Margate frowned. “You’ve heard my decision.”
Banner saw the futility in arguing further. “I’ll put my objections to the current approach in writing and send it through the proper channels.”
Margate narrowed his eyes. “I’d prefer it if we would simply ‘agree to disagree.’”
Banner shook his head. “It’s not that simple. I believe strongly that pressuring the Colombian president at this time is the absolute worst thing you can do. I will not have my name attached to the decision.”
“If I remove you from any position of authority regarding the mission, then you won’t have to issue your memo, will you?” Banner had expected this threat from Margate.
“Be my guest, but the media is bound to notice such a move. They’ll question me as to the cause, and I’d be forced to say that my plan for saving the passengers and yours didn’t match. Then you could explain why you thought yours was better, and we can let the talking heads on CNN, NBC, and Fox, your personal favorite, decide who had the better plan. Frankly, I think an internal memo is much less damaging than that, don’t you?”
Banner heard everyone in the room inhale and hold. It was if they had sucked all the air out of the space. Whitter’s face was ashen. The navy commander across the table from Banner had a twinkle in his eye, relishing the moment.
Margate pushed away from the desk and stood up. “Write your memo, but my decision stands. We deliver the message to the Colombian government. You have twenty-four hours to bring this matter to a successful conclusion, Major Banner.”
Margate marched out of the room, followed by two shaking interns.
“Jesus, Banner.” Whitter took a huge gulp of water. “Why did you take him on?”
Banner was furious. “His administration’s tenure is over in two years, but I intend to keep my company going long after that. I’d lose all credibility if I approved such a half-assed plan. Besides, I’ve stood opposite an enemy at ten feet with an assault rifle pointed at my heart. You think a politician in an ill-fitting suit is going to worry me?”
“I’ll bet his suit was expensive,” Whitter said.
“All the money in the world doesn’t buy class, Mr. Whitter.”
“Don’t I know it,” Whitter said.
26
EMMA SAT IN THE TENT FOR THE DAILY DOWNPOUR. SHE HOPED the rains helped dilute her scent on the trail. She hadn’t heard the baying for half a day. She kept her own rifle close. The time might come when she’d meet the men and dogs face-to-face. She’d have to fire first.
Sumner lay next to her, breathing softly. While he was weak, he wasn’t feverish. Although he still didn’t say much, he never withdrew as far as he had in the beginning, when Emma thought he’d looked a little deranged. His maggot guests had all left for greener pastures. Emma had cleaned out the slice, which was pink and healthy, and replaced the gauze.
“Thank God” was all Sumner said when she was finished.
“Now all we need are some leeches. They will hold the wound together so the skin will heal without a scar,” Emma said.
Sumner turned white. “Oh, God, no.”
Emma chuckled. “Relax, I’m kidding.”
“Remind me to get you for that when I’m feeling better.” He slipped back into sleep.
The rain pounded so hard on the roof that Emma thought she’d go mad with the noise. Even though Sumner was next to her, they couldn’t hold a conversation during these storms, the hammering rain was so loud. Within minutes the ground turned to mud, creating deep rivulets that would grow to a flash flood. Emma tried to anticipate the showers, but more often than not they caught her by surprise.
This storm produced a deluge, and she and Sumner had taken care to set the tent up on a plateau jutting from the slope. Two trees formed a living wall that provided cover from above and broke up the rushing water from the side.
Lightning cracked above them, and thunder boomed seconds later. Water flowed around the tent, turning the ground underneath them soft. Emma felt the water saturate the tent’s nylon floor. She and Sumner had pulled leaves off a palm to stack in a makeshift base that they’d hoped would keep the tent’s floor dry, but it hadn’t worked. Water was everywhere, and the palms, and then the tent floor, became soaked within ten minutes. After half an hour, the rain trickled to a drizzle.
Emma toyed with one of the rifles and listened to the water patter on the tent. Her stomach growled. The remaining tray of airline food was so rancid that she’d tossed it. They’d eaten only cattails and some berries that they’d found on a bush. Their need to stay on the move and the driving rain killed any chance they might have had to hunt for more food. Emma resigned herself to being hungry.
She picked up the rifle to test its heft. It was heavy. The right side had letters in a strange language etched next to a sliding switch. Two poles attached underneath opened to create a bipod. When not in use, they retracted to lie flat against the gun’s stock. She opened the bipod and balanced the gun on the ground. She lay down on her stomach and pretended to sight a target through the mesh opening on the tent.
“The safety’s on,” Sumner said.
Emma jumped. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”
He shrugged but didn’t move from his prone position next to her. “Better than before, but weak as hell.”
“You know about guns?” Emma said.
“I do.”
“What are these markings? They look like letters, but I can’t figure out the language.” She tilted the gun toward him so that he could see the letters.
“Hebrew. That gun’s a Galil assault rifle. Israeli made. The toggle switch is the safety and the fire selector. When you move the switch down, it’s in autofire; down farther still and you’re in single fire.”
Emma tried the switch. It was surprisingly difficult to move. There was an audible click when she did.
“Noisy,” she said.
