The Green Cathedral

by Kerry Mcdonald

  They’d told him what Vicente Galvan had done to Faviola and related Javier’s story of what had really happened to the don at the hands of Abel and Faviola’s daughter. They had then demanded to know everything, or they’d take him into custody that moment and put him on trial before the entire town. Fearing for his life, Monti had told them about the waystation, about how it would be set up and run by Don Vicente Galvan and Monti jointly, and how he would get a share of the profits, which he swore he’d share with the community, even though he hadn’t been so sure about that just a half hour before.

  It was after this conversation that the community patrol had proposed a plan. Monti would immediately see to it that Don Vicente Galvan was eliminated. He would then assume command of the cartel soldiers that Galvan had called into the area and ensure that they eliminated the two occupants of “the town’s island,” as they put it. Though Monti heard some groans and outcries at this, they were quickly shouted down by others. It seemed they were thirsty for revenge for lost loved ones the “evil one” on the island had killed in the past, even though that would mean killing Faviola’s daughter, something that clearly did not sit well with many in the meeting. Once these things were accomplished, Monti would supervise construction of the waystation until it was done and the cartel workers were gone. Then he and the patrol would consider all options—legitimate and not-so-legitimate—of what to do with the island and together come up with something that would benefit the entire community. Every part of the plan, though carried out by Monti, would be overseen by patrol personnel.

  If Monti went along with it, he’d be able to continue as he always had as the leading citizen of the town. If not, he would be put on trial, and at the very least run out of town and shot on sight if he ever showed up again. Not much of a choice, and yet, the community patrol was actually being quite generous with him, come to think of it. He’d said that he’d accept their plan, and then, in front of them all, had made a call to Paco, who was already on his way through the jungle to Pedro’s, having found the road to the scuba school blocked with a downed tree and a disabled vehicle. Everyone listened over Monti’s speakerphone as the first part of the plan, the elimination of Don Vicente Galvan, was then executed with cold precision.

  Paco had brought one of Pedro’s boats to the pier. He had picked up Monti along with Ron and Juan, the patrol’s overseers. All four had donned face masks and other clothing worn by Don Vicente Galvan’s guards, and then left for the island, even as they heard the near-constant sound of gunfire coming from it. It was unnerving, this sudden and shocking introduction into big cartels and their soldiers. But with his life literally depending on the day’s outcome, Monti steeled all of them for their mission.

  A few minutes later, their small boat met up with the Clan de Cartagena’s most recent acquisition, a former US Navy swift boat that Vicente Galvan had bought from a Vietnamese government official Monti and his entourage had boarded the boat, and in what Monti considered a rather grand speech, he told Galvan’s hardened soldiers who sat on the deck about the tragic death of their leader, of his appointment to the head of the Costa Rican arm of the clan, his resolve to fulfill Don Vicente’s dream and to heap vengeance on those responsible for his murder. After a cheer from everyone aboard, Monti ordered the boat full speed ahead to the island.

  As they drew near the island’s ocean side, Monti had been shocked at what he’d seen through his binoculars. The area near the rubber boat landings was covered with panicked construction workers. They were all jumping into rubber boats and hurrying to the trawler that had brought them there. Some simply abandoned all their equipment and plunged into the water on foot, swimming for the trawler. The entire meadow area between the beach and the grand rainforest trees that gave the island its other name, La Catedral Verde, was covered with dead bodies, boxes of supplies, land-clearing munitions, and ammunition, most of which had been destroyed.

  Monti was going to pass the binoculars to Ron, who stood next to him, when he heard distant gunfire, and one of the rubber boats was suddenly riddled with holes. As it went down, leaving its load of eight men to thrash around in the water and try not to drown, Monti looked toward the volcano, the direction of the shot report, with his binoculars. There, protruding from some boulders, was the barrel of the very gun he had looked so hard to find for Agent Forrest when he was supposedly clearing out the evil presence from the island, the .50 caliber sniper rifle that had an effective range of nearly a mile.

