annoyance. They’ll go on a rampage over the extradition demand alone.”

  Whitter sighed. “I know, it’s just his ego talking, but it’s important to him not to appear weak. If he allows the U.S. to interfere in local matters, then it will seem as though he’s our lapdog.”

  “What did Margate say in response?”

  “Nothing. But the word got out somehow and Oriental’s oil executives descended on him in a fury. Seems they think they’ll be slaughtered if the special forces leave. Margate’s arranging emergency evacuation for them and their families prior to troop withdrawal.”

  “And Miguel and his little band?” Banner said.

  “They have to leave as well.”

  Banner put his cup down so fast that it smacked into the saucer with a clanging sound. “So Margate just leaves the passengers high and dry?”

  “He’s demanding their release in return for no extradition.”

  Banner snorted. “But what’s he going to do if the paramilitary guys don’t play ball? How does he intend to hunt them d
own and extradite them?”

  Whitter gave Banner a sly look. “I imagine a covert operation will be one likely scenario.”

  Banner shook his head. “He hasn’t contacted me. Besides, I don’t know that I’d take the project. The Colombian president will expect some sort of covert action, and he’ll put the border forces on notice. Plus, there are an estimated twenty thousand paramilitary and cartel guys running around Colombia. I’d need a small army to run a decent operation. Sending in less would mean certain death for them.”

  “It appears as though we’ll end up with sixty-eight more American hostages held in Colombia,” Whitter said. Banner reached for the check that lay between them and started counting out his money.

  “Has Margate issued withdrawal orders yet?”

  Whitter shook his head. “Not formally, no, but plans have already been set in motion.”

  “Keep the change,” Banner said to the waitress. He downed the coffee and pushed from the table.

  “Banner, where are you going?” Whitter said.

  “Whitter, just keep in contact with Stromeyer. She can handle anything I can.”

  “You’re not going to confront Margate, are you? Banner, that’s a bad idea.” Whitter sounded strained.

  “Calm down. I know better than to butt heads with the secretary of defense, for God’s sake.”

  “You do not. I was there when you did exactly that not twenty-four hours ago. Then you said his suit was bad.” Whitter sounded panicked.

  “His suit was bad, but what can you expect from a man who has the body of a dumpling and the brains to match?” Banner strode out of the café with Whitter at his heels.

  “I have a bad feeling about this.”

  “About what? I’m just headed back to my hotel room.” Banner patted Whitter on the arm. “You should head back, too. This whole affair has got to be taking its toll on you.”

  “I may not have known you long, Banner, but I’ve known you long enough to realize when you’re headed for trouble. Remember what Montoya from the embassy said. The Colombian special forces are good at recovering hostages.”

  “Like they recovered those bank executives?” Banner said.

  “But this situation is completely different.” Banner stopped walking so fast that Whitter bumped into him.

  “Listen to me. The only thing different about this situation is that there are more hostages at risk. The best chance those passengers have to survive is right now, when there are special forces in the area searching for them. Once those forces evacuate, you can kiss those hostages good-bye.”

  Whitter rubbed a weary hand across his forehead. “I agree, but what do you expect us to do? Defy the Colombian president?”

  “Tell Margate to withdraw his ultimatum. The Colombian president will withdraw his, and we can proceed to find and free those passengers.”

  “The secretary of defense is not a man who likes to lose face or reverse position,” Whitter said.

  “And what about you, Whitter? Do you believe that the ultimatum is a good idea?”

  Whitter paused. “I do not.”

  “Then tell Margate.”

  Banner left Whitter standing alone on the sidewalk, with the pulsing music of Miami in the background.

  32

  THAT EVENING EMMA AND SUMNER ATE THE LAST OF THE PIG and stared at each other. Emma didn’t want to state the obvious, but she couldn’t help it.

  “We’re out of food.”

  “So it would seem,” Sumner said.

  “Do you think you could shoot an animal if we came across one?”

  Sumner nodded. “I could certainly try.”

  Emma sighed. “My concern is that we’d alert the guerrillas to our location.”

  “We’re on borrowed time as it is. If we stay along the stream, they will surely catch us on one of their pass-bys. If we go to the interior, we risk the land mines. If we stay where we are, we risk growing old in these mountains.”

  “Better than dying. How many land mines?”

  “Colombia is one of the top five countries in the world with regard to land mines. We estimated that at least a thousand people are injured or die each year.”

  Emma was aghast. “Who is planting them?”

  “The paramilitary groups. They control their perimeters with the mines.”

  “Is there no rule of law in Colombia?” She didn’t bother to hide her disgust.

  “In Bogotá, yes. When dealing with the cartels? Only the rule of survival of the fittest.”

  Emma grabbed the tent and popped it open. “Mr. Sumner, if that’s true, then I expect to survive. Because I am the fittest, not those goddamned criminals.”

