by Frank Dorn
According to Jose, she worked at the factory processing leaves but she was studying business management, accounting, and English. She had seen him in the business management class but had been too shy to speak with him until the party.
That had to be it. Two shy people, and one of them finally screwed up their courage to talk with the other. From the looks of things they had done more than just talk. Personally, the General was old school. Courtships should be formal, permission should be granted by parent or guardian, and they should take their time. Kids nowadays. They rushed everything. No planning ahead. Just wham bam to the alter ma’am.
Now that he thought on it, he had seen them in English classes before, and perhaps they had glanced at each other from time to time when they thought the other wasn’t looking.
Now he would have to break in another assistant. Maybe the next one wouldn’t be so clumsy and fussy. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t be as competent. He ought to punish the bullies who nearly ruined the party, making fun of Starbuck and trying to start a fight. He half wished they had succeeded in baiting Starbuck and his men. They would have wiped his men out, and those men were his best fighters.
No, what really irked him was his new orders. It seems someone in La Paz had noticed that their army, such as it was, had misplaced a company of men. His. They had been ordered back to Bolivia post haste.
They would have to go. He would have to explain a dozen or so dead men. That could be taken care of with a few well placed bribes. However their return to Bolivia meant his troops, and more importantly he, would no longer receive Starbuck’s largess. That was inconceivably bad news.
It was enough to make him resign his commission and go back to working for a living. If he was honest with himself, his prospects in the private sector were not good. If he did, somehow, manage to land a half way decent job, he would take a massive pay cut.
He shuddered in anticipation. Something had to be done. If only he had a spy in Starbuck’s organization, but his people were to damned loyal. They had no appreciation for subterfuge, power struggles, and bribes. Where did he find such people?
He would use the next best tool at his disposal. Akhim and Lea. He would interview them, learn what was happening, and then make his decision. For now his orders were top secret and for his eyes only.
~*~
This was not a hangover. Akhim had experienced hangovers many times in his life. This was something far, far worse. His head throbbed with every beat of his heart. Rainbow colored patterns danced around the edges of his vision in time with his pulse and closing his eyes didn’t help.
His jaw hurt, his teeth hurt, his scalp hurt, his eyes hurt. Not to mention the scratches and bug bites that covered his face, neck, hands, arms and places no bug should have been able to reach, all hurt. His joints hurt. His hands and feet hurt. He swore the very air around him hurt.
And that was just the outside. His insides felt even worse. The last thing he wanted to do was deal with Hollywood or General Flores. His phone rang just as the grinning General approached him. At least the general brought two steaming mugs with him. Maybe his cup contained poison, fast acting poison, which would put him out of his misery. He held up his hand as he answered. Flores stopped.
“Hello Earl.”
“Who the hell is Jim?”
“That is a really great question I am sure but at present I am well and truly hung over and a cup of coffee has just arrived. I promise to beat the money trees as soon as I finish drinking, and I will try to find out who Jim is.”
“He’s Charlie’s new assistant.”
“Hell, Earl, if you already know the answer why bother to ask? Especially why bother to ask me? You know I’m just as likely to make something up even if I knew the answer which I didn’t.”
“Drink your coffee. That sounds like a great idea. Frankly I’m a bit under the weather myself.”
“I’m sorry about last night. Drunk dialing is the worst.”
“Forget it. Yesterday was a long day for everyone.”
“Someday, over tea, weak tea, ask me about yesterday. Please wait at least a year.”
Laughing, Earl hung up. Akhim looked up expectantly at Flores who handed over a mug. Akhim sipped and grimaced.
“This is not coffee. Either that or it is really, really bad coffee.”
“It is a local concoction.”
Akhim quickly set the mug down. Flores lifted the mug and sipped from it. “No no no. It is perfectly safe, see? The local tribes swear by it. They say it is the only cure for hangovers and the day after a vision quest.”
“I wasn’t on a quest.”
“We are always on quests. Drink up and we can switch to real coffee.”
Akhim and Flores sat together in silence, slowly sipping the bitter liquid until both mugs were empty. A tall, overly muscled and overweight soldier showed up with a carafe of coffee and two more mugs. Silently he poured mugs for both of them, took the original mugs and left.
“Where’s Jose?”
“He’s engaged. I’m having to break in a new assistant. This one isn’t as smart or, how can I put this, detail oriented, as Jose.”
“Jose is shy, insecure, and eager to please.” Akhim watched the big overweight soldier amble away. “Your new guy isn’t, but he seems quiet and efficient. He might work out.”
“Jose is anal retentive, suffers from OCD, and is a klutz, but he’s family. I hope his fiance is down to earth, level headed, and patient.”
