Christopher Buckley - Wet Work

"It provides a place for people like you."

El Niño laughed. "Ah yes. But surely it's still easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for billionaire defense contractors? Do you think I do this just for money?"

"No. Being godfather to all those crack babies must give you a fine sense of accomplishment."

"The suffering of the innocents runs through history. Look at your own religion. Every male child in Galilee slaughtered by Herod's soldiers to make way for Gentle Jesus. Look at your own country. What about the baby sitting in the ruin of Hiroshima, screaming for its mother? The little Vietnamese girl running down the road after being napalmed by Uncle Sam's F-4 Phantoms? The crack babies are casualties of a war, billonario ."

"War," said Charley. "What do you know about war? "

"I know that I'm winning one against your country."

"I thought your problem was with your daddy."

El Niño smiled. "My problem has matured. My problem is with history. Do you know who Atahuallpa was?"

"Yes."

"Then maybe you'll grasp the concept, Atahuallpa's Revenge. You have to admit, it makes Montezuma's Revenge seem insignificant by comparison. An amoeba that gives you diarrhea is nothing next to an alkaloid that makes people kill themselves and each other for it."

"As I recall, it wasn't the United States that killed Atahuallpa."

"No, but the United States has long since become the conquistador of record in our own hemisphere." He started for the door.

Charley said, "Son, you're obviously educated, intelligent. Do you honestly believe all this bullshit? Or did you just work it out this way on paper to get you through the nights?"

El Niño looked at him, then at "The Execution of Maximilian." " That gets me through the nights. If I were what you think I am, then we would be sitting in a house outside Medellin decorated by Liberace, and I would be showing you a nude with big tits by-at best-Botero."

He summoned his man back into the room. They wheeled Charley down the corridor. He felt a needle go into his arm and went under.

Diatri pounded on his leg. It had gone to sleep. The wire that stretched across his shin disappeared into some bushes about ten feet away. It was tight, and that was a problem. Some booby traps were rigged to go off if pressure was relaxed. He reviewed the traps he was familiar with: bouncing Bettys, friction fuses, rat traps, frag wires. He shone his light at the wire again and all he saw was bushes. It was probably a rat trap wired to a shotgun shell, but it was well worth waiting until light to establish that for a fact. He checked his watch for the two hundredth time and saw that a whole three minutes had gone by since he last checked. Two more hours to sunrise. The numbness came humming up his leg. He checked his watch again. The trick-he remembered this from boot camp-was not to lock your leg. His leg wasn't locked. So why was it numb? Maybe some snake had bitten him and the numbness was… for Christ's sake, Diatri, relax, it's not a snake. Yeah? So what's all that slithering going on down there? Look, if it was a snake, you'd feel it. I don't know, they got, they got some small snakes here, these palm vipers. Will you stop with the snakes? It doesn't have to be a snake. It could be a spider. They have some extremely horrible spiders down here. It's not a spider. It's asleep, all right? They have frogs, you know, that are poisonous. Frank, frogs don't bite. Look, the Super Bowl is on back home. Why don't you play Super Bowl? There's the toss, San Francisco will receive. What time is it? Don't look at the watch. The kick is high! What was that? Diatri shone his light. Something skittered away. This was no good. He felt for his nail clippers. No nail clippers. Terrific. Wonderful. Now the leg was starting to itch. Great.

Denver won. Diatri figured that would take longer.

The sky turned a faint blue and the forest awoke in a mad avian chatter. He saw monkeys in the trees above him. One took an interest in him and swung down to a low branch above him.

"Have you got a pair of nail clippers?" Diatri asked the monkey.

The monkey dropped to the ground.

"Shoo!" said Diatri. "Get out of here." The monkey cocked his head and stared, came closer. "No, no, go away!" The monkey stopped two feet away. Weren't they supposed to be scared of human beings? Diatri made a face. He growled. "Arrrrr!" The monkey made a face. Great, Diatri thought.

The monkey reached for the wire. "No!" said Diatri. The monkey withdrew its hand and scowled. "Wire bad," said Diatri. "Wire bad . Bad wire! No!"

The monkey walked over to where the wire disappeared into the bushes. "Yo, hey, Bonzo! No!" Great, killed by a monkey. Diatri fished in his pocket, took out a disposable cigarette lighter. The bushes were rustling. He held it underneath the wire and spun the striker wheel. Nothing. Again. Nothing. Again. Nothing. Bonzo had disappeared. Jesus. He put the lighter inside his armpit, which was about the temperature of the sun anyway. He held it clamped there as sweat poured off him. Then he held it under the wire. A tiny blue ball of flame, barely enough to warm a cold mosquito, appeared. Come on, come on. The wire glowed red, then white. Come on. The blue ball of flame died. The wire cooled. Shit!

He looked up. Bonzo handed him the apparatus. It was a rat trap with a hole drilled through for a twelve-gauge shell. A nail was soldered to the bow as a firing pin. It was a live shell. The nail was against the primer. Why hadn't it gone off?

Bonzo made a face and lumbered off into the bushes. Diatri fainted.

"How are you feeling this morning?"

"Fine." His hands hurt badly. He had some blueness underneath the bandage on the wrist.

"Good. I have something to show you."

"It's a little early for art."

El Niño considered. "Similar theme. This you would call a 'performance piece.'" Two men helped Charley up and out of the building.

Charley blinked in the morning sun. They were in the large field in front of the white house. He noted with satisfaction the extent of the damage. The jungle was still smoking off to one side, where the chemical shed had been.

"You're amused?"

"Looks like you had some trouble here."

"Nothing serious. We will be back to full operational capacity in a couple of weeks. But that was good ether you blew up. Expensive."

"How about that." Charley knew he was being led to his execution. He was not afraid, and this fact pleased him.

They came to an open shed at the far end of the field. Charley saw three wooden tubs with hoses running in and out. Men were standing around expectantly. They looked at him and grinned to each other. Charley was aware of one group of men standing to one side, apart, somehow, from the rest. They were not grinning and bantering with the others.

"Good morning, comrades," El Niño said. "This is Mr. Becker, from the United States. He has traveled a long way to be with us this morning. Let us show our appreciation." The men laughed and applauded.

"You see." El Niño grinned. "Typical Latin hospitality."

A group of men appeared, dragging a man covered with a hood. They brought him to the edge of one of the tubs. El Niño gave a signal and they pulled off his hood.

"And this is Mr. Felix Velez, a friend of Mr. Becker's."

He had been severely beaten. One eye was swollen over and closed. He could barely stand. The worst was his hands. The fingers were grotesquely bent.

"Felix!"

Felix's face contorted into a smile. "Boss," he said.

Charley said to El Niño, "All right, you've made your point. I concede. You win."

"That's very accommodating of you, billonario ."

"Whatever you want. Anything."