  This could be very bad, he thought.

  Monti handed his binoculars to Ron and stepped out the back of the bridge. Spying the boat’s mortar crew, he yelled, “Raise the mortar! Set its range for the volcano, and fire at those boulders up there!” He pointed to the mortar’s spotter, who looked through his binoculars, then gave his crew and Monti a thumbs-up. The gunner pulled the lanyard, and the 81mm round was on its way.

  There was an explosion on the side of the volcano, but the round had missed. The rifle once again peered out, this time from a different set of rocks.

  “Take cover!” yelled Monti, but he was too late. He looked back just in time to see the spotter’s body blown apart after being hit in the midsection by one of the sniper’s big .50 caliber rounds. The gunner’s arm was severed, and the range-finding mechanism of the mortar was shattered. Monti yelled for someone else to take up the mortar, but suddenly, the bridge area was hit. One bullet went through the glass and narrowly missed Ron’s head. He and Juan, next to him, ducked, but for Juan, it was tragic. A bullet came straight through the bridge’s armored bulwark facing and lodged in his eye, too spent to explode his head, but not to blind him. As Ron tried immediately to get the sizzling round out of Juan’s head, he looked up at Monti. Both were terrified.

  Ron had never in his life seen such carnage, and Monti only briefly, while still in Mexico. Both would have chosen to leave this kind of work to real soldiers while they waited on the beaches of Playa de Palma for word of the outcome. But this was their plan, and each had their job to do. So Ron grabbed a first-aid kit off the wall, and Monti gave a command into his intercom.

  “Full speed ahead! Ready the boats!” And then, looking behind him as his men scrambled for cover on the crowded deck, he commanded, “Whoever has an RPG, be ready to fire on those rocks once you’re in range! And the same for you muchachos with the machine guns!”

  Before he could turn around, Monti saw one of the gunners splatter all over his machine-gun emplacement, and the heads of five cartel soldiers exploded simultaneously as they crouched in a line along the boat’s deck. Some blue streak swished around and took out three more soldiers on the other side of the deck. Swallowing the bile that came up into his mouth, Monti called out to his men.

  “Take cover below. Take cover wherever you can find! You’ll all be ashore soon!”

  Then he ducked below the window level of the bridge while his helmsman did the same, steering the boat with just his eyes peering over the brink. Today, Monti decided, he’d find out just what kind of fighter he could be. If he proved good, he might live. If he didn’t, he’d most surely die, if not by the hand of Agent Forrest, then by the hand of the community patrol after his trial.

  33

  —

  When Abel saw the swift boat speed up, he knew that the end for him and Rimi could be near. Closing the distance between them and the land would almost instantly take away his advantage of being able to rain bullets down on the boat while he was out of range of their armaments. Even the ship’s mounted .50 caliber machine guns would have had a hard time hitting him since he was up so much higher than the boat. He’d just picked off one of the gunners and had seen a whole line of men dissolve in bloody gook after being decapitated by Rimi’s knife when the boat gunned its engines hard, and it leaped forward. He tried to hit the other gunner but couldn’t be sure of the shot. The target was simply moving too fast. Every one of his dwindling supply of bullets counted.

>   Since the boat was now going at top speed, some of its hull below the waterline was exposed. Abel decided to see if he could put some holes in the hull. The rapidly closing range of the boat combined with the speed of his antimateriel rounds might punch through even if the hull was armored. He was about to fire away when something streaked across his sniper scope. The next thing he saw was a long slit opening down the entire length of the boat’s hull that was exposed before continuing on.

  Rimi! She must have used herself as a guided missile with her knife as its point, dragging it through the hull of the swift boat and eviscerating it. The boat instantly began sinking, its racing motor actually driving more water into it by the second. It suddenly stopped, bottomed out in the shallow water before the deck was submerged, and hurled panicked cartel soldiers into the sea, some in boats, some thrown all the way up into the shallows of the beach, and others simply dunked into the drink. Suddenly, there was panic near one of the boats. It was sinking, and the water around it was filled with blood as if a shark had attacked. Abel knew it wasn’t a shark.

