by Rusty Young
‘Into the jungle? Extremely complicated. There’s no signal so I couldn’t triangulate her phone. However, if you can get me the location and date of their next dalliance, we could insert a team days in advance.’
‘My source can’t offer that.’
The colonel tugged irritably at his moustache. ‘For a track-and-capture operation like this, at a bare minimum I’d need to know the terrain, the building layout, the enemy’s weapons and security configuration. I’d also need authorisation from my generals. Without that, legally, I can’t endanger my men’s lives.’
‘You won’t have to,’ I said, standing. ‘When I get you this information, the insertion team will be me and Palillo.’ I tapped my finger against the gazette. ‘You need this, Colonel. We both do.’
139
ANOTHER EIGHTEEN HOURS passed with no further contact from Buitre. During that time the image of Ñoño hanging upside down had been replaying in my mind, and his screams echoed constantly in my ears.
While I waited for Buitre to make contact, I went over my strategy. I knew he would try to bluff and make new threats and counter-proposals. But by then I was tired of his games, and I’d learned to play them well myself. I’d thought through everything in detail. From now on, I would set the rules.
I’d feign reluctance to do the exchange, resisting at every turn, but once I’d extracted from him as much information as I could about Caraquemada and his girlfriend, I’d finally agree. I’d chosen Monday as the day to swap our prisoners, south of Puerto Princesca – it was the quietest morning of the week after the Sunday markets and afternoon drinking sessions.
At last, on Saturday, when I was sitting in the waiting room of Garbanzos hospital for a follow-up X-ray on my foot, Buitre called.
‘My sources inform me you just visited your beloved colonel,’ he said. ‘So you know the photo is genuine.’
‘I also know the colonel can’t track her deep into the jungle. So your offer of her name and number won’t be enough. We need dates and a location.’
‘I don’t have them,’ Buitre said testily. ‘Not even the girl knows in advance. I can’t tell you anything more.’
‘Then I can’t stop Rafael from making his sequel to your little video – this one starring Ernesto. Make sure you check your hotmail account in an hour! I’m sure you’ll enjoy the show …’
‘Wait!’ Buitre said, and at that moment I knew I had him. He might have guessed I myself wouldn’t harm Ernesto, but he knew with absolute certainty that Rafael would. ‘They meet in various peasant huts just outside of Santo Paraíso – a different one each time – so you won’t have to track her far. Baez calls her five days before each meeting, and she travels from her home in Bogotá by plane to Villavicencio, and then to Puerto Princesa by bus using a fake cédula, alone and dressed down to avoid attracting attention. She changes clothes at Flora’s Cantina, and then she’s transported the rest of the way by donkey.’
‘What about weapons and the security configuration around the hut?’
‘Security is minimal. His superiors don’t know about her. So he takes only Baez and ten trusted bodyguards. They carry AK47s, no RPGs. Four of them guard the corners of the hut. The other six form a security ring at five hundred metres.’
I believed Buitre. After my mentioning Rafael’s name, he’d sounded desperate. While he talked, my mind worked furiously. If we could penetrate close enough to the hut, getting Caraquemada might be feasible.
‘If we were to do this, what’s to stop you from telling Caraquemada that his girlfriend is compromised once Ernesto is free?’
‘And what’s to stop you from kidnapping him again? Or my mother? Pedro, we at least need to trust each other on this. For the sake of our families.’
‘Fine. Then we do the exchange Monday, 6 am. You know the tributary just south of Puerto Princesa, on the border of our territories? There’s thick jungle on both sides. We each take ten men. Our prisoners search us and the boats, and confirm via radio that we have no weapons. Then we row out, meet in the middle and do the swap while our men cover us from the banks. I give you Ernesto. You give me Ñoño and when you get back to your side, you radio me the girl’s name and number. You and I can walk away from this as enemies, but our families stay out of this – forever.’
Buitre paused for a long time. ‘Monday, 6 am.’
It was Saturday night. The exchange was two days away but preparations needed to begin immediately. I told Palillo to gather his own squad, the two snipers – Coyote and Indio – plus Pantera and Barracuda for a briefing in my office. But first I felt I owed it to Rafael to break the news to him face to face. His advice on negotiating with Buitre had been invaluable. Without it, Buitre would never have agreed to give up Caraquemada. I knew he’d be disappointed, but I thought I’d make it up to him by inviting him to join Monday’s team.
