Running from the Devil (17 page)

Margate was all these things, but took it one better, because not only did he imagine himself a brilliant strategist, but he hadn’t a shred of human decency. To him the soldiers enlisted to protect the country meant nothing more than the plastic toy soldiers he used to plot moves and countermoves. He didn’t care how many died as long as his political and personal agenda was met.

Banner took one look at Margate and he just knew that the man was going to lay a bomb on him. When everyone got seated, the secretary opened his mouth, and the explosion issued forth.

“We conveyed to the Colombian president that unless the passengers are freed in the next twenty-four hours, the United States will suspend aid to Colombia and demand the immediate extradition of all drug and paramilitary leaders suspected in the manufacture and import of cocaine into America.”

Banner glanced at Whitter. Whitter’s expression didn’t change, but Banner had spent quite a bit of time with him in these past few days, and he could tell that Whitter was shocked. Whitter’s face rarely froze.

No one spoke. The interns scribbled furiously on their pads of paper.

Banner was no expert on Colombian matters, but he knew that the one thing the paramilitary and cartel leaders feared most was extradition to the United States. Once they were extradited, their fortunes would be confiscated and they would be tried for their crimes in a country where their influence and ability to ensure a favorable outcome were gone. Convictions and life sentences would follow. They would enter a United States prison on their feet, and leave it in a coffin.

Margate’s ultimatum, if carried out, would put the Colombian president between a rock and a hard place. If he agreed to extradition, the paramilitary groups would once again pick up their arms; and if he did not, the United States would cut off $1 billion in aid to his country. Since no one in the room saw fit to speak their mind on the issue, Banner decided to throw in his objection.

“Secretary Margate, just why do you think such an ultimatum will help this situation?” He asked the question in a mild voice.

Everyone in the room shifted in their seats.

“We’re trying to bring pressure on the government down there to clean house. What that man is doing is offering sweet deals to murderers, kidnappers, and thieves.”

“A deal that this administration turned a blind eye to until just now.”

“Well, now we don’t like it. Why should we send aid to a country that kidnaps our citizens?”

As a general proposition, Banner agreed with Margate. But as a military strategist, he believed that the ultimatum, like all ultimatums, would backfire. He struggled to find a way to convey his opinion without alienating the other man.

“I don’t see the value in punishing the Colombian president by cutting off his aid. He is no more responsible for this reprehensible act than you are for the gangbangers in every city in this country who kill with impunity.”

“That he is devastated by the turn of events is obvious,” Whitter said. “We just learned that he called a prayer meeting over the incident. He and his staff said the rosary and prayed to Our Lady of Chinquinquira, a Virgin Mary figure.” Margate looked at Whitter as if he’d grown three heads.

“That will get the job done.” Margate’s voice was loaded with sarcasm.

“Pull all five hundred of those special forces men off the pipeline detail and put them on the hunt for the passengers. Without them, we will need divine intervention to pull off this rescue,” Banner said.

Margate slammed his hand on the tabletop. Now Banner knew where Whitter had learned the mannerism. He considered it a piece of dramatic theater, nothing more. The interns and Whitter jumped. Banner and the other officers didn’t react.

“We take those men off the pipeline and the paramilitary groups will blow it to kingdom come just for spite.”

“Maybe. But what makes you think they won’t bomb it once they hear about the extradition demand?”

“I agree that they will bomb it. And that pipeline supplies a big portion of the gas that the average American citizen demands for his SUV. That’s why the special forces stay where they are and we cut off aid if nothing gets done.”

“Your ultimatum makes my military plan that much harder. Why would the Colombian president help us in our search once his aid is gone? That aid goes directly to support his army. And the threat of extradition will kill the disarmament deal and send the paramilitary groups on a rampage. The threat is a foolish move that can only hurt our relationship with Colombia, while putting the passengers at greater risk.”

Margate frowned. “You’ve heard my decision.”

Banner saw the futility in arguing further. “I’ll put my objections to the current approach in writing and send it through the proper channels.”

Margate narrowed his eyes. “I’d prefer it if we would simply ‘agree to disagree.’”

