Miguel nodded to the pilot. “Thanks.”
The pilot got a grim look on his face. He saluted both men before returning to the controls. The helicopter rose slowly into the air and flew away.
46
BANNER SAT IN A GRIMY ROADSIDE BAR IN A PARAMILITARY-CONTROLLED town near the border of Venezuela. He drank sips of coffee so thick that the grounds formed a silt pile at the bottom. They slid into his mouth. He swallowed without blinking and scratched absentmindedly at his day’s growth of beard.
He’d taken steps to alter his looks. His hair was dyed black and he wore dark contact lenses to dim his blue eyes. The measures were only half successful. Two women who loitered at the bar had already marked him as a wealthy outsider. They’d approached him, twining their arms around his neck, telling him how handsome he was, and whispering the things they would do to him. For a price, of course. Their bodies were warm and full and he’d enjoyed the brief contact. He’d thanked them for the offer, bought them both coffees, and sent them on their way.
Ten minutes later, his good friend Raul Perez sauntered into the bar. Perez nodded at the bartender, ordered an espresso, and took a seat at the bar stool next to Banner.
“Hello, amigo, you don’t like our girls?” Perez said.
Banner shrugged. “I like them just fine, but my interest is elsewhere.”
Perez gave him a shrewd look. “And how is Major Stromeyer?”
Banner eyed Perez over the rim of his coffee cup. “Still my employee.”
Perez chuckled. “And therefore untouchable. You know, for a covert operator, you sure do follow the rules.”
Banner smiled. “I’m a business owner now. I haven’t a choice. And you? How is your business? I brought you some medicine for the clinic.”
Perez rubbed his hands together. “IV bags? Needles?”
“And six boxes of vaccines.”
Perez slapped him on the back. “Excellent.” The bartender pushed an espresso cup in Perez’s direction. “Hey, Juan,” Perez said, “bring your little girl to the clinic tomorrow. Vaccines for everyone compliments of my friend here.”
Juan the bartender smiled but said nothing.
Perez downed the coffee in one gulp. “Come on, Banner. I have someone I think you should meet.”
Banner shoved some money under his saucer and stepped away from the bar. Juan reached over, picked up the coffee cup, and pushed the money back at him.
“Thank you for the vaccines, señor.”
Banner took the money and stuffed it in the tip jar. “For the niños.”
Juan nodded his thanks.
Perez drove his battered jeep down the dirt road to the outskirts of town. Educated at a medical school in Grenada before President Reagan decided to “free” it, he’d met Banner during the evacuation. Perez had practiced in hospitals in Miami before returning to this border town. He’d started his clinic to help the local people. Ten years ago, when a paramilitary group threatened to bomb the clinic unless he agreed to pay protection, he’d called Banner in a panic. Banner managed to convince the guerrillas that harassing the only doctor in town was a very bad idea. The convincing took a while. Every day for three straight weeks, Perez’s clinic treated the broken arms and noses of a stream of guerrillas. The same ones who had demanded protection from him were now forced to accept his care. He’d done it quietly and without question. At the end, the guerrillas not only viewed Perez as an untouchable entity but as a friend. Now they routinely brought their own families to him to treat.
The clinic consisted of a series of connected cinder-block buildings in an L shape. Paint peeled from the walls, and the last building’s second floor remained unfinished. Long pieces of rusted rebar jutted out from the roof.
“Still haven’t completed that wing?” Banner said.
Perez sighed. “Every time I try, something arises that requires the funds go elsewhere. Like the person I’m taking you to meet.”
Banner stepped into the cool hallway of the inpatient wing. It smelled like astringent antiseptic and ammonia. A ceiling fan with one broken blade turned slowly overhead. The piece creaked as it completed each turn. Perez waved Banner into a room on the right.
