Mudada

by M G Leslie

  As he and Pete stood looking back at the aircraft, that was now taxiing to take off and head back to Caracas, he counted fifteen minutes – fifteen minutes from the moment it had touched the ground to when it left again. “That’s a pretty good turn around,” he said to Pete.

  Pete smiled, “You mean – they kicked the tyres and that was their safety check.”

  “Something like that, yes. Shall we go?”

  “Yeah follow me – we’re being met.”

  As they walked out of the arrivals lounge, they waved off numerous men attempting to attract their attention with offers of taxis – finally getting in to Aarón Garcia’s 4x4 that was waiting outside. Then, a short while later, introductions over, they arrived at his home.

  “Drop your bags in the spare rooms,” said Aarón. “Let’s go and get a drink – tomorrow will be a stressful day I feel.”

  Price shrugged his shoulders, threw his bag in one of the spare rooms and said, “In that case, I’m done – let’s go.”

  Pete did the same and five minutes later they were enjoying the local Venezuelan beer, Polar.

  Price looked at his surroundings – simple, but tough, wooden furniture, stone floor, walls decorated with pictures – mostly photos of famous guests – and two jugs hanging over the bar. “I like the cash register,” he said.

  Aarón laughed, “Oh you mean the jugs. Yeah, a small jug for large value notes and a large jug for small value notes. It’s quite neat isn’t it?”

  “It is,” said Price. “And looking at our host, who’s drinking his own beer I might add. I can’t help asking myself who has the better quality of life – him or me?”

  Pete, who’d been studying the food menu, didn’t bother to look up – he just said, “Stupid question – it’s clearly him,” and carried on reading.

  The other two laughed, and then Pete said, “Steak. It’s got to be steak. I’ll have the sirloin.”

  Price caught the eye of the barman and ordered three steaks and three more beers – setting the tone for the evening that finally ended ten pints later when the bar closed around midnight.

  It was sunny morning the next day as Pete took Price to the quiet leafy road where his men were already at work on the mains water supply – all kitted out in the uniform of the local water company.

  As Price looked up the hill, he could see the grand building in the distance. “It looks like an alpine cottage from here,” he said.

  “Don’t be fooled,” said Pete, “There’s nothing ‘cottage’ about that place – it’s a fortress – the part you can see is only the short part of the L-shape. And look at the gates. They’re cast iron – inches thick.”

  Price didn’t comment. Instead he just asked, “So when does Aarón go in?”

  “Half an hour. Let’s get out of sight and just wait. Here, have some coffee.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I guarantee they know we’re here – they’re paranoid about security. They’ll be on us in minutes once the house starts flooding.”

  “Not minutes – seconds,” thought Price – although he didn’t say anything – he just sat in the makeshift hut that had been built at the side of the road to gain access to the water mains.

  Half an hour feels like a lifetime when you’re nervous and waiting to do something dangerous or stressful. Stage performers talk about ‘butterflies’ where they get a ‘fluttery’ feeling in their stomach – sometimes accompanied by a pale facial complexion. And Price recognised the signs in Pete.

  Price didn’t suffer nerves himself – he viewed the world as a series of actions, and looked at everything as just another project. Indeed, he’d once been quoted saying, “I start everything by counting the days until it finishes. That way, if it’s fun, I know how much fun is left. And if it sucks – well I count the days down and think ‘not long now’.”

  As he looked at Pete, Price made a decision, “I want you to stay here and cover my back. I’ll go in with the team – you stay here,” he said.

  Pete looked at him and started to protest – he wanted to support Price and be there to accompany him – they were a team – he could cover Price’s back even better by going with him – but Price remained firm. Without even looking directly at Pete, he spoke in a flat assertive tone – akin to a military officer dishing out an instruction, “This is my operation – you’re staying here. This is not a democracy – update the team.”

  Pete was about to speak, when Price added, “Do it now.”

  Pete realised further protests would be futile and spoke to the other men who nodded that they understood.

  Whilst Price was finishing his coffee, Aarón had arrived at the house, pushed the buzzer on the gate and after a short delay was escorted inside.

  Aarón had not been in the house before, but as he walked in to the grand hall with its large staircase sweeping upwards to the right, he remained calm – waiting for Mancilla to appear.

  Then he heard the voice he recognised – speaking from a doorway to his left. It was a Spanish tone mixed with a slight American twang that gave away Mancilla’s wealthy upbringing and expensive US education. “Aarón – it is of course, always a pleasure to see you. But on this occasion I think you are here to bring me bad news. True?”

  “Hello Sir,” replied Aarón, preferring to show respect to the powerful man.

  Mancilla walked forward and embraced Aarón – throwing his arms around him. Both men were over six feet tall, but Mancilla was a very large and imposing man indeed, and Aarón couldn’t help thinking it was almost like being embraced by a large bear.

  “Come this way,” Mancilla said, as he walked back through the door and in to the dining room.

  Aarón followed and started to speak, “I’m trying to find out what happened with the shipment. It was intercepted as soon as it landed in Namibia – we still don’t know how they knew it was there. I’ve spoken to our office manager and he said it was an anonymous phone call to the drug enforcement agency that led them to conduct the search. As we speak, he’s in contact with the phone company – our thinking is to try and trace that call and see where it came from.”

