Arthur Hailey - Evening News

Since yesterday, Minh had been taking pictures from time to time, though selectively and sparingly since there had been limitations on the number of tape cassettes he could bring.

At that moment Fernandez, who had been watching the other buildings, burst in. He warned Partridge breathlessly, "Coming here—a woman! By herself. I think she's armed.” At the same moment, approaching footsteps were audible and close.

There was no time for orders or dispositions. Everyone froze where they were. Jessica was near the doorway, though off to one side. Minh faced the opening directly, the others were farther back in shadows. Partridge had the Kalashnikov raised. Though he knew that firing it would awaken the hamlet, to get at the Browning with its silencer, he would have to put the rifle down and change hands. There wasn't time.

Socorro walked in briskly. She was wearing a robe and holding a Smith and Wesson revolver pointed forward, the hammer cocked. Jessica had seen Socorro with a gun before, but it had always been holstered, never in her hand.

Despite the gun, Socorro did not appear to be expecting anything out of the ordinary, and in the almost nonexistent light at first mistook Minh, who was closest, for the guard. She said, " Pense que escuche . . .” Then she realized it wasn't the guard and glancing left, saw Jessica. Startled, she exclaimed, " Que haces . . . ?” then stopped.

What happened next occurred so swiftly that, later, no one could describe the sequence of events.

Socorro raised the revolver and, with her finger around the trigger, moved swiftly, closing on Jessica. Afterward, it was assumed she intended to seize Jessica and hold her hostage, perhaps with the pistol at her head. J

essica saw the move coming and, with equal swiftness, remembered CQB — close quarters battle—which she had learned but had not used since capture. While tempted at earlier moments to employ it, she had known that in the long term it would do no good and decided to save her skill for a moment when it really counted.

”When an opponent moves towards you, “Brigadier Wade had emphasized during lessons and demonstrations, 'Your human instinct is to move back, The opponent will expect that too. Don't do it! Instead, surprise him and go forward—move in close!”

With lightning speed, Jessica leapt at Socorro, raising her left arm, braced rigidly, upward and forcefully inside the other woman's right. With a jarring movement as the arms made contact, Socorro's arm flew involuntarily upward, forcing her hand back until the fingers opened in a reflex action and the gun dropped. The entire maneuver took barely a second, Socorro scarcely aware of what had happened.

Without pause, Jessica thrust two fingers hard into the soft flesh under Socorro's chin, the fingers compressing the trachea and impeding breathing. Simultaneously Jessica placed a leg behind Socorro and pushed her backward, throwing her off balance. Jessica then turned Socorro and placed her in a tight stranglehold, making it impossible for her to move. If this had been war—for which CQB was intended—the next step would have been to break Socorro's neck and kill.

Jessica, who had never killed anyone or ever expected to, hesitated. She felt Socorro struggling to speak and slightly eased the pressure of her fingers.

Gasping, Socorro pleaded in a whisper, "Let me go . . . I will help you . . . go with you to escape . . . know the way.”

Partridge had come close enough to hear. He asked, "Can you trust her?”

Again, Jessica hesitated. She had a moment of compassion. Socorro had not been all evil. All along, Jessica had an instinct that Socorro's days in America as a nurse had tilted her toward good. She had cared for Nicky after his bums, and later when his fingers were severed. There was the incident of the chocolate bar, tossed by Socorro into the boat when all three were hungry. Socorro had improved their living conditions by having openings cut in walls . . . had disobeyed Miguel's orders in allowing Jessica to join Nicky in his cell . . .

But it was also Socorro who had been part of the kidnap from the beginning and who, when Nicky's fingers were being cut, had called across callously, "Shut upl There's no way you can stop what's going to happen.”

And then, in her mind, Jessica heard Nicky's words, spoken only minutes earlier: " It's all right about shooting Vicente, Harry . . . He helped us sometimes, but he was one of them . . . Do you know about the Stockholm syndrome? . . . . My mom does . . . ”

Beware the Stockholm syndrome!

Jessica answered Partridge's question. Shaking her head, she told him, "No!”

Their eyes met. Harry had been amazed by Jessica's demonstration of skill in hand-to-hand combat. He wondered where she bad learned it and why. At the moment, though, that didn't matter. What did matter was that she had reached a point of decision and her eyes were asking him a question. He nodded briefly. Then, not wanting to witness what came next, he turned away.

Shuddering, Jessica tightened her grip, broke Socorro's neck, then twisted the head sharply to sunder the spinal cord. There was a snapping sound, surprisingly faint, and the body Jessica was holding slumped. She let it fall.

* * *

Led by Partridge, with Jessica, Nicky, Minh and Fernandez following quietly, the group moved through the darkened hamlet, encountering no one.

At the jetty Ken O'Hara said, "I thought you'd never get here.”

"We had problems,” Partridge told him.”Let's move fast! Which boat?”

"This one.” It was an open wooden workboat about thirty feet long, with twin outboard motors. Two lines secured it to the jetty.”I grabbed some extra fuel from other boats.” O'Hara pointed to several plastic containers near the stem.

”Everybody aboard!” Partridge ordered.

Earlier, a three-quarters moon had been obscured by cloud, but within the past few minutes the cloud had shifted. Now everything was lighter, particularly over the water.

Fernandez helped Jessica and Nicky into the boat. Jessica was shaking uncontrollably and feeling sick, both after effects of having killed Socorro only minutes earlier. Minh, taking pictures from the jetty, jumped in last as O'Hara, unfastening the lines, used an oar to push out from shore. Fernandez grabbed a second oar. Together he and O'Hara rowed toward midstream.

Looking around, Partridge could see that O'Hara had used his waiting time effectively. Several other boats were settling in the water near shore, others drifting away.

”I pulled some plugs.” O'Hara gestured to the nearer boats. "Those can be refloated, but it'll cause delay. Threw a couple of good motors in the river.”

"Nice going, Ken!” His decision to bring O'Hara, Partridge thought, had been vindicated several times.

There were no proper seats in the boat they were using. As with the one in which Jessica, Nicky and Angus had traveled earlier, passengers sat low on boards running fore and aft above the keel. The two rowers had positioned themselves on opposite sides and were striving hard to reach the Huallaga River's center. As the sight of Nueva Esperanza faded in the moonlight, a strong current was already carrying them downstream.

Partridge had checked his watch as they left the jetty: 2:35 A.m. At 2:50, with the boat moving along well, following the river's generally northwest course, he told Ken O'Hara to start the engines.

O'Hara opened a fuel-tank air vent on the port-side engine, adjusted a choke, pumped a rubber ball and pulled a flywheel rope hard. The engine fired immediately. He adjusted the engine speed to a fast idle, then followed the same procedure with the second engine. As he put both engines in gear, the boat surged forward.