by Clay Farrow
He rested, filling his lungs, gathering his strength and all the while planning. What was next? The whereabouts of Monica and Amanda was still a mystery. Guerra and the colonel would know, but how to get to them? He paused. There might be a way. First though, he'd better get out of the hole he was in.
Using the technique he had employed earlier, he scaled the walls of the grave and rolled to freedom. Lying flat on the ground, he scanned the horizon for signs of life. He was alone and safe for the moment. The prison seemed quiet with three uniformed guards clustered in a group by the front gate. Lights were on in the warden's second story office. The colonel was still in his nest.
Stooped over, he started toward the prison when a jeep, in need of a muffler, drove through the prison gate. He thought nothing of the vehicle until it turned in his direction. His alarm increased as the three guards ran after the vehicle.
Hilton debated slipping away into the night. But looking back, he saw the trail he had left. His dripping clothes had marked the route from his watery grave like a billboard, broadcasting his location. He backtracked, sweeping dry earth over his trail, until he had removed all trace of his presence.
At the edge of the grave he looked down into the water, then at the oncoming squad. He considered surrender, but then a smile crossed his lips. It occurred to him he should give them what they expected. The question was, were they expecting two or three bodies? Had his escape been discovered? He assumed it had. What other reason would the troops have for hustling out to a graveyard in the dead of night? He'd proceed on the assumption Guerra was aware of his escape. Hilton slipped back into the grave and ducked beneath the water.
32:
Rancho de la Noche – Wednesday
The shaft of light from the hallway cut through the darkness of the bedroom as the door swung open. Monica Fremont froze in the center of the room, caught like a deer in a car's headlights. Ken Byers stood in the doorway with an armed guard looking over his shoulder. She saw Ken's angry expression change to one of confusion.
"Why are the lights off?" he demanded, flipping on the switch.
"We were trying to sleep," Liz responded.
"On the floor?"
The women were standing on the sheets used in Amanda's circus act.
Ken stepped across the threshold, eyed the stripped bed, then surveyed the rest of the room. "Where's the kid?"
The women exchanged a furtive glance.
"In the bathroom," Monica said.
His eyes came to rest on the closed bathroom door. He stepped to one side of the bedroom entrance. Without looking back at the soldier, he said, "Get the kid out here now."
There was a hollow clunk. Ken wheeled around. His bodyguard crumpled to the floor. Amanda stood over the soldier holding the remnants of a large, heavy, terracotta water jug. The stunned soldier lay sprawled out on the floor, covered with shards from the smashed urn.
Monica took a step back. "You're ex-FBI, I'll let you handle the rough stuff."
Liz nodded and streaked toward Ken.
"What the hell do you … ," Ken exclaimed.
Liz spun Ken around, so he was facing her. Then, gripping his wrist and using her hip for leverage, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt just below the collar, twisted around, and pitched forward, launching him into the air with a perfect hip throw. Ken cart-wheeled over her shoulder and crashed to the floor, flat on his back. Liz dropped to her knees beside the wheezing scientist and began to frisk him.
"Amanda, disarm the guard," Monica ordered. "I'll find something we can use to tie them up."
The command ignited Amanda and she grabbed Liz's .38mm revolver from the guard's utility belt, then scooped up his AK-47 from the floor. Monica ran to the window and tore down a pair of the drapes' braided draw cords. She dropped one of the cords into Liz's hand, then rushed over to help Amanda. Liz rolled Ken over on his stomach and tied his wrists together.
"Diego," Ken bellowed. "Help, we're in the bedroom."
"Shut up, you little dick," Liz growled, whacking the back of Ken's head with the flat of her hand. Leaping to her feet, she yelled, "We gotta go."
Monica and Amanda finished tying the guard and shot to their feet. The sound of boots charging up the staircase could be heard.
"Let's go," Monica urged, taking the two weapons from Amanda. She kept the handgun and handed the rifle to Liz. "You take the AK. I've never even held one of these before."
"Ready," Liz said.
