by Rusty Young
Palillo was the first to arrive. He’d visited me at the hospital with Mamá and already knew about my near-death encounter with Buitre. Following Buitre’s attack on their house, Palillo’s mother and siblings had been forced to move in with cousins in Garbanzos, but they couldn’t stay there forever.
‘What’s the plan?’ he asked, pulling up a plastic chair.
‘The plan is to get Ñoño back.’
Rafael knocked on the door then sat beside Palillo. After the many occasions he’d proven me wrong, I was now willing to listen carefully to his advice.
‘When Buitre calls, comando, don’t deviate from the original plan. Nothing has changed. You still have Ernesto.’ He glanced at my cheek. ‘Only you now have proof of how desperately he wants him back.’
‘What do you mean?’ exclaimed Palillo incredulously. ‘Everything has changed. Buitre has Ñoño. He might kill him. Pedro, why are you even considering this pendejo’s advice? You’ve known him a week. Ñoño’s in this situation because of you.’
I couldn’t help but think that Rafael’s assessment of Buitre’s brotherly love was optimistic, bordering on delusional. If Buitre hadn’t handed himself in the first time, why would he do so now that his position was so much stronger?
However his advice to continue to demand Buitre’s surrender had merit. I’d consistently underestimated Buitre and he’d played on my flaws. At a minimum, I needed to ensure negotiations occurred on my terms. And the only way to do that was to convince him that Ñoño meant nothing to me.
It would be a dangerous gambit, and when hour after hour passed without word from Buitre, my anxiety deepened. I spent that afternoon in my new office, phone in hand, staring at it, willing it to ring. I didn’t eat from worry. That night I hardly slept.
Finally, at dawn the next morning as I was lying in bed, a call came in from a blocked number. I sat bolt upright. I subdued my nerves, letting it ring five times before answering.
‘Have you shaved recently?’ asked Buitre.
‘Kind of difficult with a patch across my cheek.’
‘Good. Then you remember what I’m capable of when angry. Each of us knows the game has changed. We’re both holding aces now. So if you want your squealing little friend back unharmed, we can make a fair and equal exchange: free Ernesto and then I’ll release Ñoño.’
‘No deal. And if you don’t want your brother chopped up with a chainsaw and the pieces sent to your mother, then you’ll do exactly as I say.’
‘Harm Ernesto and I’ll kill Ñoño.’ Then he stated with confidence, ‘You wouldn’t let him die.’
‘You’re wrong. I didn’t grow up with Ñoño. I’m not his brother. I’m his commander, and I’ve only known him for two years. He’s a trained soldier who signed up voluntarily and accepted the risks. My demand is unchanged: you have three days to hand yourself in at our checkpoint.’
I hung up, my hands trembling. Of course every word I’d spoken was a bluff. Buitre was right – I’d never sacrifice Ñoño’s life – but while I knew instinctively I’d made the right opening move, I also began to accept the inevitable. Unless we could locate and rescue Ñoño, the only way to save him was to swap him for Ernesto. Although, maybe all was not lost. Maybe there was room to bargain. After all, Buitre might still be persuaded to give up Caraquemada.
Five minutes later, as I was showering with plastic taped around my bandaged foot, the phone rang again. I wrapped a towel around my waist and hopped to my bed to answer. It was Trigeño.
‘Pedro, thank God you’re alive!’ He sounded extremely concerned. ‘I’ve been away and out of cell phone range so I just heard the news from Beta. I feel so ashamed. You said you needed more men and I didn’t give them to you. I’m flying down tomorrow with Alfa 1. We’ll hold a parade to honour the fallen soldiers. Have your men formed up at 6 am.’
With Humberto’s cocaine and Ernesto concealed on my base, that was the last thing I needed. But I controlled my voice.
‘That’s not necessary, comando. I’ve already conducted a ceremony. You’re busy with elections. Visit me once we’ve won.’
‘At least come back to La 35 to recuperate. On full pay, of course. I’ll have Beta take your place while you’re on medical leave.’
Trigeño’s sincerity I didn’t doubt for a moment, but I now suspected the play Beta was making behind the scenes. He’d love nothing more than to have me out of Llorona and take over my base.
