Being the pessimist that I am, I had never been so sure that Alex had indeed listened and taken action. I had hoped, of course. He had been my friend too. Seeing him as the enemy was so foreign—so sickening. We’d fought the old regime together. He’d given his all. We all had. And now it had come to this.
The bodies were laid out on the ground near to the rim of the jungle. These were all someone’s loved ones. They needed to be brought home and buried properly. In all, we counted thirty-two bodies. Less than I had initially thought, but way too many. Some bodies were so decomposed or scavenged that they were barely recognisable. Identifying them would not be easy. Some had one or the other form of identity cards on them, but most would need the heart-wrenching personal identification of their next of kin.
A sound to the left of me announced the arrival of some horse-drawn carts the revolutionaries had borrowed from a nearby farm. Wrapping the dead in blankets and sheets, we loaded them on to the wagons and left the depressing scene.
Our first stop was at the neighbouring village. The id-card of one of the bodies had shown that he came from here. Wailing and crying welcomed us into the village square. I smelled the remnants of a fire and spilled blood. The villagers confirmed that there were eleven people missing. Most men, but one family with three small children.
The identification was indeed heart-wrenching. It boiled my blood to see the devastation that had been wrought on this small community. Tears flowing freely on all sides. The bodies were identified and claimed by their next of kin. The villagers informed us that more people were missing from other villages nearby.
We pressed on, our feelings and senses blunted by all the pain and suffering.
At the end of the next day we had managed to identify almost all of the bodies. One remained, but the last village had offered to bury him too. Dirty and tired—our emotions hardly bearable anymore—we returned back to the compound. Word of our findings had preceded us, and we were met by Jesus and Dulce, along with most of the compound inhabitants. The welcome was quiet. The pain obvious in our faces. Silently we were all accompanied to our tents. I chose to go to the stream instead to try to wash away some of the grime and stink of the past days. The outside cleaned ok, the inside was a totally different matter.
CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE
I felt soiled. Deep down inside I had so hoped that it would not come to this. That we would be able to solve the situation without a new war. Killing still impacted me in a way that was extremely unpleasant. Somehow it even seemed like an addiction, as strange as that may sound. The more I had killed in the previous wars, the more I wanted to. Coming back from that had been traumatic.
Control was essential for me. After all these years I was still petrified by the possibility that I would lose it and kill indiscriminately. The cat’s power was phenomenal. It made me feel so alive—so fantastic. But it had a dark side. It wanted more. Standing at the massacre scene at the pit and reliving it every time we arrived at a village, had taken a lot out of me. Each screaming relative added to the enormous load of emotions that was already fighting for control in my mind and body. At one moment I had left the group and headed off into the jungle. Changing I had run and run and run until even I was tired. Howling in the night I had probably frightened every living creature within a few miles. It hadn’t helped in my mind, but at least it had relieved some of the physical tension.
The water of the stream calmed me a bit. I knew what was coming. We would have to formulate a war plan. This massacre and no doubt others that had taken place, was the last drop. It forced a reaction. Once again, we were at war.
CHAPTER NINETY-SIX
The next day saw the first of many meetings where the revolutionaries discussed and debated the options that were available. Dulce had joined the meeting with a pallid face and red eyes. With no remaining viable options, she’d realised that there was no other way. But it hurt.
Once again, the group planned military strategies aimed at weakening the infrastructure of the army. Secondary to the fighting, the revolutionaries would build up their own propaganda campaign. The support of the people was tantamount to success. Without it they would not be able to continue. One of the main objectives was to get the news about the massacres out into the world. Show that the government’s promises were empty propaganda and worse. The inhabitants of the country had wanted to believe that better times were coming—a new war would not be popular. But the truth had to get out, it was unavoidable.
The Revolutionaries made use of all media options they could, and the story was told.
The government’s reaction was immediate and vicious. The military landed hard on all known or perceived opposition. People were picked up and disappeared. The night curfews were reinstated, and all illusions of democracy vanished. The dictatorship was back with a vengeance.
CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN
Alex was alone in his office in the capitol. The room was dark and intensified his depressed mood even more. This was not how it was supposed to happen. He had tried to change the government’s strategy to a more democratic and fairer one and it was working. And how had they reacted? With vicious accusations and all out attacks on his person. The revolutionaries had slandered him and the government. They had concocted horrendous tales of massacres and slaughter. He had sent observers to the so-called stricken villages. They had returned with news that contradicted the revolutionary’s accusations. Nothing had happened in the regions and no one had been hurt. The observers had assured him that they had been welcomed as honoured guests and that the villagers had once again proclaimed their undying support for Alex and his government.
Still the propaganda continued. Now with streams and photos. Why did they continue to spread these terrible accusations? The General had even opted that if they existed at all, the murders may have been carries out by the resistance themselves—to fuel the campaign against him. Could they be so vicious? Why were Dulce and Tonal mixed up in all this? He had shown his good intentions. What more did they want?
