Running from the Devil

by Jamie Freveletti

  She turned her attention away from Rodrigo to the Daihatsu trucks.

  48

  SUMNER, MIGUEL, AND BORIS SLOGGED THROUGH THE JUNGLE in the general direction that Sumner believed Emma had run. Miguel held a compass out in front of him and warned Sumner when they deviated the least bit from it. They kept a straight line, allowing the dog to jog in the front. They’d managed to avoid two land mines, thanks to Boris. To Miguel, the jungle held a quiet, waiting feeling. The sky glowed amber, the way it did twenty minutes before a tornado hit. Miguel had experienced a tornado in Oklahoma, and he never forgot that amber sky and the feeling of peace right before all hell broke loose. He’d never really understood the term calm before the storm until that day. Now he knew the phenomenon existed.

  Sumner was a man on a mission. Miguel liked working with him. He rarely spoke, except for essential things, and he moved with a stealth that Miguel admired. He didn’t seem overly desperate to find Ms. Caldridge, more like quietly determined. Miguel felt as though he would not stop until he did.

  Rodrigo should be worried. He is no match for this man, Miguel thought.

  They broke through a stand of palm and stumbled onto a trail.

  “Does this look familiar at all?” Miguel said.

  Sumner shook his head. “Whole damn jungle looks the same to me, I’m afraid. Feels the same, too. Hot, wet, and dangerous.”

  Miguel nodded. “Maybe this is a good place to take a little break. Boris could use some water.”

  Miguel poured a small amount of water into a tin cup. Boris lapped it and looked for more when it was empty. They started again. They had walked fifty paces when Sumner gave a low chuckle. He pointed to a tree with a crude X scraped into the trunk.

  “She thought ahead,” Miguel said.

  “She always does.”

  An explosion ripped through the air. They smelled the smoke before they saw the fire. A large plume of black smoke rose into the sky.

  “Now what?” Miguel said in exasperation. They headed toward the smoke. It took an hour for them to reach the plume’s location.

  They stood there, struck dumb by the devastation. It was the pipeline. The large metal tube was an ugly metallic blight on the green landscape. Metal tripods held it off the ground. Dark smoke roiled from where the guerrillas had bombed it. Oil spilled everywhere, oozing across the grass and stones, turning the green field to black. Miguel gagged at the stench. His feet slipped on the slick grass. Someone had set makeshift oil drums under the gaping hole to collect what they could.

  A small tin shack sat at the end of the field. It leaned sideways, looking like a poor man’s version of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

  “Let’s canvass it first,” Sumner said. He worked his way around the shed in a large semicircle. Miguel followed behind, trying not to slip on the oil. They reached the back of the structure.

  “No windows. Anyone could be inside,” Miguel whispered.

  Sumner nodded. He reached out and pulled on the wooden door. It was spattered with oil, and opened with a smooth swing. The dark interior smelled like burning tar—the kind of smell that roofers make with their tar-melting vats. Sumner’s eyes stung from the fumes.

  The hut had ragged wooden walls and a dirt floor. A blackened kerosene stove sat in the corner. The rest of the hut was bare except for a small wooden desk made of plywood. It hugged the far wall, with a matching chair pushed in front of it. On top of the desk sat a briefcase, open. Around it, stacked in piles, was more money than Sumner had ever seen outside of a bank. He reached over and lifted a small packet off the stack. He fanned the bills, watching them flutter in order.

  “Ten-dollar bills,” he said, “and they’re still crisp. New money. Payoffs?”

  Miguel peered at Sumner in the gloom. “Didn’t work. They bombed the pipeline anyway.”

  “Maybe the payoff was to make the guard look away so they could bomb the pipeline,” Sumner said.

  “If so, why leave it here? Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Sumner grabbed a handful of bills and shoved them into his pants’ pockets. He gave another handful to Miguel.

  “Put these in your cargo pockets. We may need this to bargain our way out of a tough spot.”

  Miguel counted the stacks, then snorted. “I can carry a grand total of six thousand dollars. If that buys me anything, I’d be surprised.”