“Yes. Not a stealth gun. You don’t want to switch modes when hidden in the bushes with an enemy standing over you. But these guys aren’t what I would call finesse shooters anyway.”
“How did an Israeli assault rifle end up in Colombia?”
“Israeli army unloaded them when they adopted the M-16. South America is a huge dumping ground for old technology.”
Emma slid the safety back on and reached for another rifle.
“What about this one?”
Sumner moved his head to look at the next rifle.
“Kalashnikov AK-47. Russian made. The tank of weapons. Thing will shoot after being dragged in the mud or hauled through water. Same basic function as the Galil.”
Emma hefted the gun to her shoulder. “Heavy.”
“Actually, it’s considered a medium-weight weapon.”
“What’s this gun attached to the bottom?” She showed Sumner the underside of the rifle. A small pistol with a wide mouth was hooked to the bottom of the gun, in firing position. The pistol had its own trigger.
“That’s a grenade launcher.”
Emma looked at Sumner. “These people aren’t kidding, are they?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Emma analyzed the AK-47. “How do I want to shoot it? Single shot or automatic?”
“Can you shoot?”
“Not at all. I found the pistols in the debris from the crash. I only brought them along for effect.”
“They’re mine. I was supposed to give a report and then teach target shooting.”
“Did you know the jet would be hijacked?”
Sumner shook his head. “No. There was some online chatter to the effect that terrorist action would occur, but we assumed that they were talking about London. I only got worried when I saw the copilot arrive. Something about him seemed shifty, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.”
Emma put the AK-47 to her shoulder and pretended to sight the far side of the tent.
“If you can’t hit a target, your best bet is auto, but be prepared for the gun to buck like crazy on the recoil.
You want to cover the area with shot and hope that one lands. Unless I’m in the area you’re spraying. Then I request that you switch to single shot and do your best to target only the bad guys.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
“How did you know about the traveler’s palm and the water?”
“I’m a chemist for a laboratory that invents skin products for the cosmetic market. I’m constantly scouring the world for plants that may have an antiaging or antioxidant effect. I learned about the traveler’s palm during an excursion to the British West Indies.”
“Have you discovered the plant that will reverse aging?”
Emma laughed. “Not yet.” She wagged a finger at him. “But don’t kid yourself. The chemist who unlocks the secret to skin renewal will make billions.”
“Any plants that are contenders?”
Emma nodded. “We’re working with a few now. Licorice reduces brown spots and evens out skin tone, feverfew has some benefit, but it’s allergenic to many, so it’s not ideal, and there are always the classics, like rose water.”
“My mother uses something outrageously expensive. Sea kelp or some such thing.”
“Crème de la Mer. Very pricey.”
Emma nestled the gun back against her cheek, pictured herself targeting Rodrigo, then pulled away. Her stomach turned. Sumner noticed her discomfort.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Rodrigo won’t stop until he finds us, you know that,” she said.
“I know. That reptilian brain of his will not forget an insult.”
“I look forward to killing him,” Emma said. She thought of Patrick. “God kills the good ones and leaves the bad,” she added.
Sumner raised an eyebrow.
Emma felt the need to clarify. “I’ve been in a running argument with God for the past year.”
“Arguing with a force more powerful than you is always a mistake.”
“Now you tell me.” Emma gave him a small smile.
“I always thought that death was the ultimate equal-opportunity experience.”
“Well, then, Rodrigo is about to get his opportunity.”
Sumner shifted but remained quiet.
“Go ahead, say what you’re thinking.”
“I’m thinking that it’s one thing to kill in self-defense, but it’s an entirely different thing to kill in cold blood. Snipers have to be trained, because such killing doesn’t come naturally to most people. If you get into such a situation, I think you’ll be surprised at how hard it is.”
“Have you killed in cold blood?”
“Yes,” he said.
Emma wasn’t surprised. His preternatural calm led her to believe that he could do whatever he deemed to be just, should the need arise. She had no doubt that it would be just, though. He wouldn’t kill for bloodlust.
“Was it awful?”
Sumner took a deep breath. “It was necessary.” He reached out and touched her cheek. “I don’t recommend it, though.” He sighed. “I’m tired again. Wake me when the rain is over.” Emma continued to play with the guns while Sumner slipped back into a fitful sleep.
The next day they walked into a small village. Four huts stood in a semicircle, a fire pit in the middle. About ten women loitered there. One rotated the carcass of a pig on a spit over a fire, her lank hair pulled back into a ponytail. Two more argued in the doorway of one of the huts while four or five others stood in the remaining doorways watching the bickering. They wore pea-green army fatigues and sweat-stained gray T-shirts.
The entire crew spun around to look at Emma and Sumner as they stepped into the camp. The smell of the pig on the spit set Emma’s mouth watering. They’d found some more berries this morning, but that was all. She was light-headed with hunger.
The village women fell silent and stared at the newcomers. They exuded hostility and curiosity in equal measure. One of the women barked a name, and a tall, dark-haired Amazon emerged from the nearest hut. Her long shining hair swung as she walked. She wore the same fatigues as the other women, but on her they looked like haute couture. A gun hung in a shoulder holster, its butt under her armpit. She sauntered up to Emma and Sumner, casually removing the gun as she did.