A large woman with tightly curled gray hair and tubes running out of her arm sat up in the room’s only bed. She looked to be in her late sixties. Her skin was gray, but her eyes were bright with intelligence. She wore a hospital gown that tied at the back. Banner could see the strings poking out from behind her neck. The gown had a bizarre, faded pattern of blue flowers intermixed with pictures of teddy bears. The bears wore little blue diapers. Banner gazed at it in fascination. Perez broke his reverie.
“I’ve brought someone for you to meet,” Perez said to the woman. He spoke in a hearty voice, his usual good humor moving up a notch.
“Does he have a cigarette for me?” the woman said, a sly look on her face.
Banner tore his eyes from the diapered bears and laughed.
Perez put on a frown. “Gladys, those are coffin nails.”
Gladys waved a hand in the air. “But it’s my coffin, now, isn’t it, Dr. Perez?” Perez shrugged, giving up.
Gladys peered at Banner. “I’m Gladys Sullivan.”
Banner reached out and shook her hand. “Edward Banner.”
“What’s wrong with your eyes?” Gladys said.
Banner heard Perez suppress a laugh.
“Why do you ask?” Banner said.
“They look surreal. Like liquid tar.”
“I’m wearing colored contact lenses. But I’m surprised you’ve noticed. Most people wouldn’t be able to tell.”
“What’s their real color?” Gladys said.
“Blue.” Banner saw no reason to lie to the woman. He’d liked her on sight, and her request for a cigarette in spite of her obvious dire health condition indicated a woman who knew what she wanted.
Gladys gave a satisfied nod. “That’s better. I like it when a man tells the truth.” She gave him a critical look. “I have to say, each man I see on this journey is better looking than the last. You, mister, are a stunner.”
Banner didn’t know what to say. He was used to women flirting with him in the sideways manner women had, but rarely had a woman so blatantly placed her thoughts on the table. He did his best to ignore Perez, who grinned at him from the corner of the room.
“Thank you, Ms. Sullivan.” It was all Banner could think of to say. He didn’t think Perez had brought him to Ms. Sullivan so that they could have an extended discussion of his looks. To his relief, the doctor changed the subject.
“Gladys has a story to tell you, Banner.” Perez ambled to the door. “While she does, I’ll just arrange to unload the booty you brought.” He left Banner and Gladys staring at each other.
“I’m from Flight 689,” Gladys said.
Banner started. A chrome chair with a torn red vinyl seat cushion sat in the corner. He snagged it, placed it next to her bed, and sat down.
“Perez told me about you. He said you were working with the government on the hijacking.”
Banner nodded. “I am, in a manner of speaking. I’m here to collect a helicopter.”
Gladys heaved a relieved sigh. “I think I’m the last person to see Emma Caldridge. She saved my life. And I’d like you to save hers,” she said.
An hour later, Banner stood next to Perez’s jeep. “Will she live?”
Perez rocked his hand back and forth. “Hard to say. She needs a triple bypass and to stop smoking. She also needs helicopter transport to a major city. I had one lined up through a relief organization, but she ceded her spot to a child with meningitis. Now she has to wait at least three more weeks.”
“If it hasn’t happened by the time I get back, I’ll try to arrange transport.”
“What’d she say?” Perez said.
“She rode with a band of cartel flunkies out of the hijack area. While on the ride, she saw a caravan of trucks carrying what sounds like Dragunov semiautomatic rifles with telescop
ic sights.”
Perez gave a low whistle. “Cartels arming for a fight?”
Banner shook his head. “Apparently not. She said they were headed to the ocean to be smuggled into Miami. She said some American businessmen were assisting in the transport. She knew this because she’d seen them earlier at a checkpoint location.” He yanked open the jeep’s door. “But that whole story isn’t what worries me. What worries me is that these gunrunning Americans were focused on finding one particular passenger.”
“What’s so special about this passenger? Didn’t most die in the crash? And the rest taken hostage?”
Banner nodded. “The only people that know this passenger is alive are with the Department of Defense. Looks like our hijacking friends have some help from the inside the States.”
Perez’s mouth dropped open.
