by Gary Ponzo
Would he live long enough for Thomas to remember his father?
Chapter 4
Trent Merrick knew his text message had reached its destination because he was still alive. His leg throbbed. His head was lacerated. But he’d survived the fall and knew his brother was responsible for his current ability to take another breath. That and the soft rainforest floor.
Trent was still semi-conscious when he’d overheard someone from the Cameno Cartel challenge his brother into admitting his identity over Trent’s cell phone. Something his brother wouldn’t do unless he was really pissed, or really drunk. Or both. Nevertheless, now the Camenos knew who they had for a hostage and they were about to negotiate a hefty price for his release.
After a brief stint in a makeshift medic tent, Trent was relocated to his current facility. A dome-shaped building made of thatch and bamboo. The smell told him he was still in the thick of the rainforest. He could feel the humidity and temperature drop that equated to around two thousand feet elevation. He was lying prone on a portable cot in a room with a dirt floor and two candles hanging from the ceiling. A man maneuvered his way through the mosquito net covering the doorway wearing a white lab coat with a Red Cross emblem over the breast pocket. He smiled affably and picked up a round stool from the corner of the room and brought it toward Trent.
“How are we feeling?” the man said with a slight Spanish accent. He sat on the stool and clasped his hands together, examining Trent’s torso with his eyes.
“Who are you?” Trent asked.
The man removed his black-rimmed glasses and cleaned them with the bottom of his lab coat. “I’m Doctor Paulson.” He pointed to Trent’s leg which was immobilized by a piece of bamboo and lots of white athletic tape. “I am the one who patched up your leg and tended to your head wound.”
Trent was mostly unconscious for his treatment, but he touched his forehead and came back with dark, moist fingers.
“It’s iodine,” Dr. Paulson said. “I had to secure the wound with some strong adhesive strips. They should hold it together as long as you don’t exert yourself.”
“Thanks.”
“Sure. You took quite a fall. I’m surprised you did not break anything.” The doctor had a barrel chest and his arms were so muscular they stretched out the sleeves of his jacket.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in a Cameno camp. They’re keeping an eye on you until they can determine your future.”
“And who do you work for?”
Dr. Paulson pointed to the red cross on his coat. “They sent for me when they realized how badly wounded you were. They didn’t have anyone who could handle your injuries.”
“I see. Exactly what are my injuries?”
“Well, of course there were some lacerations across your forehead. Then there was your leg. It wasn’t broken, but you’ve definitely torn a ligament.”
Trent pulled himself up on his elbows and twisted his left foot to the left, then back to the right. There was no knee pain. “Which ligament?”
“Oh, any number of ligaments could have been torn.”
“I see.” Trent certainly was no doctor, but he knew there were only a couple of ligaments which could’ve caused him that much damage.
Dr. Paulson took a furtive glance over his shoulder at the open doorway and said, “Care to enlighten me on why you were in that tree?”
“Why do you want to know?”
Dr. Paulson shrugged. “I’m curious. They tell me you’re a spy for the United States government. Is that true?”
“Yes, I am.”
Dr. Paulson’s eyes lit up like he’d discovered a pot of gold. “Really?”
“Yes.” Trent leaned closer to Dr. Paulson and lowered his voice. “I’m trying to uncover a brilliant plan by an incompetent cartel stooge who pretends to be a doctor while he interrogates prisoners for information.”
Dr. Paulson’s eyes grew dark as he pulled back and sneered at Trent. “You think you are smart don’t you, Mr. Merrick?”
Trent laid back and rested his head on the folded towel he was using as a pillow and stared up at the thatch ceiling. He listened to the nighttime rhythm of the jungle. There was a certain cacophony of insects and predators which would keep the tourists awake, but to him it was the sweet cadence of biology at work.
“Why don’t you just tell me the truth,” the fake Dr. Paulson said. “This would take the trouble from your mind and free you from your guilt.”