However, when I told Rafael I’d be exchanging Ernesto for Ñoño, he protested. ‘How can you possibly do this? To your father. To me and Beatriz.’
‘It’s done,’ I said.
‘Not yet, it’s not! You could call it off. Or simply not go.’
‘My decision is made. And if you want to be a member of Monday’s team, I need to know your emotions won’t cloud your judgment.’
‘With all due respect, comando, right now, that’s an assurance I can’t give,’ Rafael said, saluting me before he turned and slammed the door.
Thirty minutes later, just as I was about to commence the briefing, Rafael knocked on the door, repentant and apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, comando. I did get emotional, thinking about Beatriz. But I want to be there. I’m with you one hundred per cent.’
The others were excited when they heard my plan to exchange prisoners, until I explained that it would take place mid-river on the border of Guerrilla territory.
‘I’m in, but I don’t like it,’ Palillo stated bluntly. ‘Buitre’s already attacked you twice. Take a look in the mirror. He wants you dead.’
‘I’m in too,’ said Piolín, ‘but I don’t like it either. Call it women’s intuition.’
‘We don’t have a choice,’ I said. ‘Palillo, I need you to transfer Papá’s dinghy to the wharf at Puerto Princesa. On the morning itself, you’ll row the boat around to the tributary. The ten of you will be along the bank covering me. Palillo, Coyote and Indio will have their scopes on Buitre. If they shoot me, the snipers shoot Buitre, and the rest of you fire at his men on the opposite bank. You’ll need to shoot quickly; they’ll also be trying to kill Ñoño.’
‘But that’s suicide!’ said Piolín. ‘If one person dies, you all die.’
‘Exactly.’ I looked hard at her and then at the rest of my men. ‘It’s the only way.’
140
BEFORE FIRST LIGHT on Monday, I handcuffed Ernesto and transferred him from his cell to one of the two new pick-up trucks.
‘You’re going free,’ I said. ‘I’m swapping you for Ñoño.’
‘Really?’ His face lit up. ‘And Kiko?’
‘He’ll escape me this time. But I need you to stay calm and do exactly as instructed or it might end in bloodshed.’
Eight of us piled into the pick-up. Palillo and Coca-Cola would follow directly behind us on a Yamaha. Fortunately, I’d been able to get rid of my crutches and could walk unaided, although my foot still ached and was now encased in a heavy plastic moon boot.
As we drove the twenty kilometres towards Puerto Princesa, the darkness gradually dissolved, revealing an unseasonably gloomy day with storm clouds hanging low in the sky. We passed the sunken ferry and burned-out lanchas at the wharf, and Coca-Cola peeled off to drop Palillo at Papá’s dinghy. We then continued half a kilometre further south to where the dirt road ended abruptly in a wall of thick jungle.
While the rest of us waited in the pick-up, Mona and Pantera went down the narrow track used by fishermen that led to the tributary with orders to scout the bank.
Ten minutes later Mona’s voice came over my hand-held radio. ‘All
clear.’
I radioed Palillo to start rowing around, and our team began walking along the track with Ernesto, our rifles raised and our senses on full alert. Despite Mona’s reassurance, I wouldn’t put it past Buitre to attempt another rescue.
The air was filled with the piercing shrieks of parakeets and macaws. From the trees high above we heard the eerie cries of howler monkeys as they shook the branches, raining leaves upon us. At a sudden rustling in the undergrowth, I froze and held my breath until a family of capybaras waddled across our path.
The track opened suddenly to reveal a tributary sixty metres wide with slow-flowing, muddy water. Its steep banks were covered with low ferns and shrubs. On the other side, a lone dinghy sat at the water’s edge. Even from this slight elevation, snipers would have no trouble picking off the occupants of a boat. Once out on the water, there would be no escape and no refuge.
