by Ward, H.
“What?” Amber said blankly. Nothing was registering in a way that made sense; she was operating on adrenaline and instinct.
“Lay the fuck down! Now!”
Amber flattened herself into the bottom of the little skiff as much as she could. A rifle shot rang out, and Cal ducked. She could hear the cough and sputter of another outboard motor as their pursuers tried to start it. When they came out to the main river, Cal looked up and down the river, and turned the boat upstream.
“They’ll expect us to head toward La Palma. I’m going to find a place for us to hide.” A moment later, he saw another tributary, and the conical roofs of an Embera village. They pulled up, and Cal dragged Amber out of the boat. A tattooed man in a loincloth was walking toward them to greet them, as Cal shouted something in Spanish that Amber didn’t understand, cazadores furtivos, but the tattooed man did. He rushed them toward a house, and they quickly climbed up the log ladder, tumbling in, out of breath.
“Usted es seguro aqui,” the man said. Amber understood: they were safe.
Cal nodded gratefully, “Mucho gracias.”
“Who the fuck was that, FARC?” Amber finally squawked, when she found her voice.
Cal shook his head, “Poachers. They thought I was some kind of game warden. They were butchering a peccary.”
Amber tipped her head back, to lean against the wall. “If the poachers are this crazy out here, what the hell are the guerrilleros like?”
“Crazier, they’ve got even more on the line. Someone will put a bullet in their head if the drugs or the money doesn’t come up right.”
Amber looked around, “Well, I guess I’m getting to visit an Embera village after all.” She started to laugh.
Their tattooed host smiled when she laughed. People from the village were gathering around his home. He motioned for them to go back down, and Amber felt like there was safety in numbers. Once on the ground again, Cal explained what had happened, and it was translated for those who didn’t speak Spanish. People looked a little sad; the poachers had managed to virtually eradicate many of the animals they had depended on for centuries. But they soon shook it off, and invited Cal and Amber to share a meal with them. Then, some of the villagers thought Amber and Cal should get some berry dye tattoos. Soon, they were both being painted and then imprinted with designs carved into wooden blocks, and everyone was laughing.
It was late afternoon when the village saw them off, and Cal and Amber looked fierce. They had bands of triangular patterns around their arms and legs, and Cal had diamonds inscribed on his chest. The women had wanted to paint Amber’s breasts, but on that, she demurred. She did accept a flower wreath for her head. Cal left behind one of the jerry cans of fuel as a gift, and they headed off, back to La Palma.
It was almost dark when they came rolling back into the house. Ramiro sat at the table, pecking at his laptop. He looked up, surveying their tattoos and flowers.
“You guys sure know how to party,” he said, nonchalantly.
“Well, it wasn’t all fun and games today. We accidentally ran up on some poachers and had to make an escape. They took a shot at us, too.”
“You guys are okay, though?” Ramiro sobered.
“Yeah, we’re okay. Good thing Amber knows her way around an outboard, though.”
“What are you talking about? That’s the first time in my life I ever did anything with a motorboat.”
Cal chuckled, “Well, you fooled me. You’re definitely good under pressure.”
Ramiro glanced down at his computer, and the smile slid off of his face as he read. He grimaced, “Things just got complicated.” He looked up at Cal, “The Colombians are starting to get greedy.”
Journal Reflection 13
Extinction. The word itself sounds terrible, doesn’t it? Say it again, out loud and slowly: ex-tinc-tion. There’s an awful finality to each syllable.
The jungle around here is so dense and seemingly impenetrable, that it’s easy to think that nothing much has changed here in centuries. But it has. A few towns and settlements have sprouted up around the Embera villages, and with modernization, people who don’t respect their way of life have arrived to disturb them. The Embera are communal—one hunter kills a big animal, everybody eats. They farm bananas and plantains together, and they don’t ask for anything from the government. They are strong and independent, yet gentle and friendly. It’s a hard way of life out there in the wilderness, and one you would think people would respect. Except the poachers are destroying the animals they depend on by killing too efficiently and too often. When the motivation to kill becomes money, not food, something fundamentally and irreparably alters. Need nurtures, but greed destroys.
