Jamie Freveletti - Running from the Devil

“He is one gringo and they were three men who cannot call themselves soldiers. Surely things are not that bad, Luis. We have the hostages still, and we have lost only two to the mines instead of the ten or fifteen that we expected.”

Luis looked at Alvarado, and for the first time Alvarado saw what might have been fear in his eyes.

“The Americans have dispatched a troop of special forces to find the passengers.”

Alvarado felt a cold chill run down his spine. He shook it off. “So? You said yourself that they will never find us. We know these mountains well. Not the gringos.”

“And I can’t raise Mathilde. I’ve tried several times, but she doesn’t respond.”

“What happened to them?”

Luis exploded. “How the hell do I know? I am pounding on the radio all night while you slept in the forest!”

“I was attacked, Luis. Perhaps you call our contact at the cartel. Maybe they have heard something.”

“I did.”

“Ah, good. And what did they say?”

“They say the Cartone cartel becomes nervous. The Americans are furious at the hijacking. They say that unless the passengers are released in twenty-four hours, aid to Colombia will stop and the American government will demand extradition of all cartel and paramilitary leaders.”

“Cartone is in jail, is he not? Didn’t he agree to lay down his arms under a nonextradition deal?”

Luis paced the length of the tent. “He did. His second in command says that he will never allow Cartone to be extradited. Now the other cartels are worried that the hijacking will force the president to offer up the rest of the leaders to the Americans as a peace offering. They have teamed up with the paramilitary groups to the west against us.”

“What are they planning?”

“To kill us! What the hell do you think?” Luis screamed.

Alvarado stood up. “If this is so, Luis, then we are on our own. We cannot fight them all.”

“We will fight them all, Alvarado. We have no choice. Don’t forget, we have the FFOC on our side. Or do you question their, and my, ability?” Luis’s mood had shifted in an instant.

Alvarado took a deep breath and tried to step lightly. “Of course not, Luis.”

“Then it does not matter that the other groups are angry. They are fools for believing the president and his offers of light sentences and no extradition.”

“But Maria, Mathilde. We must go there and see if they survived.”

Alvarado dated Maria but wanted Mathilde, who was Luis’s woman. He could live without Maria but would mourn the loss of Mathilde.

“Mathilde cannot be killed. That woman is a cat with nine lives.”

“So what do we do?”

“We go back and take the secondary trail to Mathilde’s watch post. After we check on them, we continue to the ransom point. But forget the trucks. We cut a path through the mountains. If we stay on the trail, Cartone’s helicopters will find us.”

“And the American special forces?”

“They are the least of our problems.” Luis dismissed them without further thought.

Alvarado left the tent, his mind whirring with plans. He would follow Luis until the checkpoint, where he would see how much money would be collected on the first ransoms. He wouldn’t leave the checkpoint with the group. After he got his money, he would find Mathilde and get the hell out of Colombia.

30

LUIS, HIS MEN, AND THE PASSENGERS STRAGGLED INTO Mathilde’s base camp at three o’clock in the afternoon. The stench was unbearable. Bodies, most of them bloated from the gases released inside their skin, littered the clearing. On seeing this, one passenger screamed over and over until a guerrilla slapped her.

The base camp contained six huts arranged in a circle and one watchtower made of wood that rose two stories into the air. To reach the second floor, one needed to walk up a ladder built into its sides. The first level stood eight feet off the ground and had a narrow walkway built around the perimeter. From this landing, a sentry could view the immediate vicinity, but not see over the treetops.

The ladder continued up to a second level, a crow’s nest at the top. It was open air, with a three-foot-high railing running around the edge. From this location a sentry could see over the trees and down the road about two hundred fifty meters before the jungle swallowed the view. A gun on a tripod filled the top floor, and ammunition belts were kept in a small wooden chest in the corner.

Two huts were reduced to cinders. Luis poked around in the burned wood and found some bodies. They were burned beyond recognition, but neither looked tall enough to be Mathilde. He continued searching the clearing.

Three-quarters of the way around, he came upon the severed head. It stank like overripened fruit, and crawled with flies and maggots. Luis waved away the flies and looked at it.

“Alvarado, get over here!” He roared his anger.

Alvarado jogged to the grisly find. He bent down to take a look.

“Jesus, it’s Jorge.” Alvarado breathed the name. He looked a little closer and saw a piece of paper stuffed in the head’s mouth. He found a stick and used it to poke at the head, dislodging the note, which fluttered to the ground. Alvarado spread it out.

We’re coming for you.

“What does it say?” Luis asked. He’d grown up on a remote farm in the Putumayo district of Colombia. He’d learned rudimentary English from listening to the Christian missionaries his father traded with, but he had never learned to read or write in any language.

Alvarado read the note out loud.

Luis sucked in his breath. “It’s from the Cartone cartel.”

Alvarado nodded. The Cartone cartel controlled the drug trade in Cali and was known for its grisly calling cards. Jorge had family in Cali, so it made sense for him to have gone there. The fact that he’d been captured and killed told Alvarado just how bad their situation was, because normally a man with friendly connections among the cartels would not have been killed in such a fashion.

“We’re in deep shit, Luis.”

Luis shrugged. “Jorge has killed how many people? Thirty? Forty? He must have pissed off someone in the cartel. It has nothing to do with us. Besides, we have the FFOC behind us.”

Alvarado stared at Luis. That he would be so blasé about an open threat from such a powerful cartel was insane. Alvarado didn’t know what to say. He stood up and took a deep breath.

“Let’s keep looking for Maria and Mathilde.”

Alvarado edged around the tree line. He found Maria’s body lying facedown. He recognized a small bracelet that he’d given her on her twenty-fifth birthday. She’d been thrilled beyond belief. Her life had been spent in the slums of Bogotá. No one had ever given her a gift of that value. Alvarado had not loved her, but he couldn’t help but feel sadness for her now.

Mathilde’s body was not among the dead. Luis reported this fact with satisfaction.

“That woman makes the snake in the Garden of Eden look like a saint,” he said.

They put the passengers to work collecting the dead. By now, most walked through the day with a sense of resignation. Luis liked it like that. Each day they presented less and less of a problem to him. He kept to his daily beatings, nonetheless. No sense letting them get any ideas.

That evening, during dinner, Mathilde strolled into camp. Alvarado jumped up from his position at the fire and watched as the light played over her sweat-soaked T-shirt. She looked tired but none the worse for her near miss with the Cartone cartel.

Luis watched her amble up to him. “So you live, Mathilde. I knew you would.”

Mathilde shrugged. Her beautiful brown hair rippled over her shoulders, and Alvarado felt an almost physical reaction at the sight of her.