  Mancilla didn’t seem to register Aarón’s explanation at all – he just continued to walk over to a drinks cabinet where he turned and said, “Would you like a drink?”

  Aarón decided to continue – he wanted to keep Mancilla talking for a while and ideally get back out to the main part of the house in order to get a better idea of how many guards there were. “Sir, we need to get to the bottom of this. They took everything. Someone must have intercepted our communications or someone tipped them off.”

  Mancilla poured a small glass of tequila, said, “Cheers,” and drank it down – seemingly thinking about what Aarón had said. Then as Aarón went to speak again, he looked past and to the door – giving the slightest nod of his head.

  Two men suddenly grabbed Aarón’s arms as a third reached around and covered his mouth and nose so that he couldn’t speak.

  As Mancilla carefully put his, now empty, tequila glass down on the dining room table and slowly walked forward, Aarón struggled to break free. But the men were clearly professionals – he could barely breathe, never mind escape.

  Without so much as a word, Mancilla ripped Aarón’s shirt apart. Then slowly looking up, inches from his face, he spoke in a calm voice, “Are you wearing a wire? Any recording devices?”

  Aarón tried to nod that he was not – but Mancilla, was undeterred and conducted a thorough search – eventually finding the beeper device that Aarón was supposed to use to signal Pete.

  Mancilla studied it for a few seconds before holding it directly in front of Aarón, “What is this?”

  Aarón just looked back and remained silent.

  Mancilla continued to look at the beeper device – searching for any markings that might give a clue as to its purpose. But he found nothing, so he spoke again – this time, however, with a little more emotion showing in his voice. “Who were those two men y
ou had dinner with last night? And how did they know my shipment would be intercepted a day before I did?”

  Again, Aarón remained silent – just looking blankly at Mancilla.

  “Surely you know their flights were booked the day before the shipment arrived in Namibia?”

  This time, Aarón tried to speak, so Mancilla nodded and the man covering his mouth removed his hand.

  Aarón, gasping for air, said, “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Mancilla’s face showed his obvious disappointment at the reply, as his head made the slightest movement left and right – nodding the word no. “Aarón, you would be well advised to cooperate. I am not a patient man. I am referring to the same men you met at the airport.”

  Then he shouted – suddenly turning from a large calm man to a violent and frightening brute, “What? Don’t you think I monitor everything in this city? Wake up! I know you are with them. Who are they and where is my shipment?”

  Aarón didn’t speak.

  “And what does this do?” Mancilla continued – this time speaking rhetorically, almost as a whisper whilst looking again at the beeper.

  Nobody said anything, or moved – the security guards, waiting for his direction. So Mancilla placed the beeper on the top of the dining room table as he walked over to a drinks cabinet and reached in to a drawer.

  Aarón, meanwhile, noticed a small change in the grip from one of the men holding his arms – it had relaxed slightly. So in a desperate move, he struggled suddenly and violently – to everyone’s surprise, managing to free his right arm. But has he turned to free his other arm and run, he looked up – Mancilla’s hand had emerged from the drinks cabinet drawer – this time armed with a gun.

  At the sight of the gun, Aarón froze – only to receive a brutal blow to the back of his neck that made him fall to the ground – dazing him to the point that he almost lost consciousness.

  But Mancilla wasn’t about to let him escape that easily, and started barking instructions to the security guards, who dragged Aarón off the floor and in to a chair – where he was tightly strapped. There was no hope of escape – all he could do was pray that Price and Pete came to his aid.

  For a brief moment, he thought about trying to pretend he had passed out – but Mancilla very quickly threw water in his face and said, “Wake up. If you sleep it just means you won’t see the pain coming.”

  Aarón didn’t reply – he just looked up at Mancilla – terrified at what was to come.

  Mancilla stood in front of him with cold, dispassionate eyes. Even his voice didn’t give anything away when he spoke to a security guard, “Have you got any tools?”

  “What are you looking for boss?”

  “A hammer ideally – but anything solid will do.”

  The security guard walked away – returning a few moments later with a hammer.

  Mancilla, still without breaking eye contact, reached out with his hand, took the hammer and almost nonchalantly, said, “Thank you.”

  Then, without warning, he swung the hammer down as hard as he could – landing it on Aarón’s right hand.

  The scream from the pain must have been heard throughout the house. But Mancilla didn’t care as he hit the hand again and again – completely disfiguring the fingers as the bones shattered under the skin – leaving Aarón shaking in agony.

  Then, addressing him, Mancilla said, “You’re a traitor and a liar.”

  Aarón was still in shock and didn’t reply – so Mancilla smashed the hammer down on his right knee – shattering the kneecap.

  The screaming this time was, if anything, even louder and more intense – then, as he started crying, he said, “Please no more. Please I’m here to help you.”

  Mancilla just looked at him. And then in a calm voice said, “I know who you are and I know what you are.”

  “What?”

  Mancilla smashed the hammer down on the same knee again – then as the screaming subsided and was replaced by crying again, he calmly said, “I’m asking the questions.”

