Leap - 02

by Michael C. Grumley

  The tires on each of the Ural Typhoons dug into the ground and surged forward. Chao looked out his window and into the truck’s side view mirror, watching the ship slowly shrink behind them.

  It would be his last trip up.

  49

  São Luis was the capital of the Brazilian state of Maranhão, and the only one of Brazil’s state capitals originally founded by France. With two major sea ports and almost a million residents, São Luis was a burgeoning South American metropolis.

  Jose Vierra had lived in São Luis his entire life and paid no attention to the overhead noise from the nearby airport. Frankly, in his stupor, he was simply too drunk to notice. Instead he was cursing at his girlfriend, telling her for the last time to get onto his damn motorcycle!

  His girlfriend stood at the top of the steps with her arms folded defiantly. Even as buzzed as she was, she wasn’t getting on with him.

  Finally, Jose screamed at her and grew more incensed when she proceeded to flip him off. She then turned around and stormed back inside the bar.

  Seething, he fumbled to get the kickstand down and turn the motorcycle off again. He was just about to dismount when he noticed a figure appear out of the darkness, carrying a large bag.

  Steve Caesare smiled at him, having observed the exchange. “Honeymoon must not be going well, eh?”

  Vierra made a puzzled face from under his thick, sweaty brow.

  Caesare shrugged. The man didn’t speak English. It didn’t matter. He needed transportation, and this fellow looked like just the type of generous person he was hoping for.

  DeeAnn could see the outlines of the small shacks just within range of the campfire light. The roaring flames leapt high off the tall pile of wood, illuminating everything around them, including the trucks and even the faint glow of Alves’ white helicopter in the distance.

  Several yards behind DeeAnn was a large area with rows of wood and wire mesh cages. They were old and rusted, some of the framing barely holding together. It was a disgusting sight, reminding her of that terrible compound in Mexico. She refused to look and instead kept her eyes on Dulce and Dexter, both caged next to her.

  “Can we please let them out? Just for a few minutes?” she pleaded.

  Alves seemed to be growing even more indifferent. On the other side of the fire, he sat in a wooden chair and lifted a large bottle to his lips, drinking what resembled a green sludge. He lowered the bottle and looked at her, wiping his lips with a cloth napkin. “No.”

  “What is wrong with you?!” she cried. “You’re torturing them!” Dulce was visibly trembling now, and Dexter was still gripping his cage tightly. She could smell Dexter’s fear as he repeatedly urinated.

  Alves made no attempt to answer.

  “Listen,” DeeAnn continued, “you don’t understand what you’re doing! You still need them, don’t you? How are you going to learn where he’s from if they’re both too frightened to speak?!”

  Alves took a breath, and finally turned to her. “And how would I find out if we took them out and they escaped?” He paused, waiting rhetorically. “I’ll take my chances.” He calmly raised his bottle and took another gulp of sludge.

  The man had no idea. Dulce hadn’t spoken since they’d landed and she was now sweating profusely. It was so much that DeeAnn could see the sheen on her fur in the firelight.

  Even worse was where they were. It was the poacher camp where Dexter was first captured while trying to free the other monkeys. Just the mental trauma alone from being here was probably enough to keep Dexter from ever talking again.

  DeeAnn was now very frightened. If Alves had no concern for them now, then he would have even less after he found what he was looking for. The sickening feeling in DeeAnn’s chest was growing stronger. She knew that she was never coming back. She felt even sicker when she thought about Juan and how she’d brought him into this mess.

  Across the fire, Alves stared off into the darkness, his white hair glistening in the light. His body slumped forward, tired. Even though the others couldn’t tell, his old lungs could feel the change in elevation and were having to work harder to compensate. In the last several years, his efforts had become more of an obsession than a quest. Each year, he was growing more desperate with the knowledge that his time was nearing an end. How much longer could he keep going?

