‘Six days ago,' Rodriquez had begun after he'd sat down on one of the two metal chairs inside the stuffy windowless room. ‘I received a telephone call from people who claimed to be holding a friend of mine hostage demanding for a ransom.'
'Who is this friend of yours?' A tall man dressed in a grey suit, firm frame and dark curly hair asked.
'She is called Ramona.'
'What is the nature of your relationship with this Ramona?'
'I told you, she is a friend of mine.'
'How old is she?'
'I don’t know.'
'You say she's your friend but you don’t know her age.'
'She never told me. I never asked.'
'Okay. Tell me, what did these people want?'
‘One million dollars'
'One million dollars, was it asked from you or from her family?'
'She has no family as far as am concerned.' Rodriquez replied staring the tall man straight in his blue eyes. His colleague kept scribbling into a notebook.
'How did she end up in FARC hands?' the tall man asked.
'Sixteen months ago, in Rio, she had mentioned to me that the FARC rebels were holding someone dear to her and she was going to try and rescue him.'
'But you said she had no family?'
'She never said he was family, and like I said, I never asked.'
'What, if I may ask, is her occupation?'
'I don’t know.'
'Detective,' the tall man said looking intently at Rodriquez, 'I don’t think you are helping us much here. We are trying to have your friend back safe and sound but you have to give us something to work with. I believe Ramona means a lot to you and that's why you were willing to risk your life trying to save her. So don’t tell me you don’t know.'
'Honestly, I don’t know.'
'Where did you meet this girl?'
'On a plane to Mexico.'
'What was the reason for your trip to Mexico?'
'Just visiting.'
'Visiting who?'
'I have a lot of family in Mexico.'
'So you meet this Ramona girl, go on.’
'Go on what?' Rodriquez asked. He could also sense anger in the tall man's voice.
'Detective,' the other officer chipped in, 'all we are trying to do is piece together your story because like us, you're an investigator yourself, so please, be cooperative.'
'I understand.'
'Okay, where were we?' The tall man resumed.
Rodriquez was picked up from the police Headquarters a little after eight by a young man, an attaché to the Brazilian Embassy. He was driven in a silver grey Volvo to the almost discreet chalk white Embassy building in the quiet Cundinamarca neighborhood.
Inside the Embassy, Rodriquez was debriefed by another attaché, a middle aged man with a pot belly on how the Ambassador who apparently was away on an overseas trip had heard about his rescue from rebel hands and was pleased. The man who also spoke with a stutter told Rodriquez if he needed anything, all he had to do was ask.
'I need to make an urgent phone call on an untraceable phone line.' Rodriquez said.
The man's eyebrows shot up and almost immediately returned in position. The man, it seems understood. He vanished behind a corner and a few moments later, returned.
'Thank you.' Rodriguez said upon receiving the cell phone. 'Is there somewhere private I can speak?'
'Oh yes, the guest wing. Come, this way.'
‘Hey Selli,' Rodriquez spoke into the phone as soon as the person on the other end answered. He'd telephoned his colleague Criminal Expert, Constable Selton Mello back in Rio de Janeiro.
'Rodrigo!'
'Yeah, it's me amigo.'
Constable Mello often kept him abreast on whatever was happening back at his office.
'Antonio is pissed with you amigo.'
'Over what?'
'You left without proper clearance man.'
'It was an emergency.'
'Delgado will roast you when you get back.'
‘I think he's just being sulky.'
'What’s up?’ Selton asked, 'saw you on TV, rescued from the FARC? What we're doing down there bro? You’re crazy you know amigo.'
'Selli, I need a favor.'
‘No!’ Selton protested. ‘You always get me into trouble with these favors you keep asking.’
'Look Selli, you are the only friend I can trust, and my life is in grave danger.’
'Where are you?'
'I’m at our embassy in Bogota.'
'What is it you want?'
'Help me track a man called César Hernandez, Colombian, with ties to the FARC.'
‘Okay.’
'And Selli,'
'Yeah bro?'
'I need a gun too.'
