He heard a vehicle screech to a halt on the road side right by the lodging. He checked the time, a half past three. He had bought another battery for his phone and had it charged before going to bed. It was time to move.
Fully clothed, he took a deep breath, opened the door and proceeded to step outside into the freezing darkness walking towards the parked vehicle. Four figures emerged from the vehicle all welding guns. He was body searched and ushered into the back seat, tightly squeezed between two bulky armed men dressed in thick black nylon Jackets. ‘This is it' Rodriquez silently muttered to himself before the vehicle, a black Sedan, spun around, noiselessly, heading out of Bucaramanga.
'I am glad you made it here in one piece my friend.' A deep male voice sound came to his ears, the same voice Rodriquez had heard all along on the phone. He was certain. The darkly hall in the middle of nowhere traced a potent marijuana scent. A secret factory or drug store house Rodriquez guessed. Anger in his veins began to rise as he stood in the dim hall's center surrounded by approximately twenty armed men.
'You’ve been to Cucuta before?' The voice in the darkness asked.
'No.' replied Rodriquez. The man remained hidden from view. Only his voice Rodriquez was allowed to communicate with.
'Who are you?' Rodriquez asked eager to learn something.
'Let's keep this formal, shall we.' The voice said. 'I am César.'
'Where is the information?' the man known as Cesar immediately asked.
'Where is Ramona?' Rodriquez shot back. He was desperate to at least see her face.
'I’m sorry Rodriquez,' César replied. 'This matter isn’t up for debate.'
'What if it were?' Rodriquez said in replied.
'Says who?' César asked in reply.
Rodriquez remained silent. He knew these were men not to be messed with.
'You have the Documents or you don’t?' Cesar asked sounding irritated.
'I do' replied Rodriquez, 'but…'
'But what?'
'I need proof of life.' Rodriquez said.
‘Alright,' answered the man, 'Sebastin,' he called, 'bring them in.’ Rodriquez tensed. He was anxious to see Ramona. His heart thudded as a door to the extreme right opened letting in three shadows, two dragging the third. The third, in the middle, seemed to be limping.
Rodriquez paled when the face of the third shape came into view.
'No!' He muttered in disbelief.
It was Inspector Raul Gilibert.
‘Great.' Cesar said breaking the silence, Rodriquez remained silent. His eyes burning with rage, fixed on Raul.
'Take him away.' César ordered. 'He's a distraction.'
'You see Rodriquez,' César continued after Raul had been whisked away. 'My boss hates liars, cheats, government troops and double crossers in that order.'
Rodriquez remained silent.
'Detective Rodriquez,' César went on, 'I know you are very much disappointed in your friend.'
'He is not my friend!' Rodriquez hissed. He was at boiling point.
'I know,' replied the man, 'why else would he try to black mail you?'
Rodriquez understood. They had been tapping his phone conversations. He felt like kicking himself inside the mouth. What a fool he'd been. He had played his last card, and failed. They now had the documents and still had Ramona.
'I want to see Ramona.' he begged tears filling his eyes.
'I am afraid I can't guarantee you that my friend,' replied César, 'but you still have an opportunity to save her if you do my boss a small favor.'
Rodriquez raised his face to stare into the darkness from where César spoke.
'What kind of favor?'
Chapter Seven
Nine days ago, Thursday, 10:53am
Rodriquez was on his way to meet Soviet marshal Semyon Timoshenko, the man said to be Supreme Leader of the Fuerzas Armadas revolucionrias de Colombia (FARC). He had hardly had any sleep. He's body ached from the long bus ride from Bogotá to Bucaramanga and another two hour drive with Ramona's captors from Bucaramanga to Cucuta. Now, he was aboard a small uncomfortable propeller plane, blind folded and handcuffed to a destination he didn’t know.
‘Just think of it as a small favor from one friend to another.’ César had told him.
After a long silence, Rodriquez had finally agreed.
‘Okay, but on one condition.' he'd said.
‘State the condition.’
'You free Ramona.'
'Consider it done.' César had gone on to say.