Monica nodded, cocked the revolver, and led the way down the hall in the direction of the approaching footfalls. Liz jacked back the AK-47's slide, arming the weapon, and followed. Off to one side of the staircase, the two women stood shoulder to shoulder and waited.
Monica felt the adrenalin rush that combat was supposed to induce. She glanced at Liz, who exhibited no outward signs of eager anticipation or fear. It occurred to Monica that like Hilton and herself, Liz and she made a good team, working together as a unit. They didn't need many words or signals but automatically went to the right place and did the right thing.
"Where are you two going?" Amanda hissed, moving down the hall in the opposite direction. "There's another set of stairs to a third floor."
The two women started toward Amanda, who ran to the end of the hall and disappeared around the corner. Monica and Liz raced after her, ducked around the corner, and bounded up the stairs.
Amanda stopped on the landing and waited for the other two to catch up. The three women looked up to see a pair of French doors at the top of the stairs. They tore up the staircase.
* * * *
Lieutenant Diego poked the barrel of his pistol, then his head into the hall. Other than the trussed soldier, the hallway was empty. He looked back down the stairs at his men.
"It's clear, go!" he ordered.
The three soldiers scrambled up the staircase past him, and ran down the hall toward their bound comrade. One of the enlisted men pulled his knife from its sheath and quickly cut away the soldier's restraints.
"In here," Ken called.
Diego and the other two men dashed to Ken's side. One kneeled and quickly freed him.
Once untied, Ken clambered to his feet with the help of the lieutenant. "Where are they, Diego?"
"The observation gallery."
"Why are you standing here?" Ken yelled impatiently. "Go after them,"
* * * *
Monica heard the shouted order as she and the others burst through the French doors, charging out onto a brightly lit balcony. She stopped short, unable to comprehend what lay before her.
It was as if she had stumbled into an open-air gallery of a theatre with seating for at least fifteen. An aisle led to the front of the gallery, where a two-foot high guardrail ran the width of the balcony. Two spotlights were shinning into the chain link enclosure. The women were able to see over the dense hedge of shoulder-height bushes to a savannah of tall grass, and the jungle beyond.
"What is this?" Liz asked.
Monica shrugged. "Haven't the foggiest."
"We're trapped," Amanda said.
Monica looked past the thick shrubbery at the sea of grass. From the hacienda, she heard footfalls pounding up the stairs. Grabbing a nearby collapsible chair, she shut the double French doors and wedged the chair under the door handles.
"We'll jump. That tall grass will cushion our landing," Monica said, giving Amanda a quick peck on the cheek. "Follow me and run like the wind."
Monica sprinted down the ramp and leapt onto the railing. She bent at the knees and sprang into the air, easily flying over no-man's land, the hedge and landing in the tall grass. On touchdown, she lost her balance, but the floodlights permitted her to clearly see what lay before her. Tucking in her head she somersaulted into the soft grass, sprang to her feet, and waved the others on. "Hurry!"
Amanda raced down the ramp.
Liz glanced over her shoulder. "They're on top of us. They're coming up the stairs."
Amanda was still in the air when Liz took
off, the AK-47 held diagonally in front of her, at port arms.
Monica ran to intercept Amanda as the teenager made a perfect five point parachute landing and hopped to her feet.
"Get back to the protection of the hedge," she ordered, pushing Amanda toward the wall of shrubbery.
Liz landed on her feet and uttered a painful yelp as she tumbled to the ground, still clinging to the rifle.
"Shit," she cried. "I twisted my ankle."
Monica started for her injured companion, who was lying in the grass out in the open. She heard Ken, Diego, and the soldiers crash through the French doors.
"There's Fremont and Dennison, and they're armed," Ken yelled. "Where's the kid?"
Monica realized if she didn’t do something quickly they would be shot. She raised the revolver and squeezed off a round, aiming at the spotlight anchored to the wall just above Ken's head. The slug shattered the spotlight and buried itself in the brick wall. Bits of glass, mortar, and brick rained down on Ken.
