by Luke Murphy
“Iranduba. A little area just off the Solimões River.”
Calvin relayed that information to Dale, and then said, “Hang on a minute, Dale.” He turned to Livia. “Do you have a flashlight?”
She handed him one.
He turned it on and searched the bag, finding his GPS. He powered it up.
Livia moved beside him, cuddling up on the seat closer than she needed to, looking at the GPS as he logged in the data. He could feel her body heat as she casually pressed her perky breasts against him. The natural scent from the perspiration on her neck floated around Calvin’s nostrils.
Just then his ears picked up a sound. He shone his light towards the edge of the land, just in time to see something disappear into the bushes, the leaves and twigs still swaying from its momentum. Then a strange noise, like a tortured animal, sprung goosebumps on Calvin’s arms. The ever-growing presence of the dangers that never slept out here.
Livia didn’t seem to notice anything, so he looked back down and read his GPS.
“Shit!” he said.
“What’s wrong?” Livia asked.
“I’m still over three hundred miles from Tefé. And by now who knows where Sanders is. He’s had a big head start and a lot of followers. He could be another hundred miles west from where his plane went down.”
“At least.”
Calvin got back on the phone and told Dale what he thought.
“What’s your next move?” Dale asked.
“I’m not sure, yet. I’m just checking in now. When I decide what to do, I’ll give you a call. How’s Rachel?”
“Pacing the floor. She’s got cabin fever.”
“Tell her I’ll call her tomorrow. I gotta go now and think of an alternate plan.”
“Stay in touch.”
Calvin hung up.
“Who’s Rachel?” Livia asked with a sly smile.
“My girlfriend.” He looked around the boat. “There’s only one gas tank here. Luiz must have unloaded the other one. Did you see any sign of another American at the Cartel Camp back there?”
Livia shook her head. “I didn’t see any other prisoners, or cages or signs that anyone was being held hostage. But I didn’t look close. I was too focused on getting you out of there. If this Sanders guy you’re chasing has made it into Colombia, it’ll be that much more difficult to find him.”
Calvin looked at her. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve met our version of the drug cartel. The Brazilian drug cartel is like, how do you say it in America? The farm team. The Colombian cocaine cartel is the real deal. Brutal, vicious, unforgiving.”
Calvin thought about how to proceed. “I need a plane. Luiz said he had a plane.”
“There’s a plane back at the drug cartel’s cabin.” She smiled. “But I doubt you want to go back there.”
He gave her a look.
Her eyes grew wide. “You’re crazy. They want your blood.”
“Can you fly a plane?”
“Barely. I only have ten hours.”
“Good enough. Turn the boat around.”
♣
They docked the boat about a mile up river from where Luiz had hidden it earlier in the evening. The area was quiet, but Calvin knew there was more than one breed of trouble lurking in the forest and river.
They got out of the boat, his body protesting against the lurching movements.
“So, what’s the plan?” Livia asked.
“We get that plane. How many men are there?”
“There were probably ten outside watching you hang. I shot one and the croc took out another, so there must be at least six to eight left, depending on how many were back at the cabin during your interrogation by the boss, and how many more come home.”
“I doubt there were any. That guy wanted everyone to know he was in charge and running the show. He would have made sure all his men were there to witness it. How far to the cabin?” He didn’t remember much about the escape. He’d been heavily sedated, and following Livia in the black of night, without really checking his surroundings as he ran.
“Probably a couple of miles.”
Calvin unloaded the bags from the boat and went through them, grabbing only a few items. He’d travel light to make up for lost time.
He was relieved that he’d packed the heavy meds he’d been taking since his knee injury. Prescription medication, some over the counter, others not, that had only grown in extra-strength as the years wore on. He didn’t need them as often anymore, but out here, away from home, was another story. He popped a couple.