It isn’t the bullet whizzing past us today that is stuck in my brain, though. I keep thinking about the smiling faces, and how we were automatically offered protection and sustenance. They were generous, and asked for nothing in return except an unspoken respect for their way of being in the world. One can look at naked children and men in loincloths and bare breasted women and think, “Oh how sad/exotic/primitive they are!” But all I could think was how wonderful it must be to know that you can depend on the people around you, and how that must be the reason they smile so much.
Let’s hope the Embera never become extinct.
Chapter 13
“Don’t you worry about people intercepting your e-mail?” Amber asked.
Ramiro shook his head. “We never actually send e-mail. There’s a generic webmail account. They have our—very complicated—password and we write messages to each other that are left in the draft folder.”
“Wow, who would have ever thought of that?” Amber said.
“Terrorists,” Ramiro said, off handedly.
“So what do they want?” Cal asked.
“You sure you want little missy to hear all that?” Ramiro tilted his head in Amber’s direction. “It’s not clear to me if she’s in or out.”
“Hello! Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Amber said in a huff. “It you want me to get lost, just say so.”
Cal caught Amber by the arm, “Calm down…please. Let’s sit down and figure it out.”
“It’s hard to take Little Miss Sunshine there very seriously when she looks like she’s on her way to a luau.” Ramiro made a vague gesture toward the flowers on Amber’s head.
“Fine!” Amber ripped off the wreath. “Way to gut a very nice experience.” She flopped into a chair. “Are you always such a killjoy, Ramiro?”
“I am when it involves people’s safety.” The sarcasm was gone from Ramiro’s voice. “Look, I’m sorry if I’m having trouble getting a handle on you…and you and Cal…and you and Cal in relationship to a bunch of very dangerous people. This isn’t a game. If that had been either traffickers or guerillas shooting at you today, you wouldn’t be prancing around here with flowers in your hair.”
“Okay, okay.” Cal made a pacifying gesture with his hands. “None of us are being very clear here.” He turned to Ramiro, “If Amber is willing, do you or do you not want her to help us?”
“A third person would be an asset right now, I just wish she weren’t a civilian. That makes me nervous.” Ramiro drummed his fingers restlessly on the tabletop. “I’m not sure that HQ would approve.”
“Amber—do you want to be on the plane to Panama City on Saturday or do you want to put your ass on the line with us?” Cal gave her a steely look.
“No, I don’t want to be on the plane to Panama City. And yes, I am willing to help—if I can.” Amber put her hand on top of Ramiro’s to stop him from drumming on the table. He looked at her intently, and a little crackle of energy passed between them as Amber hastily withdrew her hand. “Sorry, that was getting on my nerves.”
Cal worried that Amber’s motivation had a lot more to do with her feelings for him than it did for wanting to bust up a cartel. He wondered about the ethics of putting someone he cared about into harm’s way—just so they could be together. It seemed a little
twisted.
“So what’s my part? Am I going to pretend to be a drug courier?” Amber asked.
Ramiro shook his head, “Nope.” He thought a moment, “Do you speak anything besides English and Spanish?”
“My French is okay, but I’m fluent in Italian.”
Ramiro looked to Cal, then back to Amber. “Welcome to the team…Luciana…Rossini.”
“And what does Luciana do?” Amber asked.
“She launders drug money.”
Cal looked at Ramiro, “Luciana’s twenty-one years old.”
“Doesn’t look it, doesn’t act it.” Ramiro studied Amber’s face. “But we should probably make her look a bit older. What do you think about dying your hair darker?”
Amber shrugged, “Yeah, sure.”
“Do you ever wear make-up?” Ramiro inquired.
“Not so much, but I could go buy a lipstick…if you want.”
“Wait a minute…money laundering…hair dyeing?” Cal seemed a little stunned, like a man realizing that his horses are escaping because he left the barn door open.