Chapter Eleven
Six days ago, Sunday, 3:09pm
Rodriquez kept surveying the vicinity. He was standing in the center of the picturesque Plaza de Bolívar-Bolívar square, off the Carrera Eight. The afternoon sun kept wafting into his eyes. It was not safe to be here and he knew it but, that was the rendezvous spot Selli's contact had communicated they meet up. Everything had suddenly changed. The Colombian police was highly suspicious of him now. They had questioned him repeatedly on many things. First, he had been questioned about the murder of the tall blond woman. A case he had reported and made a statement. Then, he'd been questioned about the two murders at the Hotel Casa Galeria, These too he had vehemently denied any knowledge or involvement. The investigators had then shifted to the sudden disappearance of Lead investigator Inspector Raul Gilibert, Head of the Directorate of Criminal Investigation and Interpol. The police officers had concluded asking how he had ended up in the hands of the FARC.
The tall officer had stooped bending towards him. 'Detective Rodriquez,' he'd said his blue eyes pinned on Rodriquez, 'I am curious why death keeps following you around.'
In front of him in the packed square stood a young man dressed in flowery baggy clothing, a newspaper vendor. He kept frisking passersby with copies of next day's editions, next to him stood a woman holding a screaming baby in her arms. Rodriquez needed a cover in case someone tried to take him out. To his left, he caught a glimpse of another long grey structure a few yards away. It looked similar to the one behind. He couldn’t relax his vigilance one bit. Just then, he felt a gentle tap on his back. He turned nervously around and in his face stood the pot-bellied attaché from the embassy.
‘Follow me,' the man said walking ahead. His strides, Rodriquez noticed, were brisk and abrupt. He stopped, bought a newspaper from the nosy young man and proceeded walking on. Rodriquez understood. The Embassy man was nervous, trying to act normal, blend in.
Earlier, Rodriquez had given Selli a list of requirements. He needed a Sniper rifle, fake ID and a phone, all untraceable. Selli had asked for a few minutes before the phone rang again.
'Rodrigo, tomorrow afternoon at exactly three, be at the Plaza de Bolívar. Someone will contact you.'
'Thanks bro.'
'Yeah, and take care amigo.' Selli had said before the line went silent.
Rodriquez and the attaché were now standing in the shade of one of the colossal buildings about fifty meters away from the center of the plaza quadrangle. The man looked very nervous. His big brown eyes kept darting in different directions.
'Hey, relax amigo.' Rodriquez said, 'never done this before?'
The man nodded in agreement.
'Brought the stuff?'
The man nodded again pointing to a parked silver grey Volvo a few yards away, the same car that had picked him from police headquarters the previous evening. As Rodriquez turned to examine the car further, in the corner of his eye, he caught the attaché make a hand gesture to someone in the distance, perhaps in one of the buildings directly facing the quadrangle, a sniper.
Instinctively, Rodriquez dived using the attaché as cover. A sudden hiss and pop sound came to his ears. Blood and brains spluttered on his grey shirt. The attaché had been hit. His huge frame dr
opped mightily onto the cement floor. Rodriquez dropped heavily onto the stone surface as though he'd been hit himself as passersby in front of him stood staring wondering what was going on before screams and panic engulfed those who saw the dead attaché's blown out brains. Next, he heard two more pops, this time striking the dead man's torso. Whoever was shooting, he was good. And as the frenzied crowds began to run in different directions, Rodriquez, still on the ground turned to scan the windows in the storied building directly facing him, and in one open window above, his eyes met a masked man pointing a muzzle into his face. Rodriquez paled.
He swiftly changed trajectory as two bullets greased the cement floor where he'd dropped splattering debris into his face and arms. These people, whoever they were, were unrelenting. He could see he was at least twenty yards away from the parked Volvo.
'The Keys!' he muttered, his heart pelting. The running crowds were his only distraction but otherwise, he was still in the open. Lying flat on ground hidden behind the attaché's corpse he knew this made him a harder target and the assassin too, it seems knew this. But for how long was he going to stay here? He wondered glancing up, again at the open window, trying to keep his forehead as low as possible behind the corpse's bulged belly, he saw that the man hadn’t moved. He needed a distraction. Fast.