He second-guessed his next decision. He didn’t exactly have a high batting average when it came to trusting Brazilians. He handed her a weapon. “I don’t expect you to use this. I’m going in alone once we get there, but just in case we run into trouble along the way or when you lead us back.”
She accepted it and tucked it into her belt as if she’d grown up around guns.
“Since you’re leading the way, put these on.” He handed her his only pair of night-vision goggles.
He slung a bag over his shoulder, and they progressed through the jungle.
They’d traveled about a mile when he heard a sound. He grabbed Livia by the pant leg. They both stopped and listened quietly. Calvin motioned towards the bush, where a small growl had risen from.
Calvin froze.
Livia whispered, “Jaguar.”
Calvin’s skin goose-bumped. His mouth went dry and he had trouble breathing.
He was a city boy. Grew up in foster homes in Los Angeles, and then spent the last four years on the Vegas streets. Although he’d met up with some tough customers, he hadn’t exactly crossed paths with the kind of wildlife that hunted him here.
“Don’t draw attention to yourself and don’t make eye contact. If he sees us, stand your ground. Wave your arms and make noise. Make yourself look bigger. If he attacks, he’ll go for the back of your head, keep that protected.”
Calvin wondered how she knew all of this. It wasn’t helpful, or encouraging.
“Back away slowly, but don’t run,” she whispered.
They backtracked simultaneously, taking tiny, slow steps. When they were out of earshot, they veered and took another path, detouring far away from where the jaguar was feeding.
“I’m glad I didn’t have to wrestle that guy,” Calvin joked.
“Just be thankful it wasn’t an anaconda.”
“My joke was funny, yours wasn’t.”
“That’s because I’m not joking.”
They found and followed an old ATV trail hidden by the growth around it. It took them twenty-five minutes to reach the outer perimeter of the cabin. They knelt behind some bushes and surveyed the area.
“Are you sure this is it?” Calvin asked.
“That’s the back of the cabin. The area where you hung from the rack is at the front, about two-hundred yards from the cabin. There’s the plane.”
Calvin saw it to the right, partially covered by a camouflaged tarp. He looked around the secured area for any sign of prisoners, but didn’t see anything that stood out.
“Do you see the American?” Livia asked.
“No, do you?”
“No.”
The cabin was lit. It sounded like a party inside: loud music, smoking and shouting. Marijuana and cigarette smoke drifted through the open window.
“Looks like they’re not expecting us,” Livia said. She got up to move but Calvin pulled her back down. She looked at him. “What?”
He pointed towards a tree almost diagonally across from the cabin. They didn’t see any movement, but they saw the orange eye of a cigarette glow bright in the black night, and they smelled marijuana.
“They’re expecting someone,” Calvin said.
They watched the guard, who spoke quietly in Portuguese between pulls on his joint. Calvin followed the voice that returned the conversation, spotting the area where the second guard waited.
“There’s two of them.”
“Great, I’ll take one and you take the other,” Livia said.
“I’d rather you not get involved in this.”
“I’m already involved. I was involved when those bastards killed my brother. And you can’t kill both of them at the same time.”
Calvin didn’t respond. He was about to move when he had a thought.
“That’s where I saw him.”
“What?” Livia had a confused look on her face.
“The drug boss, his face was familiar. I knew that I’d seen him somewhere before. He was the cop at the ATM when I had the run-in with those punks. He was dressed in the full baby-blue Brazilian cop’s uniform with bullet proof vest.”
“I believe it. It’s been rumored that the Brazilian cops are involved with the drug cartel. Now you have proof.”
He grabbed a couple of items from the duffel bag, one being a crossbow, and set it on the ground. Then he took the night-vision glasses from Livia. “Wait here.”
He’d specifically requested a crossbow from Mike because he’d anticipated that shooting in relative silence might be an important consideration. He’d also had some training at the range with the weapon, so he was comfortable using it.
He ducked down and made his way around the perimeter, using the trees and plants for cover, careful not to snap twigs or sway branches, nothing to draw attention to his movements. Calvin kept on the lookout for any small cages, somewhere or something to hold prisoners, but didn’t see anything.