Trent placed a hand over his eyes. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“I am an open-minded man,” Dr. Paulson said in a gentle tone.
“No,” Trent said, “I don’t mean it’s complicated. I mean you wouldn’t understand because you only have a third-grade education and I’m likely to use words too big for your vocabulary.”
In the shadows of the candlelit room, Trent felt a hand grasp his left leg. A jolt of pain surged up his thigh forcing his back to arch upward from the shock. His entire body convulsed as he fought to maintain control.
The man’s grip tightened. Trent felt a rush of blood and nerves consume him. He was overwhelmed with a searing anguish and was getting close to unconsciousness when the man finally let go.
Trent gasped in a deep breath of relief while his eyes glossed up.
“I assure you I am no stooge, Mr. Merrick,” the man said with a growl. “My name is Manuel Padilla. Make sure you do not forget who I am.”
Trent desperately wanted to say, “Who?” but decided otherwise.
Padilla stood. He leaned over Trent, getting a good look at his anguished expression.
“Let me know when you are ready to tell the truth,” Padilla said, then lingered as he turned to leave, giving his prisoner the opportunity to speak.
Trent decided the longer he stayed alive the more time he gave his brother to negotiate his release. He needed to let go of his petty issues he’d always had with authority figures and move on to the possibility of going home.
“You really want to know the truth?” Trent said, stretching forward to rub his throbbing leg.
Padilla stopped and turned to face him.
Trent forced himself to a sitting position, then slid his wounded leg over the side of the cot. Padilla stared, but said nothing. The candles flickered inside the dome structure while a gentle rain began to ping on the thatched roof.
“You know by now I make documentaries for a living, right?” Trent asked.
Padilla gave nothing away.
“Well, if you haven’t already done it, then put my name in any computer search engine and you’ll find that out pretty quickly.” Trent rubbed his leg, finding a patch of blood along the side of the splint. “I’ve been down here in the Amazon to document the Maruto tribe of local Indians. They’ve been almost completely quarantined in their remote part of the rainforest for the better part of three hundred years. They’ve been entirely unexposed to the outside world until recently when some of the cartels have been destroying the rainforest in order to cultivate coca bushes. The level of deforestation has been accelerated, moving in on their territory. I was simply scouting their perimeter when I came upon your . . . uh, meeting.”
Padilla stood there as if waiting for more, his eyes creased into a mixture of skepticism and distrust. When it became obvious Trent was finished, he said, “That is the story you will begin with?”
Trent understood the suspicious nature of a cartel leader. Padilla was conditioned to hear whatever version of reality would keep a detainee alive the longest.
“That’s the truth,” Trent said.
Padilla frowned. “Okay,” he said. “Then we will start with that one and move on from there.” As if the incident were a malleable piece of clay to be molded into whichever shape the Camenos would like it to resemble the most. When he slid around the mosquito netting, Padilla left the candles quivering in his wake. The shadows danced a sinister dance on the walls. Outside, the jungle sounded more alarming than peaceful. The rain now pounded the r
oof overhead with a menacing beat.
Trent was experienced in the art of criminal behavior. He’d produced documentaries on the elephant poachers of Indonesia and the pirates of Somalia. He was acutely aware of the tactics a cartel like the Camenos would use on him. The one thing cartels peddled even more than drugs was fear. They would administer it aggressively and often. What cartels lacked, however, was patience. They were impetuous and capricious in nature. It had caused them to kill irrationally and create enemies from every outside entity, giving them an us-against-the-world mentality.
The Camenos would keep Trent alive only as long as he brought value. His brother would do his best to retrieve him, but Trent knew him too well. President Merrick wouldn’t even give the appearance of negotiating with terrorists. He would shuffle his feet and dance a bit to seem like he was moving, but ultimately there would be no concessions. The Camenos could be asking for an Egg McMuffin in exchange for Trent and his brother would have to pass on the deal. Which meant the Camenos would discover rather quickly that their prisoner had little value.