Banner shook his head. “It’s not that simple. I believe strongly that pressuring the Colombian president at this time is the absolute worst thing you can do. I will not have my name attached to the decision.”

“If I remove you from any position of authority regarding the mission, then you won’t have to issue your memo, will you?” Banner had expected this threat from Margate.

“Be my guest, but the media is bound to notice such a move. They’ll question me as to the cause, and I’d be forced to say that my plan for saving the passengers and yours didn’t match. Then you could explain why you thought yours was better, and we can let the talking heads on CNN, NBC, and Fox, your personal favorite, decide who had the better plan. Frankly, I think an internal memo is much less damaging than that, don’t you?”

Banner heard everyone in the room inhale and hold. It was if they had sucked all the air out of the space. Whitter’s face was ashen. The navy commander across the table from Banner had a twinkle in his eye, relishing the moment.

Margate pushed away from the desk and stood up. “Write your memo, but my decision stands. We deliver the message to the Colombian government. You have twenty-four hours to bring this matter to a successful conclusion, Major Banner.”

Margate marched out of the room, followed by two shaking interns.

“Jesus, Banner.” Whitter took a huge gulp of water. “Why did you take him on?”

Banner was furious. “His administration’s tenure is over in two years, but I intend to keep my company going long after that. I’d lose all credibility if I approved such a half-assed plan. Besides, I’ve stood opposite an enemy at ten feet with an assault rifle pointed at my heart. You think a politician in an ill-fitting suit is going to worry me?”

“I’ll bet his suit was expensive,” Whitter said.

“All the money in the world doesn’t buy class, Mr. Whitter.”

“Don’t I know it,” Whitter said.

26

EMMA SAT IN THE TENT FOR THE DAILY DOWNPOUR. SHE HOPED the rains helped dilute her scent on the trail. She hadn’t heard the baying for half a day. She kept her own rifle close. The time might come when she’d meet the men and dogs face-to-face. She’d have to fire first.

Sumner lay next to her, breathing softly. While he was weak, he wasn’t feverish. Although he still didn’t say much, he never withdrew as far as he had in the beginning, when Emma thought he’d looked a little deranged. His maggot guests had all left for greener pastures. Emma had cleaned out the slice, which was pink and healthy, and replaced the gauze.

“Thank God” was all Sumner said when she was finished.

“Now all we need are some leeches. They will hold the wound together so the skin will heal without a scar,” Emma said.

Sumner turned white. “Oh, God, no.”

Emma chuckled. “Relax, I’m kidding.”

“Remind me to get you for that when I’m feeling better.” He slipped back into sleep.

The rain pounded so hard on the roof that Emma thought she’d go mad with the noise. Even though Sumner was next to her, they couldn’t hold a conversation during these storms, the hammering rain was so loud. Within minutes the ground turned to mud, creating deep rivulets that would grow to a flash flood. Emma tried to anticipate the showers, but more often than not they caught her by surprise.

This storm produced a deluge, and she and Sumner had taken care to set the tent up on a plateau jutting from the slope. Two trees formed a living wall that provided cover from above and broke up the rushing water from the side.

Lightning cracked above them, and thunder boomed seconds later. Water flowed around the tent, turning the ground underneath them soft. Emma felt the water saturate the tent’s nylon floor. She and Sumner had pulled leaves off a palm to stack in a makeshift base that they’d hoped would keep the tent’s floor dry, but it hadn’t worked. Water was everywhere, and the palms, and then the tent floor, became soaked within ten minutes. After half an hour, the rain trickled to a drizzle.

Emma toyed with one of the rifles and listened to the water patter on the tent. Her stomach growled. The remaining tray of airline food was so rancid that she’d tossed it. They’d eaten only cattails and some berries that they’d found on a bush. Their need to stay on the move and the driving rain killed any chance they might have had to hunt for more food. Emma resigned herself to being hungry.

She picked up the rifle to test its heft. It was heavy. The right side had letters in a strange language etched next to a sliding switch. Two poles attached underneath opened to create a bipod. When not in use, they retracted to lie flat against the gun’s stock. She opened the bipod and balanced the gun on the ground. She lay down on her stomach and pretended to sight a target through the mesh opening on the tent.