‘Colonel Buitrago would never accept Beta being in charge of anything other than protecting Fabián, remember?’
‘That’s true. But this attack by Caraquemada can’t go unanswered and I also promised the colonel that I’d protect you. I should have done this when you suggested it at Christmas. I’m sending down Valderrama with fifty soldiers – forty of his own plus ten to replace the men you lost. They’ll set up base in Puerto Princesa. I’ll transfer you funds to buy replacement vehicles.’
‘Thank you, comando,’ I said.
‘Not at all. I was wrong to leave you on the front line with only forty men. Not when Beta has almost sixty for Fabián’s security.’
More like a hundred and twenty, it was on the tip of my tongue to say. If Trigeño didn’t know Beta’s true numbers, there was only one possible explanation: Beta was recruiting soldiers himself, and the Díaz brothers were funding their salaries. Who would these Autodefensa soldiers be loyal to, if it came down to it?
‘Don’t worry about me, comando, I’m down but not defeated. In fact, I’m more determined than ever to see this through. I’ll see you in five weeks, after the elections.’
‘I promise to squeeze in a visit before then,’ said Trigeño. ‘You’re a brave soldier, Pedro. We need more like you.’
Although I’d managed to thwart Trigeño temporarily, he was spontaneous and I couldn’t afford a surprise visit. Ernesto I could hide, move or, in the worst case, try to explain. Not so the four tonnes of cocaine.
Three weeks had passed since Javier had promised to move it. He’d ducked my calls and ignored repeated messages requesting he ‘come with trucks and men to help move those heavy boxes as promised’. The need was now urgent. I wanted the cocaine gone.
I was glad when this time Javier picked up. ‘Pedro,’ he said. ‘Don’t say a word. I received your messages. I’m getting in my BMW right now.’ I heard a car door slam. ‘I’m on my way up.’
137
TO MY SURPRISE, Javier arrived in his champagne BMW with no trucks and no workers – only two bodyguards. I was standing by the henhouse, having expected that we were about to open the bunker. Javier pulled up in front of me and exited the car, looking tired and stressed.
‘Amigo, you’re one tough berraco,’ he said, taking in my patched cheek and crutches. ‘Beaten, shot, nearly killed but straight back to work. That hijueputa Caraquemada has it in for you. But at least your mother and Camila are safe with me and Fabián.’
‘And I’m truly indebted to you both,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘But that’s not why I phoned.’ I tilted my head towards the henhouse. ‘You promised to move that white mierda.’
‘I did promise. And I’m sorry, but I can’t.’
‘Can’t? Why not?’
‘Because I don’t have a clue how to get rid of it. I’ve asked close friends and they’ve said it’s worth millions, but I simply don’t know how that industry works.’
‘How can that be? I know for a fact that your father delivered barrels of sulphuric acid to the Guerrilla.’
‘And as far as I know, that’s all he ever did – divert chemical supplies from our fertiliser factory to Caraquemada under duress. How is that different to your own father handing over his hard-earned cash and crops? And it doesn’t mean that I know anything about distributing the final product.’
‘I’m standing on four tonnes of perico,’ I said, tapping my toe against the henhouse. ‘It’s on your father’s finca. And you yourself showed me the newspaper proving it was placed here two weeks before his deat
h. So clearly he moved a lot more than chemicals. For all I know, your father was a cocaine capo and that’s the reason Zorrillo killed him.’
‘Impossible! How dare you—’ Javier began, raising his fist and stepping towards me.
I jumped back and, with the sudden stab of pain from my wounded foot, it just came out: ‘Then why else would Zorrillo demand the little white book?’
Javier froze, staring at me in shock. Then he frowned in puzzlement before unclenching his fist. ‘Buitrago tapped our phones,’ he stated flatly, dropping his hand by his side. ‘I should have known.’
‘So what was in the book?’ I asked matter-of-factly.
‘I have no idea. We never found it. Fabián and I have spent years wondering. If you’re right, and our father was selling or transporting drugs, then maybe the book had a list of routes or buyers. Whatever it contained, Caraquemada wants it badly. Two months after they killed my father, he sent a squad here. They tied up our caretaker and tortured him, demanding the location of the book. They’re animals, Pedro. Even with Caraquemada weakened I still have nightmares he’ll kidnap me and do the same.’