47
EMMA RAN INTO THE SMALL PRISON HUT AND STUMBLED OVER Maria, who was hovering just inside the doorway. Vivian crouched at the edge of the pit, staring downward. Alvarado hung there, his body impaled on the sticks. One went straight through him and came out his back. His arms were stuck out at ninety-degree angles from his body. He looked like he’d been crucified. Blood was everywhere.
“Did you push him?” Emma said.
Vivian shook her head. “No. He slipped when he reached the edge and fell straight forward.”
“I know he deserved it, but it looks awful.”
“He would come here every week and taunt me. He called me Rodrigo’s ‘ace in the hole’ and then he’d laugh. Once he took one of the men, brought him to the edge of the hole, and shot him in the head. The body fell on me and he made me carry it out and bury it. I hated him.”
Maria said something in Spanish.
“Maria says that God let him fall.”
“Maria has much more faith in God’s sense of fair play than I do,” Emma said.
All three women were silent, staring at the body.
Maria spoke up. She chattered at Vivian and waved her arms around in the air.
“Maria says we must move the body. She says the children should not know what occurred here.”
Emma nodded, but she shivered. All three women fell silent again. They stared at the dead man.
“Let’s go,” Emma said.
They lowered the ladder down the hole. Maria handed Emma one end of a rope. Emma grimaced as she wrapped the rope around Alvarado’s chest and tied it into a slipknot. She climbed out and waved to Vivian.
They heaved on the rope. The body slid off the sticks and slammed into the side of the hole with a sickening thud. They walked back, dragging it up onto the ground.
“Now we bury him,” Emma said.
Two hours later, they stood in the jungle and patted dirt over the grave site. Maria held a burning torch. No one said anything. Emma thought it was the worst moment of her life so far.
“You need to hide in the jungle again. The village is not safe,” Emma said.
“Maria is leaving with the children. She will not return until she is given a sign that Rodrigo is dead.”
Emma glanced up. “What type of sign? We may not be able to return for a long time.”
Maria patted Emma’s arm while she spoke to Vivian.
“Maria says that God will give her a sign. She is sure that Rodrigo will meet his end soon. She thanks you for freeing her and the children.”
Emma shook her head. “Vivian, does she understand that I am a terrible shot? That this plan could fail?”
Vivian translated for Maria, who smiled as she replied.
“She says that God will guide your hand. Things are in motion now that will call the end to Rodrigo. She says you set those things in motion, and she thanks you for it.”
Emma wished she could have such faith in God. As it was, she thought that their situation was worse than before. Rodrigo and Alvarado were a team. When Alvarado failed to return, Rodrigo was bound to wonder what happened and come looking.
“What do you think, Vivian?” she said.
Vivian hesitated a moment. Then she shook her head.
“I do not share Maria’s faith. I think we need to kill him or he will kill the children, as he once threatened to do.”
“I agree with you, but you aren’t staying here. Two years in that hellhole is enough. You’re free now. Go with Maria and don’t return to the village until you hear that Rodrigo is dead. I’ll try to get the news to you somehow.”
Vivian hesitated. “I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
Emma gave her a little push. “Go with Maria.” Vivian left to join Maria and the children hiding in the jungle, taking her torch with her.
Emma sat in the bushes at the edge of the little camp and thought about Sumner. She closed her eyes and tried to feel him. Tried to discern if he still lived and worried about her. She remembered watching a television show about miracles in ordinary life. The show’s host interviewed person after person, all of whom told incredible stories of impossible phenomena. Stories about speaking to people after they were dead, having premonitions of both good and evil before events occurred, and of returning to life after near-death experiences.
Emma hadn’t scoffed at the stories exactly, it was clear that the people were in deep pain and soothing themselves in any way they could, but she didn’t believe them, either. She believed that many such premonitions were nothing more than animal instinct. The subconscious mind made connections based upon actual occurrences, and it put the puzzle pieces together in a way that felt surreal but was not. Yet now she sat in the bushes and tried to conjure up some of the same feelings. She wanted Sumner to be alive.
