Both were exhausted. Both were in love. Both desperately wanted the other to live as they engaged in a hurried telepathic conversation they feared would be their last but would not admit to the other.
How are you, dear friend? asked Rimi.
I’ve been better, replied Abel as he looked at all the cuts and scrapes that covered his arms and his shredded shirt and pants. Shrapnel from the RPG round and rocks that he’d tumbled over during his fall were to blame, so were the tree branches that saved his life when he landed in them. He had blood on his hand from where he’d wiped his forehead and no weapon in it. That was far above him in his sniper nest. The sniper rifle was out of ammo anyway. In his backpack, also in the sniper nest, was his Mk 16, bulletproof vest, ammunition, and hand grenades. In fact, the only weapons he still had were his Glock 19, his SOG-SEAL knife, and a few shards of obsidian he’d scraped up after one of the earlier RPG explosions had showered him with them. He never knew when some black glass might come in handy.
How about you?
Rimi gazed over her pummeled body. Her legs and arms were covered with cuts and scrapes from tree branches, as well as several more severe flesh wounds she’d gotten from random machine-gun fire from cartel soldiers as she’d darted back and forth from her destructive forays into their midst. Now both arms were wounded and weakened. Her right leg had been grazed by a bullet. This one had caught her as she’d escaped from sinking the big boat. She still had her knife but could barely use it in her depleted state. Even her eyes, which she used to guide it, were exhausted from the strain.
I’ve been better, too. Much better.
You’re at the Cathedral entrance, by the meadow? asked Abel.
Yes, she replied. On the platform where I first saw you.
Gee, that almost sounds romantic, said Abel with a chuckle.
Of course it does. You know me.
I’m coming to you, on the wire from here, said Abel.
No! shouted Rimi in his head. I am surrounded! The evil men are everywhere. They are just waiting to kill you!
Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.
Do you have any weapons?
A few, replied Abel. I could use some help from that knife for just a few seconds when I drop in. Can you do it?
Of course. I’ll be ready. Please be careful!
***
Monti had gathered seven men around the tall trees that formed the high arches of the Green Cathedral, including one man who had picked up the RPG launcher from the corpse who’d held it last and reloaded it. He was about to order his men to open fire full bore into all the nearby trees when he heard a zinging sound, and suddenly, out of the sky fell DEA Agent Caleb Forrest not ten feet in front of him. The agent shot two soldiers who were closest to Monti, and the blue streak took out two others who heard the shots and turned. All this gave Abel the few seconds he needed to kick Monti hard in the nuts, sending the fat man to his knees, then get behind him, between him and the tree, put him in a choke hold, and put his Glock to Monti’s head.
“Drop your weapons, or I blow his head off!”
Everyone in the area froze, and other soldiers stood to see what was going on. One, who was out of Abel’s sight, raised his assault rifle but was instantly splattered into pieces by Rimi’s knife.
“I said, drop the weapons, or I will blow this man’s head off!” yelled Abel.
There was still no movement from the cartel soldiers. It was almost as if they wondered if the death of this fat man who had assumed command of their group would be such a great loss.
Ron quickly answered their question.
“Drop them now. He’s the only one alive who can access Galvan’s bank accounts. He dies, no one gets paid!”
Instantly, weapons clattered to the ground all around the meadow and the Cathedral entrance.
“Rimi,” called Abel. “Come on down.”
There was an audible gasp from those near the trees as the small, bloodied figure with the large, glaring eyes lowered herself on a nearly invisible cable that seemed to come out of her wrist. She stood menacingly by the tree she’d descended from, brandishing the glowing blue knife. It was as if a small but infinitely powerful avenging angel had suddenly dropped into their midst from heaven itself.
“Abel, come quickly to me!” she cried. “Grab onto me, and I can lift you up, and then we’ll fly away!”
Abel gasped himself when he saw her. Covered in cuts and blood, he wondered if she could actually do what she said she could.