‘You have Beta. You’re hardly in danger.’
‘Beta? You think I like waking up and seeing an army camped on my lawn?’
‘Tough price to pay. Your businesses are flourishing.’
‘Money isn’t everything. Look at me! I’m thirty-one and I look fifty. I’d love nothing more than to get married and have children. I didn’t choose this life, Pedro. It was forced on me. I’m not a soldier like you. I’m not brave. I’m a businessman. But ever since Fabián and I helped you with Zorrillo, we also have prices on our heads.’
‘Then why not leave?’
‘We could! We have US passports. But I won’t flee like a dog with its tail between its legs. Maybe you and Buitrago are right – maybe our father wasn’t always strictly legal – but he worked like a packhorse his whole life. And I can’t throw all that away. It would be like spitting on his grave.’
‘That doesn’t change the fact Trigeño is promising to visit here any day or that he’ll kill me, you and anyone who’s seen that white powder down there. You need to move it right now, Javier. What about your friends from the fiesta?’
‘They’re the ones I asked. They laughed and offered to buy a brick. For personal consumption. Although there is one person I didn’t call – Don Miguel, my father’s old business partner. He might know someone. But you need to trust me and keep this quiet a little longer. I’ve kept my word. I had Beta bring you Ernesto.’
There was not much I could say to this. Javier had indeed kept his promise to help me get Buitre. It wasn’t his fault the situation had changed with Buitre now holding Ñoño captive in the jungle.
Prior to this visit I’d been certain Javier was involved in narcotráfico, but when he departed that certainty wavered and I began to wonder yet again whether I’d been wrong about him. His reactions seemed genuine. The way he’d puffed up so violently at my accusation against his dead father, and then his sudden deflated calm when confronted with the fact of the little white book. He’d seemed embarrassed, ashamed even, and with a drug trafficker for a father, who wouldn’t be? He’d also been frightened by my mention of Trigeño’s possible visit. Knowing Trigeño’s deadly stance against trafficking, it simply wasn’t logical for Javier not to move the cocaine if he were able to.
There was no doubt Humberto had been a large-scale trafficker who’d worked with the Guerrilla. However, it might just as well have been Zorrillo and Caraquemada, rather than the Díaz brothers, who’d taken over his operations after his death.
Perhaps Rafael knew something. I radioed him and asked him to meet me under the jacaranda tree.
‘What can you tell me about the Guerrilla’s involvement in drug trafficking?’ I asked.
Rafael shrugged. ‘Not a lot. That wasn’t my job, comando. True, I’ve guarded coca fields and shot at the US Blackhawks and fumigation planes sent to poison the crops. I’ve even buried money in the jungle, marking the spot on a map. What I do know is that cocaine is absolutely crucial to their financing. That’s why Caraquemada has been prepared to give up Puerto Galán and Puerto Princesa, but never Santo Paraíso – it’s like a money factory for them.’
‘So they definitely protect the growers and producers, and tax them. But do they traffic it themselves?’
‘It’s possible. I’ve seen cocaine – mountains of it. We used to move it by foot and by boat to Flora’s Cantina.’
‘But how do they get it out? That’s what I simply don’t under stand. We search every vehicle at our checkpoint and Buitrago’s men inspect river traffic.’
Rafael shrugged. ‘No idea, comando. But I just saw you talking to Javier Díaz. Does this have something to do with him?’
‘You know what?’ I said. ‘I’m beginning to think it doesn’t.’
138
THAT NIGHT AT dinner I received a text message that could only be from Buitre: CHECK THAT SAME ACCOUNT.
‘Don’t do it, comando,’ urged Rafael. ‘Buitre’s trying to bargain. Remember what happened last time. As soon as you open that email, he’ll know you’re weak.’
Palillo disagreed. ‘How can you not open it with Ñoño’s life at stake? He’s already had him for five whole days.’
I stood from the table and limped to my new office with Rafael and Palillo trailing behind, still arguing.
