by Scott Cook
Her face took on a bewildered expression, “Huh?”
“The bike you said you rode into Nicaragua on,” I pressed. “Where’d you leave it?”
“Uhm…” She muttered, “about a mile from the camp. On the south side of that road. Why?”
“Well, I found some information last night,” I explained, “and I think it’s time I went to church.”
I smiled at the still confused look on her face. I explained what I’d found on Palmer’s bank website. I said that this Pan American Relief Fund had made several donations to a church in Monte de Dios, a village in Nicaragua not far from where the camp had been.
“You think that’s how he’s getting money to Garcia?” Lisa asked.
“It’s a place to start,” I suggested. “Umberto says that it’s a small town. Not much to it but that they do have some businesses and a small Catholic church there. Seems a strange place to donate nearly a hundred thousand dollars.”
“Yeah… Miles isn’t even religious,” Lisa said.
I snorted at that. Couldn’t help myself.
She playfully smacked me on the arm, “So what’s your plan? Drive up there and rattle the priest until he confesses?”
I chuckled, “Something like that, yeah.”
“So why the bike?”
“Dunno. If the village is remote or up in the mountains, it might be easier. Just a thought.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Right now. Want to get up there by daybreak and see what happens.”
“Want me to come?”
I grinned impishly, “Repeatedly.”
Her eyes sparkled and she giggled, “C o m e, you dirty boy.”
“Ooohhhh…. Well, if you want. I wouldn’t mind having somebody to watch my back.”
“You trust me to?”
“When it comes to my personal safety,” I stated, “of course.”
“Do you know that you could have anything from me?” Lisa queried softly, “simply by making the smallest demand? I told you that in my letter. I’m powerless against you.”
“I know the feeling,” I said with a wry smile, “and that’s why I can’t make a demand on you. It’d be wrong. You have to come to your own conclusions. The fact that I could do something doesn’t mean I should. And in your case, I shouldn’t force you into anything. It’s wrong.”
She sighed, “Do you have to be so damned… noble all the time? Can’t you just demand my loyalty? Just demand my heart? Or at least demand that I fuck you cross-eyed? I’d do it happily.”
“Jesus…” I breathed. “The language. And you being a nice Catholic girl and all… and you know I won’t… well, okay… maybe that last one.”
She laughed, “Give me a few minutes to get ready.”
“Yeah, I’m gonna go take a cold shower now… thanks so very deeply.”
Two hours later, we came to the roughly east and west running gravelly road that I’d recently found Garcia’s camp on. The sun had not yet come up, but the slightest glimmer of false dawn was asserting itself in the east.
Not for the first time, I was surprised at how easy it was to cross over the border between Costa Rica and Nicaragua. Somebody really should do something about it. Not me, though… the last thing I needed was more obstacles to have to overcome.
“Let’s go scope the old camp,” I said, “just for S and G’s.”
“Why?” Lisa asked.
I shrugged and turned left, “Not sure… just curious I guess.”
“Remember what curiosity did to the cat,” She warned.
“I’m not following.”
“You know, the old expression about curiosity killing the cat.”
“I’m not familiar.”
“You’re such a shit,” Lisa said with a giggle.
“I know you are but what am I…”
She snorted and shook her head.
We drove for a few minutes and came to the clearing. There wasn’t much left now. Just the corrugated building that had been a makeshift prison and a pile of twisted metal that had been a fuel tanker and maybe another vehicle that had burned when the fuel ignited.
“They must have come back,” I stated. “There’s less here than the other night.”
“Wonder if it’s being watched?” Lisa asked quietly, as if whispering would keep an observer from seeing us.
“Hmm… might be,” I said and frowned. “Damn, I wish I still had my night vision gear. Okay, let’s get the hell outta here.”
I turned the Jeep around and sped east as quickly as I could. A minute or two after we passed the intersection that led into Costa Rica, Lisa had me pull off the road. We got out and she led me into the trees and there was indeed a motorcycle.
“Think we’ll still need it?” She asked.
“I don’t know…” I pondered. “With all the crazy shit that’s happened since I arrived in Central America? But it does seem kind of dumb to take two vehicles, doesn’t it? Let’s leave it here just in case.”
I pulled out my iPhone and opened the iSailor app. ISailor is a boating navigation app that works like the chart plotter on a boat. You can plot waypoints, track your course and so on. I placed a waypoint at our current position and we got back into the jeep.
It was another hour or so to get to Monte de Dios. The village was indeed nestled into a small mountain valley toward the eastern side of the country. Although it was called a village, it was fairly large. They had electricity and several shops and restaurants as well as a population of nearly ten thousand.
At the center of town was a square complete with a small park, some kind of town hall or government building and a small Catholic church that looked to be well over a century old. A sign posted near the bottom of the six steps that led into the vestibule read Nuestra Señora de la Constancia Perpetua. Our Lady of Perpetual Constancy and the year 1884 written beneath.
The church was an interesting blend of architectural elements. Its overall design was gothic in nature. High spire, steep roof and large stained glass windows. Yet the addition of bright red Spanish tile on the roof and the pastel blue trim around the windows took away some of that austerity you’d usually associate with old world Papism.