He pulled a knife and snuck up on the pot smoker. Calvin drew a breath and lunged, covering the man’s mouth and using his strong arms to wrestle the guard to the ground. Calvin held him tight to avoid any squirming, but could feel the sting from the pressure on his own chest from where he’d been cut earlier. He sucked air into his lungs fast to steal away the pain and then jabbed the knife deep into the man’s back, holding him until his body went limp. Calvin got up and stiffened his body, hiding behind one of the huge ungurahui trees.
Guard number two said something in Portuguese. When the smoker didn’t answer, he repeated it again.
Calvin peeked around the tree and could see the guard through his night vision goggles, working his way towards Calvin, where guard number one had been posted.
Calvin stepped out, lifted his crossbow, took aim, and pulled the trigger. The bolt sailed into the guard’s chest. He went down on both knees, then fell forward.
Calvin felt the moistness on the chest of his own shirt, the cut had opened and blood soaked through. He steadied his breathing. The two kills had only taken seconds and he hadn’t made any noise, but Calvin stayed still and listened for any backlash. There was none. He stepped out into the opening.
He turned towards where Livia hid. “I’m going to the cabin. You stay here.”
He ducked, zigzagging in and out of the jungle. Calvin stopped and waited about fifty yards from the cabin. Looking around, back and forth, his eyes remained on constant alert.
No one had come out of the cabin, and there seemed to be no sign that anyone was suspicious of his activity. He could hear the steady hum of a window air-conditioning unit over the music and shouting. No one inside the cabin seemed to be worried about an attack.
Calvin wasn’t sure if there were prisoners inside the cabin, so he grabbed a flash-bang grenade and sprinted to the outside wall, ducking under the window’s sight line. He threw the grenade through the open window and then backtracked into the jungle, closing his eyes and covering his ears with his hands.
When the grenade went off, a deafening bang and a blinding flash filled the cabin, spilling out through the windows. Calvin counted to five with his eyes closed, then opened them and ran towards the detonation. He kicked open the door to find four men slouched on the floor, holding their ears and eyes. He put a bullet in each one’s head and searched the rest of the room for more guards or Sanders. He didn’t see the leader anywhere.
“Fuck!” He’d missed one. They were all supposed to have been there. Where was the head honcho?
Bags of weed and piles of cash littered the table. The cabin was sparsely furnished and smelled like a combination of marijuana, rice and beans. Dirty dishes filled the sink and used pots and pans with stale overcooked food cluttered the stove tops.
Calvin searched the room when the bathroom door flew open. The drug boss emerged firing a machine gun. He bled badly out of his ears but that didn’t slow him.
Calvin dove for cover into the tiny kitchen, on the other side of the room. He stayed crouched until the firing stopped.
“You’re fucked, Calvin Watters!” The boss released another round into the kitchen. The cupboards shattered. He fired off a row of bullets across the counter tops, food and chunks of glass and porcelain flew into the air.
Calvin lifted his hand over the edge of the counter and squeezed out a couple of blind shots. He popped up and looked. The leader had overturned the metal table and now crouched behind it.
It was a standoff.
The pistol in his hand was the only weapon Calvin had on him. He’d left his duffel bag with Livia and the crossbow on the ground after the grenade had gone off. His adversary had a machine gun, but Calvin wasn’t sure what else his opponent might have. There must be guns hidden all over the cabin.
Just then, the man stood up and fired into the kitchen, sending Calvin to the floor. Calvin heard the click of an empty chamber, and when he stood to fire, the boss escaped the cabin through the front door.
Calvin chased after him. He crept to the door and stuck his head out, seeing the boss disappear into the jungle. Calvin took off in a careful sprint, wondering if Livia had shifted from her position.
