CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Paul walked noiselessly along the trail. It was so dense that it was impossible to see where he was going much of the time. Here and there moonlight filtered through the trees, but more often there was darkness. His eyes adjusted to the gloom as he flicked on a small LED flashlight he held in one hand, his pistol in the other. Firing the weapon would make his presence known to anyone within miles, but Paul couldn’t ignore the dangers around him. You had to watch for humans, but the animals were something else entirely. He’d risk the noise – he’d shoot a cat before he’d be mauled to death.
An hour later he came to the same imposing ruins of Piedras Negras the others had seen twenty-four hours before. It was a beautiful sight, one he would have enjoyed under different circumstances. He wanted to come back here once this was all over. This place was an important part of the plans he’d had for this trip. First he had to find out the situation with the others. Were they still alive? Why were they brought here? Where were they?
Paul had heard the tales about bandits who lived among the ruins at Piedras Negras, occupying the crude buildings built by Brigham Young archaeologists in the late nineties and robbing foolish tourists who ventured this far up the river. The occasional daring adventurer who paid a fortune for a boat ride to Piedras Negras was almost guaranteed to encounter trouble. The boat drivers knew the program – they got their fare before they dropped a passenger on the beach. They waited without concern – the robbers wouldn’t bother the locals. They wanted the tourists, the brave Americans or Canadians or Europeans. Those people usually came back to their boat with nothing left but the clothes on their backs. They no longer had money, jewelry, cell phones or personal possessions. And God forbid if the visitor was a pretty young female. That one would likely leave without her virginity as well. Fortunately there were very, very few women who braved this part of the Usumacinta River.
Many of the victims insisted on filing a police report back in Frontera Corozal. Other than arresting a drunk local now and then, one of the policeman’s duties was to solemnly listen to tourists who should have known better than to go there in the first place. Everybody knew what went on at Piedras Negras. People got killed there on a regular basis. It wasn’t his jurisdiction and the policeman damned sure wasn’t going to get involved. But he listened as though it made a difference and wrote down the descriptions of robbers, the location where it happened and whatever else a tourist wanted to say. Once they left Frontera Corozal on their big fancy buses, he filed the report in the place he filed all the others – the trash can by his desk.
Paul heard nothing but the night noises of the forest as he snaked through the ruins of Piedras Negras. He passed ancient temples and the abandoned archaeological shacks from ten years ago. There were no bandits. Except Rolando himself, of course. Maybe he’d started his criminal career right here with the other thieves who frequently occupied Piedras. Paul knew nothing about the rebel except that somewhere further along this trail he’d find the man and the hostages. That was what Paul hoped would happen. If it didn’t – if the boatman had lied to him – he’d have a long trip back to civilization and no clue where the hostages were. This was his only shot, and it depended on the veracity of a native boat driver. He’d taken a stranger’s word that this was the trail Rolando took. The driver could have sent him into a trap, leaving him stranded out here alone to die. But this was all he had. He kept walking.
After the ruins, the trail narrowed even more. It had been recently cleared, probably with machetes. The jungle would reclaim it if it were left untended for even a month. He tripped on the stubs of small trees growing in the walkway. He carefully shielded the flashlight with his palm and kept it aimed at the ground.
A half hour later he noticed a faint glow around a bend ahead. He switched off the flashlight, made the turn and stopped suddenly. There was a clearing directly in front of him. Three men who were probably sentries sat around a campfire, smoking cigarettes and talking quietly. Each had a rifle next to his chair and a pistol holstered on his belt. Paul glanced at his watch; it was 1:30 a.m.
In the combination of moonlight and a flickering fire, he saw small wooden buildings here and there but no hostages. He felt sure this was where Rolando had taken them; it was perfect. Miles from civilization, two miles from the river along a single trail cut through otherwise impassable jungle, this place would be hard for rescuers to find and incredibly dangerous to anyone who tried to escape without a weapon.