Emma heard two clicks as Sumner pulled the safety on the rifle.
Semi, Emma thought. He stood a few steps behind her, and when he raised the rifle the tip of the weapon entered her peripheral vision.
“You are a long way from home,” the woman said in English, directing her comment to Sumner.
Predictably, he said nothing.
“We are lost,” Emma said. Her voice cracked on the word lost.
The two bickering women snickered.
“You are from the jet, no?” the tall woman said.
Emma didn’t reply.
“Then you are a very long way from home.” The woman stretched her mouth into a cobra’s smile and waved toward the huts. “Come, please. Make yourself comfortable. Our home is your home.”
The women tittered again.
“My name is Mathilde.” She pointed to Sumner’s rifle. “But that must be put down now. You wouldn’t hurt a woman, would you?” Mathilde smiled at him from under her lashes.
Emma could have told her not to waste her time flirting with Sumner. Her beauty wouldn’t sway him in the least. Sumner stood still, a grim look in his eye. The rifle didn’t move.
“I said put the gun down, señor.” Now Mathilde sounded testy.
Sumner didn’t budge.
Mathilde moved toward him, and he responded by stepping into her. Now the rifle tip hovered only four feet away and remained aimed at her chest. Mathilde’s slash smile fled. She turned to Emma.
“Is he a moron, your lover?”
This comment set the bickering women to laughing out loud.
“He is unbalanced,” Emma said. “I found him in the forest, eating the arm of a dead guerrilla.”
Emma watched in satisfaction as the women stopped laughing, fear in their eyes. The woman turning the pig froze, a look of horror in hers. Two other women in the circle crossed themselves. Even Mathilde seemed to hold her breath.
“Perhaps he was your lover?” Emma said.
The smell of charred flesh wafted through the air. Emma waved at the woman working the spit. “The pig is burning, señora.”
The woman jerked out of her stunned state and resumed turning the spit. Emma strolled up to Mathilde and didn’t stop. She got within one foot before the other woman stepped back. Emma counted the retreat as a psychological victory.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Emma said. “I think I will accept it. I will need a phone or radio to call the American embassy in Bogotá. I need to radio for help.”
“We will never help you,” Mathilde said.
“It’s not for me. You see, my crazy friend here chopped the arms off all of the guerrillas he could find, and he left them there to die. They need help quickly, or they will bleed to death.”
A woman to the far right of Emma squeaked. Mathilde waved a hand in the air for silence. Her eyes narrowed.
“Perhaps you take us to these freedom fighters, and we will see to their wounds.”
“Of course. Please remove all of your guns and ammunition first and place them in a pile. We wouldn’t want the rifles to discharge by mistake.” Emma smiled her own snake-oil smile. She heard the chopping sound of a helicopter’s rotors, somewhere in the distance, growing louder. She wanted to scan the sky, to see if friend or foe approached, but she didn’t think it wise to take her eyes off Mathilde.
“Put down our guns? Never,” Mathilde said.
It appeared they were at a standoff.
Sumner settled it. He pointed the rifle at Mathilde’s feet and pulled the trigger. The sound exploded in Emma’s ears. Dirt flew up at Mathilde’s face. The bullet left a crater in the ground, two inches from her toes, and ricocheted into the forest. Mathilde jumped, but recovered so fast that it was impossible not to feel a grudging respect for her. Wh
en the dust settled, Emma looked around. The woman at the spit was gone, and the bickering women emerged from a hut with guns drawn.
Then all hell broke loose.
The huff huff of the helicopter overhead grew louder. Mathilde glanced up and blanched. The tops of the trees bent with the force of the propellers, and dust kicked up all around them. The helicopter came into view, looking like a large spider. It hovered over the clearing, engaged its guns, and blew away the hut and the bickering women with it.
“Down!” Sumner yelled.
Emma threw herself to the ground as the bullets strafed the clearing. They drew a dotted line in the dirt, and the explosions rang in her ears. She ate dust as she screamed into the dirt. Sumner pulled her up by her hair and dragged her to the trees just as the helicopter made a turn and aimed for them. The machine-gun blasts rattled again and Emma heard a woman howl.
They ran toward the tree line near the pig on the spit. Sumner never let go of her hair. He propelled her forward by pushing his fist against her skull. The helicopter swooped past and turned again toward them.
It made another pass, the bullets ripping up the dust and hammering into the bodies already there. It hovered in one place for a moment, then began to swing its tail from side to side, spraying bullets the entire time. It shot past Sumner and Emma before turning and facing them.
Sumner changed direction so fast that Emma felt he would pull her hair out of her head. They turned and ran perpendicular to the helicopter. As they did, Emma saw the man sitting in the open door toss something out.
Sumner pushed her the final steps into the trees. He didn’t follow her. Instead he turned to aim at the helicopter. Emma heard its guns begin their staccato noise and looked back to see the bullets crack into the dirt in a line toward Sumner. Emma watched as he raised the rifle to shoot, taking care to aim even as the bullets ran toward him.
Running from the Devil Page 14