  Alves peered into the black expanse all around them, no longer hearing the sounds of the jungle or those around him. Why was he so desperate to live when all of the people who really mattered to him were already gone? His brothers and sisters, his wife, the friends he played with as a boy. Everyone who was a part of any pleasant memory he had was gone. He remembered playing games with his brothers and sisters, constantly laughing and running. Those were some of the purest memories of life that he could recall, and yet his loved ones had all gone, one after another.

  But still, he remained. He remained and persevered, finding ways to hold onto every last minute he could grasp. Why? Why did he cling so desperately? He knew the answer before he even asked it. It was because everyone close to him, those who had left, did so with the same reluctance. The same look on their face that said no matter how old, no matter how much pain they had, they didn’t want to leave the game. Alves felt it too. He didn’t want to leave. Not because he was afraid of what waited for him on the other side. But because when you were out, you were out forever, never to return. And forever was a very long time.

  Behind Alves sat Blanco, along with his two men. The two were smoking cigarettes and conversing about how well their famed soccer team had been doing. Yet Blanco paid no attention.

  Out of earshot, DeeAnn wondered what the men were talking about. But even more than that, she wondered what Blanco was thinking behind his cold dark eyes.

  Juan Diaz sat in complete darkness, unable to see anything. His eyes had long since adjusted to the windowless room he was in. There was no light, not even the slightest glimmer, to offer him.

  From where he was, it sounded like the entire preserve had been abandoned. No sound from the outside reached him at all. The only thing he ever heard was an occasional noise from just a few rooms over, from the man who had put him here.

  Diaz had no idea what time it was. However, he did remember two voices clearly talking about Alves’ assistant Carolina. According to the few words he was able to pick out, she had fled not long after Alves and the others had left. But he didn’t know whether that was four hours ago, or twelve. He didn’t know how many times he had fallen asleep or for how long. The only things that had woken him up were the pain in his shoulders from his hands being bound behind him and the rumbling in his stomach.

  He had called out several times for food, loud enough that Blanco’s man must have heard him, but there was no reply. Letting him use the bathroom before throwing him in the closet was the last outside contact he’d had. But why? They were supposed to be holding him as insurance, to force DeeAnn into helping them. If they were going to keep him alive, they had to feed him. But they hadn’t. Over the course of many hours, the reality slowly dawned on Juan as he lay in the blackness with his face against the cold, smelly concrete. They weren’t feeding him for a reason.

  The terrible feeling of despair was nearly overwhelming. Juan rolled his forehead helplessly against the hard floor, feeling the small pebbles press painfully into his skin. A tear escaped and rolled sideways off his cheek. He wasn’t going to make it out of here. He wasn’t going to see anyone ever again.

  He thought of his parents. They were so proud of him being the first to go to college, a real college. And then he saw his younger sister. She looked up to Juan, and she was everything to him. He pictured how her small face would look when she was told that Juan had died. Then the tears let loose, and he wept.

  50

  Juan awoke with a start. He still couldn’t see anything, but a noise had woken him. He was frantically trying to recall what it might have been, when he heard it again. Something in the other room. Something loud. An arg
ument, maybe. The next sound was even louder, but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

  No! They were getting ready. They were coming for him. They were going to do to him what they did to Luke Greenwood.

  Juan desperately pulled at his bindings again. He strained, trying to break what was holding him. It felt like tape, but it didn’t budge. He tried again, feeling the veins in his temples bulge. Nothing.

  He kicked his feet and tried to pull one up away from the other, but the tape held. Jesus! What kind of tape was it?!

  Wait! He paused when he heard something else. Was that the other door opening? He continued kicking, now in a panic, trying desperately to break the tape. It wouldn’t give. He scooted himself backwards on the concrete floor, searching for anything behind him. His fingers touched something. It was metal, a tool maybe.

