Scott counted down from three on his fingers, and then broke from cover. He moved fast and low toward the vehicle, and out of the corner of his eye he was pleased to see that Lau was approaching the vehicle from the other side. It took them roughly six seconds to ascertain that the 4x4 was unoccupied, by which time Marcus and Flynn had found a door, kicked it in, and entered the building, guns raised.
Scott heard screams and cries coming from the building’s interior, but no angry shouts, no gunfire. Indicating to Lau that he should keep guard outside, he ran across to the building and entered it, noticing the mangled padlock lying on the ground as he did so, and realizing the place had been locked from the outside.
The interior of the building was unbearably hot, and stank of piss, shit, and sweat. Blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Scott at first saw only a black mass of movement against the back wall of the building, and pointed his gun at it. In truth, the only emotions he detected in here were fear and despair; no anger, no aggression. Already his mind was putting the pieces together – the padlock, the fear, the foul conditions – and rapidly coming to the conclusion that the people in here were victims, not aggressors.
Amidst the cries and sobs, he heard the odd pleading word or phrase, and though he knew only a smattering of Spanish, he recognized a few of them. “No dispares,” some people were shouting – don’t shoot. Others were wailing, “Por favor,” over and over, while a large lady who was fiercely hugging two small children, their faces buried in her ample belly, was desperately crying out, “Somos rehenes, somos rehenes,” which Scott knew meant we are… something.
Before he could work it out, Jason Flynn, who like Marcus was no longer pointing his gun at the knotted huddle of terrified people, but was instead holding it raised in one hand to show he had no intention of using it, said to Marcus, “‘Rehenes’ – what’s that?”
“I think it means ‘hostages’,” said Marcus.
“Si, si,” people began to shout. One toothless old man, nodding vigorously, said, “Si, we are hostage. Hostage. Bad men come to village. Bring us here.”
Scott had lowered his gun by now, but he remained alert, his eyes darting everywhere. Even when there was no apparent threat, he knew it was never wise to become complacent.
“Okay, let’s get these people out of here, give them some water,” he said. He backed toward the door, gesturing that the hostages should follow him, which a few of the bolder ones instantly began to do. “Dan,” he called to Lau, “we got around—” he made a quick calculation “—thirty people here. Women, children and old men. We’re bringing them out. They need water and some may need medical aid.”
“Copy that,” Dan called back. “All quiet out here.”
The next ten minutes were spent administering to the hostages, who were filthy, exhausted and emotional, and so lacking in nourishment that many were barely able to walk after their incarceration. As they staggered into the open every one of them shielded their eyes and cowered from the sun like vampires. Some fell to the ground, sobbing. Others swooned and passed out, as though overcome by the sheer contrast between the dark confines of the shed and the brightness of the vast open sky.
As they handed out water and what few rations they had, Scott and his men spoke to as many of the hostages as they could, and although the majority of them had lost all track of time, the general consensus seemed to be that they had been locked in their metal prison in boiling conditions for around two to three weeks. Once everyone had been fed and watered, and Scott had radioed in their discovery and requested aid from the medical team, Marcus pulled him aside.
“You been getting the same story I’ve been getting?”
“Sounds to me like the cartel took them, fed and watered them for a while, then lost interest. Most of them said they’ve seen nobody for two, three days now. Think the cartel got wind of this, moved out of the area, and just left these people to starve?”
Marcus pulled a doubtful face. “Maybe, but I’m not sure it’s that simple. If intel is right, there are crop fields and at least one major drug factory somewhere in this jungle. Would the cartel just abandon their assets like that? Doesn’t seem like their style to cut and run.”
“What then?”
“Come with me,” Marcus said.
He led Scott across to a slim young woman, who was sitting cross-legged on the dusty ground. Like everyone else, she wore filthy, sweat-stained clothes and looked in dire need of a good meal, a hot bath and a long sleep. Yet beneath her frailty Scott could still see beauty and poise, and when she glanced up at the two men approaching her, he saw determination and strength in her dark eyes too.
Marcus dropped to his haunches in front of her and Scott did the same. “This is Sarita,” Marcus said gently. “Sarita, would you mind telling my friend Scott here what you told me?”
The girl nodded and immediately began to speak. Her voice was quiet and still a little husky from dehydration, but her English was good.
“The men who took us, they gave us food and water every day at first, but two days ago they stopped. In the night, a few hours after they came for the last time, I hear the sound of something coming down from the sky. An engine, powerful like an airplane, but not loud, not screaming, you know? Very quiet.”
Scott nodded, though in truth he was baffled. What could she be describing? A stealth bomber? But from where? “And did this ‘engine’ land?”
“I think so. Not far away.”
“In the jungle?”
“I think so.”
Scott frowned at Marcus, who held up a hand. “Tell Scott what else you heard, Sarita.”
“A little after I hear the engine, I hear gunfire. Starting and stopping, starting and stopping. It went on for maybe an hour. We were all very scared, but we were hopeful too. We thought maybe soldiers would come to rescue us, but nothing happened. Then maybe… two hours later, I don’t know, I hear the engine again, going up this time. Then nothing. No more gunfire. No more water, no more food.”