They were forcing him to react in kind—with violence. All his good intentions had been made redundant by the revolutionaries. Supported in his disappointment by his advisors and Salina, he saw no other option. If it was war they wanted, it was war that they would get.
Reconvening his generals, he had given his support to the planned actions to annihilate the revolutionaries once and for all. Some of the plans seemed out of proportion and excessive, but the Generals assured him that they were necessary to make this a short and successful campaign. Stop the resistance as quickly as possible and restrict the damage to the country and its people. He signed the declarations and the new laws. Reluctantly, but spurred on by his advisors and his intense disappointment.
The military came down hard on all suspected revolutionaries, and some non-suspects—just for fun. The resistance retaliated with their own attacks. The violence escalated an—as always—the civilians were caught in the middle. Many made their way deeper in to the jungle, often joining the revolutionaries. The revolution that had put Alex in power had been only seven years ago. Most of the people had fought alongside the revolutionaries then. They delved deep into their experiences and were quickly back in war mode.
The attacks on the military convoys and the more remote outposts were intensified and finally brought the intended results. Slowly the resistance gained control over more and more of the country’s provinces. Most of the larger towns and the capitol were the domain of the military. Holding the inhabitants as hostages, they deterred large attacks there by the resistance.
Alex tried to get support from the neighbouring countries, but they themselves were either caught up in the more global struggle or sympathised with the revolutionaries.
In the previous war a very large portion of the Americas had been liberated from dictatorship. The area spanned many old countries like Puerto Rico, Guatemala, Honduras, Puerto Rico and Panama. Alex had become President here in Columbia, other countries had new Presi
dents that stayed loyal to their democratic ideals. The encroaching tyranny posed a risk for their safety as well as that of Alex’s constituents. They sympathised more with the revolutionaries than with the official powers, some of them were even old friends of Jesus from the old struggle. With their support, the resistance gained even more terrain quickly. Aided by the unrest in the government and the desertion of many soldiers, their influence boomed.
In the government, the rats were fleeing the sinking ship. Many of the rich had gathered their possessions and moved to quieter grounds where money still bought safety. Salina had once again shed any veil of compliance or good judgment. Reverting back to her main objective in life—herself—she submerged herself in egotistical exploits, aimed solely at her own satisfaction and totally oblivious to the struggle in the outside world.
CHAPTER NINETY-EIGHT
This was the moment they had dreaded most.
Gathered together in the meeting room, the council was subdued and jittery. All eyes went to Jesus, Dulce and Tonal sitting on one side of the table. Photos, and printouts of documents littered the surface. Most were long-distance shots of the capitol, the palace or maps of the vicinity. Lying on top was a close-up of Alex.
He looked old in the picture; old and worn. Tonal couldn’t take her eyes off the image. For the past few weeks all the efforts had been gearing up to this moment.
Decision time. What do we do with Alex?
Standing behind Dulce, Hector placed his hand on her shoulder, knowing how difficult this was. Dulce acknowledged him and was grateful for the support. She placed her hand over his and kept it there.
‘It is time for the next step.’ Victor had always been direct, and now was no exception. Not having known Alex in the previous struggle, he had less scruples about broaching the subject. ‘The capitol is our target, and naturally the President.’
Winching Dulce squeezed Hector’s hand even harder.
Jesus took control of the meeting. ‘Let’s start with the strategy to take the capitol.’
They discussed options for the better part of the afternoon. Frontal attacks, luring the soldiers out of the city, cutting off the supply lines and waiting for something to break. Some were discarded straight away, because they posed more of a risk to the city dwellers than to the government. Others because of the sheer magnitude. The resistance had grown enormously and was well armed thanks to support from the countries around them. But an all-out attack would cost many lives, especially on the side of the civilians.
Alex’s supporters had barricaded themselves inside the city, rallying around their leader. The military supplemented with mercenaries crowded the grounds of the palace. Alex never left the security of the palace, conducting his business from one of the offices in the vast property. Many of the remaining ministers had also moved their families to the vicinity of the complex in the hope that this would increase their security.
Finally achieving some diplomatic success, Alex was awaiting the arrival of supplies and a military force from the Americas. His lobbying had paid off, that and his promises of the country’s natural resources. He’d sold his soul to the Americans, but then, there was little soul left to sell. The devil had most of it already.
It was imperative for the revolutionaries to capture the palace before the promised support arrived. More than that, the resistance needed to break the power centred around Alex. He was the central support of the current initiatives the government was taking. All power reverted to him. Finally taking control, he was the spill of the government’s efforts. Taking him out would collapse the last government resistance, stop the foreign engagement and scatter the mercenaries. The revolutionaries would be able to take control.
That was the main reason for this meeting.
They needed to name the unmentionable.
Ask the unaskable.
It was Jesus who finally said the dreaded words. ‘Alex needs to die.’
The sharp intake of breath from Dulce, and the hint of a sob were the only sounds. It was final. It was said.
