by Rusty Young
Beta clearly intended for me to keep Ernesto prisoner no matter what, but the sight of all this hostage paraphernalia only compounded my unease. Beta had even brought the same type of wall hooks I’d seen in his own bunker on La 50, only now I’d be the jailer.
‘What do I say when I phone back in two weeks?’
Beta patted me on the back paternally. ‘You’ll figure it out as you go. But to make sure you don’t fuck it up, I’m transferring Rafael to your unit.’
128
AS BETA’S CARAVAN roared through the gates, I felt a wild rush of motivation. In a single afternoon I’d gone from complete despair to this: my first real shot at Buitre. In hostage negotiations, Buitre was used to gripping the dagger’s handle. But now he’d feel its sharp tip at his own throat.
Palillo was waiting for me beside the pile of equipment left behind by Beta’s men. He’d just returned from a meeting with Don Felix about his new security arrangements.
‘I heard you got Buitre!’ he declared joyfully. ‘Did he talk? Will he help us get Caraquemada?’
I shook my head. ‘It’s Buitre’s brother.’
‘Also a guerrillero?’
‘Apprentice mechanic.’
Palillo’s judgment blazed into my eyes like a spotlight. ‘You’re holding a civilian?’
‘We’ll be giving Buitre a taste of his own medicine,’ I countered. Palillo’s mouth opened but I cut him off. ‘Whatever you’re about to say, don’t.’
‘Camila won’t like it,’ he said flatly, picking up an armful of chains.
‘Then we’ll just have to make sure she doesn’t find out.’
We spent the rest of the afternoon fitting out Ernesto’s cell, making it as comfortable as possible without compromising on security. The barred steel gate we attached in place of the door. The metal grille we fitted to the inside window frame, keeping the outside shutters closed, although the slats could be angled open for light. We furnished him with a bed, a jug of water and a chair.
Ernesto himself we kept attached to the wall with a chain. He had enough slack to reach his bed but not to get as far as the gate or window. A tear rolled down his cheek as I padlocked his ankle restraint.
All my soldiers would do guard shifts on the chair outside Ernesto’s cell. ‘But they’re not to talk to him,’ I instructed Palillo. ‘Only you, Ñoño and I are to go inside.’
If Ernesto had been cheeky to Beta, with me he was outright rebellious, steadfastly rejecting eye contact, since I’d confiscated his blindfold.
I explained that it made no difference if he saw our faces – Buitre would know soon enough who’d kidnapped his brother – but he asked me why he should trust the word of a man who was holding an innocent person prisoner.
He insisted on being unchained for meals, saying, ‘Kill me if you have to, but please don’t treat me like an animal eating off the floor.’
This meant I had to watch him eat. I didn’t like him holding a knife and fork, but he pushed his point, saying, ‘I am a peaceful person.’ His tone left no doubt as to his true meaning: I am not like you.
Whenever we spoke about Buitre, Ernesto also insisted that I use his brother’s given name, Kiko. ‘Buitre is a horrible name. One day, I will tell you how he got it.’
‘Don’t bother,’ I shot back. ‘The name “Vulture” suits him perfectly.’
Despite his stubbornness, Ernesto was polite and optimistic. Once he’d adjusted to his new living arrangements, he remained upbeat and found ways to be helpful.
‘Excuse me, but I think that starter motor’s going to short,’ he advised Ñoño, hearing one of the Yamahas spluttering outside. Ñoño ignored him. Ernesto shrugged. ‘I’m a mechanic and I’d like to do something useful, if you’d please trust me.’
Later that afternoon, Ñoño returned to base panting, having pushed the same Yamaha, now broken down, two kilometres uphill. ‘All right, señor know-it-all,’ he said, unlocking Ernesto’s cell door. He’d wheeled the bike into the farmhouse’s central courtyard and fetched a toolbox.
‘Give me half an hour, please. I promise not to escape,’ Ernesto said and proceeded to fix the bike.
After this incident, Ñoño became my prisoner’s fiercest advocate.
‘This is wrong, Pedro! Ernesto is a kind person. His brother being a Guerrilla is not his fault. You should let him go.’