“I’m hoping the priest or monsignor is in and doing confessions this morning,” I said as we parked and started walking across the square.
“Probably is,” Lisa confirmed. “They usually have confession hours in the morning. Of course, in this country I don’t know… but some things seem universal.”
I grinned, “Pun intended?”
At first she looked confused and then laughed, “Oh, right!”
Catholic means Universal.
“Okay… so what do I do?” I asked her at the base of the vestibule steps.
She looked bewildered, “You don’t know? You grew up in Rhode Island, aren’t your people Catholic?”
“Not everybody in New England is,” I said, “but yeah, we were… sort of. My family was never really religious. We went on Christmas and Easter… not good steady church goers like you.”
Lisa scoffed, “Yeah, I’m a real angel.”
“Well, your mom seems fairly pious,” I stated.
Lisa shrugged, “We’d go to mass at least once a week. I mean, we are Cuban after all. But even my mom isn’t a thumper.”
“Right… so what do I do?”
Lisa chuckled and explained the basics of confession. Most of it was what I figured but at least now I was certain. Now I had to try and do it all in Spanish.
We entered the sanctuary and found it mostly empty. There were half a dozen people sitting in the pews and a few candles lit on the altar but otherwise it was cool and quiet. Lisa pointed to the confession booths off to the side. There were two red curtained booths separated by a small door. A sign on the door indicated that the priest was in. Both booths were empty, so I directed Lisa into one and I went into the other.
At first I was a little confused. There was an odd sort of chair with what looked lik
e a foot rest raised up a bit off the floor. I then realized to my chagrin that it was a kneeler.
There was a panel in front of me and I tapped on it. It slid aside to reveal a screened off shadowy figure beyond. The figure was dressed in a traditional Kasack and collar. He was an older man, with a strong lined face and thick white hair neatly combed. His brows were still black, though, making him somewhere in his mid to late sixties I guessed.
“Hola, Padre,” I began a little lamely.
“Buenos, Dias, mijo,” he replied in a friendly tone. “Mi llamo es Padre Lopez.”
I cleared my throat and had to concentrate to translate the words into Spanish, “Bless me, father… it’s been… a long time… since my last confession.”
The face smiled and in English said, “Very good. You are American, no?”
I grinned sheepishly, “I am. I speak Spanish, though.”
“I have the English,” He said kindly. “It is no problem. What have you come to confess, my son?”
I wasn’t quite sure how to proceed here. Perhaps the only way to know was to throw a verbal dart and see if it stuck anywhere, “it’s been thirty-one years since I funded a rebel army, Father.”
By the way the priest flinched, I knew that my shot had gone home. He slid the screen aside so there was no barrier between us and glared at me.
“Who are you? What do you want here?” He growled.
“I need your help,” I replied, “and I want to help you. We need to talk, Padre. Right now.”
“Get out of here!” he hissed. “You don’t know what you’re doing…”
“Are you in trouble, Padre?” This was Lisa’s voice from inside the other booth. Lopez looked quickly behind him and at me. His eyes blazed but there was more fear than anger in them.
Our eyes locked and he asked: “you are with Señor Palmer?”
“No,” I said, “no we’re not. Padre… por favor… let’s talk more privately.”
“You don’t understand,” He hissed. “They will be here any minute!”
I took another wild stab, “Garcia’s men?”
“Si,” he said reluctantly, “for their money.”
“I can help, father,” I said. “Please trust me.”
He seemed to come to a decision, “Very well… come, we must hurry.”
He exited his booth and we followed. He led us quickly to the back of the sanctuary and through a door that led into a hallway. At the end of the hallway he led us into a small office that adjoined another room.
“Who are you?” he asked us.
“Scott Jarvis and Lisa Gonzalez,” I introduced. “We’re trying to rescue a friend and his son. Garcia kidnapped my friend’s wife and children on Saturday. We managed to free them from one of Garcia’s camps, but in the process, my friend was captured and his son, too. It’s rather complicated, Father.”
“Then why are you here?” Lopez asked in confusion.
“It’s a long story, Padre,” Lisa said, “but Scott has evidence to suggest that Miles Palmer is funding Garcia’s army.”
Lopez sighed, “I know Señor Palmer. His foundation donates to several churches in Nicaragua, Costa Rica and Panama. We have recently received a rather large donation, in fact… but…”
“But Garcia’s men found out and come here frequently to rob you,” I said flatly.
Lopez nodded, “Madre de Dios … yes. It has happened four times now. A man from the Pan American Relief Fund arrives with a briefcase. In it there is much money… we use it to help people in the village and in surrounding areas. We purchase food and other supplies and have even built several homes. However, within days, men come from Garcia. They know about the money and demand it.”
“All of it?” I asked with a frown. “Christ… oh, sorry, father… who robs a church?”
Lopez smiled thinly, “they ask for most of it. For example, last week I received the equivalent of thirty-five thousand American dollars. When the men came, they said they knew we’d just gotten thirty thousand dollars and that if I didn’t give it to them…”
“Yeah,” I grumbled, “I get the picture… but that’s interesting, isn’t it?”
