~ * * ~
“Are you going to continue to ignore me all night?” Valerie asked acidly.
I didn’t reply. Basically, I didn’t know what to say. The time we’d spent together had been…too incredible for words…but when we finally arrived at our destination and she realized I wouldn’t be going with her she was going to be less than happy, to put it mildly.
“Don’t try to deny you wanted it just as much as I did,” she warned. “It was bound to happen…”
“I’m not denying anything.”
“Then why won’t you talk to me?”
“I have nothing to say.”
“So that’s it?” she asked incredulously. “Thanks for the sex, but I’m done with you now?”
“You’re married.”
“Separated,” she corrected, “because my husband can’t seem to resist anything in a skirt. That’s one of the reasons I moved to Colombia…it was far enough away from him that he couldn’t suck me back in with his apologies and empty promises.”
“Are you going to divorce him?”
“I’m Catholic.”
“Yeah I noticed the crucifix while I was in the middle of making love to another man’s wife.”
“I can’t divorce him.”
“Then I don’t see the point of this conversation.”
“I don’t want to lose you, Jack…you…I…I love you,” she finished on a whisper.
“You don’t know me.”
“But I do,” she protested. “I know who you are even though you try to hide it with your clipped answers and rudeness.”
“I killed six men, four of them right in front of you; are you saying that doesn’t bother you?”
“You did it to protect Leandro and me.”
“It wouldn’t work, Valerie,” I tried to gentle my tone. “I’m not the type to shack up with another man’s wife. What we did was wrong, that seems to be par for the course for me lately, but I’m not going to make it worse by repeating my mistakes.”
“Jack…please…don’t do this. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before. We have something special.”
“You won’t divorce him because it goes against the Catholic Church, but you want to continue sleeping with me…is that it?” I shook my head in disgust. “You think adultery is a better alternative than divorce?”
“No…it’s just…I can’t…” she stammered then fell silent.
I didn’t want to part like that…knowing I would probably never see her again…but I knew myself well enough to realize that if I couldn’t have it all, like Tony had, I would never be satisfied settling for less.
Besides that, there was also another fact to consider…I wasn’t returning to the states with her. I had a job to finish and it was very possible that I wouldn’t survive to fulfill any promises I might make.
There was no further conversation until we reached the outskirts of Bogotá.
“I need you to do me a favour.”
“Sure…why not,” she replied listlessly.
“Don’t volunteer details to anyone other than Garrett.”
“Garrett…why would I talk to Garrett?”
“Just promise me.”
“Fine…I promise, but I don’t promise not to wring him out for what he did.”
“I wouldn’t expect any less,” I replied amusedly.
“What are we going to tell the people at the Embassy then?” she asked unaware that she would be on her own once we reached U.S. soil.
“Just tell them that you harboured an injured fugitive from the Mendoza family and they didn’t take kindly to it.”
“What about names?”
“You can give them Vasquez’s name, that is verifiable, but don’t tell them anything about the ledger, or the CIA, or about me…as far as you’re concerned I’m just a fellow American on vacation, and you know nothing about me.”
“At least that won’t be a lie…apparently I don’t,” she pointed out bitterly.
“Look, Valerie, I’m trying to protect you,” I replied in exasperation. “You already know too much for your own good. Just do as I ask, okay?”
“Fine,” she huffed.
“And one other thing…I need your papers.”
“Why?”
“We’re almost to the Embassy.”
She pulled her papers out of her bag and wordlessly handed them to me.
I turned my exclusive attention to navigating the streets from the map in my head, which was no easy task, and was eventually rewarded by the sight of the Embassy coming into view. Breathing a sigh of relief, I parked across the street from the entrance.
Nothing was stirring, but I could make out the Marine Guards stationed at the front gate. I was fairly certain I could get Valerie in…the hard part was going to be forcing her to stay in and getting away without being stopped.
Pushing myself out of the tiny car, I waited for Valerie to grab her bag and join me.
Papers in one hand and her elbow in the other, I urged her towards the front gate.
“Stop,” a stern voice ordered in Spanish.
“We’re Americans,” I spoke in unaccented English.
“Come back during regular hours.”
Moving closer to the gate, a rifle pointed at a spot between my eyes halted me.
“Look, we have…”
“Knight,” a voice spat my name “What are you doing here?”
“Rodriguez,” I sighed in resignation, of all the Marines in the world it had to be him.
“Did the Marine Corps finally wise up and kick you out?” he asked mockingly.
“Look Rodriguez, I’m in kind of a hurry here. This woman,” I indicated Valerie standing wide-eyed next to me “is in danger from the Mendoza family and she needs to be returned to the states as soon as possible.”
“The Mendoza’s…?” the first guard started in surprise.
“She has her papers and she can explain the situation. Open up and let her in.”
“Let me see those,” the guard snatched the papers from my hand.
After a brief perusal, he motioned for Rodriguez to open the gate. I shoved a shocked Valerie through the small opening they were allowing and turned to leave.
“Wait…wait a minute…Jack…what do you think you’re doing?” I could hear the beginnings of hysteria in her voice. “You can’t be going back there. Jack…they’ll kill you! Please…don’t…”
“Shut her up,” I growled, glancing around to see if we had any unwanted spectators.
Thankfully, the darkened street was deserted.
“You should come inside and explain…” the guard began but I was already halfway across the road.
I heard Valerie’s muffled cries, but forced myself to ignore them as well as the guards yelling for me to stop, as I returned to the car. The last view I had of Valerie as I squeezed back into the sardine can disguised as an automobile was of her fighting the guards as they drug her towards the main building.
Although it was for the best, I realized she might never forgive me.
Pushing any remorse I felt to the back of my mind, I shoved the car into gear and sped away, my active brain already planning my route out of Bogotá.
