by Glen Robins
As he swiveled his head around to survey the scene, he saw the three gunmen in the helicopter pointing their rifles in the direction of the trees ahead of Collin. He swept his gaze to the rear of the chopper and saw a group of men running toward the Huey in a crouched position, weapons drawn. The three armed Mexican soldiers were too busy returning fire to notice the swift incursion from their flanks. Six men in camouflage were upon them in no time. One pointed his rifle at the head of the pilot before he could maneuver the helicopter out of harm’s way. The others did the same thing with the copilot and the three gunmen in the back.
Another camo-clad group rushed forward from the second helicopter, guns drawn and trained at the occupants of the first one.
The shooting stopped and the helicopter landed softly back on the ground as one of the commandos on the ground signaled with his hands. Collin couldn’t see anyone hurt, but saw plenty of baffled looks on the faces of the men in the first helicopter. A third group in camouflage rushed out from the trees ahead of Collin’s position and from rocks on the edge of the meadow, quickly surrounding the first chopper. The Mexican soldiers had their hands up as these two new waves of commandos approached. The speed of the attack created instant bewilderment that the aggressors capitalized on.
Collin rose to his knees as the action dissipated. Being caught up in the drama, his heart skipped when a large hand planted itself on his shoulder. He whipped his head around with a start. The man pulling him up was none other than Jorge, the guy from the truck that had carried him out of Villahermosa.
“Come on, we’ve got to go,” Jorge said. “We don’t have much time.”
“What just happened?”
“We got some help from one of the units that Torres thinks is on his side. These guys” he pointed at the first helicopter— “obviously had no idea we were coming.”
“Now what?” said Collin, unsure whether to move or not.
“Now we get these gentlemen to understand what is happening and we convince them to give us a ride to the meeting location,” said Jorge as he began to push Collin toward the chopper.
Collin could see Butch leaning into the cockpit of the first helicopter. A dozen or more camo-clad soldiers with weapons drawn formed a circle around the chopper. The original occupants were being unloaded at gunpoint, hands in the air. They were lined up in a row. Collin thought it looked like an execution was about to take place. Instead, they were being given some sort of instructions from one of the commandos in charge of this hostile takeover. The men were quiet and focused and seemed to be listening intently as the man shouted over the noise from the whirling blades.
When he caught sight of Collin approaching, Butch motioned for him to come quickly, so Collin tried to jog, instinctively ducking his head as he approached the rotating blades above him. Jorge followed.
“These men have your laptop,” Butch yelled over the roar of the rotors and the engine. “We need to show Lieutenant Salazar here why it is we’re commandeering his helicopter.”
The Mexican lieutenant’s eyes narrowed as he took in Collin. Collin became very self-conscious about his bedraggled appearance. After sizing him up, Salazar said, in Spanish, “This man does not look like an assassin.”
“That’s because he’s not. You’ve been told a lie and I can prove it,” replied Butch, also in Spanish, assessing the lieutenant’s reaction with narrowed eyes.
Salazar glared at Butch, but said nothing and gave no indication that he would cooperate. “You killed my men back there in that motel. Give me any excuse and I’ll put a slug in your brain, you understand?” Butch’s trigger finger trembled as he pointed the handgun at the lieutenant’s face.
Reluctantly, Salazar handed Butch the laptop and Butch handed it to Collin with a gesture to open it and get it going. Then he turned and continued speaking loudly to the Mexican lieutenant and his pilot. “From here on out, you’re taking your orders from me, understand? We are here to protect both Mexico and the United States from a hostile threat. You can choose to cooperate and possibly reduce the charges of treason, or you can resist and die right here, right now. What’s it going to be?”
“Show me the proof,” Salazar demanded, stone-faced.
Collin punched in all of the codes and applied his finger to the print reader and put his eye in front of the camera lens. The screen soon flashed as the programs engaged.
