The Green Cathedral

by Kerry Mcdonald

  Yup, I’d say a few too many to carry in the Jeep, Abel thought to Rimi.

  We can’t take them now, but as long as we keep this place a secret, they will always be here for us. That will give us time also to figure out a way to store them on the island once we get them there. Come! We should go now. The sun is well past noontime.

  Rimi, thought Abel to her, there’s one more thing. She gave him a curious look through her face mask. What about your parents? Do you want to go farther forward and see if you can find them on the bridge?

  Rimi had been so busy that she’d put this same thought to the side ever since they’d entered the wreck. It was definitely easier not to think about it. But Abel was right. She had had very little time to say goodbye to her mother, and none at all with her father. Perhaps it was time to, say one final goodbye after being so suddenly and totally separated.

  But then she thought of the grotesque, ghostly look that even the bodies inside that hadn’t been ravaged by predators or microorganisms had, and also the fond memories that she had of her parents when they were alive.

  No, she thought.

  She wanted to hang on to those good memories, and not have them tainted by whatever a century in the ocean had done to her parents. She realized that she’d said her goodbyes a long time ago, and there was no need to tarnish those images now.

  There is no need for that, but thanks for asking.

  And with that, the two swam away with their haul. What they failed to notice, though, was a faint, flickering light that momentarily penetrated the thin sand covering the cruiser’s midship area as Rimi passed over it.

  When they got to the beach, they packed up all five chests of Xilinium, as well as the loose boxes and bottles, and headed back to the highway and the motel, careful to stop and erase as much of their tire tracks and other markings they’d made in the sand as possible. That end of the beach would remain a dangerous place nobody had gone to in years, just like before.

  But even as they did these things, back with the underwater wreck, a faint, pulsing light began to emanate from the bridge area of the spaceship, the one part of the decimated cruiser they’d decided not to explore.

  ***

  Meanwhile, back in Playa de Palma, Fat Monti was getting a swift education in what it was like attached at the hip to a Colombian drug lord. As soon as Don Vicente Galvan discovered that DEA Agent Caleb Forrest, whom Monti Ruiz had been dealing with, was actually the supposedly dead DEA Agent Abel Nowinski, he moved into action, and things began happening so fast that Monti couldn’t keep track.

  First, several “technicals,” military terminology for a civilian vehicle like a pickup truck or other SUV with a mounted armament in the back bed or on the roof, suddenly appeared out of the jungle and drove straight through Playa de Palma in front of all the town’s shops, sodas, and small hotels. Each carried a mounted automatic weapon of some type (Monti thought perhaps a smaller-caliber machine gun) and four or five men. Patrons of the shops stared in alarm, and people along the beaches stopped what they were doing to watch. And then everyone, eventually, turned their heads to Monti Ruiz’s pavilion, with those close by running to it to find out from Monti what was going on.

  Monti himself was apoplectic, screaming into his phone at Vicente Galvan, who was still at Faviola’s inn.

  “What the fuck are you doing to my town? We keep our guns to ourselves here! Why are you parading these vehicles around like the cartel bosses in Mexico? You’re scaring the tourists!”

  “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, Señor Monti,” replied Galvan over the phone. “This is my personal protection detachment. They go wherever I go in case I require them, and I’m afraid that a situation has developed where I do.”

  “What ‘situation’ are you talking about? There is no situation that requires vehicles mounting machine guns and militias barrelling through my town! Get them out of here—now!”

  “Your town?” replied Galvan, his voice calm and smooth. “I was under the impression that our deal makes it our town and our island, and therefore, I shall do as I please. I would have discussed it with you, but the situation is immediate.”

  “What situation?” shouted Monti so loud that those around him in the pavilion backed away.

  “Obviously you did not know, or you would have told me, I’m sure. Your man Caleb Forrest, the DEA agent who has been working with you, is actually not Caleb Forrest.”

  “What?” shouted Monti.

  Galvan’s silky voice continued through Monti’s phone. “He is a corrupt DEA agent that was supposed to see to the protection of my shipments to Miami from Cartagena. His real name is Abel Nowinski. I paid him a large sum of money, which he took, and then, that very night, my shipment was seized by the DEA before it even left the international waters around Cartagena. He caused me to lose over one hundred million dollars in product.”

  Monti was so shocked that all he could do was sit with his mouth open as Galvan continued.

  “I have called in my guard so that we can plan a way to deal with him as quickly as possible. The man obviously is very resourceful, and we do not want him interfering with our little project on the island. Oh, and speaking of that, I have ordered my construction crew into your harbor as well. They should be arriving by boat soon. Once the current situation is dealt with, they will head out to the island, and our plans will begin immediately. I cannot afford delays—I have shipments coming, and our new allies in Jacó will be expecting a payout soon, as will you.”

  Monti continued to be gobsmacked.

  “Perhaps you can find places where these men might eat and refresh themselves while they are ashore. There will be around thirty of them. Gracias, my friend. We will soon be rich men.” Don Vicente Galvan clicked off Monti’s phone.