I guessed some of my other soldiers shared Ñoño’s views but dared not voice them. And deep down I knew Ñoño was right.
As I waited for Rafael to arrive, we continued reinforcing the base. I decided to show Iván the hidden tunnel in the cellar, where he could hide if there was danger above, careful to emphasise that he was never to go far into the passage. I also convinced Mamá to move back in with Javier Díaz, citing heightened security concerns. After sending me Ernesto, Javier could hardly refuse my mother a space in his guesthouse.
Meanwhile, Ernesto made it harder and harder for me not to sympathise with his predicament – a predicament for which I was wholly responsible. When I unlocked the gate to bring him breakfast, he’d brighten, keeping up a brave prattle of jokes and pleasantries. Somehow he started calling me Little Pedro, and I didn’t stop him. ‘Pedrito,’ he’d say, ‘how did you sleep last night? It was so hot, don’t you think?’ or, ‘Pedrito, thank you for the food at lunch; it was delicious. Please convey my compliments to the cook.’
He even told me about his fiancée – the girl from the photo. He’d asked her to marry him only two months ago, tricking her into climbing up to a lookout since he couldn’t think of anywhere romantic in his vereda. He’d given her a pink plastic ring from a Corn Flakes box, with a love letter promising a proper ring later, once he got his pay rise.
I knew the Guerrilla never spoke to their hostages for good reason, but I foolishly thought myself stronger. When I asked his fiancée’s name, Ernesto said, ‘Astrid,’ and begged me to let him call her. He said her only information would be from his mother, who was hopeless in a crisis.
Of course I couldn’t allow that – if Buitre found out, he’d interpret it as weakness – but after seeing Ernesto’s desolation, I relented. ‘If you like, I could call her myself and tell her I’m a friend, and that you are definitely alive.’
Ernesto shook his head but sat there in silence for a minute, pondering.
‘We would be friends, Pedrito. Don’t you think?’
During that first week holding Ernesto, I thought more and more about Papá. Normally, in dark moments, I felt him standing behind me with his hands outstretched, ready to guide me through tough dilemmas and catch me if I fell.
But now, my shoulders felt heavy with the burden of his disapproval. In my heart of hearts, I knew he didn’t condone what I was doing.
On the seventh afternoon of Ernesto’s captivity, I left his cell convinced I was making a mistake keeping an innocent boy chained with absolutely no moral justification. But now that I’d made the decision, I had to stick to it.
129
THE FORMER GUERRILLERO Rafael arrived at the main gate early the following evening as the sun was setting. I waited for him at the top of the drive in front of the farmhouse, in the exact same spot where Zorrillo had been standing just before I shot him.
Clearly, word had passed around since a number of my soldiers lingered nearby, pretending to work. Many of them remembered Rafael from when he’d surrendered on the final day of our trek to oust the Guerrilla and now voiced their objections.
‘No way I’m sleeping under the same roof as him,’ protested Tarantula.
‘Once a guerrillero, always a guerrillero,’ Pantera declared.
Rafael didn’t seem to care. Neither did the girls. Mona nudged Piolín and both stared open-mouthed as he strolled up the drive with his pack and a guitar in a soft case slung over one shoulder and his Galil strapped to the other. Rafael was tall, well-built and strikingly handsome with chiselled features, a square jaw and big brown eyes that glinted with sadness. He was dressed in camouflage with an
AUC armband. A tattoo of a coral snake on his wrist indicated he was now a junior commander.
‘¡Comando!’ he said, saluting me before shaking my hand firmly. ‘An honour to meet you. Alfa 1 and Trigeño speak very highly of you. I know you have no reason to like or trust me, but I feel we have a lot in common.’
Rafael seemed sincere, and Alfa 1 and Trigeño promoting him was a strong vote of confidence. But he was right: I was indeed wary. After all, he’d been a member of Caraquemada’s unit under Zorrillo and Buitre. What if he’d been one of the guerrilleros present on the day of Papá’s execution? He’d also spent the past seven months in Beta’s power, and I was still unsure of whether his transferring Rafael to my unit was part of an elaborate trap.
‘Welcome, soldier,’ I replied tersely.