Don’t worry. I’m injured, but still strong in my heart. We will not die today! she thought to him.
Abel now quickly went through his options. In his present position, he was safe but also trapped. He needed to get to Rimi, who was some thirty to forty feet away, too far to just dump Monti and run. The cartel soldiers near the trees would be on him before he could close the distance. He could try forcing Monti to cross the gap with him, but the man weighed at least two hundred and fifty pounds, and Abel wasn’t sure he could control him, even with the gun to his head, or if he might not end up shooting Monti accidentally, which would most likely lead to a fusillade of gunfire before he and Rimi could get clear.
“Things are a bit more difficult than you thought,” taunted Monti. “Neither of you will make it out of here alive this way. Throw down your gun, and we will let both of you live.”
Abel laughed out loud. “You’re really funny, you know that, Ruiz? You should try stand-up. It’d be a lot safer than drug smuggling.”
“Ah, but where’s the profit?” answered Monti.
Suddenly, Abel heard Rimi in his head.
I’m coming for you now! Grab onto me, and we shall be gone!
Abel looked and saw Rimi readying to jump. He wanted to tell her no—that he’d come to her—but there was no time.
“Just a friendly bit of advice,” he said to Monti, then shoved him aside just as Rimi took one of her signature leaps toward him—but there was something wrong this time! Instead of instantly zipping through the air to him, her flight seemed stunted, almost ordinary both in speed and height. Abel could see that she would get close to him, but not close enough. He dashed toward her even as she landed ten feet from him and barely kept her feet. Abel grabbed on to her lithe body. She held him with a strong but trembling arm, raised her other hand, and the thin cable that came out of her crystal wrist band began to retract.
Abel now saw cartel soldiers running at them from all around.
“Get them!” yelled Monti. “Don’t let them escape!” The closest soldiers grabbed on to Abel even as he and Rimi began to rise. He fired his Glock into the face of a couple of them, but then a man clamoring onto his back knocked the gun free, and it fell to the ground. Another soldier grabbed his feet. Abel kicked him away, but the pull had loosened his grip on Rimi and her grip on him. The cable hauled them inexorably up, but they couldn’t regrip. Abel found himself grasping frantically at Rimi’s leg that had been previously wounded. Gunfire could be heard, and bullets now whizzed around them. He had to let go, or they’d both die.
NO! came a scream in his mind! You can’t! We can make it!
No, he thought back. You can make it. Leave! Get as far away as you can!
And then he let go.
Abel landed in a mosh pit of cartel guards. He punched and kicked furiously, knocking one out with one punch and doing great bodily harm to two others, only to be assailed by several more. He did see one of his attackers, who came at him with a knife, drop dead when his head was split by a small blue knife, but the blade stayed in his head, and Abel knew that Rimi, wherever she was, had just spent her last ounce of energy in his defense.
“Don’t kill him, dammit!” he heard a booming voice say from behind him, and then he felt a mighty blow on the back of his head, and everything went black.
35
—
When Abel returned to his senses, he was being tied up by a couple of burly cartel guards. Standing in front of him was Fat Monti. He smiled a jolly smile as he saw Abel’s eyes blink open.
“Ah, good! You are waking. I’m glad because before we take you back to camp, I wanted to illustrate something for you.”
Abel instinctively checked his crystal bracelet—the clear crystal still glowed faintly and pointed to some trees nearby.
Abel noticed that a loaded RPG launcher was lying on the ground. Monti turned, picked it up, took a few steps toward what Abel now realized was the same tree Rimi had been hiding in before he’d been knocked out, and before anyone could say anything, he shouldered the weapon, aimed it at the leafy areas underneath its tallest limbs, and fired. Two seconds later, the target exploded spectacularly, and a body dropped out of it and fell heavily to the ground like a sack of cement.
It was Rimi.