“The safety’s on,” Sumner said.

Emma jumped. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”

He shrugged but didn’t move from his prone position next to her. “Better than before, but weak as hell.”

“You know about guns?” Emma said.

“I do.”

“What are these markings? They look like letters, but I can’t figure out the language.” She tilted the gun toward him so that he could see the letters.

“Hebrew. That gun’s a Galil assault rifle. Israeli made. The toggle switch is the safety and the fire selector. When you move the switch down, it’s in autofire; down farther still and you’re in single fire.”

Emma tried the switch. It was surprisingly difficult to move. There was an audible click when she did.

“Noisy,” she said.

“Yes. Not a stealth gun. You don’t want to switch modes when hidden in the bushes with an enemy standing over you. But these guys aren’t what I would call finesse shooters anyway.”

“How did an Israeli assault rifle end up in Colombia?”

“Israeli army unloaded them when they adopted the M-16. South America is a huge dumping ground for old technology.”

Emma slid the safety back on and reached for another rifle.

“What about this one?”

Sumner moved his head to look at the next rifle.

“Kalashnikov AK-47. Russian made. The tank of weapons. Thing will shoot after being dragged in the mud or hauled through water. Same basic function as the Galil.”

Emma hefted the gun to her shoulder. “Heavy.”

“Actually, it’s considered a medium-weight weapon.”

“What’s this gun attached to the bottom?” She showed Sumner the underside of the rifle. A small pistol with a wide mouth was hooked to the bottom of the gun, in firing position. The pistol had its own trigger.

“That’s a grenade launcher.”

Emma looked at Sumner. “These people aren’t kidding, are they?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Emma analyzed the AK-47. “How do I want to shoot it? Single shot or automatic?”

“Can you shoot?”

“Not at all. I found the pistols in the debris from the crash. I only brought them along for effect.”

“They’re mine. I was supposed to give a report and then teach target shooting.”

“Did you know the jet would be hijacked?”

Sumner shook his head. “No. There was some online chatter to the effect that terrorist action would occur, but we assumed that they were talking about London. I only got worried when I saw the copilot arrive. Something about him seemed shifty, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.”

Emma put the AK-47 to her shoulder and pretended to sight the far side of the tent.

“If you can’t hit a target, your best bet is auto, but be prepared for the gun to buck like crazy on the recoil. You want to cover the area with shot and hope that one lands. Unless I’m in the area you’re spraying. Then I request that you switch to single shot and do your best to target only the bad guys.”

“I’ll try to remember that.”

“How did you know about the traveler’s palm and the water?”

“I’m a chemist for a laboratory that invents skin products for the cosmetic market. I’m constantly scouring the world for plants that may have an antiaging or antioxidant effect. I learned about the traveler’s palm during an excursion to the British West Indies.”

“Have you discovered the plant that will reverse aging?”

Emma laughed. “Not yet.” She wagged a finger at him. “But don’t kid yourself. The chemist who unlocks the secret to skin renewal will make billions.”

“Any plants that are contenders?”

Emma nodded. “We’re working with a few now. Licorice reduces brown spots and evens out skin tone, feverfew has some benefit, but it’s allergenic to many, so it’s not ideal, and there are always the classics, like rose water.”

“My mother uses something outrageously expensive. Sea kelp or some such thing.”

“Crème de la Mer. Very pricey.”

Emma nestled the gun back against her cheek, pictured herself targeting Rodrigo, then pulled away. Her stomach turned. Sumner noticed her discomfort.

“What’s on your mind?”

“Rodrigo won’t stop until he finds us, you know that,” she said.

“I know. That reptilian brain of his will not forget an insult.”

“I look forward to killing him,” Emma said. She thought of Patrick. “God kills the good ones and leaves the bad,” she added.

Sumner raised an eyebrow.

Emma felt the need to clarify. “I’ve been in a running argument with God for the past year.”

“Arguing with a force more powerful than you is always a mistake.”