  “Wait please. Please.”

  Mancilla looked up – for the first time breaking eye contact as he looked over Aarón’s shoulder and handed a security guard the hammer.

  For a brief moment, Aarón thought he might be released. But Mancilla reached in to his pocket and retrieved the pistol he’d been holding earlier.

  Aarón’s sobbing and crying restarted, “No please. Please wait. Please hear me out – I can prove I’m on your side.”

  Mancilla just stared at him – then after a short pause said, “Stop crying. It’s pathetic.”

  “Please. I beg you.”

  But Mancilla had decided he’d had enough and pointed the gun at Aarón ‘s head at point blank range.

  Aarón, realising this could be the end, made a last, desperate lunge for the table – ripping is hand out of the straps that had now been weakened by the earlier hammer blows. However, just as he hit the button on the bleeper, a loud bang created a hole straight between his eyes, and he fell back in to the chair and stopped moving.

  Mancilla, almost casually, put the gun back in the drawer and walked past the security guards, saying, “Clean this up and find out who those men are. And check out that device on the table. Take it apart and find out what it does. I’m guessing it’s some kind of communication device – so you’d better scan for transmitting frequencies.”

  Further down the road, as the beeper in front of Pete started flashing, Price looked up, “Problems?”

  “It looks that way – we agreed on two beeps to indicate he was on his way out.”

  “So one means?”

  “A desperate cry for help.”

  Price didn’t answer – just raising his eyebrows in surprise – so Pete continued, “Be careful my friend.”

  Then he pushed the button to set off the explosion in the water main.

  Price had expected to hear a loud bang – but instead he heard what appeared to metal hitting metal, followed by a low rumble. He looked at Pete with an inquisitive expression, so Pete spoke, “There’s a metal valve that closes off the pipe to the rest of the street. It’s basically a metal door that slams shut before the explosion creates pressure on the far side so that the shockwave is directed to the right place.”

  Price nodded that he understood as, further up the road, the explosion underground forced water at huge pressure into Mancilla’s house – bursting pipes and causing taps to fly off their mountings.

  Mancilla heard lots of noises – mostly clunking and clanging sounds as metal bent and broke under the pressure – but he stood still for a moment, as he didn’t know what the sounds meant. Then, just as he was about to investigate, he heard his wife and children scream.

  As he ran in to the entrance hall of his house, his wife and children ran down the stairs – screaming that water was coming out of everywhere. Then very soon after, Mancilla started to see water pouring out of one of the upstairs bathrooms.

  Turning to one of his security guards, Mancilla shouted, “Kitchen – go to the kitchen and turn the water off.”

  But the security had already tried, “The tap has come off Sir – the pipe has burst.”

  Then a security guard ran in from one of the other buildings. He was about to say, “There’s water flooding every where,” when he looked down and found he was standing on a wet floor.

  Mancilla looked at the men and shouted, “Don’t just stand there – do something you fools.”

  As they ran back in to the kitchen to see if they could block the pipe, Mancilla’s instinct was to link the flooding to the button that Aarón had pressed. “But how could it be linked?” he asked himself. However, before he had time to think further though, a security guard ran in to the house.

  “They’re doing some work down the road Sir – the water company – it must be them.”

  “Get them in here. Now!” Mancilla shouted. “If it is them – I will kill them!”

  Then he turned to his wife and sugges
ted that she take the children to one of the bedrooms – well away from the noise and mess. His wife, seeing Mancilla’s rage, hurried the children back upstairs.

  Further down the road, sitting and waiting patiently, Price saw two security guards emerge from the house and run down the road. “Here they come,” he said.

  And sure enough, they started shouting, “What have you done? You’ve flooded our house – come with me.”

  Price stood up, grabbed a bag of tools and ran up the road – closely followed by four of Pete’s men.

  By this time, Mancilla had left the entrance hall and was back in the dining room – shouting orders to his security guards to get Aarón’s body moved before anyone discovered it. As a result, he didn’t see Price and the team walk in the front door.

  Price was astonished by what he saw though – water flooding down the stairs – some even dripping from the ceiling where it had managed to make its way through the upstairs bathroom floor.

  A security guard shouted at them, “Kitchen that way – and bathroom upstairs.”

  The team had anticipated that they might have to split up – so two men made their way in to the kitchen – removing tools from a bag they were carrying and started to work in there, whilst Price and the other two ran upstairs to the large family bathroom, which, from the look of the pipes, appeared to have taken the main hit from the shockwave – water was pouring out of everywhere.

  Price nodded to the two men as he quickly walked out of the bathroom and in to the office – he’d already memorised the layout of the house, so it was almost second nature.

  One of the men pretended to work, whilst the other stood by the bathroom door, from where he had a view down the stairs.

  All the men had earpieces to keep in constant communication – so Price wasn’t surprised when he heard one of the men say, “There’s more coming in now. It looks like the boss is down there as well. He seems to be asking questions.”

  Then after a short pause he continued, “OK, he just glanced up the stairs. I guess the security guys must have told him we’re up here. I think they’ll probably be up in a minute.”