While Coyote guarded Ernesto, the rest of the squad scouted through the jungle, choosing optimal firing positions behind the larger trees and boulders. Piolín crouched down behind the spreading buttress roots of an enormous ceiba tree and began scanning with binoculars. ‘No sign of enemy movement,’ she reported. ‘But something’s not right. I can feel it.’
To my left I saw Palillo one hundred metres away, rowing towards us through the mouth of the tributary. Behind him the sun was rising, shrouded in dark clouds.
When he drew level with our position, Palillo dragged the dinghy out of the water and scrambled up the bank wearing a black vest.
‘At least wear this,’ he said, taking it off. It was Kevlar body armour borrowed from the army and would protect me from body shots.
‘Where’s mine?’ asked Ernesto.
Palillo shook his head. ‘You’re not the target.’
‘No,’ he said with disgust. ‘I’m a human shield.’
Finally, Piolín reported, ‘They’re arriving.’
I looked through my own binoculars and saw movement among the trees, but Buitre’s men were careful not to come out into the open. They, too, concealed themselves among the thick vegetation. Ñoño and Buitre emerged onto the bank.
My radio crackled. ‘Pedro, it’s me.’ It was Ñoño’s voice. He sounded happy, excited even. ‘Can you see me waving?’ He raised his hand in the air. ‘I’ve checked Buitre for weapons.’
I waved back, handed my rifle and pistol to Piolín, and passed my handset to Ernesto, who patted me down. ‘No weapons this side either.’
My men took up their positions as I headed down the bank with Ernesto and Palillo. Once beside the dinghy I unlocked the cuff on Ernesto’s wrist, recuffed it to my own left wrist and slipped the key into my breast pocket. We would row with one oar each.
‘What’s this for?’ he asked, rattling our cuffs.
‘A precaution.’ The handcuffs would deter Buitre’s snipers from firing on me. If they did, Ernesto couldn’t dive in the water and would be shot in turn. Our fates were literally interlocked.
We sat side by side in the dinghy and I radioed Buitre a final time. ‘No weapons in the boat,’ Ernesto confirmed to his brother. Then, as instructed, he added, ‘But you should know I’m cuffed to Pedro.’
Palillo shoved us off, and with a light drizzle spraying our faces, Ernesto and I began rowing out into the murky river. Ernesto seemed relaxed. But I wasn’t. Not at all. It would only take one nervous man and one accidental trigger pull for both riverbanks to erupt into automatic fire, with our dinghy trapped in the crossfire.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw Buitre’s boat pulling out from the opposite bank. Ñoño was rowing while Buitre was crouched low behind him.
Clever, I thought. But it was too late to copy his tactic. I felt completely exposed, rowing with my back towards the enemy.
Once our dinghies drew up alongside each other, Buitre and I grabbed the gunwales. There was a long moment of calm as we drifted, side by side. Buitre and I stared at each other. We were so close I could see the pores of his skin and the eyelashes fringing his cold green eyes.
It felt surreal; I was once more face to face with the man I’d been hunting for months, the man who’d killed my soldiers, scarred my face and kidnapped Ñoño.
Buitre glared at me defiantly then glanced at my cheek. ‘Not even time will heal that wound.’ But when he turned to Ernesto his expression softened. ‘You’ve grown up, little hermano.’
Ernesto smiled. ‘Is Mamá okay? They wouldn’t let me call her.’
‘She’s hanging in there, hermanito,’ Buitre said, before pinning me with another icy stare. ‘Although she’s too afraid to leave the house. I’m sorry you both got dragged into this because of me.’
‘Are you okay?’ I asked Ñoño as he stood, preparing to change boats. ‘This hijo de puta didn’t harm you?’
‘I am – thanks to you, Pedro. I thought I was dead. You saved me.’
‘Celebrate when your foot touches land,’ I said, suspicious that Buitre might yet be laying a trap.
I unlocked the handcuffs and Ernesto stood also. ‘You’re a good person, Pedro. I always knew you’d do the right thing.’
‘I hope one day you can forgive me,’ I responded.
‘I already have.’
While Buitre and I continued holding the boats together, Ernesto and Ñoño stepped across the gunwales then hugged. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ said Ernesto, smiling. ‘But hopefully I won’t ever see you again.’