“Either Amber is all the way in, or she’s out, Cal. There’s no half-assed way to approach this…the Colombians are in a snit, Hector is poking around, and tomorrow we have three federal agents arriving to play ‘go fish’ so you can pick up coca paste from some not-very-smart drug traffickers who think they are Marxist revolutionaries so you can deliver it to some other nasty ass people. You need to get your head in the game right now.”
“Okay, yeah.” Cal rubbed his forehead. “We need to put together Amber’s cover story.”
“That’s easy. We tell them that she takes the drug cash, buys chips at a casino in Curacao, then cashes in the chips for a casino check, and deposits it into an offshore bank account as gambling earnings. Of course, she takes a cut of the proceeds.”
“You have a weird idea of easy.” Amber was starting to rub her head too. “Why Curacao?”
“The casinos there have higher limits than the casinos in Panama City, and there are more casinos on that little island than in all of Venezuela or Colombia…and Curacao is close enough for Cal to be able to fly there in his Cessna from Colombia.”
“This all came to you…just now?” Amber asked.
Ramiro frowned a little, “Heck no, I stayed awake all last night figuring this out…except the part about you being Italian. It was either this, or you were going to be a porn star who laundered money via adult movie production.”
Amber gestured with her hands like scales being balanced. “Casino bar fly…or…porn actress. Thanks Ramiro, you really know how to bolster a girl’s self esteem.”
“Hey, I said porn star.” Ramiro tried to grin endearingly, but the look in Cal’s eyes wiped the smile off his face.
“But why am I Italian?” Amber asked.
Ramiro rolled his eyes a little, “I don’t know, drugs…money laundering…the Sopranos…I have no idea why I associate Italians with organized crime.”
Amber punched him in the arm, “Enough with the sarcasm.”
“Some of the southern Italian crime families—from Italy—have operations along the top of South America. It fits,” Cal said.
Amber snorted a little, “Remind me never to play ‘Jeopardy’ with the two of you.” She mimicked an excited game show participant, “Umm, Alex…I’ll take…Evil Enterprises for $200…what? It’s the Daily Double! Fantastic!’”
“Now who’s being sarcastic?” Ramiro smiled at Amber.
Cal watched the interplay between Ramiro and Amber and tried to push down the jealousy that was bubbling up. He was letting his imagination run away, he told himself. Amber was putting herself at risk to be with him, not to be with Ramiro. He was the one that had wanted the two of them to get along, and now that they were…why did he feel so annoyed?
Ramiro straightened up in his chair, “Amber, do you mind throwing together some food while Cal and I work out everything that needs to happen over the next few days?”
“Yeah, sure. However I can help.”
“There’s stuff to make spaghetti in there, it’s probably the easiest thing to do,” Cal added as Amber stood up. Was Amber’s gaze lingering on Ramiro’s face? He wasn’t sure.
Amber brushed her hand across Cal’s shoulder as she turned to go to the kitchen. He covered her hand possessively with his, while looking pointedly at his partner. Ramiro seemed to pay them no mind. Cal looked up at Amber, “Thanks.” She smiled and combed her fingers through his hair, and Cal decided his imagination was working overtime.
Halfway to the kitchen, Amber paused and turned back, “So, Ramiro—do you want it spicy?”
###
Amber lifted the thin sheet on the bed and crawled in. It seemed hotter, and more humid, than in previous days, and the air felt oppressive to her. Cal reached over to pull her to him, but she pushed his hand away.
“It’s too hot, Cal. I—I need to sleep tonight so I can start playing ‘I Spy’ tomorrow. It’s been a big day—what with trigger happy poachers and meeting Luciana Rossini—please, let’s just go to sleep.”
Cal’s face crumpled at Amber’s rebuff. “Okay,” Cal said dejectedly.
“All this cloak and dagger stuff may be standard operating procedure for you, but it’s not for me. I need a little space to process everything.” Amber flopped, trying to find a cool space on the pillow.