  Perhaps thirty people in and around the pavilion stood silently, waiting for Monti to speak. He looked at each of them. Some narrowed their eyes as if saying, “What have you done, you stupid fat man?” Most just looked at him with wonder, almost like children waiting for their father to tell them what to do.

  “Obviously, there are going to be some changes around here, but it has happened much sooner than I anticipated. These men who look like militias will soon be gone, and hopefully will never return. I apologize to you all for their intrusion. There is a . . . situation that I was not aware of which has brought these men here. It will be resolved soon.” The people still stood around, needing to hear more, and Monti, of course, had more to tell.

  “The other things are more permanent changes—to our island off the coast. Men will be arriving in a short time who will build things there that will lead to much more money that can be invested in our community. They will only be here for as long as it takes them to build the facilities, and then they will leave, but for now, we must hasten to make accommodations for them. There will be thirty or more men and perhaps women, too. Any of you who run sodas or motels, please prepare yourselves for a much larger dinner crowd than usual.”

  Ron, from the All-American Diner, asked, “What sort of facilities will they be building on the island? Is this the tourist attraction you’ve been talking about?”

  “I am not at liberty to say,” replied Monti softly, “but for now at least, no, it will not be a new tourist attraction.”

  A collective groan went through those assembled.

  “Perhaps that will come in the future,” added Monti through the din.

  Then someone else called out, “I thought the island was haunted. We sent many men there with guns to clear out whatever was there, and none of them returned. Many here do not remember that because it was long ago, but I do. I lost two of my sons to that island! What has happened to make it safe to build these facilities?”

  Monti sighed. At first, he wasn’t sure what to say, but then, as if the Madre had spoken to him Herself, he had an epiphany.

  “I will tell y
ou the truth, my friends. For the past two weeks, I have hired the DEA agent who came to our town several weeks ago to do just that—to clean out the evil presence that has haunted our island and caused so many of our people to disappear and never come back. He has been fearless. For several days, he went there and came back, assuring me that all was going well. Then, on the fourth day, he did not return, and I was horrified. Had he disappeared as well? But, no! Nearly a week later, he returned! Some of you may have seen him. He told me that the evil presence, an insane woman who had been there for many years, had been eliminated after he had battled her and been seriously wounded. And so, thanks to this fine man, our island is liberated. If you should see him around over the next few days, be sure to show your gratitude to him. He is a hero who nearly gave his own life so that our families can be at peace, and our island is useful again.”

  Monti smiled around at them all, and inside he thought, And so now, my friend Caleb Forrest, or Abel Nowinski, or whatever your name is, perhaps at some time when you most need it, if you survive Don Vicente Galvan, you’ll find an unexpected friend here ready to help you. You know, I really did like you, at least before today.

  “Look, I see a boat approaching!” called someone.

  Monti saw what looked like a large trawler with men crowded on the deck.

  “Come, my friends. We must be ready for them when they get here.”

  EL DIA DE LA MUERTE

  (The Day of Death)

  27

  —

  Just as they left the outskirts of Jacó on the way back to where they’d left their boat, Rimi and Abel got a call on Rimi’s cell phone that Faviola had given her to use while visiting the village. It was also paired with the Jeep’s sound system so that both Abel and Rimi could hear the call. It was Faviola.

  “I’m afraid I have bad news,” came her voice over the speakers. “The man Galvan has already come to town, and by chance, he saw a picture of you, Abel, one that you took outside Ron and Elaine’s diner. He recognized you immediately and is crazy with anger and revenge.”

  Rimi and Abel exchanged wary glances as they listened.

  Faviola, beaten and bloodied with swollen eyes, a broken nose, and her clothes in tatters, continued from the back office as Javier, also showing scars and bruises, ministered to her wounds. “He has a personal entourage of bodyguards that he has gone north with to intercept you. Thank God I couldn’t tell them where you were, because I didn’t know, but I had to tell them something, or they would have killed us both, Javier and me. I did not tell them that you would have to turn off the highway to go get your boat, though, so maybe you can get there before they catch you on the highway.”

  “Are you hurt, mi madre?” asked Rimi.

  “I have not hurt this much in a long time, mija, but Javier and I are both alive, and now you must take steps to make sure you stay alive as well,” replied Faviola. “If you can get to your boat and can get to the island by tonight, you can prepare for them perhaps.”

  “How many bodyguards are we talking about, Faviola?” asked Abel as he drove. His ex-military mind was already strategizing.

  “It looked like around fifteen, in three vehicles. Each one had some kind of machine gun on it. Galvan went in his car with his giant personal bodyguard.”

  “Okay, thanks,” replied Abel. “One more thing. Is there any way you and Javier could get some of my gear to me? What I need is the real hefty duffel bag. If you guys could get it, it would really help us once we get back to the island. You can drive my Jeep over to where the boat is and just throw the bag over the side if you have to.”

  “I know which one it is,” said Javier to Faviola as they listened on Faviola’s speakerphone, “and right where I put it.”

  “And Galvan is gone, but what about the woman?” asked Faviola.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see her,” replied Javier.

  Faviola spoke into the phone. “Yes, I think we can. We will try. Be safe, both of you.” She clicked off her phone.

