by Thomas Craig
This little boutique hotel in Santa Marta had modern finishes and an elegant decor that made the space feel warm and welcoming. With the bonus of in-room dining, it would be tough to leave this place behind; especially knowing we were about to head south, southeast of Bogota into the tip of the Amazon.
It was almost time to regroup on the Blackhawk with the Special Forces Commandos to catch a ride from Santa Marta to the small Colombian town of Casuarito on the Orinoco River. It was a fishing community adjacent to the Venezuelan city Puerto Ayacucho, which is where Lauren had discovered Tazario’s recent activity. It would be another full day of flying 600 miles to reach the Amazonian area.
Before I had even started to debate with myself the wisdom of getting out of bed, Arya had already rejoined Lauren for a status report with SAIC Cooley. Lauren had given Cooley the itinerary late last night to ensure the team had proper clearance and approvals to deviate from the current travel plans in Colombia.
“You are all set. Remember, stay the hell out of Venezuela. You have to create a reason for Tazario to either cross back into Colombia or grab him on any border river,” Cooley emphatically stated multiple times on the call.
“Don’t worry about Andy. I had a lieutenant in the Coast Guard flown in last night to escort Andy back on a flight tonight. He will be in good hands,” Cooley assured her before wishing the team luck and hanging up.
As I looked out over the city, I noticed a man on a second-story balcony across from me having his coffee and looking my way. It seemed like we were looking at each other so I gave a polite hand wave.
He did not wave back but rather responded with a gesture that looked like knocking on a pretend door. Strange. Simultaneously, as the man turned around to head back inside, there were three heavy knocks on my hotel door.
Goosebumps shot up all over and the strangest feeling came over me.
I thought, Could the gesture be related?
I pulled on a T-shirt and picked up my gun before looking through the peephole in the door.
There stood a gentleman in his late 50’s or early 60’s in a nice suit. The man opened his coat and did a turn to show he was unarmed.
I opened the door showing my gun ready.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
“Mr. Ceballos across the way asked me to have a word with you before you head out. May I come in for a moment?” the man asked.
“Is Mr. Ceballos the man on the balcony I waved to a moment ago?” I asked.
“Sí,” he replied with a straight face.
“Neat trick,” I replied as I motioned him in and pointed to the couch.
“Is Mr. Ceballos upset with what we did to the cartel’s mansion?” I guessed.
“Not at all. Mr. Ceballos is the head of the Cali organization. Please forgive him for not wanting to speak with the FBI, DEA, and Colombia’s Army hit squad in person.” The man said as he unbuttoned his coat again and sat down.
“Is that right? Came all the way up to Santa Marta just to say hi? I did not think the Cali Cartel was welcome this far north.”
The man looked at me as if I had said something puzzling and acted like he needed a minute to figure it out. He figured it out quick enough.
“We move more freely in this country than the Polícia and Army wish we could. If we don’t feel welcomed, we ensure we are remembered and felt welcomed when we return,” he assured me.
“Okay, okay,” I said as I tucked the gun in my waistband. “Why the visit?”
“Mr. Ceballos is on his way out of the country for a family affair. He wants to know if you prefer the rebels in the Department of Vichada to remain focused on their ground security and crops, or giving a Blackhawk trouble. You are going to Casuarito today, correct?” he asked.
I learned last night that the ‘Departments’ in Colombia were like counties or states. Bogota was in the Department of Cundinamarca and the little fishing town of Casuarito was in Vichada. Casuarito would be as close as we would be authorized to get to Puerto Ayacucho in Venezuela.
“What the hell? How do you know any of this… and are you threatening me, us?” I was utterly astonished the Cali cartel was here and had our plans hours after we made them privately. There is no way they could know this.
“Not a threat,” he replied.
“Sure sounded like one,” I shot back.
“Señor, we are not accountable for the aggressiveness of the FARC or ELN, but we do have some influence. That area is saturated with both groups. Stay along the Meta River and away from dense forest and you will not need to fear the venom of the fer-de-lance,” the man explained as he compared the hostile guerrilla groups to an aggressive indigenous poisonous snake.
“I take it you have agricultural investments in the area and would appreciate our task force remaining focused on capturing the Ibagué Cartels fleeing high ranking member?” I paraphrased what I thought.
“Sí. Yes. You get it. No promises by either of us, but perhaps a brief mutual understanding of the situation so that focus is not broken.” He stood up and buttoned his coat as he prepared to leave.
I wanted to lock the man up, but I had nothing, and it would only poke a hornet’s nest. Instead, I opened the door for him to leave. He paused in the doorway before I could close the door on him.
“You know there is a war coming?” the man shared.
“How’s that?” I asked.
“These Ibagué boys think they can migrate into Venezuela while also trying to strong-arm us for Pacific rights. If you wait a few weeks, you may find that the situation has been handled for you without expending a single bullet or risking any lives,” he suggested.
“I’m afraid we can’t do that. You know we can’t do that.”
“Suit yourselves. Happy hunting for Tazario.” He left as nonchalantly as he arrived.