The inbox contained a single email with a blurry video clip that was four seconds long. Ñoño was hanging upside down, swinging from side to side. His face was bruised. The camera panned up, showing one of his ankles tied – he was suspended by a rope from a tree. A wooden pole struck him, he thrashed about, and Buitre’s voice demanded, ‘Speak!’
But Ñoño was brave. ‘Pedro! I’ve said nothing. Don’t—’
Then the video cut out. I replayed it again. And again.
Palillo glared at me. Rafael folded his arms.
‘Ñoño’s fine,’ he declared. ‘Those bruises are from the motorbike fall. I’ve seen that technique used a dozen times. More than thirty minutes upside down and the person can’t thrash about like that. Buitre hasn’t hurt Ñoño. But now he knows you’ve seen this, you’ve weakened our position.’
Palillo was ready to jump down his throat when Rafael insisted we now had to counter with a similar video of Ernesto. ‘If you won’t then I will,’ Rafael offered.
‘No way,’ I said. I pressed REPLY and began typing.
‘What are you doing?’ demanded Rafael.
‘Negotiating,’ I said.
My message read, ‘Resend the photo of Caraquemada. Or else …’ I attached a photo of a chainsaw before pressing SEND.
Rafael was furious. ‘Comando, you’re making a big mistake here. Provided you don’t let him bargain, he’ll hand himself in.’
Palillo disapproved also, but for a different reason. For him the choice was simple: we all wanted Ñoño back, and Ernesto’s presence was a curse that had only brought misery upon us. ‘Just do the straight exchange, one for one. I know how much you want Caraquemada, but you’re bluffing using Ñoño’s life!’
However, five minutes later, my bluff bore fruit. The same photo of Caraquemada with the blonde girl appeared in the inbox. This time, Buitre didn’t delete it. I began downloading the file and then noticed Buitre had included a short reply: ‘I’ll help you get him, but time is limited. They meet once a month. Send this photo to Buitrago for authentication. You’ll need him to track her. I’ll swap Ernesto for Ñoño, as well as the girl’s name and number.’
Again, Rafael was incredulous. ‘It’s a trick, comando. And even if it isn’t, you said it yourself: once we have Buitre we can extract his information on Caraquemada.’
Whether it was a trick or not, I’d soon find out. I forwarded the photo in a fresh email to Colonel Buitrago with the following message: ‘I recognise the face. But is this authentic?’
The colonel phoned me the next morning and I took a taxi
to his office.
On Buitrago’s desk, the photo of Caraquemada lay on top of a local gazette. I expected he’d be happy, but he looked more frazzled than ever.
‘Bad news?’ I asked.
He slid the photo aside and held up the gazette; the front-page headline read: COLONEL FAILS TO PROTECT TOWNS. The article below detailed the recent attack on Puerto Princesa and called yet again for his resignation.
‘Rather than providing me with more resources, my superior is reassigning my own soldiers to other units.’
‘Don’t worry. Don Felix will reverse that once he’s elected.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ he said. ‘I’m hearing rumblings from the generals. Someone powerful wants me transferred. They won’t say whom. But whoever is making these moves against me not only has political contacts at the highest national level but also strong influence over local media.’
I didn’t have to think hard to figure out who he meant: the Díazes.
The colonel now turned his attention to the photo. ‘Ugly motherfucker,’ he said. ‘Never seen him myself, but no wonder he doesn’t like cameras.’ Then his expression became stern. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘A guerrillero who defected to us has an inside source,’ I said. ‘So is it authentic?’
The colonel nodded. ‘Pure gold if we knew where to dig. My analysts decrypted the EXIF metadata tags on the jpeg file. The image originated from a Canon model released in the US only five months ago. So it’s recent. That red flower you see in that vase behind them – that’s a haliconia, native to the region south of Santo Paraíso. The girl’s hair appears to have been dyed professionally, so she’s not likely a guerrillera. But our facial recognition software came up with no match; even if she’s in our database, it would require a frontal shot.’ Placing his forearms on the desk, Buitrago leaned forward assertively. ‘So who is she?’
‘Not sure yet.’ I shrugged casually, not wanting to give him more information than I had to. ‘Apparently, his civilian girlfriend. They meet regularly. If I can get her name and number, could you track her?’