My eyes remained locked with Buitre’s. ‘If you don’t radio me with the girl’s details as soon as your boat touches the other bank,’ I told him, ‘I have snipers ready. You and Ernesto won’t make it one step. After that if you breathe a single word to Caraquemada, a thousand copies of your emails will rain down on the jungle with that photo you sent – taken by Baez on a late-model Canon, I believe.’
Buitre nodded, and with the trade completed we thrust the boats apart. I began rowing furiously, my heart racing from the exertion but also from fear that I was now an easy target. Buitre had kept his word so far, but that didn’t mean I trusted him.
‘Lie flat in the bottom,’ I ordered Ñoño. ‘Don’t lift your head.’
I kept my eyes firmly on Buitre. From his long, relaxed strokes, I finally accepted there was no trick.
With Ñoño safe and Ernesto free, my adrenalin subsided. I felt tired. But not from rowing. I was tired of war. Tired of fighting. Tired of being angry.
When we reached our bank, Buitre was still ten metres from his. Ñoño leaped from the dinghy and Palillo bundled him behind the gigantic ceiba tree. Crouching low, I followed quickly behind.
Piolín threw her arms around Ñoño. ‘We thought we’d lost you.’
Palillo, Mona, Coca-Cola and Giraldo joined their embrace. Rafael was the only one not rejoicing. Instead, he appeared distracted, watching the tributary where Buitre was still rowing slowly. I followed his progress through binoculars.
Suddenly, the sound of rifle fire came from the jungle on the opposite side. The river’s surface around Buitre’s boat burst into vivid orange flame. Buitre dropped his oars and hurled himself into the hull with Ernesto, covering him with his body.
I pressed myself against the tree while Coyote and Giraldo fired blindly across at the jungle. At first I was convinced this was a trick by Buitre. But it couldn’t be: he was trapped in his boat and no bullets had struck our side.
‘Cease fire!’ I shouted.
Across the river I saw muzzle flashes to the left and right of the Guerrilla position. Figures darted between the trees, closing in on Buitre’s men from both sides, rifles blazing. Within a minute, the fighting ceased. Buitre’s squad was dead.
An engine roared to life and I looked downstream towards the Llorona River to see a large speedboat shooting into the tributary’s mouth. It descended upon Buitre’s dinghy in a matter of seconds. When I saw Beta at its helm, I realised immediately what had happened.
‘You did this,’ I said, rounding on Rafael. ‘You went to Beta behind my back an
d betrayed me.’
Rafael squared his shoulders defiantly. ‘I did my job. I did exactly what I was sent here to do.’
‘I trusted you!’
‘You did,’ he said, ‘and I sincerely apologise, comando. But there was no other way.’
In the meantime, Beta had forced Buitre and Ernesto onto his speedboat. I had a sinking feeling. If Beta killed Buitre, I’d never get the girl’s number. They sped towards us, running aground on the muddy bank. Beta leaped proudly from the bow, smiling victoriously. His men dragged Buitre and Ernesto from the boat, forcing them to kneel at the water’s edge. I ran down to them. Buitre looked at me with utter hatred, convinced I’d set this up.
Beta slapped me on the back. ‘In spite of your best efforts to fuck things up, mission accomplished.’ He saluted me sarcastically then kicked Buitre in the back, knocking him forward. ‘You have your man. With the compliments of Javier and Fabián Díaz.’
I stood there, shocked.
‘Rafael wanted the honour, and he probably deserves it, seeing as you went so soft …’ Beta drew his pistol, flicked off the safety, cocked it and held it out to me. ‘But I promised you it would be yours.’
‘Not here,’ I managed to say.
‘Fine, you get to kill him wherever you want, in whatever way you want to. You get the credit. I won’t say a word. I’ll leave both prisoners in your capable hands. Take your time, but don’t fuck this up again.’
141
IN EXCHANGE FOR my silence, Javier and Fabián Díaz had given me what I wanted: Buitre, the hijo de puta who’d held me down and forced me to watch my father’s murder; Buitre, who possessed the key to capturing Caraquemada; Buitre, to do with as I pleased.
‘You son of a bitch,’ Buitre said as we tied him up and hurled him into the back of the pick-up. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you.’