I was bursting with so many questions that I didn’t know where to start. What did Rafael know about the inner workings of the Guerrilla? What could he tell me about Caraquemada? And most importantly, how did he think holding Ernesto prisoner would help us capture Buitre? But I didn’t want to give anything away myself. Luckily, Rafael seemed eager to win my confidence, and when I invited him to speak privately in my quarters, he did most of the talking.
‘I’m sorry for your father, comando. Truly I am,’ he said, stepping into the living room and immediately spying the framed photo of Papá mounted above the sofa. ‘I’m told he was a good man. But I know little about his death. I was away on a mission that week.’
I nodded, relieved to hear it.
Rafael had moved on to the photos of Camila hanging beside those of my parents. ‘Your girlfriend?’
I nodded. ‘Camila. She lives in Llorona.’
‘She’s hermosa!’ He brightened, turning back to face me and taking a seat in one of the faded blue armchairs. ‘You’re lucky to have her, and to be able to see her and touch her. I miss Beatriz every day. All I have now is this photo.’ He reached into his breast pocket and handed me a photo of a pretty girl with wavy dark hair and brown eyes, dressed in camouflage.
I was silent, sensing he wanted to continue.
‘I met Beatriz when I joined the Guerrilla. She was beautiful and vivacious and I was totally in love with her. We were recruiters who would travel together to tiny veredas to persuade other teenagers to join. Buitre was our commander and the three of us were the best of friends; in fact, it was thanks to him that we were allowed to become socios. That decision gave me the happiest years of my life.’
A smile briefly lit Rafael’s face, and then just as quickly faded. ‘One thing you need to understand, comando, is that when you join the Guerrilla you lose your family forever. Visiting them, or even contacting them, earns you the death penalty. We’re not given cell phones or leave periods. We’re not even allowed to carry cash. It’s “Revolution or Death”, and commanders control every aspect of our lives. So Beatriz and Buitre were my new family, and I loved him like a brother. But Buitre wasn’t willing to give up contact with his real family. He was rarely able to leave the jungle himself, so he asked us to take packages secretly to his hometown and give them to his mother. Buitre admitted he was skimming from Caraquemada’s cocaine money. Eventually he asked us to take a backpack bulging with cash so his mother could buy a house and pay for his brother’s apprenticeship. And we did it.’
‘What if you’d been caught?’
‘Instant execution. All three of us. And Caraquemada probably would have killed Buitre’s family. But we were always careful, and without Buitre’s protection, senior commanders would have separated me and Beatriz for being too much in love. Once, Beatriz asked Buitre what he would do if Caraquemada noticed he’d been skimming cash. Buitre said, “I’d shoot him and run.” Beatriz pointed out that he wouldn’t get ten paces before Caraquemada’s bodyguards riddled him with bullets. And you know what Buitre replied? “But my family would go on living.” When I heard that and saw the steely resolve in his eyes, the way his teeth clenched with determination, I knew he wasn’t lying. Don’t you see, comando? He’ll risk execution to send them letters. He’d steal from his own trusted commanders. He’d kill anyone he had to before harm came to his family. If it came down to it, he’d rather die himself. And that’s why I’m one hundred per cent certain that he’ll surrender to save his brother.’
Rafael paused for a moment to let his words sink in then added with sudden fierceness, ‘Where are you holding him? Let me see him.’
‘Maybe tomorrow,’ I said, glancing at my watch. ‘It’s late. You can lay your pack there and sleep in my cottage tonight.’
‘You don’t believe me,’ Rafael stated flatly.
‘I do believe you,’ I said, ‘but I’m tired and need time to think.’ Truth be told, I sensed Rafael wasn’t telling me everything about Buitre. Plenty of people will say they would die, or kill, for their family. But, as they say in Colombia, ‘Words are beautiful.’ So Buitre simply claiming he’d die for his family didn’t explain Rafael’s absolute conviction. There had to be more to the story.
‘Okay. Fine. Maybe you believe me,’ he said. ‘But you don’t trust me. To be completely honest, comando, I wasn’t sure how I’d feel meeting you. On that day you ambushed Zorrillo, you also killed a lot of my friends. But the fact is, I don’t bear you any ill will. This is war, and it might well have been the other way around. Besides, I’m eternally indebted to you.’