  Come on, girl, get out of there, he thought, hoping that Rimi would pick up on what he was thinking.

  An instant later, he saw Rimi shoot from the water as if launched by some catapult. He pulled his gun back and watched as she flew high in the air and came down somewhere in the jungle behind the meadow. He had no idea if she had been wounded or not.

  What he did see was that, once again, the cartel soldiers were like sitting ducks, waiting to be taken out. He squeezed off more rounds, carefully targeting each victim all the way until he saw their bodies explode into pools of blood and gore.

  Suddenly, though, he saw a fiery swish erupt from the boat’s deck and head his way. RPG! He ducked just in time to let the rocks take the brunt of the explosion and not expose himself to too much shrapnel. He peered out and looked for the rocket man as droves of cartel soldiers continued making their way to shore. No dice—couldn’t pick the guy out, so he took aim again at the waterlogged soldiers, but then, another swish, and another explosion. Whoever was in charge down there was no dummy. He was pounding him with explosions while his exposed men went ashore. Abel tried again to aim, but this time, .50 caliber machine-gun fire raked his position.

  Time to move, he thought.

  Abel grabbed his backpack and made a mad dash to one of his other sniper nests. Hurling himself down just in time to see another RPG round pulverize where he’d just been, he smiled. He loaded another clip with .50 caliber rounds, which were now down to fewer than twenty. He had to make these count. Each one must put at least one soldier out of commission, preferably more. He’d have to fire as many shots as he could in the minute or less that it would take the gunners below to locate his new position and blanket it with fire.

  He creeped out on a ledge in front of his rock hideaway. The whole scene was below him, cartel soldiers paddling to shore and unloading on the beach, then dashing into the meadow grass for cover, and for the first time, he saw the gunners on the bottomed-out swift boat holding position and ready to fire up at him with their machine guns and RPG launchers. Suddenly, a streak of blue ripped through a boatload of men, sinking the boat and slicing up two or three of them.

  Rimi again, thought Abel. I’ll live through this day for you, girl.

  With that in mind, he set his scope on the three gunners on the swift boat and fired pairs of rounds at each. Seconds later, their bodies were blood splatters on the deck, and their weapons unmanned. Abel now targeted the guns themselves. He took out both machine guns with one shot each, but several brave men ran in and snatched up the RPGs and their ammo boxes. Abel hit a couple and managed to disable one of the RPGs, but the others escaped into the meadow grass. One pulled out some binoculars and looked his way, and Abel made sure that that was the last thing the guy ever saw. But then his clip was out. He loaded his last ten bullets, and as he did, an RPG round exploded just yards to his right. Luckily, he was down so low that any shrapnel hits were only a nuisance.

  So what would he do with his last ten shots? Abel peered through the sniper scope. He couldn’t see the RPG guys in the meadow grass, all the cartel soldiers were now on land. He could pick some off, but not enough. What about a leader, though? Shooting the person in charge would probably end this whole affair! And at the same time that revelation hit him, Abel knew whom he must target—Fat Monti.

  Casting about with his sniper scope, he finally found him. There he was, crouched behind a tree with another man. He had a bullhorn and was directing fire at some trees near the entrance to the Green Cathedral.

  He must think he’s found Rimi, Abel thought. He looked over and saw Rimi zip back and forth between trees, always seconds ahead of hailstorms of bullets. That will end, Abel thought.

  He trained his rifle on Monti, who was hidden so completely behind the tree that he had almost no shot at all. As he did, a thousand thoughts flooded his mind. This was Monti Ruiz, the town’s heretofore benevolent drug dealer, a small-time operator who had fled the cartel wars in Mexico and set up his own little operation in a peaceful Costa Rican village. With it, he’d brought prosperity and progress to it. He’d cooperated with the DEA and was respected by them for the valuable information he’d shared. He’d hired Abel to do a job for the tidy sum of a million US dollars.