Butch pulled the computer close and toggled to a black screen. He typed in a series of commands, then spun the screen toward Salazar and continued his explanation. A series of recordings played while an audio spectrometer, with its dancing and jumping bar graphs, appeared on the screen. Voices could be heard in both English and Spanish speaking in hushed, conspiratorial tones. It took several minutes for Butch and the information on Collin’s computer to convince the lieutenant that Butch’s story was true. Lieutenant Salazar was then ushered over to the row of his men kneeling on the ground. He added to what the commander had said, telling his men that they had the choice to be part of the problem or part of the solution. Each of the men nodded as the realization of what had transpired dawned on them.
Three minutes later, Collin was on board the chopper with a headset over his ears and a seatbelt fastened around his waist. Then they were airborne and racing toward the northwest section of Mexico City.
****
Seventy-Fifth Floor, Unfinished Office Building, Mexico City
June 18, 8:12 p.m. Central Time
Rob awoke with a start, which caused waves of pain in his limbs. They wouldn’t move. His rear end ached, as did his shoulders and the backs of his legs. He wanted to stand and stretch, but the restraints around his wrists and ankles prevented him from doing so. The urge to rub his eyes and itch his nose was overpowering. Being restricted was new to him, which only served to amplify the rage building inside.
He looked around and realized he was alone in a cavernous room. It was unfinished. Construction materials lay scattered in heaps and piles throughout the space. The floor was bare concrete. The ceiling was a maze of pipes, wires, and ducts, some dangling, between two-foot steel I-beams. A framework of aluminum studs indicated where walls would eventually be placed, but for now, there was only one solid wall on the entire floor that he could see. It was in the distance to his right. A single light bulb hung from a lone strand some ten feet to his right. A few feet to his left, a floor-to-ceiling plate of thick darkened glass looked out over some sort of park. There were trees and patches of grass interspersed with winding pathways, all visible in the golden-orange glow of a collection of street lamps. If he had to estimate, he would say he was at least sixty floors up, based on his experience, having had many meetings in tall buildings.
Rob wondered where his beautiful Asian abductor and her wiry boyfriend had gone. He tried to figure out where he was and what was going on, but his mind was still sluggish.
Before he could formulate a theory, a distant mechanical noise grew louder. He guessed it was the elevator, which meant somebody was either coming or going. The mystery and terror around this unknown caused his pulse to spike. A fresh round of perspiration broke out across his forehead and under his arms. Things could go very badly for Rob, based on what had happened with Sarah and Emily a few days earlier.
Rob wasn’t sure that Lukas knew where he was or if he would be able to send in rescuers as he had for Sarah and Emily. Surely Penh was using him as bait to lure Collin in and exact his revenge. Collin had his money and had disgraced him. No doubt, Penh had a plan to deal with that.
He swallowed hard at the prospect of what might lie in store for him. Be brave, he told himself. If you must die, die like a man.
Then the sound faded with a faint clicking sound that reverberated off the uncovered concrete and echoed through the empty building. A door had been opened and shut. Now he could hear footfalls approaching. He was pretty sure there were three sets of shoes bumping, scraping, and clicking as they walked. And the voices. Muted but urgent. And accented. They were s
peaking English, but he had to strain to understand anything.
As expected, they came closer. Rob decided it would be best for him to still be in his drug-induced coma, so he slumped his head down and relaxed his body, subduing the urge to scratch his nose. He wasn’t sure who these people were or what they intended to do with him, but keeping the status quo seemed like his best option.
Beads of sweat kept forming and rolling down his face and back. His shirt was damp around the neck, under his arms, and on his back. He feared it would give away the fact that he was conscious.
The footsteps paused some distance behind him. It was tempting to venture a glance to see if he recognized anyone. More unintelligible words were exchanged and a lone pair of shoes sauntered toward him. Heels, definitely stiletto heels. They had a distinctive sound on hard surfaces. Click, tap, click, tap as the heel struck, then the ball of the foot padded down. As the stilettos came closer, they veered in a semicircle in front of him, then stopped. Another utterance in a language he could not comprehend but from a voice he recognized. It was the pretty Asian girl.