  But it was too late. Juan froze when the door to his room was violently kicked open. The light was turned on, blinding him and causing him to clamp his eyes shut. When he felt hands grab him, he shrieked and bucked wildly on the floor. He used the moment to roll onto his back, kicking at the bastards as hard as he could. “No! No!” he screamed. “Get away from me!”

  With a victorious thud, Juan’s right heel made contact with something. He tried again kicking in the same area but couldn’t find the target again. It had moved away. He couldn’t find anything. He opened his eyes into the bright glare and spotted the silhouette. He lunged with both legs together, using everything he had, and struck the shadow dead center, sending it reeling back against the wall. Juan blinked hard, looking around for anyone else. What he heard next caused his heart to sink. It was the sound of laughter.

  They were actually chuckling. The shadow stepped forward, this time grabbing Juan’s legs when he kicked hard toward his captor again. When the man spoke, his words were clear and unmistakable.

  “Well, you’re definitely alive.”

  The words were in English. Juan felt his legs drop to the floor with a thud. His vision finished adjusting until finally a familiar face materialized before him.

  The man standing over him smiled and dabbed his own lip with one of his fingers. He pulled it back to reveal a small streak of blood. It was Steve Caesare.

  “Mr. Caesare!” Juan croaked. His eyes wide with shock, Juan’s brow furrowed and the sudden elation triggered an emotional release. Juan stared up at a grinning Caesare as his survival instinct gave way and he began sobbing.

  Caesare knelt down next to him and put a thick paw on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Juan. I got ya, buddy.”

  Juan pursed his lips, barely able to see Caesare through his blurry eyes. He tried to speak but couldn’t.

  “Don’t try to talk.” Caesare gently patted him. “Just relax a minute.” In a smooth motion, Caesare drew a giant knife from somewhere behind him. As he reached down to cut the tape away, Juan could have sworn the blade had blood on it.

  It took a few minutes for him to recover. All the while, Caesare stayed next to him, talking in a calm voice. Finally, Juan blinked the remaining tears out of his eyes and took a deep breath. He eased himself up onto his rear and wrapped his arms around his knees.

  “You okay?”

  He sniffed and nodded. “I…I’m sorry.”

  Caesare smiled. “Don’t ever be sorry. Not about this. I’ve had my share of moments just being thrilled to be alive.”

  Juan forced a smile of his own. “I guess you really are a Navy SEAL, huh?”

  Caesare laughed and stood up. “Unfortunately for them.” He lowered his hand and waited for Juan to take it. When he did, Caesare pulled him up onto his feet. “So where are DeeAnn and Dulce?”

  “Alves took them. In a helicopter.”

  “How long ago?”

  “I don’t know. What time is it now?”

  Caesare peered at his watch. “A little after midnight.”

  “It was early this morning. Six or so, I guess. At least I think it was this morning.”

  “Where’d they go?”

  “I don’t know,” Juan shook his head. “We came here to help them find a monkey. To try to find out what happened to DeeAnn’s friend. But it was Alves. He killed her friend and lied to get us to come. And it was all to find that monkey.”

  “Why would he go to all that trouble over a monkey?”

  “I don’t know exactly. There’s something about him that Alves is after. He’s trying to find out where Dexter came from, but I don’t know where that is, or which direction they went.”

  Caesare nodded, thinking. “How many were here guarding you?”

  “I only saw two.”

  “Well, at least that’s good news. Let’s get out of here.” He motioned toward the door and stepped out into the hallway, checking both directions. Juan noticed the gun in Caesare’s hand. He hadn’t even seen him pull it out.

  They headed up the hallway and stopped at the door. Juan gave a start when he realized it was the room from which they were monitoring him. And also because Blanco’s man, who was watching him, was now lying face down on the floor.

  He looked back at Caesare, who was already heading further up the hall. “You did that?”

  There was no answer.

  When they reached the door to the outside, Caesare opened it slowly and quietly, listening. Hearing nothing, he opened it wider and slipped out, holding it for Juan. He laid a finger over his lips and made a motion to be quiet.