Scott looked at Sarita. He had no reason to disbelieve her, but he could not imagine a scenario that fit with the description of what she had heard. “What direction did these sounds come from? Could you tell?”
She pointed along the dirt track that led away from the makeshift prison. “That way.”
“And how far away would you say they were?”
She gave an almost casual shrug. “Two mile. Maybe three. No more.”
Within ten minutes of the conversation, Scott and his team were heading off along the route Sarita had indicated, leaving the hostages to wait for the medical team. It was easier going now, the track clear of vegetation and packed down into hard, dusty earth by the frequent passage of vehicles. Trees lining the track on both sides, like loyal citizens gathered to cheer a presidential cavalcade, stretched up and over, their branches and leaves intertwining to form a canopy that both concealed the track from the air and turned it into a realm of cool green shadows and dappled sunlight. They had walked maybe a mile, sticking to the left-hand edge of the track, when Scott raised a hand, bringing them to a halt.
“Stationary car up ahead,” he whispered, pointing.
Sure enough, thirty meters away, at a point where the track curved slightly to the right, could be seen the rear end of what appeared to be a dark gray Mercedes. The four soldiers slipped into the jungle and approached the car, using the trees as cover. When they got close enough they saw that, although it appeared to be intact, the front passenger door of the Merc was hanging open and on the dusty earth beside it was a very large spatter of what was almost certainly dried blood.
“What the hell you think happened here?” said Lau, peering into the car’s interior once they had satisfied themselves that it was empty.
Flynn shrugged. “They were ambushed maybe? The passenger gets out, gets torn apart by bullets. The driver makes off into the jungle while his buddy’s being plugged.”
“So how come the car isn’t all shot up?” said Sco
tt.
“And how come there’s only blood in this one place?”
added Marcus.
“What am I, CSI?” said Flynn, rolling his eyes. “How about whoever did this were really good shots, and they dumped the dead guy’s body in their trunk and took him away with them?”
“For what?”
“How should I know? Maybe the guy wasn’t dead. Maybe he’s some hotshot drug lord and they’re holding him to ransom.”
It was just about feasible, but Scott couldn’t help feeling there was something very weird going on here. He saw Marcus staring up into the trees.
“What you looking for, buddy?”
“Damned if I know,” Marcus said thoughtfully.
Flynn laughed. “Hey, maybe the monkeys did it. Maybe they swooped down and tore the guy’s throat out.”
“And took him away with them?” Lau muttered.
“Sure. Why not?”
Another half mile along the track they came across something even more inexplicable. Off to their right was what at first appeared to be a clearing, but which, on closer inspection, turned out to be a large area of trees and vegetation that had been completely flattened. It was as if a gigantic bowling ball had dropped from the heavens and pulverized everything beneath it.
“What the fuck is so heavy it can do this?” said Flynn, standing in the middle of the bowl-shaped depression and looking around him.
“And how did it get here, whatever it was?” said Marcus, again squinting up into the sky. “No aircraft I’m aware of can land in jungle this dense.”
“Maybe it’s aliens,” said Flynn, grinning. “Little green men from Mars. Maybe the guys from the Merc are being probed as we speak.”
Marcus and Lau both snorted a laugh, but Scott felt uneasy. “Let’s move on.”
Marcus glanced at him. “You think we should call this in?”
“Maybe. Let’s see what’s up ahead first.”
They advanced more cautiously than before, and not only because of the discoveries they had made, but also because they were now getting close to one of the hotspots on their map where fighting between rival cartel gangs had taken place. Five klicks on from there was a village, which had also been the site of a gun battle, but Scott and his team were not required to go that far.
Although they had not yet met with any hostility, it had nevertheless been an unsettling and eventful mission, characterized by odd occurrences and unanswered questions. Scott loved a good mystery, and as a child he had fallen in love with Sherlock Holmes, Hercules Poirot and Ellery Queen. The great thing about fictional mysteries, though, was that, no matter how complex they were, they always had a neat and satisfying solution. The mystery they had encountered here was something else entirely. Exhausted though he knew he’d be when they eventually arrived back at base, Scott was certain he’d lie sleepless in bed tonight, going over and over in his mind everything he had seen today.
There was another reason he wouldn’t sleep well, but it was a further mile down the road before he and his team encountered it. It was Lau who spotted it first, in the trees off to their left. He held up a hand and everyone stopped.
“What is it, man?” hissed Flynn.
“I see something red in there,” Lau whispered.
“I don’t see anything,” said Scott, ducking and twisting his head to peer through the foliage.
Lau took a step to the side and pointed at the ground where he had been standing a second before. “Stand here and look directly ahead.”
Scott did so, and sure enough saw a flash of dark red through the trees, maybe fifty or sixty meters away. It was hard to make out through the foliage, but he estimated that the object, whatever it was, was maybe twenty meters off the ground.
“Think we should check it out?” Marcus said.