“The men always know how much to ask for,” Lisa added, “but it’s always a little less. As if they’re meant to make sure you get to keep some.”
Lopez sighed and shrugged, pulling a cigarette from a pack on his desk and lighting it, “Even five thousand dollars goes a long way in Nicaragua. Yet if I had all the money… there is so much we could do for the poor of this country.”
“What has Palmer said about this?” I asked. “Or have you spoken to him about it?”
Lopez sat behind his desk and puffed, “He apologizes for it. He promises that he’ll keep sending money, though. He also says that one day soon, his company from los Estados will do much more for our people.”
I cast a glance at Lisa. Her mouth was drawn into a hard line but she said nothing.
“Thank you, Padre,” I said. “You have confirmed what I suspected. This is no accident. Señor Palmer is sending these men. He’s making sure you get some of the money too, but this is his way to funnel it to Garcia.”
“Why?” Lopez asked, spreading his hands. “Why would he care about a revolution here?”
I sighed, “A long story… when do these men usually come?”
Lopez looked at a clock on his wall, “Any moment. Usually early, by eight o’clock.”
We heard voices coming down the hallway. It sounded like two men talking a little too loud for that time of morning in a quiet church.
“Quickly!” Lopez hissed, “go through that door. It is my personal residence. These men are dangerous.”
“Will they harm you?” Lisa asked.
Lopez shook his head, “they are always respectful… but they carry guns. Por favor, rapido!”
Lisa and I ducked through the adjoining door and found ourselves in a small parlor. Through an archway was a sleeping area. Lisa gently closed the door and we both pressed our ears to it.
Two men entered the office and started to speak in Spanish.
“Good morning, Father,” One man said in a gravelly tone. “You’re looking well.”
“You’re here for the money,” Lopez stated in a tone that seemed to contain barely controlled rage.
“Yes, Father,” The other stranger said. He sounded more contrite. “Our people are in great need.”
Lopez laughed bitterly, “Your rebel army, you mean? More money for guns and bullets to do violence?”
“We’re fighting for our people’s freedom, Father,” Gravelly voice said without much empathy. “I’d think you’d be in favor of that.”
Lopez scoffed, “All I’ve seen from Garcia is that he sends men into God’s church with guns to rob us. To take money that I could use to help feed and clothe our people and use it for himself. Where is this great revolution? Where is this wonderful life he promises the people of these mountains?”
“We don’t have time to argue with you, old man,” Gravelly voice stated. “We’re here to make a pickup. Where is the money, we are short on time.”
Lopez laughed again, “Oh, busy raping local peasant girls? Don’t pretend you do not! I’ve heard the tales. I’ve seen the results of your idealism!”
“Please, Father,” The other man pleaded more gently, “there is no point in arguing. We have to deliver this money to the General before we go to Manuel Antonio tonight.”
Gravelly voice snapped at his partner to shut up. Lisa and I stared at each other and I wondered if my eyes were as wide as hers.
“Oh, going to brutalize our neighbors now?” Lopez said after a pause.
“Not that it’s any of your business, Lopez,” Gravelly voice said, “but if we’re successful, there may be even more money for all of us. That includes you. Do you not think we know about the money? We know the General only asks for a set amount and that you keep some. So far, I’ve let this go on… but if you insist on pushing me…”
Lop
ez let fly a string of impressively dark Spanish curses. Made more impressive by the fact that they came from a man of the cloth. After a long pause, I heard something heavy set on the desk in the office.
“Take it,” Lopez growled. “Take it and get out of my church!”
Gravelly voice laughed. The second man said: “Forgive us, Father… it is for the greater good.”
“It is God who forgives, my son,” Lopez said in a hard tone, “but he doesn’t forget.”
The men left and Lopez opened the door. He wore a scowl on his face. Lisa put a hand on his arm to comfort him.
“You can stop this?” He asked, looking directly into my eyes.
“I can try, Padre,” I said. “If I can get my friend and his son out… I may also be able to put a stop to this. I can’t make any promises, but I’ll try.”
“His promise even to try is worth more than most men’s oath, Padre,” Lisa added.
I pulled the crucifix I’d retrieved off Oscar’s body and handed it to the priest, “padre… I know this is a long shot… but I found this on one of Garcia’s men yesterday. I don’t suppose you—“
“Ay dios mio!” Lopez exclaimed as he took the necklace and saw the inscription. “This was made right here in town.”
“You know Oscar?” I asked, feeling a surge of excitement.
“I know Monique,” He explained. “Or did… she lives on a farm east of here, near the San Juan. She and Oscar were planning to get married. But he disappeared a few months ago and she not long after… where did you get this?”
I groaned inwardly. This poor man seemed to have a lot of trouble heaped on him and I hated to deliver more bad news, “I… I took it from Oscar’s body. He was one of Garcia’s men.”
Lopez seemed to deflate and he placed the necklace into his desk, “So much pain and death… if you truly can stop this, young man, you would earn the eternal gratitude of many. Including myself.”
“I promise to try my best,” I said with more confidence now.
Lopez smiled, “Gracias, mijo. Vaya con dios.”
Chapter 26
As I drove west toward where Lisa left her motorcycle, I called Juan on the satellite phone.