1979
April
Someone was dogging me and I knew it, but I couldn’t seem to shake him. Whoever it was, he had a higher level of skill than I did.
I’d attempted every trick I’d learned from Hondo during the short time I’d spent with him, backtracking myself, covering my trail, misdirecting, even setting a trap, but nothing worked…he was still there…I could sense it.
He had to be one of Franklin’s men. I’d picked him up a couple of klicks from the base and I doubted that was a coincidence, but I didn’t recall noticing anyone from my regular visits that had the type of knowledge and skill that the man following me possessed.
I needed to get to the base…it was vital in order to finish what my fellow Marines and I had started. F
ranklin had information I wanted and I wasn’t leaving the country without it or without him if I could manage it.
The problem was the tracker was closing in on me, not even bothering to hide his presence any longer…and I was dead tired. I would have to sleep some time…and soon…and I knew he had already realized that and would be waiting.
Resignedly, I decided it was time to allow him to catch up with me, but at a time and place of my choosing…not his.
Unwilling to wander too far away from the base—I’d been circling it within a five klick radius, desperately hoping to lose my shadow—I realized it was time for action.
I’d noticed a small clearing just south of the base and decided that it was there I would lay my trap. Nothing elaborate…I simply needed to distract him for a split second while I got the drop on him.
He was close and I didn’t have much time as I made four paths through the middle of the clearing, exiting four different places and then backtracking after five yards in order to return to the clearing.
I realized it wouldn’t fool the tracker, but it would be necessary for him to examine the tracks I’d made in order to determine which direction I’d actually taken. That was all the time I needed…I hoped.
Shimmying up a tree—I’d become an expert at that—just outside the perimeter of the clearing over one of the paths, I waited…and waited…and waited…
Nothing happened.
Doubts assailed me. Maybe there wasn’t anyone there. With all the events of the past couple of months, perhaps I was just becoming paranoid.
I was about to slide back down to the ground when a familiarly mocking voice floated up to me.
“Plannin’ on a long-term engagement with that tree? Lookin’ purty cozy up there.”
“Hondo!” I exclaimed in surprise “I thought you were dead.”
“Guess I could say the same ‘bout you.”
I froze as an unpleasant thought hit me.
“Where’s Montez?”
“Where’s Vasquez?” he countered.
“Dead,” I wondered as I said it whether he already knew. “Montez…?” I prompted.
“Dead…his lovin’ senorita drugged him, then slit his throat.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Once she got the call from your senorita about Vasquez, guess she decided she liked the single life better after all.”
“Montez told me to leave him a message with the location and he’d get in touch with you”.
I didn’t bother to hide the accusation in my voice.
“Makes us both look purty bad,” he surmised.
“Why does that make me look bad?”
“You came back here.”
“Ditto,” I replied wryly.
“Guess we ain’t feelin’ the love right now.”
“Guess not.”
“Whaddya suggest we do?”
“You answer my questions about Montez and I’ll answer yours about Vasquez and we compare notes. We each apparently have reasons for not trusting the other…maybe that’ll help us figure out what really happened.”
“I’ll go first. Who killed Vasquez?”
“I’m not sure which bullet killed him, but there were eleven of what I assume were Mendoza’s men already at the monastery by the time I made it back there. The leader was a man named Sanchez, and they were heavily armed…my turn. How is it you know how Montez died?”
“I called him at night ‘bout once a week or so to check in an’ he always answered. The one night he didn’t, I tracked down his senorita. Seems she wuz kinda fond of her purty little face an’ didn’t want it all cut up…sang like a canary.”
“Why…?”
“Takin’ turns, Knight,” he reproached me. “Who was the woman?”
“An American nurse living at the monastery; she sheltered Vasquez and amputated his left leg to save his life.”
“But ya just said…”
“Gotta play by the rules,” I remonstrated in turn. “Why did the woman kill Montez?”
“Now that there’s the real problem; seems she’s a relative of Santos.”
“So Franklin was behind it.”
“How’dya find out Franklin’s dirty?”
“Vasquez told me.”
“So ya came back here to...?”
“Find out what happened to you and Montez, and then take Franklin back for Garrett to deal with.”
“Tall order ya got goin’ on there.”
“Why are you here?”
“Same thing…with a coupla minor adjustments…find out what the hell happened and then kill Franklin and Santos. I’m not feelin’ real generous right now.”
“I’m coming down.”
“Bout time…gettin’ a crick in my neck from lookin’ up atcha.”
I landed on the ground in front of Hondo who looked even more disreputable than either Montez or I could have ever aspired to look.
“Did you really think I was a traitor?”
“Nope, but I knew ya thought I was,” he reasoned “so I figgered I’d stand a better chance of convincin’ you that way.”
“It worked.”
“Ain’t surprised.”
“Why have you been dogging me?”
“Wanted to see whatcha were doin’, but then ya made me and after that I decided to just keep up ‘til ya got tired of runnin’. Knew I’d catch ya dozin’ sometime or other.”
“How long you been here?”
“Two weeks give or take, I’ve been tryin’ to figger out how to get inside without gettin’ killed. Be easier now there’s two of us.”
“I noticed on one of my previous visits that Franklin has a hangar,” I said thoughtfully. “I’m thinking Garrett suspected something like this was gonna happen and that’s why he tried to train us to fly a plane and a helicopter.”
“Ya think the bastard knew Franklin’s dirty?”
“I wouldn’t bet money against it.”
“Son of a…” he bit off the expletive with a snort of derision. “When I get my hands on him, he’ll be wishin’ I’da died here.”
“Let’s just make sure we don’t,” I suggested mildly.
“I’m all for that.”