Rob fought hard not to react, to stay perfectly still. But he could smell her perfume and imagine her face and eyes and skin. She grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head up from his chest. Rob added no resistance. His head lolled under the light pressure she applied. When she let go, his head flopped to the right, swung down unabated across his chest, before settling in roughly the same position it was in before. The beautiful girl rattled off some more words and the two men behind Rob continued their conversation, in accented English. One had an almost British accent with very proper enunciation and a certain high-brow eloquence. The second voice was deeper, grainier, and Latin. This man was older and most likely spoke Spanish as his native tongue. His R’s rolled gracefully and his J’s had a soft jha sound. This man, however, had an equal command of the English language.
Bound and drugged, Rob began to realize that he was at the epicenter of some big unfolding event. In his drug-induced fog, he couldn’t be sure what was happening, but he knew he was completely helpless.
That’s when an Asian man in a silk suit and fine Italian leather loafers stepped into his view. When Rob saw him, the realization dawned on him: this was Pho Nam Penh. Penh bent forward so his mouth was close to Rob’s ear and whispered in his proper accent. “I told your friend Collin that you’re going to lose a finger for every five minutes he is late. I guess we’ll soon find out whether he really cares about you.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Seventy-Fifth Floor, Unfinished Office Building, Mexico City
June 18, 8:20 p.m. Local Time
The footsteps retreated. Rob listened intently as the click-tap rhythm of the stilettos faded in the distance along with the scuffing of a softer set of shoes and the hard-soled crunching of grit under the third pair. He opened his eyes and surveyed the room, first without moving his head. Once he was certain he was alone, he studied his surroundings more carefully.
His buttocks and thighs burned with the pain of being sedentary for hours. He flexed the muscles just to keep some blood moving and relieve some of the pressure from the wheelchair he had been strapped to since morning.
Rob stared out the window and thought. But his thinking led him nowhere. Without the ability to move or communicate, Rob could do nothing to warn Collin or involve Lukas. There was no way to tell his friends where he was. His lack of mobility and freedom was making him crazy. He thrashed against the restraints, trying with all his might to break the bands of tape. It was no use. There were too many layers and the drugs had zapped too much of his strength.
His violent outburst had masked the click-tap approach of the stilettos. When he came to rest, he sensed he was no longer alone in the room. He swiveled his head right and left and caught a glimpse of her, standing behind him at the five o’clock position, maybe twenty feet away. She waited for him to settle. Once he did, she approached with a sauntering gait. As she entered his field of vision, he could see the hips sway and the calves flex as she rounded a circular pattern across the floor. She cast a stunning silhouette, backlit by the single bulb hanging somewhere behind her, a perfect hourglass in a tight knee-length skirt with a slit that exposed most of her left thigh. He couldn’t see her face in this light, but he remembered it well and imagined those lips painted with bright red lipstick and those round eyes highlighted with black liner. Maybe a splash of color on the lids and a little something to make the cheeks stand out.
Rob had to force himself to hate her. It was difficult, made more so by the sultry voice. “There now, Mr. Howell. No need to be so angry. This will all be over very soon. You and your friends and all this pain and suffering will just be memories. Gone with the wind.” She snickered.
“Maybe. But maybe you and your friends will be the distant memories,” Rob shot back. His voice had no volume. The dryness in his mouth and throat stole it all.
“Do you think your friends are going to come and save you?”
Rob said nothing.
She stepped closer, angled her knees toward the window, and crouched down so her face was just a foot away from his. Her light-colored blouse caught a trace of light. Rob’s eyes stayed focused on her face, though. “Thing is, we know they’re coming. We’ll be ready for them. Mr. Penh has it all planned. He is a mastermind, you know. A genius. Your friends will be too late and, I’m afraid, outnumbered. Many of them have already lost their lives attempting to help you. I think they have underestimated the size of our revolution, both here in Mexico and around the world.”
Rob pinched his eyes shut and clenched his jaw.
Her delicate fingers first traced lines along his cheek bones to his temples, then down along his jawline to his chin, first on one side, then the other, ending at the center of his chin each time. She followed with a soft, damp cloth working against his skin with increasing intensity as she gently scrubbed the makeup from his face. When she was done, she dabbed here and there with a dry towel. Her voice, just above a whisper, brought him back from the dream-like state he had slipped into. “Look at me. I may be the last pleasant image you see before you die.”
