Jamie Freveletti - Running from the Devil

Banner snorted. “But what’s he going to do if the paramilitary guys don’t play ball? How does he intend to hunt them down and extradite them?”

Whitter gave Banner a sly look. “I imagine a covert operation will be one likely scenario.”

Banner shook his head. “He hasn’t contacted me. Besides, I don’t know that I’d take the project. The Colombian president will expect some sort of covert action, and he’ll put the border forces on notice. Plus, there are an estimated twenty thousand paramilitary and cartel guys running around Colombia. I’d need a small army to run a decent operation. Sending in less would mean certain death for them.”

“It appears as though we’ll end up with sixty-eight more American hostages held in Colombia,” Whitter said. Banner reached for the check that lay between them and started counting out his money.

“Has Margate issued withdrawal orders yet?”

Whitter shook his head. “Not formally, no, but plans have already been set in motion.”

“Keep the change,” Banner said to the waitress. He downed the coffee and pushed from the table.

“Banner, where are you going?” Whitter said.

“Whitter, just keep in contact with Stromeyer. She can handle anything I can.”

“You’re not going to confront Margate, are you? Banner, that’s a bad idea.” Whitter sounded strained.

“Calm down. I know better than to butt heads with the secretary of defense, for God’s sake.”

“You do not. I was there when you did exactly that not twenty-four hours ago. Then you said his suit was bad.” Whitter sounded panicked.

“His suit was bad, but what can you expect from a man who has the body of a dumpling and the brains to match?” Banner strode out of the café with Whitter at his heels.

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

“About what? I’m just headed back to my hotel room.” Banner patted Whitter on the arm. “You should head back, too. This whole affair has got to be taking its toll on you.”

“I may not have known you long, Banner, but I’ve known you long enough to realize when you’re headed for trouble. Remember what Montoya from the embassy said. The Colombian special forces are good at recovering hostages.”

“Like they recovered those bank executives?” Banner said.

“But this situation is completely different.” Banner stopped walking so fast that Whitter bumped into him.

“Listen to me. The only thing different about this situation is that there are more hostages at risk. The best chance those passengers have to survive is right now, when there are special forces in the area searching for them. Once those forces evacuate, you can kiss those hostages good-bye.”

Whitter rubbed a weary hand across his forehead. “I agree, but what do you expect us to do? Defy the Colombian president?”

“Tell Margate to withdraw his ultimatum. The Colombian president will withdraw his, and we can proceed to find and free those passengers.”

“The secretary of defense is not a man who likes to lose face or reverse position,” Whitter said.

“And what about you, Whitter? Do you believe that the ultimatum is a good idea?”

Whitter paused. “I do not.”

“Then tell Margate.”

Banner left Whitter standing alone on the sidewalk, with the pulsing music of Miami in the background.

32

THAT EVENING EMMA AND SUMNER ATE THE LAST OF THE PIG and stared at each other. Emma didn’t want to state the obvious, but she couldn’t help it.

“We’re out of food.”

“So it would seem,” Sumner said.

“Do you think you could shoot an animal if we came across one?”

Sumner nodded. “I could certainly try.”

Emma sighed. “My concern is that we’d alert the guerrillas to our location.”

“We’re on borrowed time as it is. If we stay along the stream, they will surely catch us on one of their pass-bys. If we go to the interior, we risk the land mines. If we stay where we are, we risk growing old in these mountains.”

“Better than dying. How many land mines?”

“Colombia is one of the top five countries in the world with regard to land mines. We estimated that at least a thousand people are injured or die each year.”

Emma was aghast. “Who is planting them?”

“The paramilitary groups. They control their perimeters with the mines.”

“Is there no rule of law in Colombia?” She didn’t bother to hide her disgust.

“In Bogotá, yes. When dealing with the cartels? Only the rule of survival of the fittest.”

Emma grabbed the tent and popped it open. “Mr. Sumner, if that’s true, then I expect to survive. Because I am the fittest, not those goddamned criminals.”

Sumner raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

Two hours later, they woke to the sound of a helicopter overhead. The blades chopped and whirred, sounding as though the machine would land right on top of them. Sumner and Emma stuck their heads outside the tent.

The night sky glowed in the north.

“They have a landing strip there.” Sumner stared at the sky.

“That’s close. Maybe two miles away, no more.” Emma watched the glow as well, straining to see if she could make out the shape of the copter. She popped her head back in the tent and grabbed her shoes and socks. “Let’s go.”