We needed a serious roundtable meeting before we left Santa Marta. I quickly dressed, and almost walked out the door forgetting that I was supposed to be injured. I looked around and found the bandage in a pile on the floor next to the bed. With my act of subterfuge in place, I made my way to Holliday and Lauren’s room where I would find the others.
“How’s the hand, Agent Abrams?” Special Agent Redford asked as I walked into the hotel room.
Agent Redford and Holliday were looking over a map before their attention, along with the others, was diverted to looking at my hand. The story told was that my hand sustained a blast injuring in the raid. Nothing too serious. I kept it covered the first couple of days so no one could see the charred mess.
This was what my life has been like, though thankfully, not every day. It was a challenge, though. Constantly telling lies and having to remember who knows what about an injury that should not have healed already. Remembering to keep the lies going, keeping it all straight in my head. Ugh.
“Good. It’s not giving me too much trouble. Thanks for asking. How is your head?” I asked about her laceration from the crash. She had her hair down, as a ponytail would likely put undue stress on the stitches in her hairline.
“Good, thanks. Come check out this flight plan the pilot passed on to us late yesterday evening.”
“Yeah, about that… That’s no longer the best route, according to the Cali cartel,” I shared and instantly had everyone’s attention.
“Who did you eat breakfast with Lou?” Holliday asked as we walk over to me smiling with curiosity.
I shared my peculiar encounter with the group, and we all agreed to make some adjustments to our travel plans.
With DEA agent Salazar dead and his cohorts in custody, we were unsure how the Cali cartel came in possession of our destination.
Agent Redford attempted to give the team reassurance that the team and the commandos were all loyal and there were no leaks. “From what that man told you, Lou, it is likely the Cali cartel were keeping close tabs on Tazario and knew where he went. Therefore, they knew where we would be going.”
“The conversation seemed very specific. It co
uld be that the leak is somewhere in the military but not with our immediate team of Pilots and crew,” Arya suggested.
It was decided to continue to trust the commandos. After all, they had given their lives in our pursuit of Tazario.
There was a knock at the door.
I could not help but think, ‘could it be the Cali cartel again?’
Arya looked through the security hole in the door and then opened it for CIA agent Abbasi.
He walked in with a cup of coffee in one hand, a file in the other, wearing an Astros hat and sunglasses covering his eyes. I could not tell if he was just fighting the morning sun from his coffee run or if he had a rough night.
I did catch a little smile on Agent Redford’s face as Agent Abbasi walked it. Now was not the time, but I would follow up on that lead later. Those two were up to something and it was probably none of my business.
“I have bad news. Puerto Ayacucho has just made the CIA’s watchlist as an area of interest due to increased trafficking and smuggling,” he announced.
“Women?” Lauren apprehensively asked.
“No. Satellite images are showing the massive movement of petroleum from Venezuela by pirating gangs and massive shipments of what we suspect is cocaine from the Cali growers, ELN, and FARC guerrillas. This has quickly become a hot zone,” Abbasi stated.
Chapter 25
Lolotea
Before we left for the Amazon, I had to clear my mind of the weeks’ events. I was having a hard time focusing and would only be a hazard to the team if not 100% engaged with the team and our objective. To help make sense of the supernatural, I would talk with my lifelong friend Lolotea Manoee.
As a tenured professor of anthropology, Lolo was usually busy lecturing at UC Davis in California. She always made time for me and my crazy thoughts, ideas, and experiences, though. I could also count on her reminding me how I should know more about my ancestry.
Lolo lived for making me more aware of our culture. She loved bringing up phrases, rituals, folklore, and other interesting facts all the time with me to educate me on the ways of our people.
Alone in my room to pack for the trip ahead, I called Lolo from my cell phone to catch her up on all the recent events.
“Hello?” Lolo answered.
“Hi Lolo, it’s me Lusio. Do you have time to talk?”
“Hi, Lusio. Good to hear your voice. Are you staying out of trouble?”
“Not really.”
“Same here. Roberto and I are about an hour away from Flagstaff, to attend a special Zuni Spring festival. Oh, it is going to be wonderful, Lusio! Filled with presentations about Zuni history by yours truly and others.” She had excitement in her voice and wasn’t going to let me get a word in.
She kept going, “…and traditional music, artwork, fetishes, and dance performances, like my favorite one, the Zuni Olla maidens dancing around balancing clay pots on their heads, honoring ancestral women who carried water on their heads for thousands of years.”
I wasn’t sure she would take a breath. She seemed overly excited about the road trip and festival.
“That is great, Lolo. Pick me up a souvenir while you are there.” I knew this would get a reaction from here.
“I will, and I will hand-deliver it at your wedding in 2 months,” she said with such frankness.
“You will…wait…what’s this about a wedding?” I was confused.
“Look, if you keep dragging your heels to learn our culture, you know you have me to fall back on. But if you want to keep Arya, learn more about her culture. If she is not married before the end of this year at her age, she becomes a pariah, an outcast in her society and family.”
“Jesus! What? She never said…” I was surprised, confused, and feeling a bit ignorant.
Laughter exploded from the earpiece of my phone, as both she and her husband couldn’t hold it in anymore. “That will teach you to mess with me, buddy.”