“I just hope he didn’t break Lea’s heart.”
Flores laughed. “Do you think she really gave two shits about him?”
“She likes everybody, including him. I expect she’ll wish him well.”
“Spoken like a diplomat or a Hollywood producer.”
“Or a politician, door to door salesman, financial analyst or any other profession that relies on lying.”
“Which is pretty much all of them.”
“I guess. Now, what can I do for you?”
“I have two questions. The first you may find uncomfortable.”
“I’m more comfortable now than I was ten minutes ago, thank you, so feel free to ask away. I may even answer truthfully.”
“Why did you come here?”
“A producer is the boss of a movie, but I have bosses, too. They tell me to go somewhere and I go. Same with Lea. If there are … difficulties with certain locations they send in people who can deal with difficulties.”
“Lea had some difficulties at last year’s Cannes film festival.”
Akhim’s face darkened. “I’ve heard. Whatever you have read, it was far worse. The pity of it was that she’d been sent to the film festival to make up for the Kumari Kandam fiasco. Another production flop I was trail bossing.”
“And yet you have Earl Graham on speed dial and still manage to keep getting work.”
“Work. You know how producers get paid? We own a part of each film we work on. A very tiny part, but we get royalties on it forever. If the film never gets made, or distributed, or its a flop, we don’t get paid. I’m living on borrowed money and further in debt than before I went to prison.”
“You were in prison?”
Akhim looked away. “It’s something I usually leave off my resume.”
Flores coughed and fiddled with pouring more coffee for both of them. “Enough of that. On to my second question. Would you like to get out of here and go back to California?”
Akhim straightened up and smiled, really smiled for the first time since he’d regained consciousness. “That I can answer in a word. Yes. I’ll add that both Lea and I would be forever in your debt, because it is doubtful either one of us will ever be in a position to return such a favor.”
“I may have transportation available. It would involve traveling to Bolivia, but from there you should be able to fly back to the states.”
“If I had bags to pack, I’d leave them.”
“Come with me. There is much to discuss.”
They walked together away from the village. Even early in the day it was hot and humid. Within half an hour they were both sweating heavily. The undergrowth was thicker, and paths narrower than he was used to, and they twisted and turned every five feet.
They were surrounded by wildlife. Small but colorful wildlife. Akhim saw rainbows of birds, and snakes, and insects, even frogs.
“Nothing is drab around here.”
“For good reason. If it is colorful, it can kill you.”
“Really?” Akhim didn’t really expect an answer. “How much further?”
“Not too far. We keep the barracks an hour from the village to avoid problematic interactions.”
“Now you sound like a producer.”
“I am qualified. I can organize large groups, delegate authority, yell at people, and lie like a rug.”
“Ah, but do you have bad taste?”
“No!”
“That is the prime trait necessary to be a producer!”
General Flores laughed. They pushed through a narrow turn and broken into a wide open space filled with rows of large tents, and soldiers. General Flores drew his gun.
“And now, if you will lead the way.”
“What’s going on?”
“You’ve been kidnapped.”
21. 21
Jim wanted to steal an aircraft carrier. Charlie remained uncertain. “Aircraft carriers are big. There are lots of people on them, and the Navy will occasionally notice when one is missing.”
“Can’t we just, you know, send out false signals?”
“Aircraft carriers don’t sail around by themselves. They have a whole task force that goes with them. It’s like potato chips.”
That puzzled Jim.
“You know, you can’t eat just one, you can’t steal just one.”
“Oh. Yeah. Just like potato chips.”
“You’re never going to learn anything if you’re just going to sit there and be sarcastic.”
“So what do you recommend? Electric hover bikes? Drones with a thousand mile range and a two hundred pound cargo capacity?”
“There you go again… I heard about those hover bikes. They look awesome and deadly.”
“Yeah. Only gas powered right now, but give it a few years.”
“We don’t have a few years. We don’t even have a few days, but thinking creatively, thinking outside the box might help.”
“So… trained dolphins?”
“Nobody trains pink river dolphins, and we don’t have time to start. The rivers aren’t navigable, and there are no runways.”
“Build one.”
“A runway?”
“Not for, like, a jumbo jet or anything, and it wouldn’t have to be fancy. We’d only use it once.”
“STOL planes still need fifteen hundred foot airstrips and that’ll take a huge ground crew which we don’t have and S T O L is the acronym for short take off landing planes which have to clear fifty feet on a thousand foot runway which would do us no good because the threes are damned near four times that height.”
“Okay, no plane.”
“I didn’t say that. We just can’t build an airstrip.”