  Sumner shrugged. “It’s something.”

  “That it is,” Miguel said.

  They stashed as much cash as they could and headed back outside. The stench in the air surrounded them. Miguel pulled out a compass and waved toward the broken pipeline.

  “That way is the sea. We should be close now. We’ll have to work our way to the other side and head down that hill.”

  They jogged to the pipeline, angling under it. Miguel swung his head from side to side, looking for movement or any sign of an enemy. Sumner waved toward a tree. They slipped behind it.

  “It’s too quiet,” Sumner said in a whisper.

  “I agree. Do you see anything?” Miguel said.

  “No, but the hair is standing up on my neck. Not a good sign.”

  “You know what to do in case of an explosion, right?” Miguel whispered.

  “Run like hell?” Sumner said.

  “No. Drop to the ground and open your mouth. That way the shock waves will flow through your body instead of blasting it apart.”

  Sumner looked at Miguel a long moment. “Thanks for the tip,” he said.

  Miguel smiled. “Let’s move, shall we? Flush these losers out of hiding. I’ll be damned if I can spot them, and I can’t tell you how badly I want to get to that beach. I’ll go first, you watch for snipers.”

  Miguel left the tree line and ran in the direction of the beach. He felt Sumner’s eyes on his back. He also felt a presence to his right. Whoever had targeted them was sitting in the trees. Miguel estimated the sniper was fifty feet ahead of Sumner’s position. He would draw even with him in ten seconds. He prepared to drop and fire.

  The explosion came out of nowhere. It blew apart a section of the pipeline five hundred yards from Miguel’s position. Miguel hit the deck and opened his mouth. He watched Sumner out of the corner of his eye. Sumner dropped and turned his head toward the blast. The shock wave hammered through Miguel. It rattled his bones and he felt his tongue suck backward into his mouth.

  A second explosion came on the heels of the first. A huge plume of fire shot skyward, fed at the base by the oil pumping out of the pipeline. Black smoke roiled into the sky. An inky sludge seeped downward, starting a slow spread across the grass.

  The sniper stepped out of the trees, on Miguel’s right. Miguel clocked him with his peripheral vision only. His body felt like a thousand fists had hammered into him, making the simple act of turning his head seem too difficult a maneuver. It was only after the sniper snapped his rifle into firing position and Miguel felt the adrenaline dump into his system that he was able to move. He lurched upward. He saw the sniper’s muzzle flash. Felt the bullet thud into him. It knocked him sideways, but he did a funny two-step with his feet, which allowed him to stay upright for a brief moment. He didn’t feel any real pain. A detached side of his mind registered the lack of pain in an almost clinical way. He dropped to his knees and hung there, unable to stand, but unwilling to fall to the ground. The sniper took a step forward, farther into the field. Miguel heard a shot from behind him, and he watched the sniper’s chest explode in a red flume. He wanted to congratulate Sumner on the shot, but now the pain was upon him. It was a violent, terrible, clawing agony that snatched his breath away.

  Boris ran up to him and started licking his face. Miguel felt someone grab him from behind. He started to struggle, but stopped when he heard Sumner speak.

  “Get up, Miguel, the beach is on that far side of the hill. You said you wanted to get to the beach, didn’t you?” His voice held a cajoling note. Miguel tried to laugh, but pain shot through his side as he took a breath.

&
nbsp; “The wound must be bad, Sumner, because that’s the longest sentence I’ve ever heard you say.”

  Sumner’s grin was strained. “I’ll look at it when we get to that boat.”

  Miguel let Sumner help him up. Boris danced in front of them, running forward, tail up like a flag, and then circling back to run alongside. Miguel leaned on Sumner and they limped down the beach. A cabin cruiser floated in the water, anchored twenty feet out into the water.

  “That thing isn’t a boat, it’s a small yacht.” Miguel could barely get the words out.

  “Looks like we’re about to steal a cartel leader’s pleasure ride,” Sumner said.