Trent Merrick knew more than anyone on the planet—his clock was ticking.
Chapter 5
Jaqui Merrick woke to a sound she couldn’t recognize. Ever since the second trimester of her pregnancy began, she was having trouble sleeping and woke up constantly through the night. From outside her bedroom door she thought she’d heard movement. Footsteps.
She leaned forward; the creaking of her mattress caused her to pause. Her stomach felt queasy. Maybe from the baby, she couldn’t tell. Their home was a small row house on the east side of Baltimore, but her security system was the finest money could buy. The Secret Service. A bonus when your husband’s brother was the president.
Jaqui got out of bed. The noise was soft, but there. She reached for her robe hanging over the side of the headboard and quietly pulled it on, one arm at a time. From under her door, the hallway light came on. She froze. Her stomach was definitely churning now with nerves.
A soft knock on her door.
“Jaqui?” came a familiar voice.
The smile instantly grew on her face as she’d realized her husband had come home early from his trip. Relief flooded over her as she hurried to open the door.
“Trent, honey, I had no—”
The man standing in the doorway wasn’t her husband, but there was a good reason why his voice sounded the same.
“John?” She pulled her robe tight around her neck. “What are you doing here?” She suddenly realized the magnitude of the president of the United States coming to her home in the middle of the night. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
President Merrick wasn’t alone. Behind him were two men. One she’d recognized as the Secret Service agent assigned to her. The other she’d never seen before. All three men wore dark suits; Merrick’s was rumpled and he wore no tie.
“Come,” Merrick said, gesturing her to follow him to the living room. “Sit down.”
Jaqui didn’t like this one bit. She just knew she’d become a widow and her heart began pounding feverishly in her chest.
“John, please just tell me,” Jaqui uttered as she chased him into the room.
Merrick was all business. He waved for her to sit. Jaqui’s hand was pressed against her lower abdomen, as if protecting her baby from hearing the dreadful news.
Once she sat at the edge of her couch, Merrick sat across from her on the ottoman. He rolled up close and took her hand. Her nose began to swell and her eyes glossed up.
“Is he dead?” Jaqui squeaked.
“No,” Merrick said. “He’s been captured by a drug cartel.”
Jaqui lowered her head into her hands. “Isn’t that the same thing?” She felt like she’d been punched in the gut and couldn’t catch her breath. There was movement around her and in just seconds a box of tissues appeared on her lap. She pulled a handful from the box and buried her face into the wad.
“He’s alive,” Merrick said. “I’m going to do everything in my power to get him back.”
Her entire body trembled. She could feel Merrick’s hand rubbing her arm, then cradling her head into his embrace. She thought of the damage she might be doing to her baby, but the harder she tried to calm down, the more uncontrollable she became.
“Here,” Merrick said. “Take this.”
She pulled away and saw Merrick holding a small white pill and a glass of water. It was almost like these people had made so many of these visits, they were prepared for every possible reaction. Even the box of tissues was theirs.
“It’s okay.” Merrick nodded, a comforting expression on his face. “I got doctor’s approval. Just a little Ambien. This won’t harm the baby.”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“Try.”
“No.” Jaqui sat up and took a few deep breaths. “I’m fine,” she said with a shaky voice.
Merrick shut his hand around the pill and handed the glass of water to the Secret Service agent. He took hold of her quivering hands. “I need information about Trent’s documentary. Where was he going?”
Jaqui tried to remember. “He never told me exactly. I know he flew into Bogota, but he took off in an off-road vehicle from there. Somewhere in the rainforest.”
“What was the documentary about?”
“It was about these Indians. They’d had little to no contact with the outside world, but their habitat was being encroached by the Colombian government or cartels . . .” Jaqui shrugged, squeezing the tissues until they were just a tiny ball the size of a marble. “He wasn’t quite sure who, but he was trying to stop them. He felt the film would bring enough attention to their cause to protect them.”