“What about an air attack? Aerial bombardment of the village and factory. That would scare everyone and Akhim and Brandie could escape during the confusion.”
Charlie closed his eyes and counted to ten. Twice. “Being creative isn’t enough. First of all, you’re stuck in a rut. An air rut. You’re thinking of flying in to the rescue. Get your head out of the clouds. Second, think of their location and their abilities. It’s a literal jungle. They have no weapons, gear, or transportation. They can’t just walk away.”
“Couldn’t Earl Graham just summon them home?”
“Why would he – wait… hmmm…”
“Just tell their, their… they’re not really captors, but Brandi and Akhim aren’t exactly guests either.”
Charlie’s phone buzzed. He signaled Jim to be quiet and answered. Frowning, he listened, and said only “Okay we’re on it.” before he hung up. Still frowning, he turned to Jim.
“Well that’s one problem down. Akhim has been kidnapped so now we can call them captors.”
“So now what?”
“Now we go big. We’re not going to steal an aircraft carrier. We’re stealing the entire Pacific fleet.”
~*~
Akhim had been in worse prisons. The concierge service was better than at Club Fed, but amenities like cable TV, golf courses, and tennis courts were sorely lacking; and while the bar was open all hours, the wine list was non-existent and the beer and liquor selection was severely limited. Food was okay. Fresh fruit, of course, and exotic meats and vegetables prepared with wholesome simplicity.
Phone access was forbidden, talking to guards was forbidden, escaping was especially forbidden. Complaining was technically allowed but the response was the same as being punished for, say, trying to escape, which was a severe beating.
Akhim had two black eyes, a split lip, and three or four broken ribs. There were other bruises, scrapes and possible breaks, but those three bothered him the most. He lay on his cot and tried to think of something other than thirst, pain, and a genuine fear for his future.
After long consideration Akhim had decided that General Flores was not a nice man, and his troops where not very nice either. He might go so far as to mention it to Starbuck, assuming he lived long enough to speak with him again.
He risked peeking at the tent flap. Two guards were seated on either side of the opening. They had guns of some sort leaning against their legs, and they appeared to be taking a siesta. That was likely a deception on their part. They were hoping he’d try to grab one of their guns. That would be enough of an excuse to knock him out.
He knew this because he had spent at least twenty hours unconscious. Somehow he had, he was fairly certain, lost a day. Maybe for trying to make small talk with the guards, maybe for trying to sneak underneath the back of the tent, it was hard to remember. Blows to the head do not improve short term memory, and neither does being on the low side of seventy. Akhim regretted he was testing both hypothesis at the same time.
The fact remained, however, that he had to escape. If they tried to ransom him they would be sorely disappointed. If he waited for rescue he would be disappointed. That left either rotting away, being beaten to death, or escaping.
Escaping sounded best to him. As far as he could tell he had three options. Brute force, fight his way out, or fake brilliance and baffle them with bullshit and convince them to let him go, or subterfuge: he could hide until they went to look for him and then sneak out.
One of those options had to work. Brute force was out. He was too slow, too weak, too light, too old, and had always been a lousy fighter. Brilliance might work if the guards weren’t too stupid to understand a con, let alone fall for one, and if they weren’t so sadistically mean. He hadn’t seen Flores since his capture and that was probably deliberate. Flores, he knew, could be conned.
That left hiding. First he would have to identify a good hiding place. Then he would lay down a false trail, hide, and wait. Simple.
His US Army surplus canvas tent was on a raised wooden platform which was about a foot off the ground. The platform was open so hiding underneath it looked like a bad option, but if he could dig a hole, spread the dirt around, and make a convincing cover, it could work. His dinner was served at sunset, and included one warm beer.
Akhim had taken to leaving the beer for the guard who picked up his dinner tray. After the first day, Akhim knew not to say anything, or even look the guard in the eye. When the man left, they dropped the tent flaps and tied them shut. Akhim waiting until conversation quieted and the camp was asleep, then he slipped out and underneath the tent.
The earth was moist and soft, but dense like clay. It took him most of the night to prep the hole and get a blanket covered in sticky clay, then lay down a path into the jungle, breaking branches, leaving footprints, and finally ending the
trail at a large tree beside a wide shallow stream. Let them wonder: Did he climb the tree or wade in the water? Then let them search.
Sunrise found him well hidden beneath his tent. He had water, and a little food, and he was exhausted. His biggest fear was that he would fall asleep and his snoring would give him away. He would doze, and meditate, and stay calm.
What he hadn’t been prepared for was the number of guests in his hole. He was living with a miniature zoo. Spiders, crabs, burrowing, flying, and crawling insects of all types and some critters Akhim was sure were unknown to science.