  Rimi and Abel looked at each other with expectant expressions.

  “Well, babe, sounds like things could get a bit exciting,” said Abel.

  He stopped Faviola’s Jeep on the side of the road, got out, and took out his ever-present backpack.

  “Never know when you might need this stuff,” he quipped as he assembled his Mk 16 assault rifle, strapped on a bulletproof vest, and filled its pockets with extra magazines. “We’ll keep this up front with you.” He handed her the gun, then got in and started the Jeep back up. “Seriously, honey. This is going to get really hairy—that means crazy—and there’s a good chance we could get hurt. Not a pleasant thought, but I’m just saying—”

  “I’m not worried,” replied Rimi. “We are a team now, and you’ve never had a teammate like me before.”

  ***

  Don Vicente Galvan seethed as he rode behind his driver in his bulletproof car. How could he have been so stupid, to be duped by some colonel of Panama’s PNP force and then believe the words of bounty hunters and his own men in Panama that the crispy corpse they’d found in the plane they’d shot down was actually DEA Agent Nowinski, the one who had made a fool of him by taking his money, then allowing Galvan’s shipment to be taken just minutes after it left Cartagena? The old saying “If you want something done right, you do it yourself” definitely applied to running a burgeoning drug cartel. It was only by chance that he had seen the picture of Nowinski, and this time, he personally would make sure that nothing went wrong. He had started by overseeing the interrogation of the feisty motel owner and her desk clerk after discovering that Nowinski had been seen around town early in the morning with the motel owner’s daughter, allowing Jumo, his bodyguard, to pound the shit out of both of them until they talked, but yet not so much as to render them unconscious or dead. They had dutifully confessed, as he knew they would. They were not hardened criminals and were easy to break.

  Now, he carefully planned a multilayered ambush for Agent Nowinski along the highway from Jacó that even he, with all his ex-Navy SEAL experience, would find impossible to elude. “Jumo,” he called to the huge man in the shotgun seat, “get on your radio. Tell all drivers to stop.”

  Jumo did as he was told, and Galvan’s car, along with all three vehicles behind it, came to a halt.

  “Tell Alejandro to pull off the road under cover of these trees here and have his men take cover on both sides of the road. They are to disable the traitor’s vehicle and kill the girl but capture the man alive. He is for me. If for some reason they fail, they should continue pursuing the vehicle.”

  Jumo again did as he was told. The vehicle closest behind them pulled off into the deep shade of the trees on the right side of the road. The men filed out of the truck, and Alejandro, a small man in a broad-brimmed hat, ordered three of the men to find hiding places along the road. Each was armed with an assault rifle. One manned the machine gun mounted on the roof of the SUV cab by standing up through a moonroof in the back part of the vehicle. Then Alejandro returned to the driver’s seat.

  “Excelente,” commented Galvan. “Tell the rest to turn around. We shall go back down the road where another vehicle will wait in ambush.”

  Again, Jumo repeated his boss’s words to the others in Spanish. All the vehicles turned around as best they could on the narrow, pitted highway and proceeded back toward the Playa de Palma turnoff. About a half mile down the road, Galvan ordered another vehicle to set up their ambush, and then, another half mile away, he and the third vehicle both waited in ambush. Vicente Galvan couldn’t imagine even a Navy SEAL getting past two traps where the men were well hidden and experienced enough not to give themselves away too soon, but if he somehow did, he would never get past him and his ambush. He savored the thought of executing the man who had cost him so much both in money and prestige in Cartagena. Then he would get to work building the narco sub and ship docks on the ba
ckside of that Fat Monti’s island so he and any other don with half a brain in his head could use them to smuggle drugs into Mexico and California, leaving the Caribbean altogether and making Vicente Galvan of Cartagena the most powerful among them.

  ***

  Abel and Rimi proceeded slowly along the Costa Rican Pacific Coast Highway, partly because it was so filled with potholes, but more because they were wary of the possibility of ambush. And yet, they needed to get to the turnoff to where their boat was docked as quickly as possible.

  “Damn potholes,” cursed Abel. “I’d be cautious, but I’d sure be moving faster than this if it weren’t for fear of blowing a tire or bottoming out the transmission.”

  “Mi madre always says the same thing,” said Rimi. “This ambush you talk about. What is this thing?”

  “Same thing you and your friends did to some of those guys with guns that showed up on your island,” replied Abel. “You hide somewhere out of sight and then pounce on your enemy before they know you’re there. Classic surprise attack. See these trees on the sides of the road?” He pointed out several. “Their shadows are really vivid and dark. There could be a whole car or truck parked in an area like that, and you wouldn’t know it until it was too late.”

  “Don’t worry about your speed,” said Rimi. “I will help you see.”

  Abel looked over at her with a confused expression, then he pulled off the road and simply stared at her. “What the hell did you just do?”

  “Nothing really,” replied Rimi. “It is just something that anyone from my world can do, but I guess Earth humans cannot do.” What Rimi had done was pull back the skin from around her already large eyes, making them look twice as large.

  “When I do this, my eyes can see clearly for much farther than they normally do, and I also can see much more to either side.”