Cal’s hand sneaked over to Amber’s butt. “Maybe in the morning then…”
Amber cut him off as she punched at the pillow, “Yeah, maybe.”
Cal was quiet for a moment. “Are you…crushing on Ramiro?”
“What?” Amber flipped over to look at Cal.
He repeated himself, “Are you crushing on Ramiro?”
“No. Stop being ridiculous. It’s just way too sticky tonight to be pressing flesh. Don’t have a cow.”
“I saw the way you were looking at each other tonight.”
Amber expelled a sigh, “And what way was that, Cal?
He looked off into space. “You’re…attracted to each other.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake. I’m not even going to entertain this.” Amber rolled on to her side.
“The minute I turned my back on you before, you had the princeling’s dick in your hand. So…why wouldn’t you try to screw my partner?”
Amber’s voice softened as her hurt filtered in, “I thought you said you trusted me.”
“I don’t want to fight, Amber.”
“Then don’t. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. I’m tired, and I’m hot, and frankly, I’m fucking scared. Tomás, I might remind you, is somewhere out there, in the jungle, with a bunch of over zealous nut bags…and I…happen to be here…with you.” She slapped the bed to make her point. “I’d appreciate it if you’d just give the jealous act a rest.”
“Tell me that you’re not attracted to Ramiro.”
Amber squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Her voice hardened as she opened them, “I thought you understood that this possessive shit doesn’t really work for me, Cal.” She got out of bed and pulled on some shorts before grabbing her pillow.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to go sleep in the hammock on the balcony.”
“The mosquitos…will eat you alive.”
“I’ve got bug spray, and there’s a net and I’ll take my gun and shoot the little bastards if I must. It beats laying here listening to what a slut I am.”
Cal got tangled in the mosquito net as he tried to get out of bed to follow Amber. She turned around and snapped, “Stay put. I mean it, Cal. I’m in no mood for this.” She grabbed her gun and holster and clicked the light out as she left. Cal listened as Amber padded out to the balcony on her bare feet, the boards creaking a bit as she did. Next, he heard the rustle of her getting into the hammock, the snap of the holster, and a slight swish as she arranged the mosquito net. A moment later, he heard a faint sob, and then silence.
###
A rooster crowed noisi
ly as Cal got out of bed. The thing most on his mind was how to apologize to Amber; he didn’t know why he had been so overcome with jealousy. In the morning light, his behavior did seem ridiculous. He reminded himself that it was normal for couples to fight sometimes, and they were both stressed with everything going on. He knew they’d patch things up, and he smiled at the thought of mind-blowing, make-up sex.
“Amber…” Cal stepped onto the balcony, but the hammock was empty. He looked around, but there were no sign that she was out there. Listening for a moment, Cal heard someone brushing their teeth in the bathroom. He stepped back inside, and started making coffee. The bathroom door popped open, but when Cal poked his head around to look into the living area, he saw Ramiro stepping out.
Ramiro cleared his throat a little, “Umm, did you and Amber…work things out?”
Cal realized Ramiro must have been able to hear them arguing, Cal only hoped his partner hadn’t caught the content.
“She slept on the balcony. I was kind of a jerk.” Cal scratched at his bare chest. “So where is she?”
“What do you mean? I thought she was with you.” Ramiro looked at Cal, puzzled.
Cal scrunched his face up, thinking. He looked around; all of her things were still in their room. “Amber—hey, where are you?” he called.
Silence. Cal looked at Ramiro with concern, “Where the hell would she go at this time of the morning?”
“Maybe she went to look for hair dye and make-up,” Ramiro offered.
“None of the little shops in town will be open for at least an hour,” Cal countered.
“But she might not know that.”
Cal tried not to panic. “I’m going to go have a look around.”
“You want me to come?”
“No, stay here, and if she comes back, tell her I’m really, really sorry for acting like a tool last night.”
“Okay.” Ramiro ran the flat of his hand over the top of his head. “Maybe she just went for a walk to blow off steam, or have a think. I’m sure she’s fine.” He tried to sound reassuring.