The former running back felt no pain in his knee, but knew that the meds had kicked in and would mask any damage, permanent or temporary, that could occur. He didn’t ever want to go back to where he’d once been, so he wasn’t taking any unnecessary chances.
He listened as he moved, hoping that the drug cartel king left a trail of swaying leaves and noise. Calvin could hear the man breathing, but the foliage blocked any chance of the moon or stars shining light onto the area. His night vision goggles were with his crossbow.
Calvin was able to catch a glimpse of his opponent just as the man escaped the forest and reached an opening. Calvin fired a final shot in dire hope but he missed. He was out of bullets.
He stopped at the edge of the bush and looked out, recognizing the spot where he’d hung from the rope earlier in the night, seeing the embers of the fire that had burned. They gave off minimal light because of the rain, but he couldn’t see anyone around. Had the boss taken off?
The Brazilian had an advantage. The drug lord knew this jungle, knew the hiding spots, and knew where to attack from. Calvin had to be evasive and more careful.
Calvin slipped out between the trees. He realized he was a sitting duck out here in the open, but needed to find a weapon. If the leader was sitting in the bush with a rifle on him, it was game over anyway. But Calvin didn’t think the man had a weapon because he would have already used it.
Calvin sidestepped his way across the open-area circle when the burning sting of a bullet sliced into the back of his leg, half a second before he heard the shot ring out. Searing pain ripped through his lower body. He fell forward and instinctively reached back to the wound.
He rolled over and saw the leader standing behind him, beside the guard on the ground that Livia had taken out when she’d rescued Calvin earlier in the evening. The boss had picked up the dead man’s weapon.
He walking towards Calvin, a smile spreading across his face. “So, this is how it ends, Calvin Watters.”
Livia would have heard the gunshot, but she was a good half-mile away. Going through the jungle in the dark would make it that much longer to reach them, if she was coming at all.
Calvin turned and started to crawl, but the pain in his hamstring pierced his lower limb. He heard and felt consecutive bullets hit the ground around his body. The man with the gun
laughed.
The PI stopped and lay on his belly. He was close enough to the fire to feel the limited heat it still gave off after the rain.
Calvin felt the man’s boot come down, stomping on the middle of his back, pushing down hard against Calvin’s vertebrae so that he could no longer crawl or squirm.
“Okay, I guess it’s no ransom for you.” The man pulled back the hammer on the revolver.
Calvin grimaced, opened his eyes and saw the handle of the machete sticking out of the ashes of the fire.
“I thought you’d put up more of a fight,” the boss mocked.
Calvin felt the pressure of the Brazilian’s boot let up slightly. He must have been feeling confident, because he wasn’t leaning down as hard on Calvin’s spine.
The American waited until the split second the boot pressure released all the way, and, in one fluid motion, he grabbed the machete, rolled onto his back swinging the big knife, and sliced off the boss’s hand at the wrist. The severed hand and gun dropped to the ground and the drug lord gave a primal scream of anguish.
Calvin got to his knees, and then struggled his feet. He could only put pressure on one leg.
The drug lord took three involuntary steps back, a look of surprise registered as he stared at his handless arm. His face paled and then he dropped to his knees.
Calvin limped towards the drug boss and dropped the machete to the ground. He picked up the gun, took one more step forward, and without another word, put a bullet between the man’s eyes.
The drug boss’s head and neck snapped and he fell backwards onto the ground, motionless. He lay on his back, his dead eyes staring blankly at the dark night’s sky.
Calvin stood over the body, looking down. Movement to his right caught his attention. He turned, aiming the gun, only to find Livia escaping the thick jungle. She stared at the body as she moved towards Calvin.
“The cartel is dead,” he said.
“How do you figure?”
He pointed at the boss’s body. “Cut the snake off at its head.”
She snorted. “He’s just a lackey. He isn’t running it all. This is only a small fraction of the entire South American enterprise.” She put her arm on his shoulder. “But it’s a start. I checked the cabin and the surroundings. No one’s left.”