A request of this kind was a request no one could take lightly. This was Colombia and Rodriquez knew the stakes couldn’t get much higher than this but so was Ramona's life, anything for her; he was willing to do, even give his life in exchange for hers.
Rodriquez had been asked to leave his phone with one of the guards before being, blindfolded, handcuffed and hurdled onto the small plane. These men took no chances with anyone or anything. Rodriquez' heart pounded hard when he heard loud rattling sounds of the plane's propellers and engine, his mind gripped by fear of what awaited him ahead.
‘What time is it?’ he asked the person seated next to him after they had flown for what he guessed was almost two hours.
‘Half past midday’ the reply came in Spanish. The voice was male, deep and strange. Not César voice. He reckoned it was the bodyguard.
'Thanks.'
His mind vied to the skies high up in the Andes Mountain ranges. Below, he knew it was FARC territory and Ramona was down there somewhere, held captive, in anguish, waiting for him to come rescue her. He had asked her a year and a half ago to promise him that she would stay alive no matter what and he had on his part vowed he would come for her. Now he was coming for her. All he hoped and prayed for was she keep alive, if not for anything else, at least for him.
Rodriquez felt the plane hit the ground hard bouncing his entire body awkwardly before coming to a sudden acrimonious halt. He found himself propelled viciously forward only to be held back sharply by the tight leather seat belt. The smell of jet fuel, exhaust fumes and dust overwhelmed his nostrils.
'Come. Let's go.' the voice of the body guard came to him. He smelt the man's stingy male odor as he bent unfastening Rodriquez from the seat, his strong arm then tugged underneath Rodriquez' right armpit pulling him up before dragging him to the plane's narrow exit. Rodriquez felt his baroques' firm imprints in what felt like thick soft gravel underneath. He and his escort had just stepped into fresh scents outside, onto FARC territory.
'Remove his blinds.' a male voice commanded. Rodriquez felt an arm pull at the cotton cloth covering his face. With his blinds removed, the bright Colombian sun accosted him first before he saw to his surprise, what looked like an open green field surrounded by a thick dense jungle. Snowcapped Mountain ranges stared majestically at him in the distance ahead. Closer to him were painted faces dressed in deep army green combat uniform approximately one hundred or so in number. They were heavily armed and staring intently at him. Behind these, in the distance at the forest's edge, were another sea of troops in their hundreds, all armed to the teeth, alert, on the lookout for the enemy. But what stunned Rodriquez, was this face right in front of him staring back at him, wearing specs and dressed in full military garb. The man who appeared to be in his early fifties was tanned, had piercing brownish eyes, a bushy grey mustache and thick sideburns.
‘Remove his handcuffs too.' he ordered. 'Detective Rodriquez, I am Semyon Timoshenko.’ The man said. ‘I have heard quite a bit about you and I should say, so far, am impressed. Please, come with me.' gesturing with his right hand in a forward motion.
Chapter Eight
Rodriquez and his hosts ascended and descended along narrow mud tracks deep inside the Colombian jungle. It was wet, slippery and difficult to navigate through the thick green vegetation on the steep mountain slopes. His cold face and fatigued limbs constantly pelted by fierce winds and crisp exotic scents. The FARC knew their territory well nonetheless.
Three hour
s on, they were still trekking. Rodriquez noticed the agility of the man they called the Supreme leader, his charisma around his troops, mostly young fresh faced teens and a few in their early twenties. Occasionally, they passed one or two frightened peasants, carrying heaps of fresh green coca leaves strapped to their backs held by a rope tagged around the brow.
Another hour later, a wooden sign post emerged, welcoming them to the base camp hidden deep in the valley below. They had arrived at the FARC jungle Headquarters. The evening sun by now had disappeared behind the mountain ranges leaving only the orange glow in the skies to declare its diminishing presence.
‘It’s a modest place I must say.’ The FARC rebel leader said bringing his huge hands to shake a few senior officers lined up to greet him. He proceeded to salute the sea of troops paraded before him. Swallowing hard, a nervous and weary Rodriquez too followed closely behind him and his guards. Rodriquez could see what looked like several grey asbestos dwellings hidden under a thick canopy of trees totally invisible from above or even a mile away. It was getting dark. As the Leader of the FARC continued to do his inspections, Rodriquez was led off to a confined house away to the left.