Her fingers ran the length of his jaw again, and tilted his chin upward until his eyes opened.
“There now. Take it all in.” She smiled as she rose. Rob watched as she pivoted on the balls of her feet and sauntered for a few paces, the hip sway in full effect. She pivoted again so that she was facing him. This time, she made sure the light fully illuminated her figure. The tight black skirt with the slit showing a generous portion of her leg. The open silky blouse that accentuated her curves. The necklace that dangled a sparkling gem against her bare sternum. She tapped a watch on her elegant wrist. “Exactly ten minutes, Mr. Howell. That is when Mr. Penh wants your pinky finger brought to him.”
Rob swallowed hard. Never had he felt so powerless, trapped, or terrified. Take it like a man. There was nothing to say and nothing he could do. He just shook his head slowly, forcing a smile at her before closing his eyes and lowering his chin to his chest. Surely Lukas had an even better plan in place.
The click-tapping came toward him quickly and forcefully. His eyes sprang open and watched as she marched, fists clenched and arms straight down by her sides. She slapped him across the face, then whipped around to the back of the wheelchair and yanked it backward. Once she had some momentum, she spun him around and thrust him and his wheelchair forward with hostility. She parked him in front of a window that was boarded up with a sheet of plywood. The plywood had pieces of wood fastened to it to fashion a sort of handle in the middle, presumably to make it easier to lift and move.
The click-tapping of her stilettos pounded purposefully away from Rob and into the interior of the building. They returned shortly with the same determined click-tapping rhythm. She moved into his line of view again, locking eyes with him. She had one hand behind her back, but there was a metallic chinking sound emanating from the hidden hand. After three or four repetitions o
f the clacking noise, she brought her hand around to the front and showed Rob what it was she held. A pair of gardening shears, the kind used for pruning trees and bushes. She snapped the sharp beak-shaped scissors a few more times, just for effect. This tool could snap a half-inch thick branch. Or a finger.
Rob’s heart sank as the implications settled in.
She looked at her watch and said, “Eight minutes.”
****
Onboard the Huey helicopter
June 18, 8:22 p.m. Local Time
Collin closed his eyes and leaned into the hard seat, trying to recalibrate his thinking. Just moments ago he was running full speed down the side of the mountain, thinking only of rescuing Rob from the clutches of Pho Nam Penh. Now he was in a helicopter, a hijacked Mexican military helicopter, surrounded by Mexican soldiers and Mexican-American ex-soldiers now operating undercover on foreign soil. There was much more at stake than just saving Rob from Penh’s demonic torture, but that was still of key importance to Collin.
Collin was roused from thought by someone pushing on his shoulder. “Come on, man. No time for naps right now. There’s a call for you,” said Jorge as he tapped on his own headset, indicating that Collin needed to press a button on his in order to talk.
Collin shook his head quickly to try to focus on the moment. He pressed the button and heard Lukas’s strained voice. There was crackling and hissing on the line, which made it difficult to hear him. “Are you all right, Collin?”
“I’ll be fine, I guess.”
“Good. In about seven minutes, you’re going to arrive at the location where Penh is holding Rob prisoner. The Mexican soldiers on board with you now have called in to their bosses and alerted them to your imminent arrival. Thanks to you and Butch and our inside source, the group that is with you is now aware of Penh’s and Torres’ subterfuge. No one is quite sure just how many of the Mexican Army have been seduced to follow Torres, but he has promised wealth and power to a great number of officers and the soldiers if they participate in this coup. We’re working to gather as many as possible who are still loyal to the government. Again, you need to stall when you get there. Penh’s going to want to hack into our system using your laptop. That’s fine. Let him. We’ve got firewalls in place to contain him and to slow him down. He’ll get access to a bunch of documents and such that are completely bogus, but he won’t know that. The objective is to make him think he’s winning and to slow him down while we get people in place.”