Suddenly he saw movement fifty feet away. Someone stepped out of a dark hole and walked around another guard who sat in a chair. Paul recognized the guide Julio, who’d come into the clearing to relieve himself. Julio stood for a moment, his back to the guards by the fire, finished and went back into what must be a cave. That had to be where the people were.
His packs by his side, Paul spent two tedious hours standing noiselessly in the jungle, studying the guards’ routine. Finally he’d seen enough. There was nothing more he could do until morning. Now that he knew the situation, he would come back after daybreak and formulate a plan.
Paul counted his steps back to the ruins. Counting for thirty minutes was tough, but he had to know exactly how far it was. Tomorrow he’d come back to the rebel camp; he had to be on alert when he reached the turn in the trail just before the campsite. In the daylight if he were standing as close as he’d been tonight, anyone in the clearing would spot him instantly. Tomorrow morning he’d have to be hidden.
At Piedras Negras there were wooden buildings that had been the BYU archaeologists’ sleeping and working quarters. They had screen netting that allowed a little breeze inside. The screens should have rotted long ago, but they were mostly intact, probably because bandits had been here recently. He stopped and listened, heard no sounds that would indicate humans were present, then opened the rickety door to the first cabin.
There was an old picnic table and chairs, beer bottles and trash tossed here and there, and a hammock in one corner. That was a surprise; Paul had expected to catch a few hours of sleep sitting up, but instead he tested the hammock. It was in decent shape and bore his weight. Although this shack was too close to the trail for a long-term hiding place, he was glad to have it tonight. Tomorrow he’d find something else. He crawled into the hammock and dozed until dawn.
Paul could hear activity ahead of him as he neared the rebel camp. It was nine a.m.; he’d purposely waited until the sun was well up. The day would be long regardless, and he reasoned there’d be nothing to observe until people were up and about. As he’d walked the trail, he kept his eye out for hiding places. This pathway was the only connection between the rebel camp and the river; Rolando’s men would have to use it to move supplies. It also ran right through Piedras Negras, where he’d spent the night. He was lucky not to have seen anyone on the trail, but luck wasn’t what Paul depended upon. He relied on the skills, training and instinct of the assassin he was, but most of all he needed a plan. Today. He needed a better hideout at the ruins, and he had to rescue the hostages.
He knew from the steps he’d counted that the clearing was just around the next bend. He stepped into the forest, crept noiselessly through bushes and vines, and ended up in a tight thicket of leaves fifty feet from the campfire. It was a good place – he was close to the activity but totally hidden by the foliage. He put down his pack and prepared for what would likely be a long day.
He reconnoitered the area and saw ten rebels doing routine tasks. Some gathered wood; others carried boxes from another cave entrance he hadn’t seen last night. A few men were acting as guards, but everyone appeared basically unconcerned about security. This place was as remote as it got – there was no place to escape to. He counted ten rebels. Plus Rolando and maybe one or two he couldn’t see. That was a lot, but Paul had dealt with more.
He was pleased to see some of the captives. Mark and Ted sat by the campfire, drinking coffee and talking. Doc and Mary Spence were hanging out clothes on a line, and Gavin,
the author Paul had become friends with, was just coming out of the cavern, which apparently was where they slept.
If he hadn’t known they were prisoners, he’d have thought they were friends roughing it on a campout. No one looked harried or concerned, the rebels had no interaction with the hostages at all, and Rolando was nowhere in sight.
Suddenly he stepped out of a shack, wearing a T-shirt and shorts. He walked to the campfire and sat next to Ted and Mark. Paul saw that Rolando no longer wore a mask. He had rough-hewn, ruggedly handsome features and a nose that looked as though a prizefighter had had his way with it in the past. He was muscular and lean – obviously life in the jungle kept him fit and trim.
When Rolando spoke, Paul was close enough to hear everything. He was surprised that the rebel spoke English. Shortly Paul knew exactly what was going on here.