  Miguel wanted to respond but found that he couldn’t. Stars danced before his eyes and his side hurt like a bitch. They reached the beach and Sumner continued forward, plunging knee-deep into the water and dragging Miguel with him.

  “Canvass it first,” Miguel said. His voice was so weak that it came out like a whisper.

  “No time,” Sumner said.

  “You’ve got that right,” a man’s voice said behind them. Sumner turned to look into the face of the man at the airstrip with the two bodyguards.

  49

  BANNER TOUCHED HIS HELICOPTER DOWN TO REFUEL AT AN AIRSTRIP, where the signing of paperwork ensued. While he stood at the dirty counter in the tiny airstrip, his phone rang with the ring tone he reserved for Stromeyer.

  “Tell me some good news,” he said without preamble.

  “Everyone’s pounding down my door to speak to you, and none of them believe that I can’t reach you.”

  Banner smiled at the phone. “Your reputation for knowing everything precedes you. Now you’re reaping the results, eh?”

  He heard Stromeyer’s snort from five thousand miles away and down the phone line. “Margate is losing it. Word just came that the pipeline was blown and two U.S. soldiers were captured seconds later. The implication is that they deliberately blew the pipeline in retaliation for the hostage situation and order to evacuate.”

  “What soldiers?” Banner shifted the phone to his left hand to allow him to sign yet another piece of paper that a hangar employee shoved under his nose. “None of ours is anywhere near it, and I thought Margate gave the order to extract the rest.”

  “Miguel is one and Sumner is the other.”

  Banner stopped writing. “Who captured them?”

  “A high-ranking member of the FFOC.”

  Banner slammed out of the small office. The sun hit him full force. He shoved on a pair of wraparound sunglasses. Almost smiled at the instant relief they gave him.

  “Where are they being held?” He strode quickly toward his helicopter.

  “Don’t know. I think at the pipeline. But word is that Miguel is injured.”

  “Get me the coordinates for the pipeline. I need to know where to find them.”

  “I’ll send them in an attachment to your phone. I’m also going to route Margate to you.”

  “Can’t you hold him off a little longer? I don’t feel like dealing with the man.”

  “Honestly, I’m afraid if he doesn’t speak to you soon, he’ll give an order that will just make everything harder.”

  Banner couldn’t argue with her logic. “Fine. Send him through.”

  Within seconds, Banner heard the beeping sound that indicated another call was coming through.

  “What did you do, have him on hold?”

  “You bet,” Stromeyer said in a sweet voice. “Banner?” Now she sounded serious.

  “Yes?”

  “I still don’t trust him completely.”

  “I know. I’ll tread carefully.”

  Banner heard her click off the line before he could respond.

  “Banner, explain to me how two of your soldiers got near the pipeline hours after the last soldiers had already been evacuated.” Margate’s anger burned through the line. Banner swung into his helicopter before answering.

  “When did Major Gonzalez become mine?” he asked.

  “The moment he disobeyed a direct order to evacuate. I’m arranging the paperwork to have him arrested the moment he steps back into the States.”

  Banner took a deep breath to avoid snapping at Margate. The man pissed him off to no end, but he needed to keep his cool if he was to save Miguel’s career. “Major Gonzalez operated under a joint order of the DOD and my organization. I have not received the paperwork to withdraw my people, and so he did not leave.”

  There was a short silence on the line. “What people? I understood that the only soldiers in the area were regular military special forces,” Margate said.

  “General Corvan signed a memo naming my organization as part of the rescue mission. He had to in order for me to be present at the initial meeting.” What Banner said was a technicality only, but he was more than willing to stand behind it to protect Miguel’s decision to overstay his welcome. Now it sounded like Miguel and Sumner were being set up to take the fall for a bombing.

  “If he’s under your umbrella, you’d better be prepared to answer to the Colombian government regarding this bombing. I don’t expect them to offer any leniency.” Margate was already working an angle, Banner could tell. But he didn’t care. He’d figure out the details later. Now he needed to get to the pipeline and pull Sumner and Miguel out of whatever nightmare they’d encountered.

