by Frank Dorn
Thinking calm thoughts, he ignored them as best he could, and they ignored him right back. Except for an occasional taste. Akhim couldn’t even curse and slap them.
His guards noticed he was missing at breakfast. There was lots of shouting and stomping about. The tent was taken down and its contents dumped on the ground. Squads were formed up and sent out to search for him. Akhim was tempted on several occasions to peek, but he resisted the temptation. He would know soon enough if everything worked out.
By sunset, the army was tired and frustrated. People were still yelling, but now they were taking offense, or blaming someone, or just venting frustration. By midnight things were silent, and Akhim made his move. There were no more guards around his tent, but that didn’t mean the camp wasn’t being watched.
Akhim had found a straight branch that, in the dark, could pass for the barrel of a gun. He cradled the branch in front of him, with the “barrel” sticking up over his shoulder. He walked slowly, hunched over, down the middle of the camp’s main thoroughfare. He stopped at a smoldering fire as if to warm his hands, then continued on.
Near the camp’s edge he spotted a guard. He half saluted, half waved and received a similar silent greeting. After that, he walked into the rain forest and headed, he hoped, toward the village.
22. 22
The Peruvian Navy consisted of about four dozen ships; while Ecuador had less than two dozen. Taken together they were just over one quarter the size of the US Pacific Fleet. Peru had only sent a lowly frigate, and Ecuador a corvette, out to investigate the arrival of the Rupert Ames, the Graham News flagship yacht.
Once the two vessels noticed the yacht’s escort, which consisted of a large portion of the US Pacific Fleet, they turned tail and headed for land, preferably the Andean highlands. No shots were fired and after a flurry of confused and rapid diplomatic exchanges, and the peaceful nature of the arrivals assured, did calm return to the Admiralties of Peru and Ecuador.
The news of the US Naval presence reached General Flores about the same time that the news of Akhim’s escape did. Neither improved his generally bad disposition. The fact that his nephew wasn’t available to serve as his whipping boy had the entire base in a bad way.
By nightfall the extent of the disaster his decision to kidnap the American producer turned out to be was sinking in on the General. He had the biggest propaganda machine, coupled with the biggest military machine, sitting on his doorstep. Worse, he couldn’t even release the producer and claim it was all just a big misunderstanding because the damned nuisance of a man had already escaped.
It was nearing midnight by the time Flores had decided what his next move had to be. He issued the order for all able bodied troops to be ready to move two hours before sunrise. The soldiers would take control of the bombed out coke processing facility. They would fortify and defend the position and transport all processed cocaine to a secure location inside Bolivia.
He would be fulfilling their orders to return to his home country with his command. He would then turn over a hefty haul of cocaine, keeping back enough to ensure his future buy his men’s silence, of course.
Not having any contacts in the international drug trade meant that selling the rest of the coke would be a problem. He was not worried. Even if he had to discount the price by fifty percent, he would make enough to leave Bolivia behind, and retire to a life of luxury and security somewhere else.
Certainly some of his troops would die in the process. So would many of Starbuck’s workers. Maybe even Starbuck himself. Flores made a note to check on any potential rewards offered for his dead-or-alive capture. Not that it mattered that much. Starbuck was too proud, too cocky, to smugly superior – yeah, that was it. Starbuck was too smug, and General Flores and his troops would take him down more than a notch. They would destroy his operation and become rich in the process.
And he, General Flores, would be a hero. He would be a hero. He could apply for political asylum with any country in the Western World and be assured of receiving it and be treated like royalty while he was there. Pretty women, famous artists, wealthy businessmen, and powerful politicians all would be at his beck and call.
Life would be good. All he had to do was control his troops and his destiny for the next two, maybe three days, tops. Life was good.
It was just after midnight. Time to rouse the troops and take control of their future.
~*~
The snake’s belly was ten feet long, at least, and it was as thick as Akhim’s waist. He couldn’t see the head, or the tail, and he was glad of it. If the head was anything as impressive as the body, he would be shitting his pants. As for the tail, unless it was going away from him, he wanted no part of it, either.
And Starbuck’s warning, that everything marked with bright colors, would kill you, had him studying every plant and animal he came across. They all looked like the offspring of a union between a neon sign and an overdecorated Christmas tree. He wondered if breathing in the same air as those creatures would be enough to kill him.
The night was only half gone and Akhim knew he had traveled no more than a mile or two, and he had at least the same distance left to cover. Assuming he was even headed in the right direction, which was a major and quite probably inaccurate assumption. Where were the giant talking lizards when you needed them?
He watched as a tiny lizard scrambled up onto the body of the giant snake. It stopped, looked around, then sauntered down the length of the creature, disappearing into the undergrowth. Maybe if he moved very quietly and didn’t touch the monster, he could continue on his way.