“I have just sent a radio transmission to the United States Embassy in Mexico City. I have informed them that I require a ransom of one hundred thousand US dollars for each of the ten of you. Your guide, Julio, is not a part of this. I will release him unharmed once this is all over.”
Ted pleaded with the kidnapper. “I don’t know anything about the financial situation of the other people, but I do know there’s nobody who can pay a hundred thousand bucks to ransom me. Mark” – he looked at the archaeologist – “what about you?”
“No way that’s going to happen,” Mark replied honestly. “I’m a teacher, an academic. We don’t make shit. I maybe have twenty grand in my retirement account. It’s all yours. If you want more than that, you might as well shoot me now.”
Rolando stared at Mark for a few seconds. These idiots don’t take me seriously. So he told them more. As he explained what was going to happen, their faces reflected the horror of their impending situation.
“I’ve given your families an incentive. Some people might not act as quickly as they should to raise the money. Others, like Dr. Spence, might be wealthy. I might get his money quickly. I am a patient man, but I also must be firm. You don’t want to spend weeks here in the jungle, and I don’t want to keep you longer than I must. So there is a deadline.”
He stood with a cruel smile. “Three days from now someone, one of your friends or family, must have paid the first one hundred thousand. It doesn’t matter who, but I must have at least the first payment. After that, I require the rest by the tenth day. On that day, I will see where we stand. The ones who have been ransomed will be fine. I will release them as a group when this is over. The unfortunate ones whose families do not pay will be eliminated. Executed, every one of them on the morning of the eleventh day. Should a family pay sometime later, I will gladly accept it even though they won’t get their loved one back. Because they missed the deadline, you see. Their fault, not mine.”
“Are you crazy?” Ted was shocked and astounded. He spoke more loudly than he intended; some of the others heard him. They turned to watch and Mark shooed them away.
Tears rolled down Mark’s cheeks as he thought of what was going to happen to the others. “Three days to raise a hundred grand is unreasonable. I don’t think you’ll get anything by then…”
“You could be right.” Rolando laughed. “But maybe that will work in my favor. A picture of the first execution, as you Americans say it, will be worth a thousand words. Don’t you think people will take me more seriously then? Gentlemen, I am going to kill one of you four days from now if I haven’t received one hundred thousand dollars.”
Ted and Mark were speechless. They couldn’t believe the casual manner in which their kidnapper had outlined a program to execute perhaps every one of them. If he was serious – and they had to believe he was – they had very little time to work on an escape. Their minds were reeling, already searching for a way out of this horrific nightmare.
Paul was way ahead of them. His mind was clear and steady. His plan was already coming together. And he knew he was their only hope.
Rolando turned to leave. “Gather the people, gentlemen. Tell them what I’ve told you. If anyone has something to say to someone who can pay the money, write it on a piece of paper and give it to me today. I will transmit your messages to the embassy.”
Ted and Mark cried as the others ran to see what had happened. Soon everyone was in tears. Paul watched the people react to the stunning news. More of them would be murdered soon. Some were undoubtedly going to die. Wails of tortured heartbreak echoed through the camp.
As he saw the people grieve, Paul watched Rolando standing in the doorway of his hut. He was smiling at them. Not for long, Paul vowed. You won’t smile for long, you bastard. I promise you.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Paul watched all day long. Most of the time the captives had sat in grim silence. As the sun began to set, Paul could smell food cooking. When they were told it was ready, none of the hostages went to the cook shack. Only Rolando and his men ate. The others appeared to have lost their appetites after hearing that their lives might end in a few days. As darkness descended on the camp, they sat around the fire, seeking solace in each other’s company.