‘Is there no alternative?’ Hector held on to his wife, she was openly sobbing now. ‘Couldn’t we talk to him one more time? Give him a deadline.’
‘We already did that’. Victor again.
‘But maybe once more, let Dulce talk to him. She’s his sister.’
‘Yeah the one he tried to kill.’ Another of the newer members if the council.
‘He didn’t’ Dulce screamed. ‘He wouldn’t.’
‘No.’ Jesus answered softly, silencing everyone. ‘Salina did. But he stayed with her all the same. He didn’t prosecute her for the attempt. Didn’t take any action.’ Renewed sobs from Dulce indicated that the message was clear. ‘I will not endanger your life Dulce, Not let the bitch try again. And I don’t trust Alex anymore. He should have acted on the attempt. Should have done something. Family means nothing to him anymore.’
The finality of the statement pushed Dulce over the brink. She broke down in Hector’s arms. He held her tight. Slowly he picked her up and left the meeting.
It was quiet. No one spoke for more than ten minutes.
‘Now the question is how?’ Victor spoke the thoughts of all of the members. Well, all but one. ‘How can we get close? His protection is even better than what Ortiz had.’
Slowly faces began to turn towards Tonal. Wanting to know what she would say.
‘I’ll do it.’ She stated and stood up. She turned her head towards Jesus. The anguish was apparent. Her face was a mask, but her eyes showed her pain—that she was dying inside.
She left the tent.
It had to be done.
CHAPTER NINETY-NINE
How would I ever be able to do this?
Yes, he was a tyrant.
Yes, he was unredeemable.
Yes, it had to be done.
But could I do it?
Could I forget everything that Alex had been.
Before.
A long time ago.
When he still loved me.
When I loved him.
Could I do it?
How could it be anyone else but me?
CHAPTER ONE-HUNDRED
Opening the door, Alex entered his suite of rooms. He left the light off, the dark suiting his mood.
The bitch was gone again, with all the drama that had become standard in their relationship. She flaunted her infidelity in front of him and anyone who wanted to know. This evening it had been the dinner with his Generals. Salina stood up and declared that she was leaving; she was bored. Taking the bait, he ordered her to stay. That of course was like throwing petrol on a fire—Salina didn’t take orders.
Their relationship had sunk to an all-time low. Salina blamed Alex for everything. The revolution, the danger to her lifestyle and wealth, her unhappiness. She had a string of lovers, picking them up wherever she found one that took her fancy. Usually young and handsome, with the exception of the American General that she had seduced in front of him two months ago. Just to spite him.
Rallying her guards, Salina would take the car into the town streets looking for new meat. Her favourite places were where there were manual labourers: loggers, steel workers, anyone with muscle and youth. ‘They amuse me.’ She would say adding, ‘and at least they can keep it up long enough to pleasure me.’
He was left to take care of the loose ends when she tired of them. The General had proved to be a challenge. But for everyone there was a fitting “accident”.
This evening she had really pushed the spite level to a new high. Humiliating him in front of the convened Generals and their consorts of the hour. After she left, conversation dropped, in volume and in level, he could hear the quiet sneers and giggles. He sent them away. Now all he wanted was peace. Something he would not get. In his mind Alex saw Salina writhing in the arms of yet another lover. He should divorce her, or in track with his current manner of solving things—make her disappear.
Tomorrow he would confront her, tell her to get h
er act together, explain the importance of her acting as the President’s wife that she was supposed to be. He would give her a deadline. Either she complied, and became the loving wife again or else…
Or else what?
Who was he kidding? Tomorrow he would crawl back to her. Beg her to stop this madness and love him again. He would forgive her for everything as he always did. She played him. Could make him do whatever she wanted—and she did—just for amusement. If she could not goad him into the preferred actions, she would seduce him, throwing her beautiful supple body into the fight. He would crumble, and she would win again. Always.
The balcony doors were open, and he walked out onto the ledge. It was dark, and quiet. Mercifully, even the dogs were silent for a change. Their constant baying irritated him. But that was what they were for—guard dogs—vicious monsters, was the more appropriate label. He had watched them rip into a goat that the mercenaries put in the pen to liven things up.
Mercenaries, it had come to that.
The peacock called in the background, another of Salina’s short time obsessions. She had “needed” one, so he made sure that she got it.
Turning back, he walked into the dark room.
Something was nagging at the edge of his consciousness. Something was not quite right. He tried to figure it out, but Salina invaded his thoughts again.
Walking over to the cabinet, he poured himself a generous amount of vintage whisky. Then he turned back to the window and forced himself to focus on his nervousness. What was out of place? What gave him the sense of déjà vu?
Slowly it dawned on him. The balcony, the doors were open, the light was off.
Alex placed the glass on the table, walked back to the ledge and flicked the light switch. Nothing happened. The hairs on the back of his neck stood upright, he felt the dread start in his lower back and creep up past his shoulders to the base of his skull where it stayed, throbbing and pushing him to flee this place.
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