The enlisted men raised their AK-47s to their shoulders.
"Don't shoot the Fremont woman. Get Dennison," Ken ordered.
Before they opened fire, Liz rolled to her knees. She brought the rifle to her shoulder and unleashed a volley of automatic fire.
Ken and the soldiers hit the deck when Liz's barrage raked the wall of the gallery. The remaining floodlight glowed intensely, flickered, and died.
When the balcony was plunged into darkness, Monica ran to Liz and pulled her to her feet. Together, they hobbled to the safety of the hedge. Once they were reunited with Amanda, they sank to the ground behind the bushes, exhausted.
Their efforts at concealment were helped by fast-moving clouds that blocked the glow of the full moon and stars, seemingly on command.
"Good shooting, Aunt Monica, Miss Dennison," Amanda whispered.
Monica gave Amanda a thumbs-up and looked on with approval as Liz acknowledged the compliment with a quick smile. She stood and stepped to see over the shrubbery, and was able to make out six silhouettes milling around on the terrace. "Quiet, I want to hear what they're planning."
"After them, Diego," Ken demanded.
"No, Señor, it is too dangerous during the night. We wait until the morning."
"Why are they afraid to come after us?" Amanda inquired.
Monica sat back down. "At night, the hunted often becomes the hunter."
Liz nodded. "We have the advantage. They have to move, all we have to do is wait. And we're armed. If we weren't, they'd be crawling all over us by now."
"What now?" Amanda asked.
"We've got until daylight to get to Belize," Monica whispered, then switched her gaze to Liz. "How bad is your ankle?"
"It's sore, but I can walk."
"Good. At least you're wearing running shoes. Most female tourists show up for jungle excursions with only sandals or worse."
"Do you think we can make it?" Liz asked.
Monica felt her first responsibility was to Amanda. If Liz couldn't keep up, the woman would have to hide. Once Amanda was safely home, she'd return to smuggle Liz out of Guatemala. "Probably. All we can do is try. We'll head to that tree line back there. Once we're safe, we can find the highway and flag down a ride."
Monica looked up at the terrace. The men remained ready to open fire if the clouds parted and the moon showed itself.
"Stay down crossing the field, so we don't make ourselves easy targets," she cautioned. "Do you need help, Liz?"
"I think I'm okay for now."
"Then, let's move it."
Hunched over, Monica led the way across the grassy plain toward the sanctuary of the jungle. Liz, noticeably limping, was next, followed by Amanda. They were half way cross the plain, when the moon moved out from behind the clouds. All three women dropped on their bellies.
Something close to Monica caught her attention. She reached out and picked it up.
"What is it?" Liz asked, moving to Monica's side.
"A bone," she said, examining it. "The thigh bone of a human."
Amanda crawled up on Monica's other side. "Ick! It's covered with ants. Are you sure?"
"Sweetie, I've studied human and animal remains long enough to know this bone is the right femur from a human male. And it's been here for no more than two weeks, probably less."
"Where's the rest of the body?" Liz asked.
"Not here is all I can tell you."
The clouds drifted across the sky, slowly hiding the moon once again.
"You're saying the ants ate all that in two weeks?" Liz asked. "From what I learned in classroom training at the Bureau, it would have taken much longer for insects to strip the bone clean."
"There are long narrow gouges in the bone. Something else consumed most of the flesh. The parasites are just adding nature's finishing touch." Monica tossed the bone into the grass. "Let's keep moving."
The trio crossed the remaining stretch of grassland, and disappeared into the jungle undergrowth without incident. As they did so, the clouds parted. Their freakish luck was holding. The moonlight allowed them a glimpse of what lay ahead.
"I think we should move further into the jungle so we're sure we can't be seen," Monica said.
"Then turn north and move parallel to the hacienda for at least a 100 yards," Liz continued.
Monica nodded. "And from there, west to the highway. Once there, we'll be able to flag down a ride to the border."
"Or hijack a vehicle, if necessary," Liz added. "I'll never make it walking."