And maybe he would sprout wings and fly to safety too. He was hungry, thirsty, sore, tired, and terrified. He didn’t need this snake in his way. The only feelings left for him to tap into were overconfidence and anger. Expressing those would likely get him killed.
Or he could wait until Flores’ men found him, or some other predator. Akhim didn’t like either of those options. Faced with such dim prospects he decided to choose the only option left: Attack!
~*~
The factory building was a total write off. A pity it hadn’t been insured, but drug kingpins had a hard time getting any sort of business insurance.
On the plus side, a lot of raw and processed goods, plus a lot of equipment and office supplies had survived the shelling, and was being salvaged. Starbuck had kept teams working around the clock to stabilize the building, and salvage everything useful.
At present, they were setting up defenses, and booby traps. There were signs around the building warning indigenous tribes to stay away. If anyone else stumbled past and decided to look around, they would pay for it. On the other hand, if this had been a plan by Flores to rip him off all along, Flores and his men would pay for it when they came back to try and claim their spoils.
The giant dugout canoes built by indigenous tribes were loaded with cocaine, computers, and cash. His one hundred plus workers would paddle, or if necessary drag, the boats all the way to the coast. There they would meet a Liberian registered tramp steamer which would quickly get them away from the coast.
With any luck, there would be no fighting along the way. Now all he had to do was convince Lea to leave Akhim behind. Piece of cake.
Lea crouched on her heels just outside of the village’s light perimeter. She wore her night vision goggles and was watching for anything human shaped coming their way.
She knew Akhim was out there, just like she knew he’d been kidnapped and not simply wandered off and got lost. He would either show up tonight, and soon tonight, or she was going to go looking for him and hunting for anything and anyone who got in her way.
And she was in the mood to hunt.
The moon was waxing and nearly full, but it was setting. False dawn would be coming soon. It was time for her to begin. In the distance a jaguar growled. She answered. The jungle fell silent. She stalked into the silence.
~*~
Sunrise. Flores was behind his men. Starbuck’s plant w
as surrounded. There were a few signs of life, of people inside, but no one had reacted to his men. Certainly they had been stealthy, practically silence itself if he did say so, but the fact that no one on Starbuck’s team had noticed them surprised him.
He had hoped someone would have noticed, and hoped they had the good sense to come outside and offer terms of surrender, but such is life. They had not done so, for whatever reason. Flores didn’t care what their reasons for not surrendering were. He would attack and overrun them and that would be that. He could delay no longer.
On his signal the attack began. The assault was more staggered than he wished. If his fool nephew hadn’t deserted it would have been his responsibility. Now he had to do everything and, although he would never admit it, it wasn’t being done as well.
The first line of men moved forward. They reached the front door and it exploded. Not a small door-blown-off-the-hinges explosion. The entire front of the building, and all of his men, vaporized. He was 800 meters away and was knocked flat on his back.
Smart people would hunker down and hide if they were present when such a thing happened. His men were not smart. They charged the three remaining sides of the building. In this endeavor they were well coordinated. Sadly.
The explosions of the remaining three sides were almost simultaneous and much larger than the entrance blast. General Flores flattened himself to the earth before they reached the outer walls. The pressure wave tore over him and left his ears ringing, but at least he was alive.
Virtually none of his men were so lucky.
He had a change of plans. First, head for the river, hunt down Starbuck, and destroy him. Second, head back to Bolivia and the life of a soldier.
Maybe he would be lucky and get killed first.
23. 23
What was left when a person was gone? Memories for those left behind. Maybe a few things the person had made, or possessed. What else? Brandie didn’t know. She was sure that Akhim wasn’t around. That did not mean he was gone, but then again it might.
He might have been murdered, or he might have simply wandered off and gotten himself killed or lost. He might have just left, of course, but quitting wasn’t like him. The final alternative was that he had been captured by someone. A local tribe? A wannabee starlet? Some branch of law enforcement? Gangsters looking for ransom?
Brandie didn’t know. She did know that she couldn’t leave this little corner of paradise without finding out. Akhim was annoying. He was old, out of shape, and still thought he was the smartest guy in the room. Still, she had worked with him, and he wasn’t all bad. She wouldn’t leave him behind because it was wrong. Not because he would do the same for her. She was not sure he would. None the less, she wouldn’t leave him alone in a jungle.
Starbuck wouldn’t like it. He had everything and everyone packed and was ready to bug out.
She was ready to stay behind even if she had to fight to do so.
At first light she heard gunfire in the distance. Gunfire and explosions. Around her, people moved faster, redoubling their efforts to get moving. There was a caravan of primitive boats stacked high with bails of cocaine wrapped in black plastic trash bags and sealed up with duct tape. Computers and clothes were likewise packed against water.