She got me good. So good I had to sit down as I felt a little lightheaded from a small panic attack. Whew!
“Look, I will get you for that. But for now, I must ask for your help.”
“Don’t tell me you encountered another Sky Being. Did you!?”
She created her own excitement, and I was questioning if she needed me to have this conversation.
“Yes, listen, it was not a friendly visit. It tried to fly me up to the heavens, but a solid stone ceiling kept me earthbound. It almost killed me,” I shared.
“Oh my gosh, Lusio, I’m so sorry.” Her excitement was dialed down now. “When you told me about the beating one gave you in Virginia, I did more research with the elders and looked through some incredibly old papers not shared very often by the Shaman,” she said.
“What did you find?”
“Well, from what we can gather across multiple sources, we seem to be in slightly uncharted territory here,” she answered.
That did not sound promising.
I looked around the room for anything of mine that needed to be packed. Everything was newly purchased after all our original belongings were tossed on the ground of the Magdalena Valley days ago. Nothing looked familiar without taking a few seconds to look it over. I paused from my surveillance and continued to encourage Lolo to share more.
“We think it is more likely that Ahaiyuta and Matsailema are at odds with you. Perhaps in the form of Sky People, these twin brothers want to help you but in contrasting ways,” she started to explain.
“Twin brothers?” I barely recalled hearing about these two in my lectures from Lolo over the years.
She helped my memory without making me feel foolish. “You must remember them, Lou. They are also known as Morning Star and Evening Star.”
“That sounds more familiar. Why would they want to help me?” I asked as I picked up a few T-shirts, socks, and underwear and jammed them into a small duffle bag.
“Well, as the stories go; from generation to generation, so many thousands of years ago, our creator, Awonawilona, sent the twin Ahayuta brothers to help the first humans on Earth,” Lolo explained. “So maybe they are back to help you.
“If so, they have a funny way of helping,” I said.
“One is likely trying to help you navigate your way as a Demigod on soil, while the other thinks it is helping by trying to return you to the stars where Sky People and Gods reside,” she said matter of factly.
“How do I communicate with them to have a say in this, versus being an object they fight over?”
“Great question,” she said.
“And what do I do about Uhepono sending Atahsaias after me? I got my ass handed to me by one the other day before I killed it,” I added.
“Stop the car, Roberto. Honey, just pull over here please.”
I could hear Lolo talking to her husband. There was silence on her end for a moment.
“Lolo? Lolotea you there?”
“Yes, I am here! How do you not tell me you ran into that horrible beast? How was that not mentioned earlier?”
“I don’t know. A lot is going on here,” I admitted.
“Put Arya on. I want to talk to her please.”
“Arya’s not here right now, and I need you to talk to me about this stuff, not her.”
“Fine. Then please don’t give me details piecemeal. Be upfront with the important things. This changes things,” she said.
“How?”
“You can’t kill an Atahsaia. They are relentless and don’t stop until they have their victim for…well…you get the picture.” She spared the details I already knew.
“Oh, is that right? Then how do you explain me using my gift to disintegrate the damn thing's head?”
“First, your gift is to heal not to kill, so those are two different things you have going on. That is a whole separate conversation you and I need to have soon. Second, I repeat you cannot kill an Atahsaia because they aren’t even alive. Third, where are the beast’s remains if you killed it?”
I could hear a hint of agita
tion in her voice. Likely because she was the educator on all things Zuni, and I have proven time and time again I haven’t retained the facts and culture well enough to disprove her findings.
“Well, I was told that when I was found unconscious, that there were no remains of the Atahsaia to be found. But I dissolved the head and neck and watch it fall dead to the floor,” I told Lolo.
“I think you may have temporarily stopped it, but Uhepono likely just snatched it up, patched it up, and sent it back out to complete its task,” Lolo said timorously as she delivered the tough news.
“Maybe you are right. Maybe not. There is nothing in our history like me, so maybe I did kill the beast,” I said, trying to give Lolo (and maybe myself, a little) some hope.
“Please be vigilant. Uhepono has not blatantly involved itself with topside matters in over 300 years, as far as we know,” Lolo pointed out and then continued.
“Do you remember the uprisings in 1680?” She asked rhetorically. “Between 1540 and 1680, Franciscans and friars of the Catholic Church were determined to change the Zuni to Catholicism. Many missions were built, and the Zuni culture and beliefs were slowly being erased. In 1680 the Sky People spoke to our Shamans and the Shamans to the elders. Then the pueblos united to put a stop to the spread of the churches, missions, and Christian beliefs,” she shared.
“Uhepono encouraged violent acts through a few well-placed Atahsaia, which led to the deaths of 30 Franciscans. This quickly snowballed, and ultimately the pueblos drove the Spanish and their religion from the territories,” Lolo concluded.
“I can honestly say I knew most of that. Seriously though, I am not a threat to the Zuni way. I help. I heal. Why am I the bad guy?” If I was not already, I was starting to feel misunderstood by the Sky People.
“Would you be open to confronting this head-on?” Lolo asked.
“That is what it has felt like so far. A head-on collision,” I facetiously said before asking, “What do you have in mind?”