Alison and Hailey huddled close together. Although nothing had happened for two days, Alison was more afraid she’d be taken to Rolando’s shack again than she was scared to die. The girl hadn’t uttered a single word about what had happened that night, even to Hailey. She’d buried the entire episode deep in her mind, as if bringing it back to the surface might make it happen all over again. She felt so violated she was certain she’d never get over it. She hadn’t ever given rape victims much thought. Now that Alison was one herself, she hoped somehow to get past it, but she didn’t know if she ever could. While others pondered their own mortality, Alison worried about the fate she considered even worse – more sexual abuse by their evil captor. Little did she imagine what she would agree to do tomorrow in order to purchase her own life.
Bart and Dick talked quietly while Gavin sat alone with the comfort of his pipe. Julio lit a cigarette, took a long drag and settled back against a tree. Paul didn’t see the others – Ted, Mark and the Spences. They must already be in the sleeping cave.
One of the rebels came out of Rolando’s shack and walked across the clearing directly to where Hailey and Alison sat. Alison shrank down, cowering against Hailey, as if that would make her disappear.
“No! God, no! Get away. Please don’t take me!”
The man grinned and pointed at Hailey. “You. You go.”
Hailey had mentally prepared herself for this, even while she processed the earlier jolt about the ransom demand. She knew she’d be next, and she decided to learn as much as she could while enduring whatever was going to happen. Maybe she’d see or hear something that could help them overpower the rebels.
“My turn? Before he kills us, he wants to screw us, is that it? What kind of sick bastard is your boss?” Her words meant nothing to the guard, who spoke no English. She gently withdrew from Alison. The girl’s hands clutched at Hailey’s T-shirt like vises as she pried them away.
“It’s okay. I’ll be all right. There’s never been a man I couldn’t handle.” As she stood, some of the others said they were sorry.
“Don’t worry about me,” she responded in a tone too upbeat for the reality of what was going to happen. She was putting up a good front, and she had to keep doing it until Rolando was finished with her. She’d damn sure give it a try. Even if things worked out badly, she’d never let him know he’d beaten her. Whatever he made her do, she’d keep her wits about her. Anything – even something small – might help them figure out how to beat this psychopath before he killed them all.
She stepped inside his shack and the guard took a position outside the door, the same way he’d done when Alison was taken here two nights ago. Hailey looked around the nasty, cluttered twelve-by-twelve room illuminated by a single lantern hanging from a rafter. Rolando sat at a small desk across the room, wearing the same T-shirt and ragged shorts he’d had on since they arrived at the camp. He looked up and smile
d as she came in.
Hailey returned the smile as best she could. She had experience faking a good time with partners – she’d done it more than once – so she’d have to think of this one like that. It meant nothing and she’d get through it. She might be able to learn something helpful if she convinced this guy she liked him. That would make everything worth it. Maybe.
“Hey, hotshot. Nice shithole you have here.”
“Hotshot?” he replied with a puzzled look. “What is the meaning of that word?” He ignored the comment about his shack.
“It doesn’t matter. I guess you didn’t invite me for tea, and I guess it’s not time to kill me yet, so let’s get this over with. What do you have in mind?”
“You Americans are so businesslike! How do you say it, slam bam? I can do it that way too. Take off your clothes and show me how you look with nothing on. If I like you, maybe I won’t kill you at all. Or at least until the end. We can have some fun until then, right?”
She didn’t answer. As much as she hated it, she had to do whatever she could to stay alive. Every day she didn’t die was one more opportunity to escape. She wouldn’t show how much she detested whatever he was going to do to her.
Hailey slowly unbuttoned her shirt; she’d quit wearing her bra two days ago. She kept her shirt provocatively open without taking it off, and undid the top button of her shorts. She lowered the zipper halfway, then stopped. She was wearing nothing underneath, and he could see the beginning wisps of pubic hair.
This was one of the most difficult things she’d ever done, but her life was at stake. She forced a seductive smile, ready to go on with whatever he wanted just to get this part over. It would be pure sex. Not fun, not exciting, not … sexy. But she damn sure would make it good enough to keep him coming back.
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