  “Margate, I doubt they’re responsible for the bombing,” Banner said. “What possible motive could they have?”

  “The oldest one in the book, Banner. Money. Colombian government says their pockets were loaded with cash and an entire briefcase of the stuff was nearby.”

  Banner stopped fiddling with the helicopter while he absorbed this information. He thought about Gladys’s claim that American businessmen were involved in arms trafficking. He was tempted to tell Margate, but reason prevailed. Time enough to figure out what was going on after he’d located everyone he needed to find.

  “I’m sure there’s a good explanation, Margate.”

  “Glad you’re so convinced.”

  “Where did the Colombian government get their information about the cash?”

  Margate coughed over the line. “The FFOC. They’re demanding two million in ransom and safe passage back to their enclave in the south.”

  Banner couldn’t believe his ears. “Wait a minute! This accusation comes from the FFOC and you and the Colombian government believe them? Have you lost your mind? Why would you believe anything a bunch of paramilitary killers tell you?”

  “I am inclined to believe them because this Gonzalez seems to have gone off half-cocked. He should have evacuated with the rest. When he disobeyed a direct order, it tends to make me wonder why.”

  “Your last extraction helicopter was full, so he never had a chance to evacuate. Plus, he’s helping Sumner find Emma Caldridge.”

  “I hope you’re right, Banner. If not, then I intend to hang the guy high. The passengers are freed, the military evacuated, and the mission accomplished. As far as I’m concerned, this hijacking has been brought to a successful conclusion. The last thing I need is a couple of rogue soldiers wreaking havoc on our political allies. They’re on their own.”

  “And Ms. Caldridge? She’s still stuck out there.”

  “She’s a casualty of the situation. I think you’ll agree that losing only one of the survivors is a very acceptable outcome.”

  Banner had to clamp his teeth together to stop himself from raining insults on Margate. “I don’t agree at all. I intend to do my best to bring all three of these people back to the States alive.”

  “You are free to try, Banner, but we won’t pay Darkview’s expenses from this moment forward, and if you are captured, expect us to deny that you even exist.”

  “I’m a contracted security force, Margate. When was the last time you guys acknowledged our existence under any circumstances?” Banner shut off the phone before he felt compelled to tell Margate what he really thought of him.

  50

  EMMA MOVED
TOWARD THE WAITING TRUCKS. THREE OF THE four soldiers milled around near the first truck, leaving the one truck closest to the trees shrouded in shadows. She couldn’t see the fourth soldier.

  She checked on Rodrigo. He stood in the village center, as if waiting. I wonder where Mathilde is, Emma thought. Just then Mathilde stepped into the village. It was as if Emma’s thoughts had conjured her.

  Emma crept closer to the truck. She heard a footfall behind her. She spun around to see the fourth soldier pointing a rifle at her chest. It was the boy she’d helped escape from the truck at the airstrip almost a lifetime ago. His eyes widened as he recognized her. They stood that way, facing each other, for what felt like an eternity. Emma saw a bead of sweat run down the boy’s face. It dripped into the bandanna he wore around his neck. His lips were parted and he breathed rapidly in and out, as if he’d just completed a run. Emma felt as if she could see his thoughts racing through his head.

  Rodrigo’s voice as he spoke to Mathilde echoed through the clearing.

  The boy started. He jerked his head toward the truck in the trees. In two short strides he was at its side. He waved at her impatiently. Emma jogged over. Put her foot on the bumper. The boy reached out and supported her arm to help her swing her leg into the truck bed. It was a strangely chivalrous gesture under the circumstances, but it told Emma more about the boy’s character than any words could have. She insinuated herself between the boxes of rifles, moving them gently aside. They were stacked three high. When she was able to lie down, she lowered herself onto her back. She stared up at the sky. The boy hovered over her, worry in his dark eyes. He moved the boxes on top closer together, until a shadow fell over Emma. She could see the boy’s face through the remaining shaft of light shining between the boxes. The boy caught her eye. He gave a curt nod. She felt the truck bounce as he jumped off.