  Sumner raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

  Two hours later, they woke to the sound of a helicopter overhead. The blades chopped and whirred, sounding as though the machine would land right on top of them. Sumner and Emma stuck their heads outside the tent.

  The night sky glowed in the north.

  “They have a landing strip there.” Sumner stared at the sky.

  “That’s close. Maybe two miles away, no more.” Emma watched the glow as well, straining to see if she could make out the shape of the copter. She popped her head back in the tent and grabbed her shoes and socks. “Let’s go.”

  “Go where, there?” Sumner pointed toward the night sky.

  “Yep. There.”

  “And what do you intend to do once we get there? Introduce yourself to the guerrillas?”

  Emma handed him his shoes. “You can fly a copter, can’t you?”

  “Of course, but what’s your point?”

  “Then let’s go steal one, shall we?” She grinned at him. After a few seconds, he shook his head.

  “And I thought scientists weren’t risk takers.”

  “You thought wrong.” Emma crawled out of the tent.

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Emma and Sumner were flat on their stomachs, staring at a helicopter squatting on a dark landing strip, looking like a dragonfly that was resting. Fifty yards away, a group of men crouched by a fire, talking in low tones.

  “How long would it take to get that thing off the ground?” Emma said.

  “Too long. They’ll reach us while the damn thing is still winding up.”

  “We need a distraction,” she said. “How about if I pop up at the perimeter and taunt them? Then when they chase me, you can jump in the copter and rev it up.”

  Sumner shook his head. “And what will that prove? I’ll be in the copter and they’ll have you hostage.”

  “I’ll run in far enough to get them away,” Emma said. “After a few minutes, I’ll double back to the runway. They’ll never catch me. At least not on foot.”

  Sumner shook his head. “And if I have to leave quickly? It’s too risky, Caldridge.”

  Emma snorted. “Riskier than what? Staying in these mountains and getting killed? Dying of starvation? Sumner, we don’t even know which direction to head to save ourselves. I run like the wind. They won’t catch me.”

  Emma and Sumner glared at each other. The sound of the men’s laughter floated across to them. Sumner gazed at the men again, assessing them.

  “They’re playing craps,” he said.

  “And drinking. If we let them go a little longer, they’ll be too impaired to catch me.”

  “These guys are like cockroaches. They don’t die, they just mutate.”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  After a long moment, Sumner shook his head. “Actually, I don’t.”

  “I’ll work around to their right. When you hear them yell, run to the copter. Give me enough time to lure them into the trees, then get that piece of machinery moving.”

  “And if I have to leave quickly?”

  “Fly along the stream. I’ll be there.”

  Emma put the backpack on her back. She’d left the tent behind. If they got out of there they wouldn’t need it, and if they didn’t, they could go back and retrieve it. She prepared to move. Sumn
er grabbed her arm.

  “Be careful,” he said.

  Emma nodded once, and then she was gone.

  Three minutes later, one of the men in the craps game sent up a yell.

  “You bastard! Why you throwing rocks?” He pushed at his neighbor.

  “I didn’t!”

  The two men squared off.

  A rock flew into the circle and hit one on the back of the head.

  The men exploded into action, grabbing their guns off the ground.

  “In there. See it moving?” One man swung his rifle up and shot.

  “Get it! Come on!”

  The three ran into the tree line.

  Sumner jogged, bent over, to the copter. He swung under the nose and crawled into the pilot’s seat.

  The copter was an ancient Blackhawk. The backseats were ripped out. A couple of battered coolers were strapped to the floor on the right, held in place with bungee cords. A magazine picture of a buxom blonde in a tiny bathing suit was taped on the wall over the coolers. Someone had drawn a mustache on her.

  Sumner turned his attention back to the control panel. He kicked the thing to life. The engine turned over and the blades started a slow rotation.

  “Come on, come on,” he muttered. The blades whirred faster, but not fast enough to take off.

  More gunshots cracked through the night.

  The helicopter blades began to create their characteristic chopping sound. Sumner couldn’t hear anything over the copter’s din. He glanced back just in time to see two of the men plunge out of the trees. They fired rounds at the copter. Sumner didn’t hear the shots, but he saw the muzzle flashes. He turned on the helo light and yanked the collective. The helicopter rose into the air, rocking back and forth like a lazy fly. Bullets flew past him, flashing in the helicopter’s light like silver sparkles.

  “Come on, you fat beast, move faster!” Sumner yelled at the dashboard, wishing that his will alone would make the copter respond. He couldn’t stay and wait for Emma. Bullets hammered at the helicopter’s skin. He rose even higher, trying to rock the copter back and forth to make it a more difficult target for the men to hit.

  “Goddammit, Caldridge, where are you?” Sumner said. He rose three stories up before taking another quick look back.