He cried out to those fleeing.
'Help, help, please.' sounding distraught. An elderly man and woman came rushing over to him.
'You’ve been hit?' The man asked panting.
'No, him!' Rodriquez screamed pointing to the attaché lying facing skyward, dead. This was his window of opportunity. He used these two as cover to quickly pick through the dead man's pockets for the Volvo keys before suddenly bolting at full speed through the open area towards the car. He didn’t look behind to see the reaction on the couple's faces. Upon reaching the Volvo, Rodriquez rushed to the hind side cowering as he inserted the keys opening the passenger door. Two shots rang shattering the window. He dived lower, crawling hastily into the driver's seat. Whoever the shooter was, he was determined. I wish Ramona were here? He angrily thought. She would have cut him down in extraordinary fashion. Rodriquez’ nerves tightened as he fumbled with the car's ignition before the machine came to life. Another shot came in striking the dashboard. The assassin was getting desperate, reckless. His target had outwitted him and was getting away. Rodriquez violently pushed the car's gears and pressed the accelerator as he hard as he could. More shots whizzed past his cowering head lodging into the Volvo's leather seats. He had gotten away. Screaming from the Plaza de Bolívar heading into the city's central district, Rodriquez could hear police sirens fading into the distance arriving at the place he had just escaped narrowly leaving the attaché's corpse.
Chapter Twelve
11:34pm
The distinct sharp smell of Colombian cuisines filled Rodriquez’ nostrils as he walked nervously in the dark past the hotel's building with a dark blue cotton hood pulled over his head. The Casa Galeria was still swarming with more than a dozen police men.
He could see a couple of revelers still seated inside the hotel's lobby area chatting. Others solitary, staring into their laptops. He also noticed blue and yellow reflective tape markings still surrounding the area one of the assassins had dropped from the hotel's balcony a few days earlier. The Colombian security apparatus it seems was either too slow or too thorough he thought.
A woman dressed in a tight red miniskirt passed winking at him as he strode along. Her sharp spicy odor filled his nostrils reminding him of Ramona. His heart sunk and tummy constricted. She was most probably dead by now. The vicious plane attack on the FARC headquarters must have claimed her. She was a woman extraordinaire. It was such a pity he hadn’t really gotten to know her better. Although Ramona was now gone, he still needed to stay focused. He was a hunted man according to the second assassin in the Hotel room before Rodriquez snapped his neck.
'Rodriquez, you are a small hiccup in the system,' the assassin had said, 'and the organization wants you taken care of.'
'Who sent you after me?' Rodriquez had pressed the Assassin.
'The same people you work for Rodriquez.'
'Who are these people?' Rodriquez was burning with rage as he squeezed the man's crotch.
'I don’t know, I swear I don’t know.' the man had cried. 'All we receive are assignments, faces on our phone screens and possible locations where to find and exterminate these targets.'
'How many are you?'
'Many Rodriquez, if you kill me, another will take my place until the Job is done.'
Rodriquez crossed the road entering into a restaurant opposite the Casa Galeria. He sat by the window scrutinizing every face that came or went out of the Hotel. He recalled what the now dead Miguel had told him aboard the chartered Hawker beech craft flying from México a year and a half ago.
‘Miguel, what organization is this you work for? My guess is it’s not the Brazilian government.’
‘We are known as Recluse, a private security company contracted to handle very specific jobs. The highest priority targets for governments around the world. Targets like Guzman, Gadaffi, Osama bin laden, Doku Umarov to mention but a few.’
‘So you are Mercenaries.’