She thought about how much Trent cared about helping the underprivileged. Just the notion made her shudder again. Her voice cracked when she said, “He has such a big heart.” She blinked back a new set of tears and saw Merrick staring at her expressionless. Then it dawned on her. They were talking about his brother.
She reached out and touched his knee. “Oh, John, I’m so sorry.”
He nodded, but kept stoic. Keeping it all in like he always would. She thought she could smell Tanqueray gin on his breath.
“How many people went with him?”
“No one. He went by himself. He paid for a guide to get him within ten miles of their territory, but that’s as close as he’d go. Trent took a small digital camera, but his cell phone was loaded. It cost like five thousand dollars. He said it had everything he needed, a camera, a recorder, a satellite feed for calls. He records the images, then does the voiceover back here when he’s done editing.”
“Did he ever call you?”
“Just once when he got to Colombia, but he texted me the rest of the times.”
Merrick nodded, seeming satisfied with her responses. “How much did he tell you about what was going on, or where he was?”
“Very little,” she sagged in her seat. “Most of our messages were about . . .” She felt her body begin to tremble again, her tear ducts flooded her eyes until everything was blurry. She pulled another handful of tissues from the box and wiped. “We talked about how much we missed each other . . .”
Merrick gathered her into his arms and let her sob on his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We’ll get him back.”
She wanted to believe him so much she almost found comfort in his words. “What do they want?” she murmured.
“It’s only been a few hours. They’ll come up with something.”
“Ransom?” Jaqui lifted her head. “Because if it’s money they want . . . John, we don’t have any money. You know that.”
Merrick wiped her wet cheek with his thumb. He tried to smile, but failed. “I doubt it will be money, but if it is, we’ll figure it out.”
“But . . . but . . .”
Merrick caressed her face with the back of his hand. “It’s okay. I’ve got my best people on this.”
She collapsed back into his sh
oulder and he gently patted her back as she let her agony come out in a mixture of sobs and hiccups.
“Listen, Jaqui,” he said into her ear as she sniffled back her misery. “I need you to be strong. You can be very helpful. I’m going to have these guys look through your phone and your computer. They’re going to scrounge around for anything that could help us find him.”
Jaqui nodded.
“Also,” Merrick said, “there’s going to be reports in the paper about Trent’s disappearance. He’s going to be reported missing. Don’t believe anything you read or hear on television or radio. They’ll be a lot of misinformation fed to the media, okay?”
She squeezed her wad of tissues and watched Merrick get to his feet. He gestured to the other two men. “You know Stephen,” he said, pointing to her Secret Service agent. The agent nodded. “This guy is Mac. He’ll examine your phone and computer.”
Merrick touched her shoulder. “You going to be okay?”
Jaqui kept a hand on her abdomen. “John, why do you need to know where he is? Can’t you just give them what they want?”
Merrick’s disposition changed. He looked presidential, standing there in the dimly lit room, his shoulders back, his face severe.
“I’ll try,” Merrick said. But even as the words came out of his mouth, she could tell he was unsure. There was a lot he wasn’t telling her.
Jaqui looked at the two other men and realized she could make a difference. “I’ll help.”
“Good,” Merrick said, then the door opened for him and he was gone. As if someone anticipated his exit right down to the second. His entire life becoming a choreographed political dance. As much as Trent despised politics, she felt it her duty to bring her husband home without relying on dignitaries to negotiate over his life. That tactic was simply too unreliable.
Jaqui Merrick came to her feet and looked at the computer technician. “Come on, Mac. We have work to do.”
* * *
Manuel Padilla sat under the large tent and tapped a foot while contemplating the fate of his latest prisoner. The tent was covered with leaves as was every structure within the Camenos’ small outpost in the Amazon basin. It was a surplus of camouflage since the rainforest canopy was so thick even the tiniest of sunlight barely reached the jungle floor. It also made the complex impossible to locate even under the finest satellite technology.