'You will sleep here.' his escort, a ruddy faced solider said pointing to a raised wooden bed on whose top lay a naked tattered sponge mattress. 'Welcome to the department Los Patios.' the young man said grinning before retreating. Rodriquez dropped on top of the bed exhausted. Outside he could hear loud cricket chirps ring about him and muted conversations punctuated by laughter. He was in rebel hands now. Images of Ramona filled his head. She could be a few yards away he thought, yet unaware he had arrived to bargain for her release, her freedom. He wondered how she looked like now having been in captivity sixteen months now. He recalled that time in México, when they had taken the helicopter ride from Benito Juarez Airport, together, in a black ford pickup truck they had found at an abandoned ironclad curved warehouse in the middle of nowhere, gleamed into the city of Chihuahua, stayed the night at the ugly Casa Del Nopal guest house. He recalled the few words spoken between them and how he'd contemplated killing her if she found out his true identity at the time. Soon, overwhelmed by the treacherous climb, he's tired limbs and body gave way to sleep.
He awoke tied to a squeaky wooden chair inside the tiny room. His arms and legs firmly tied with ropes, his mouth strapped with duct tape. Painfully, he tried turning sideways but his neck muscles hurt, felt rigid. The pain in his eyes was accentuated by the morning sun rays stinging into his eyes causing him to blink rapidly and causing even more pain inside his head. His entire body ached. Narrowing his eyes, he tried to make sense of his surroundings.
His eyes, it seems, were the only functioning part of his body. Turning to look through the visibly dirty glass window a few feet away, he noticed tree leaves and branches swaying gently on the outside. The smell of dental floss filled the room's stale morning air. Rodriquez didn’t know where he was. The room walls were covered in deep maroon faded paint. Turning his eyes to his left, and to his right, he noticed a few inverted chalk letters scribbled on the tired looking wall, possibly the handiwork of a minor. Had he been here before? His eyes widened, his mind running wild. A small wooden table stood opposite him and on it sat a glass jar. The sun's rays accosting his eyes prevented him from scrutinizing the glass' contents. Above him stood a rusty iron roof staring blankly back at him. Where I'm I? What's happening? He felt dazed.
The temperature inside the room made his body sweaty and itchy. He felt helpless. Something awful had happened to him.
He heard a door squeak behind him. He tensed. Still, he was unable to turn and see who or what it was that had caused the sound. Next, he heard footsteps approach. A stingy male odor followed too. A severed head of a man was suddenly dangled in front of him.
Startled, Rodriquez looked into the dead man's open eyes staring back at him. The head's blood soaked hair, at least some of it, hung loose, the rest pressed in one knot by a tattooed muscular hand. The man holding the head had dark almond-shaped eyes which pierced into Rodriquez'. The man wore grey military fatigue folded at the elbows, a green cap with a red flag and star embedded in it. He also had a silver and black pistol tucked into his black waist line elastic belt.
'What were you thinking trying to double cross us?' He asked staring at Rodriquez, his marijuana breath arresting Rodriquez' nostrils. He seemed not to blink just like the head he was dangling.
'What are you talking about?' A puzzled expression plastered on Rodriquez' face, 'and please take that head away from me.' Rodriquez pleaded before turning to face in the opposite direction.
The head, Rodriquez noticed, was still dripping with fresh blood and looked familiar, very familiar.
'Who do you work for?' the man asked, looking angry.
Rodriquez kept silent facing the ground. He could see the man wore leather black military boots.
'I will repeat just this once' the man affirmed, 'did the Colombian government send you here to kill our leader, Soviet marshal Semyon Timoshenko?' the man asked, 'Supreme Leader of the Fuerzas Armadas revolucionrias de Colombia?'
He kept staring down menacingly at Rodriquez. His accent, Rodriquez noticed, was surprisingly good, flawless. He reached out his other hand and tore off the duct tape from Rodriquez' mouth.
'Who are you?' Rodriquez asked laboring to speak through the pain.