‘Indebted how?’
‘When I surrendered, Beta wanted to kill me and you stopped him. If not for you, I’d have been cut up into little pieces with a chainsaw. I’ve been given a second chance at life. That’s a debt I intend to repay with every ounce of my ability.’
Rafael’s mention of the day he defected reminded me of something. ‘You told us that Buitre wanted you dead. And that you wanted to join us so you could kill him. What happened?’
Rafael bowed his head. ‘That’s something I’ll share when I know you better.’
‘At which point, Rafael,’ I said, ‘maybe I’ll let you talk to Ernesto.’
Rafael nodded slowly, smiling ironically, conceding defeat. He leaned his head back against the sofa and closed his eyes. He was silent for such a long time that I was about to go into my bedroom when he began speaking again in a low voice that quavered with emotion.
‘One day Beatriz came to me in tears. She was pregnant. It should have been the best news of our lives. Instead, we were petrified. Every guerrillera is given a monthly contraceptive injection, but if it fails she’s sent to a horrible, dirty clinic and forced to abort. We didn’t want them to kill our baby so we planned to desert. Buitre immediately gave us three thousand dollars, enough to get away, but the army was in the area. All missions were suspended. We’d have to wait.
‘As her bump began to show, Beatriz begged Buitre desperately to get us out of camp. She began raising her voice at him, reminding him that we’d helped his mother, and cried every day until finally he agreed to invent a mission for us. But the very next morning, during bathing time, one of the older girls blurted out, “¡Dios mío! You’re pregnant!” Beatriz was hauled before Caraquemada. She denied her pregnancy but they searched her pack and found the money. Caraquemada put her on trial for “stealing from the revolution”. She was loyal to Buitre and didn’t tell Caraquemada where she’d got it. But Caraquemada is a tyrant who’d shoot a child before he’d swat a fly. His order was immediate: “Execution.”
‘I almost died when I heard that. I went crazy and began yelling. Luckily, Buitre intervened. “Keep quiet, hermano! Trust me on this!” He offered to personally carry out the execution. As the three of us walked to the camp’s perimeter Buitre explained his last-minute escape plan. While I dug her “grave”, he’d let Beatriz slip away and then fire a shot in the air. I’d desert on my next mission and join her in an agreed location. She kissed me goodbye. She turned, smiling, to hug Buitre and thank him, but he drew his pistol and shot her, first in her stomach where our baby was growing, and then, when she fell to her knees, in her head. “You bury h
er,” he said to me kindly. “I’ll go tell Caraquemada it’s done.”
‘I just stood there, reeling in shock as the ghastly truth dawned on me. “You set this up! You told that girl Beatriz was pregnant!” I said. He nodded. “I did it for us. She’d never have made it and her big mouth would have gotten us all killed. You, me, my mother and brother.” He put his arm over my shoulder. “I thought you’d understand … I had no choice.” I don’t know how I could even utter a word, but somehow I did. “Understand? You killed my unborn child. You killed the person I love most in the world.” His response was chilling. The memory of his cold green eyes will be imprinted on my brain forever. “I could have tried you as well, comrade,” he said, “but your ingratitude now makes the situation between us very clear.”
‘After that, I knew he was looking for a way to kill me. I wanted him dead too, but I was so stunned and grief-stricken that Caraquemada confiscated my rifle and tied me up, believing I was a danger to myself. On the day Zorrillo called for volunteers to kidnap Fabián Diaz at this finca, Buitre was out of camp. I raised my hand, smiling as though I was better, and Zorrillo returned my rifle to me. The rest, Pedro, you already know …’
Rafael was silent for a long, long time. His head was bowed, tears in his eyes. Rafael had indeed convinced me he was no threat to me or my men. He’d also convinced me that his hatred for Buitre was genuine. Now that I’d heard about Beatriz’s death, I no longer doubted his sincerity. I felt we had something in common, the pain of losing a loved one.
Rafael’s eyes glittered. ‘Pedro, the only way people truly learn anything is through suffering, by losing or fearing the loss of the thing they value most. For Buitre, that is Ernesto and his mother. And I’m convinced that for either one of them, he will give his life.’