The boat people were dressed for water. Swimming suits, or shorts and tee-shirts or blouses. Some clutched personal possessions, others held paddles. Many held hands with children or the elderly. Along the shore were heavily armed serious looking men. They were alert to everything and there presence was far from calming. The more of them present, and the more anxious they looked, the more panicked everyone else became. Already boats were pushing off and headed more or less west. There was seemingly no order to the launches. A boat was ready, the passengers and crew were ready, and they left.
Either everyone knew what they were doing, which in Brandie’s experience was unlikely, or things were more chaotic and therefore dangerous than she thought. She hadn’t seen Starbuck in some time and was certain that she wouldn’t be missed for a while at least. As usual, chaos and danger were tools she was familiar with and could work with. She wandered away from the river, then ambled to the tree line, then disappeared into the forest.
There! A flash in a window on the second floor. A little man with graying hair peeking over the sill during a lull in the action. Flores knew it was Akhim, the son of a bitch. He had killed some of his best men and had most of the rest pinned down under heavy machine gun and mortar fire.
Flores would be lucky to have a squadron of men left, let alone the makings of a company. Lord how he wished they had brought some artillery with them but of course Starbuck had specifically ordered them not to bring heavy equipment. Ostensibly the reason was to make travel through the rain forest across Brazil easier and assure they remained a rapid response force. The General suspected the real reasons lay before them. Starbuck planned to betray and abandon the army thus keeping heavy armaments off the field was to his advantage.
“It will cost him his precious factory.” Flores said to no one in particular, however he was overheard.
The Death Squad surrounding him laughed, taking his comment as an attempt at levity.
Brandie had never shied away from a fight. She had heard the explosions and gunfire and come running. She spotted Akhim running from the shattered building just as she heard General Flores. Torn between calling to her friend and taking out their enemy, she chose the latter.
The General didn’t stand a chance. He was taken by surprise from behind by a woman who was more than twenty years younger, trained in deadly martial arts, and pissed off. She landed in the middle of the Death Squad. She kicked the man in front of her in the balls, then kicked the man behind her for good measure. They fell to the ground, curling into a fetal position and clutching their crotches.
She picked up their sub-machine guns and fired them on full auto until they were empty. She pivoted in a slow circle, killing any and everything around her. When she dropped the empty guns, the Death Squad, and General Flores were all dead.
She quickly scavenged hand grenades from the corpses and ran in the direction of Akhim, tossing bombs as she went. Whatever was left of the Bolivian army in Brazil was quickly eliminated. The few survivors headed into the swampiest section of the rain forest. Brandie was no jungle survivalist but she figured their odds for surviving and reaching their homeland were slim.
Then again, the odds of her and Akhim seeing the states again were pretty slim, too.
~*~
President William “Billy” Nelson was uninstalling the oval office desk phones. He was doing so with a good deal of vigor. His secretary, working late as usual, interrupted him.
“Mister President Earl Graham and someone named Charlie are on line one. You can take the call at my desk.”
Billy glared at the woman and stalked from the room, sitting down at her desk and answering the phone.’
“I have just gone to the trouble of tearing every phone out of my office. You have ten seconds to explain why I’m threatening Peru and Ecuador with the entire US Navy. They are – were - two of the very few countries I haven’t managed to piss off so far this term.”
“Hi Billy, Charlie here. My assistant Jim sent the Navy, and Earl’s boat too.”
“The Rupert Ames is there? Are we getting footage?”
“Jim, do you want to explain this?”
A nervous boy got on the phone. “Hell – hello sirs. The idea is to take a squad of helicopters into the borderland between the Columbia, Peru, and Ecuador, and pick up two Americans.”
“Two whole citizens. Do you think a squad of helicopters is enough?”
“They may want to bring out some additional people and, ummm, drugs.”
“This will be the largest drug bust in the history of the world, ever.” Earl added. “Very hush hush on the president’s orders.”
“You realize that with your news yacht there, the other news outlets will have a field day claiming I lea
ked information to you so that Graham News could get a scoop.”
“Screw ‘em. They’ll complain no matter what you do.”
“I hate to get technical but often flying squadrons, even if they’re helicopters, want flight plans, exact destinations, and perhaps some idea of what their reception will likely be.”
“Weather is hot and humid, then again it is always hot and humid. The Bolvian Army company that had been present has been neutralized.”
“Bolivia?”
Billy’s secretary set a tumbler beside his right hand. It was filled with scotch and one lone ice cube. He nodded his thanks, downed half the glass, and returned to the phone.
“Are we at war with Bolivia too?”