‘We are the Knights Templar of the modern age Rodriquez. We have one goal and one goal only. It’s called private gain. Unlike most private security companies out there, we prefer to use very few highly skilled people, one or two at most for an assignment and I’m pleased to say our success rates have been astounding. We are signatories of the Montreux document, a voluntary code of conduct for all private security organizations, so we are legit. We have carried out operations in Benghazi, Damascus, Iraq and Chechnya. Our operations are funded by governments keen to limit the political cost of placing military boots on the ground. Rodrigo, this is big business believe me, multimillion-dollar rewards involved. Many firms want a piece of the action but we want to stay ahead of competition. So I’m asking you to join with us. We could do well with a man of your survival instincts, and skills. Painful as it may seem, you have no strings and no family. You can, if nurtured well, become the ultimate weapon.’
Rodriquez was silent for a while studying his menu. A lot had happened since that day, including Miguel and Marcelo's deaths, to the abduction of Ramona and now, Recluse was sending wave after wave of assassins to exterminate him. They even had insiders in the Brazilian embassy, possibly in the Colombian police force too. The problem was, he didn’t know the brains behind this organization or its funders, and from the look of things, these invisible people were determined he never finds out.
Then he saw the person he had been anxious to see.
Chapter Thirteen
The young hotel Casa Galeria maid swiftly descended the hotel stairs before turning right heading into the cold Colombian night. Her jet set black hair hang on her lean shoulders all the way down to her back side. Rodriquez noticed she carried a huge red hand bag. She was heading home he guessed. He had to get to her before she called a cab or disappeared in the crowds.
Rodriquez quickly called for his bill, tipped the eager waiter and raced out of the restaurant, picking up pace and occasionally stealthy moving against the wall. He also kept his eyes peeled in case he was being tailed too. A man dressed in a black overcoat crossed the road slipping in between Rodriquez and the woman. He too, it seems was tailing the Hotel maid. Rodriquez’ chest tightened. One could easily get mugged at this hour of the night but what if the man wanted more than just to commit a petty robbery? Or it also might be a trap. Rodriquez observed that the maid seemed oblivious to what was going on behind her. Up ahead, between two blocks of flats lay a dark stretch which from his observation, was deserted.
Rodriguez anxiously noticed that the man had increased his paces as they approached this patch and seemed to draw an object from his right pockets.
‘Excuse me!’ Rodriquez called loudly startling both the maid and her stalker.
‘What do you want?
’ The man asked turning to face Rodriquez.
‘I'm lost. Can you tell me where I can find the Casa Galería?’ Rodriquez inquired coming closer to the man. He kept his eye on the maid who after a very brief halt had again continued walking on with renewed vigor. He had made his point. She was now aware of their presence and the stalker no longer had the element of surprise.
‘I wouldn’t ask something as crazy as that if I were you mister.’ The man replied turning his attention towards Rodriquez. He held shinny pointed object in his right hand.
‘Let me explain.’ Rodriquez said. He appeared to stumble as he came to face the man. It was all he needed. The man’s face lit up as he grabbed Rodriquez by the neck.
‘Give me money! All you have!’ the man commanded loudly.
The sharp blade pressed hard against Rodriquez' soft neck pricking his skin. Pain shot through his body as the man’s pungent breath hit his nostrils.
‘Please sir,’ cried Rodriquez, ‘I have no money, don’t kill me!’
‘Hey you!’ screamed the young woman. She had come back. The man let go of Rodriquez glaring at the woman.
‘Is he your boyfriend?’ the man asked whipping his brow.
‘Let him go! I’ll call the policia!’ Her phone’s blue light pressed to her ears.
Rodriquez kept holding onto his bloodied neck. The man turned and run disappearing into the darkness.
‘Are you alright mister?’ She asked coming close to Rodriquez.
‘Thank you.’
‘Are you a tourist?’
‘Foreigner.’
‘You shouldn’t be walking alone especially in these parts.’ She said staring intently at Rodriquez. ‘You look kind of familiar.’
‘Rodriquez.’ he said extending his hands.
‘You are bleeding.’ she said. ‘Where were you going?’
‘I have nowhere else to go. My life is in danger. Some people want to kill me.’
‘You!’ She exclaimed. ‘You are the man from the hotel. Are you following me?’ she asked her eyes widened.
‘I need your help Senorita.’ Rodriquez pleaded. ‘Some where I can stay at least for the night.’