Scott felt that familiar unease creeping through him again – not a fear of conflict, but a sense that something was very wrong here. Nevertheless he nodded.
“Five meters apart. Shoulder to shoulder. Take it slowly, and keep the line steady.”
Stepping off the track, they moved through the trees, each of them placing their feet carefully, deliberately, wary of hazards, fully aware they could be walking into a trap. They had covered half the distance to the object in the trees when they became aware of the drone of flies. Already a horrible suspicion had begun to form in Scott’s mind, and the sound of the flies only consolidated it. Seconds later that suspicion was confirmed when they stepped into a clearing and saw the red thing plainly for the first time.
It was a human body, stripped not only of clothes but of skin, hanging upside down from a tree branch like a grotesque Christmas decoration. Scott was pretty sure it was male, though it was difficult to tell; the skinning had been so thorough that the corpse resembled an anatomical diagram from a medical textbook of the human muscle system. It was hard to tell how long the corpse had been here. Beneath its smothering of flies, which constantly burst from it in clouds before settling again, the blood-bright redness of its flesh had hardened and darkened to the color and consistency of beef jerky. The eyes were gone, the head little more than an open-mouthed skull.
“Holy shit,” breathed Marcus.
At the sight of the corpse, all four of them had come to a halt, as if at some unspoken agreement. Flynn was the first to break rank, approaching the body slowly and staring up at it with open curiosity, in the way a child might stare at a sleeping bat or a tree sloth. After a few seconds he turned to look over his shoulder at the others. “I think this guy needs a Band Aid,” he said.
Black humor. Sometimes it was the only way to get through the job they were required to do. Still peering around cautiously, Scott moved forward too, Marcus and Lau a step behind him.
He saw the corpse had been tethered to a thick branch overhead by a number of thinner branches that had been wound around it and tied together like ropes. Eventually the weight of the body, the natural process of decay and the feasting of birds and insects would cause the cadaver to come apart and tumble to the ground in pieces. For now, though, it was whole, which suggested it hadn’t been here long. The blood on the ground beneath it, teeming with insects, had blackened almost to the color of tar, but still looked tacky. Lau wrinkled his nose.
“Man, that stink!”
Flynn raised his eyebrows. “What do you expect? The guy’s not used deodorant for days.”
Marcus, though, shook his head. “That smell’s not just coming from this guy. There are more dead things through those trees there.”
More dead things. It was an ominous phrase. Even so, Scott jerked his head in the direction Marcus was looking and said, “Let’s check it out.”
Skirting around the corpse, they pushed on through the trees and bushes. As they did so, Scott couldn’t help thinking that the flyblown cadaver marked some kind of grisly entrance to an even darker realm of discovery. He couldn’t help wondering too what it would take to skin a man with such thoroughness and proficiency, and also why he had been skinned. As a punishment? A warning? Or was it a method by which cartel members instilled fear into their rivals? But if the latter, why had the body been left in the backwoods, so far off the beaten track? Why not make more of a statement by displaying the kill in a prominent position?
“Aw, man, this is not good,” Marcus murmured.
Having broken through a thick stand of trees, Scott and his team found themselves at the edge of a battlefield. No sooner had the word entered his mind, however, than Scott dismissed it. If this had been a battlefield the corpses would have been strewn about in profusion, but that was not the case here. Instead, they were laid out in a line, like war dead waiting to be bagged up and sent home. Quickly scanning them, Scott estimated there were somewhere between fifteen and twenty bodies here. Some had been skinned as thoroughly and skillfully as the corpse they had found hanging in the clearing; the rest were headless.
In all his time in the army, this was the most clinically brutal scene Scott had ever witne
ssed. There seemed something almost ritualistic in these killings, something more than simply cartel guys offing one another.
“Pretty maids all in a row,” Marcus murmured, his eyes wide and oddly unfocused, as if his brain was acting independently of his senses.
“I’ve seen prettier,” Flynn replied, though even his voice was quiet, lacking the humor that seemed implicit in the remark.
“Hey, guys, check this out,” said Lau.
He had wandered off to the right, walking down the line of corpses as if inspecting the troops. Now Scott joined him.
“What have you found?”
Lau jerked his rifle to indicate something on the ground. “Their weapons.”
Scott’s mind reeled. The men’s weapons had not just been stacked here like firewood, they had been twisted, crushed, shattered.
“How the fuck?” he said. “You’d need a tool shop to inflict damage like this. Vices, hammers, pliers…”
“And that’s not even the weirdest thing,” said Marcus.
Scott looked at him. “What do you mean?”
Marcus was crouching by one of the corpses, a sick expression on his face. “Look at this guy.”
Scott walked across and hunkered down beside Marcus. The corpse he was examining was lying half on its side, as if caught in the process of turning over in its sleep.
“Check out the spine,” Marcus said.
Scott looked, and saw a black-red ravine running all the way down the man’s back.
“There isn’t one.”
“Exactly.” Marcus indicated the corpse lying immediately to the left. Ants and beetles were scuttling busily over its marbled flesh. “That one’s the same. And the one next to it.”
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