  It was Monti who had brought Abel to the Green Cathedral, and soon after, the most amazing woman he’d ever met. Shouldn’t he feel some gratitude to the man? How would Playa de Palma go on without him? He relaxed his aim for a second . . . but only for a second as other thoughts poured through him.

  Things had changed in these last two weeks. Abel had found beauty and purpose through Rimi, the woman from the stars who had miraculously come into his life on this enchanted isle. A million dollars was the furthest thing from his mind at this moment. All he cared about was protecting his faithful and beautiful friend. He checked his crystal bracelet at the thought—yes, she was still alive and well, somewhere in the forest, protecting the Green Cathedral.

  Frustrated with his lack of a good shot, Abel hustled back to his former sniper’s nest, lay in his prone firing position, and once again trained the sniper scope on Monti. Aha! It wasn’t a great shot, but it was doable. Enough of Monti was exposed to fill his crosshairs, as was the soldier who always seemed to be near him. Abel steadied, let out a breath—

  And just as he was squeezing the trigger, he heard the hiss of the RPG, and an explosion just behind him lifted him off the ground and tossed him forward.

  ***

  “Aiyeee!”

  Monti screamed as wood from the tree trunk behind his head exploded and sent sharp splinters of wood flying everywhere, including into his neck. Ron, who was next to him, got a face-full of slivers himself.

  “Ack! My eye! I think the wood got it!”

  At the same time, the RPG operator stood up in the meadow and cheered. “I got him!” he yelled. “I think I got him!” Monti looked up just in time to see the man cut in half by the blue streak he’d figured out by now came from Faviola’s “daughter,” Rimi, who seemed to fly between the trees at an incredible speed. They’d cornered her in a few trees near the churchlike entrance to the island’s rainforest, but she still was highly lethal.

  “Estúpido!” growled Monti to the now-dead RPG operator. He better have gotten the sniper—Agent Forrest.

  At any rate, the sniper had almost single-handedly destroyed over half his force of cartel soldiers—he and his jungle companion—and Monti wasn’t sure how much more they could take. And yet, the community patrol’s instructions had been clear: eliminate both the DEA agent and Rimi, who, sadly, under normal circumstances most everyone in town liked. Not enough to have them stand in the way of the town’s use of the island, though. Aside from the revenge factor, Ron, Juan, and the others had heard them declare that the island was their island, and they’d defend it from anyone encroaching on it. How pre
sumptuous of them. Who cared if the woman had lived there for years and years? The island represented a tremendous opportunity for growth for their burgeoning community, and one person, or two, couldn’t be allowed to selfishly stand in the way of that. As long as an armed force of Colombian cartel soldiers was on hand and doing the dirty work (and getting killed) anyway, it was best just to eliminate both of them now.

  So much easier said than done, thought Monti.

  He was tired of this slaughter. He picked wood shards out of his neck, and Ron, the American food soda owner and the community patrol’s last observer, was having one removed from his eye by the cartel detachment’s corpsman. Monti decided he’d had enough. His men would attack the trees with as much force as they could muster, and that would bring the sniper down from his perch. He must be nearly out of ammunition anyway. Monti had only given him one hundred rounds with the gun, and he’d been continuously shooting for hours.

  “I need men, here at the arches, now!” he commanded through his bullhorn. “Bring hand grenades if you have them and stay undercover. We’ll drive this woman into the open and bring her sniper friend to us.”

  34

  —

  Rimi sat in a tree, the same tree with a platform she’d sat in the very first time she’d set eyes on Abel as he’d approached the entrance to the Green Cathedral.

  Abel sat in a tree as well, though one nearly a half mile away by the source of the stream. He’d been tossed into it after being vaulted from his sniper position by the RPG explosion.