  They passed beyond the glow of the building’s overhead lights and into a section of dense trees. After a hundred feet or so, Caesare abruptly stopped, causing Juan to almost run into him.

  On the ground was another of Blanco’s men. This one was lying on his back, clutching his side where his clothing was covered by a large dark stain. The man was gasping for breath and held a knife in his right hand.

  “I see we found a knife.” Without the slightest hint of sympathy, Caesare stepped forward, placing his heavy boot on the man’s upper arm and pinning his right side.

  “Speak English?’

  Blanco’s henchman stared at him defiantly but reluctantly nodded.

  “Then listen carefully. You tell me what I want to know and I’ll leave you here, with a chance to live.” Caesare raised the gun and pointed it at the man’s forehead. “If not, I won’t. Understand?”

  The man nodded and relaxed his hand, letting his knife tumble to the moist dirt next to his head.

  “Where did they go?”

  Blanco’s man coughed. “The mountains.”

  “Where in the mountains?”

  “Northwest.”

  Caesare’s jaw flexed. “How far?”

  “South to Sipaliwini. Is a poacher’s camp.”

  He motioned toward Juan. “How long were you keeping him here?”

  The reply was broken. “Until Blanco call.”

  “And then what?”

  The mercenary hesitated and looked nervously at Juan.

  Caesare pressed hard on his arm. “I said, then what?!”

  “To kill him,” he blurted out.

  Caesare’s eyes grew dark. “How? How was he going to call you?”

  The man grimaced. “The phone. In the office.”

  Caesare peered around through the trees. “Anyone else here?” There were two Humvees parked near the building on the south side.

  The mercenary shook his head. His breathing was growing steadily worse.

  “Keys.”

  The man tried to move the arm that Caesare was standing on but couldn’t. Instead, he twisted his wrist and tried to point downward.

  Caesare reached down and felt through the man’s pockets. When he found what he was looking for, he reached inside and pulled out a set of several keys. He took his boot off of him and stepped back. He then turned to Juan. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah,” Juan said. He stepped forward and kicked the man as hard as he could in the groin, causing him to double over and howl in pain. Then Juan cursed in Spanish and spit on him.

  Caesare nodded.
“Well said.”

  They left him lying in the darkness and quietly reentered the building. Together, they moved slowly down the hallway in case Caesare had missed someone. Juan’s former capturer was still lying face down in the room, lifeless. Caesare found the small phone and dropped it into his own pocket.

  “Juan, if we can find the server room, can you shut everything down?”

  “Hell, yes, I can!”

  It took two and a half hours to reach Belem and find the hotel. When the two walked into the well-lit lobby, Mariana was startled to see Caesare again. She recognized him immediately. But this time, his face did not appear nearly as jovial.

  “You’re back, senhor.” She glanced curiously at Juan, who was standing weakly next to Caesare. “Would you like a room?”

  “No.” Caesare shook his head and approached the old, run-down counter. “Actually, I’d like to see your brother again.”

  Mariana’s lip curled with a hint of humor. “Another late night swim?”

  Caesare turned toward Juan, who was looking at him with raised eyebrows. “Don’t ask.”

  Lucas arrived within minutes, as the men stood waiting in the lobby. He stuck his head in the doorway and motioned for Caesare and Juan to come outside. They followed him out and Caesare smiled when he saw the same old Chevy Malibu. He and Clay had returned it to the hotel after borrowing it the week before, just prior to hightailing it out of Belem.

  Lucas and his friend, who was standing on the other side of the car, looked Juan up and down. “Is he okay?”

  “Someone tried to rough him up.”

  Lucas nodded. He was unfamiliar with the phrase, but he got the idea. “No swimming tonight?” Lucas asked with a grin.

  What is it with the swimming jokes? “No,” Caesare replied, dryly. “I need a helicopter.”

  Lucas’ face became serious. With a concerned look, he peered at his friend over the roof of the car.