With Monica in the lead, they set off in single file through the dense jungle. For a little more than five minutes they struggled over fallen palms before stumbling into a broad clearing and interrupting a tiny herd of grazing animals. Standing side-by-side at the edge of the glade, the women watched the startled creatures gallop into the safety of the bush.
"What are a herd of ponies doing here?" Liz asked.
"You need glasses, Miss Dennison," Amanda laughed. "Those aren't ponies, they're zebras."
"You're joking!"
"No."
"Oh God, I hope this isn't what I think it is."
"What is?" Monica asked.
"Have you ever heard of Pablo Escobar?"
"The Columbian cocaine king?"
"That's him. He set aside acres on his ranch for a park-like zoo. I pray Rodriguez hasn't gone as far as the dope lord. Escobar stocked his menagerie with zebras, hippos, and … ."
A low rumbling sound came from a dark form emerging from the bush on the far side of the meadow.
"Please tell me that isn't what I think it is," Liz moaned.
33:
Santa Elena Graveyard – Wednesday
Hilton Hastings dove straight down until he escaped the perpendicular walls of the grave and was again in the burial chamber. The murky water had cleared since he had pulled himself onto dry land. Now he could see at least five feet out from the grave. He spied one of his fellow inmates pinned to the roof of the cave and summoned up his resolve. Latching onto the cuff of a pant leg, he kicked back toward the flooded grave, dragging the man behind him. Arriving at the aperture, he rolled the inert body over and stuffed the corpse into the shaft, letting the cadaver float to the surface face down.
Needing air, he elbowed the body aside and filled his lungs. Diving back down, he began swimming in ever-increasing circles in search of the second dead prisoner. On his third attempt, he saw the body and dragged the remains back to the shaft. Rotating the body so the dead man was head to foot with his mate, he let the cadaver drift up to join his companion.
Hilton spread the legs of the second corpse. Directly beneath the chest of the first body, he remained hidden and had a small air pocket. As he sucked in air, he heard the belching jeep approach.
* * * *
Alberto Guerra jumped out of the jeep, gripping a large flashlight. Colonel Miguel Rodriguez shut off the engine and climbed out.
The senator glanced at Jeremiah Gantry, who was sulking in the back of the jee
p. "You coming?"
Shaking his head, he said, "I'll wait here. This is your obsession, not mine."
Alberto abruptly nodded and ran to the graveside. He knew Jeremiah was more than a little pissed off at him.
"Since my arrival," Jeremiah yelled, "this ghost from the past is all you can think about. Why are you so worked up over this Hastings guy, especially when the Fremont woman is with Byers? I can only imagine what that degenerate and his harlot are doing."
Alberto shone the powerful beam into the water-filled pit. "What the hell happened here?"
Miguel sauntered over and looked into the grave. "An underground river overflowing? A flooded cave? Who knows, the lake is close by."
Alberto stared into the water. He had an eerie sense he was going to be cheated out of his revenge once again. "I see only two bodies. Where's the third?"
"They're packed in like sardines. There could be a third body down there. The burial crew said Hastings was dumped first. He may not have been able to get out when the grave flooded. He likely drowned."
"I'll believe it when I see it. And what about the body bags?"
"They're so thin they probably fell apart two minutes after the water got to them."
As the two men argued, Alberto noticed that the trio of guards who followed on foot had finally arrived at the grave. They gazed at the bodies floating in the water. One of the soldiers wandered off to inspect two other freshly dug graves.
"Let the prison authorities handle this," Jeremiah shouted, "we have … ."
"Jerry, stay out of it," Alberto snapped. "You don't know the whole story."
"Your friend's right, cousin," Miguel counseled, "leave it with me. If he's alive, we'll find him. But the truth is if he didn't drown, he's in the wind."
Alberto was silent and continued to stare into the grave.
Miguel rested a hand on his cousin's shoulder. "Okay, then ask yourself this - how did he climb out from under two stiffs in that narrow space?"