Monti unceremoniously dropped the RPG launcher, walked to Rimi’s body, kicked her over onto her back, pulled out a semiautomatic pistol, and pumped three shots into her chest. Abel, so appalled that he couldn’t even cry out, rechecked his bracelet. The clear crystal had gone dark.
Monti walked back toward Abel, who was now on his feet.
“You see how easy that was?” he called. “Kill the evil presence on the island. Did you see? That’s how simple it would have been for you to do it.” He shrugged, then motioned for the cartel soldiers to bring him along, which they did with great difficulty because Abel couldn’t take his eyes off Rimi’s lifeless body.
***
Abel was hustled down the very path he’d cleared himself through the tall meadow grass, and when he came out onto the beach, he was surprised to see that the same construction workers he and Rimi had driven off earlier in the day (at least those who hadn’t been killed) were busy as bees doing all sorts of tasks. Dock builders had already driven posts deep into the ground using a portable post-pounding machine they’d assembled, and it was clear they would soon be connecting them with long, heavy planks and constructing a temporary pier out toward the bay. A scavenging crew was out on the beached swift boat removing anything of value from it, and a demolition crew was busy rigging it with explosives so, once it was totally stripped, the carcass of the ship could be pulled out into deeper water and blown up. A crew was busy scouring the beach, the meadow, and the nearby jungle for dead bodies. They were being brought to the beach and thrown into a huge hole where it looked as if they’d be burned later.
It was all just one more shock to Abel’s shattered emotions, so much so that it made almost no impression at all on him. These were, after all, hardened criminals who dealt with killing people and destroying dead bodies all the time. Why should a little distraction like that keep them from their work?
Monti directed that Abel should be restrained, sitting down next to one of the big poles that would one day be the pier pilings. It was right near where the meadow trail met the beach. As he was being led there, Abel carefully slipped one of his hands into the back pocket of his ripped-up khaki pants.
Once bound up, Monti dismissed those guarding him, and he sat down beside Abel in the sandy dirt.
“You know, I didn’t want to say this in front of the other men, but what I showed you out there, that really is all you had to do, and I would now be transferring to your bank account eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars, the total balance of what I owe you for the job I gave you. I am not crooked. I don’t break promises or beg out of contracts. I had the money already—from Galvan!”
Abel spat in the sand beside him.
Monti ignored the gesture.
“Even your DEA boss had approved it. Think of it—you, a rich man, me, even richer, a waystation nearly set up that would bring money to the community as never before. It would have been so simple!”
Abel spat again.
Monti continued. “Instead, we are way behind schedule, there are dead and wounded people everywhere, people are angry and upset, Don Vicente Galvan is dead—”
Abel looked straight over at Monti. “Why didn’t you kill me like you did Rimi?”
“Oh, be sure that I would have liked to. You have caused me so much trouble, but not killing you is actually a way for me to get a little payback for all my losses today. You see, you killed Don Vicente Galvan, and—”
“I didn’t kill Galvan. We just disabled his vehicle.”
“Oh, I know, señor, but everyone will think that you killed him. Paco actually killed him after he found him trapped inside his car. His arm had been severed, so he would have bled out anyway, I’m sure, but we couldn’t wait. My community patrol demanded it, and they were right. He was no longer needed.” Monti picked up some dirt and absently played with it.
“But his family in Cartagena doesn’t know any of that. They’ll just know what we tell them—that you are responsible for Don Vicente’s death—and then we’ll negotiate an exchange. I’m sure they’ll give us something for you, especially if we tell them that we’ll set you free if they don’t.”
“You’ve got it all figured out, huh?”
“Of course. I always do,” replied Monti with a smile as he leaned in closer to Abel, “because I’m not a fool like you who puts passion and beauty before practicality.” He stood up. “Good night, Señor Whatever-Your-Name-Is. Enjoy your pole. Tomorrow, we will take you back to Playa de Palma and find a nice jail cell for you to stay in until the Galvans come for you.”