Twenty minutes later, Emma watched Rodrigo and Mathilde walk into the small village. She picked up the rifle and sighted Rodrigo’s back.
And then she froze.
The image of Patrick on his deathbed, clutching his rosary, bloomed in her mind. She shoved the image away and refocused on Rodrigo’s back.
“Maria!” Rodrigo bellowed the name.
Emma inhaled deeply and started to squeeze the trigger. Then she froze again.
“Don’t think, just shoot him. He’s not even looking this way.” Emma talked to herself as she tried to motivate her finger to depress the trigger. Still, her hand stayed frozen.
Have you ever killed a man in cold blood? Sumner’s words ran through her head.
Not only in cold blood, Sumner, in the back, too, she thought.
She sighted Rodrigo’s spine dead center, between the shoulder blades, her vision focused on just that spot. She hovered there for a second, trying to conjure up her rage from the watchtower. She felt the anger still, but the awful image of Alvarado dead on the sticks kept intruding, sending waves of revulsion through her. The finality of death weighed on her.
Emma lowered the gun.
Two pickup trucks and a black SUV roared into the village. The pickups had the word DAIHATSU painted on their hatches. Each one was filled with boxes marked BANANAS—PRODUCT OF COLOMBIA. The top banana box on one truck was open. Instead of carrying bananas, it was loaded with long thin rifles. Each rifle had a telescope at the top. Emma watched as a soldier backed one of the pickups deeper into the foliage.
Smoking Man emerged from one of the pickups, followed by his bodyguards. He marched toward Rodrigo. At one foot away, he hauled off and punched him square in the face. Rodrigo staggered but swung at Smoking Man. His offensive move was short-lived. The two bodyguards grabbed his arms and pinned his hands behind him.
Smoking Man struck Rodrigo in the stomach. He wound up to punch Rodrigo again, when the roaring sound of diesel engines echoed through the air. Two large army trucks, the type used to transport personnel, barreled into the small village. A Range Rover followed. The vehicles stopped in a cloud of dust. The doors on the Range Rover swung open, and two men dressed in businessman’s attire stepped out. They marched up to Smoking Man.
A long conversation ensued. Soon the men were yelling at one another. Emma gasped when she heard the
lead businessman address Smoking Man in clear American-accented English.
“You had her in your hands and lost her. Not only her, but the hostages as well. You told me this loser”—the man stabbed a finger at Rodrigo—“could handle the job. Well, we’re not depending on you or your men anymore. See those soldiers?” The man waved at the trucks filled with paramilitary soldiers. “They’re here to take over after you and your men recover that woman. You will listen to them.”
Smoking Man took a drag off his cigarette and spit on the ground in the direction of the new set of guerrillas. His show of defiance spurred the American man to yell even louder.
“I don’t give a damn what you think of them. I’m going to get the bloodhounds back on her trail.” The man stalked back to the cab, reached in, grabbed a briefcase, and threw it at Smoking Man. “We’re leaving. Either you find her or there will be no more.” He turned to his men. “Make sure they get it right and then drive those trucks to the beach.” He pointed at the two Daihatsus.
Four soldiers jumped out of the transport vehicles and trained guns on Rodrigo and Smoking Man. The lead American stormed into his Range Rover. The second followed more slowly. He avoided looking at Rodrigo or Smoking Man. The Range Rover started with a roar and drove away.
Smoking Man threw a gun at Rodrigo before spinning around to head back to his car. He made a great show of nonchalance as he sauntered past the four soldiers. They kept a rifle trained on him but let him pass. He slammed into the SUV and disappeared in his own cloud of dust. An expectant silence settled over the village.
Emma could focus on only one thing, the hounds. If the men brought back the dogs, the chances were high that they’d catch her this time. She couldn’t afford that until she completed what she came to Colombia to do. The only way to evade the dogs was to be far away when they came, and to get away in a vehicle, leaving no trace of her scent.
Running from the Devil Page 22