'That, my friend is the wrong question,' the man answered in reply coming even closer to Rodriquez. As he bent lower, his golden chain with a crucifix at the tip touched Rodriquez's shoulder. Rodriquez could smell the man's rancid stench of male odor. He whispered into Rodriquez' ear. 'But, I will tell you anyway.'
Standing up right again, his eyes stilled onto Rodriquez, he said.
'I am César.'
Chapter Nine
Rodriquez was punched hard in the face sending acute pain into his brain. He tumbled falling backwards slamming the back of his head on the hard surface.
'You are a government spy Rodriquez.'
'I don’t know what you are talking about.' Rodriquez retorted, tasting blood in his mouth.
'I swear I'll kill you here and now if you don’t speak!' pressing his boot hard onto Rodriquez' neck chocking him.
'You led them here! You and this idiot.' the man said raising Raul's head.
Through the steel door, another man barged in, his narrow brown eyes intense. He held an AK-47 gun. He looked nervous, panting.
‘Señor César, the flies are here. Let's move, now!'
'And this fool, should I finish him off?'
'Leave him, he'll die here anyway.' the man said as the man calling himself César, stared menacingly at Rodriquez, hurled Raul's head onto the floor next to a cowering Rodriquez before hurrying out following his colleague.
A loud explosion sounded close by followed by a flurry of gun shots ringing all over. That's when Rodriquez knew why the two men had raced out. The camp it seems had come under attack from what Rodriquez perceived were sounds of Jet planes, government forces.
The next few minutes were brutal. Locked and tied up inside this tiny room, nervous, Rodriquez heard a series of loud explosions in quick succession. The camp was being pounded hard. A barrage of guns shots thundered out aloud, amidst loud screams, shouts, squeals and cries on the outside molesting his ears. The camp was under intense bombardment. He heard the sounds of cracklings as the trees and houses nearby went up in flames. His heart pelted as the heat inside the tiny room increased tremendously. Plums of black smoke and the smell of roasting flesh and tar started to fill the room. He knew any moment now would be his last. He tried holding his breath but to no avail. In a desperate attempt to unbind himself, he wriggled ferociously but the ropes held on ever so tightly cutting deeper into his skin. The harder he tried, the more acute the pain in his wrists. He tried raising himself off the ground but with both his feet tied up, this too was futile. His breathing was beginning to falter. The room had grown dark as more fumes continued to make their way insid
e stinging his eyes and chocking him. This is it, he thought as his final gasp for breath only brought more carbon monoxide filling his lungs. Finally, he lost consciousness.
Rodriquez awoke inside the same small room feeling dazed. He was lying on the naked sponge mattress. He was startled by a shape in the door way. It was Ramona staring down at him smiling her long curly blond hair dangling. She must have noticed the puzzled look on his face.
‘Oh, Rodrigo,’ She said walking up to him. ‘You could have gotten killed trying to free me!’
‘Ramona!’ Rodriquez replied still in shock. The room had cleared and no loud explosions outside.
'How did you find me?' He asked surprised but as she came over to his bed, Rodriquez looked on in horror as César sprung from the back, silver Glock in hand, eyes dark and in a sudden swift motion aimed the gun at Ramona's head and squeezed off a round.
The loud gunshot jerked Rodriquez out of his coma, he was panting profusely.
‘He's back!' a female voice came aloud above the helicopter blades wincing into the dark skies high above the Andes.
'Sir, you are safe now.' The female said staring down at Rodriquez who lay on a stretcher. 'You’ve been rescued from the FARC rebels.'
Chapter Ten
Seven days ago, Saturday, 6:45pm
Nervous, Rodriquez stared at the strange tattooed man's photo. He’d met with and gotten beat-up in the small room by this same face he was staring intently at.
‘His name is César.' Rodriquez said as the two officers edged closer to examine the photo.
‘Detective,' the one with a distinct receding hairline and mud-brown eyes asked. 'You're sure it's him?'
'Yes it is!' Rodriquez shouted, ‘what more do you want from me?’ staring angrily at both men.
Rodriquez had throughout most part of the day endured a grueling interrogation at the hands of the Bogota Police. He'd narrated all the circumstances leading up to his black out and subsequent rescue from the rebel camp.