Monti walked off, and Abel watched him placidly, while behind his back, he slipped the obsidian shard he’d taken from his back pocket and began using one of its edges to slice at the duct tape that bound his hands.
***
A little while later, Ron came over and plopped down by him. Ron was dressed like a cartel soldier, which Abel found very odd, and now had a patch over one eye as well.
“What the hell are you doing here?” asked Abel. “Especially dressed like that.”
Ron explained to Abel all that had taken place between the community patrol and Monti and the deal they’d struck with him about jointly planning, financing, and sharing in the profits of whatever they decided to do with the island. He also told him about the regrettable but necessary decision they’d made to get rid of both him and Rimi.
“You couldn’t have just talked to us about it?” asked Abel.
“To be honest, that’s something a number of us proposed,” said Ron. “No one was all that comfortable with the idea of killing you two. Personally, I thought it would be murder. But Rimi killed a lot of people back in the day, Agent Forrest: fathers, uncles, brothers, even some sisters and aunts and mothers . . .”
“She was only defending herself!” barked Abel. “Herself and the island.”
“I don’t think you’d see it that way if you were one of them,” interrupted Ron. He gave Abel a sharp look in the eye, and Abel stared right back. After a moment, Ron continued. “Everyone had ideas on what to do with the island to help the town, but none included you guys, and I guess between that and the revenge-mongers hollering, it kind of came down to, Why talk about it? You guys thought the island belonged to you, and even if you’d wanted to share it, the patrol didn’t. They didn’t want someone complicating things for whatever plans they might come up with. And, hell, the Colombians were here. They could take care of…well, you know.”
Abel looked at Ron with the same disdain he’d looked at Monti with. “What did you tell me all this for?”
“Well, I just felt kind of bad, you know. I mean, you’re a cool guy, and we got on good and Rimi was always a real sweetie and—”
“Fuck you, Ron—you and your whole goddamn community patrol. You’re all just the same as Monti and Galvan: greedy sons of bitches looking for ways to get rich, and you don’t give a shit who you stamp out to get there.” Ron’s face contorted in shock. “Still think I’m a cool guy that you ‘get
on’ with?” Abel smirked.
“Sorry I bothered,” mumbled Ron. “You know, they made me do this—come along with Monti. Juan wanted to, but I . . .” Abel wasn’t listening. Ron got up and walked away.
Ten minutes later, Abel was able to pop the restraints on his wrists, but the timing wasn’t right. The sun was just going down, and the cartel soldiers and construction workers were just beginning to eat around a roaring fire. One soldier had come around right after Ron left to check him over, but Abel faked that his hands were still tightly wrapped, and the guy, obviously eager to eat, had gone without really checking anything.
Now is the time to think and plan, thought Abel. Once these guys were either fast asleep or roaring drunk, he’d slip away, and there would be much to do before the morning.
36
—
It had been dark for well over an hour. Abel had watched the cartel soldiers and the construction workers slowly drift in from their tasks, line up at a makeshift chow line that had been set up near the fire, and take their dinners to various logs that had been brought in to serve as seats. Some food had been brought to Abel by a couple of guards, but he’d refused it. He didn’t want the guards to see he’d already freed himself from his bonds. He knew he needed sustenance, but that would have to come later, after he’d escaped. As he’d expected, some of the soldiers and workers simply keeled over after eating and fell asleep, while others, the more boisterous types, began drinking heavily, singing, and playing cards.
A couple of reluctant guards had been assigned to him, and they were both bored to distraction with their job. They talked among themselves in both Spanish and English, and sometimes Abel even interjected a comment or two. As the two became more comfortable with him, he casually began a discussion he hoped would lead to the one thing he really needed to know before he set his plans in motion.
“How many bodies have they brought in?” he asked at one point.
“Who knows?” said one, a large man who looked like he’d prefer being a gentle giant rather than a head crusher. “Maybe forty, forty-five, fifty.”
The Green Cathedral Page 30