“Go where, there?” Sumner pointed toward the night sky.

“Yep. There.”

“And what do you intend to do once we get there? Introduce yourself to the guerrillas?”

Emma handed him his shoes. “You can fly a copter, can’t you?”

“Of course, but what’s your point?”

“Then let’s go steal one, shall we?” She grinned at him. After a few seconds, he shook his head.

“And I thought scientists weren’t risk takers.”

“You thought wrong.” Emma crawled out of the tent.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Emma and Sumner were flat on their stomachs, staring at a helicopter squatting on a dark landing strip, looking like a dragonfly that was resting. Fifty yards away, a group of men crouched by a fire, talking in low tones.

“How long would it take to get that thing off the ground?” Emma said.

“Too long. They’ll reach us while the damn thing is still winding up.”

“We need a distraction,” she said. “How about if I pop up at the perimeter and taunt them? Then when they chase me, you can jump in the copter and rev it up.”

Sumner shook his head. “And what will that prove? I’ll be in the copter and they’ll have you hostage.”

“I’ll run in far enough to get them away,” Emma said. “After a few minutes, I’ll double back to the runway. They’ll never catch me. At least not on foot.”

Sumner shook his head. “And if I have to leave quickly? It’s too risky, Caldridge.”

Emma snorted. “Riskier than what? Staying in these mountains and getting killed? Dying of starvation? Sumner, we don’t even know which direction to head to save ourselves. I run like the wind. They won’t catch me.”

Emma and Sumner glared at each other. The sound of the men’s laughter floated across to them. Sumner gazed at the men again, assessing them.

“They’re playing craps,” he said.

“And drinking. If we let them go a little longer, they’ll be too impaired to catch me.”

“These guys are like cockroaches. They don’t die, they just mutate.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

After a long moment, Sumner shook his head. “Actually, I don’t.”

“I’ll work around to their right. When you hear them yell, run to the copter. Give me enough time to lure them into the trees, then get that piece of machinery moving.”

“And if I have to leave quickly?”

“Fly along the stream. I’ll be there.”

Emma put the backpack on her back. She’d left the tent behind. If they got out of there they wouldn’t need it, and if they didn’t, they could go back and retrieve it. She prepared to move. Sumner grabbed her arm.

“Be careful,” he said.

Emma nodded once, and then she was gone.

Three minutes later, one of the men in the craps game sent up a yell.

“You bastard! Why you throwing rocks?” He pushed at his neighbor.

“I didn’t!”

The two men squared off.

A rock flew into the circle and hit one on the back of the head.

The men exploded into action, grabbing their guns off the ground.

“In there. See it moving?” One man swung his rifle up and shot.

“Get it! Come on!”

The three ran into the tree line.

Sumner jogged, bent over, to the copter. He swung under the nose and crawled into the pilot’s seat.

The copter was an ancient Blackhawk. The backseats were ripped out. A couple of battered coolers were strapped to the floor on the right, held in place with bungee cords. A magazine picture of a buxom blonde in a tiny bathing suit was taped on the wall over the coolers. Someone had drawn a mustache on her.

Sumner turned his attention back to the control panel. He kicked the thing to life. The engine turned over and the blades started a slow rotation.

“Come on, come on,” he muttered. The blades whirred faster, but not fast enough to take off.

More gunshots cracked through the night.

The helicopter blades began to create their characteristic chopping sound. Sumner couldn’t hear anything over the copter’s din. He glanced back just in time to see two of the men plunge out of the trees. They fired rounds at the copter. Sumner didn’t hear the shots, but he saw the muzzle flashes. He turned on the helo light and yanked the collective. The helicopter rose into the air, rocking back and forth like a lazy fly. Bullets flew past him, flashing in the helicopter’s light like silver sparkles.

“Come on, you fat beast, move faster!” Sumner yelled at the dashboard, wishing that his will alone would make the copter respond. He couldn’t stay and wait for Emma. Bullets hammered at the helicopter’s skin. He rose even higher, trying to rock the copter back and forth to make it a more difficult target for the men to hit.

“Goddammit, Caldridge, where are you?” Sumner said. He rose three stories up before taking another quick look back.

He saw Emma burst from the trees to the left of the runway. Her arms and legs were pumping in a smooth, coordinated rhythm. She ran fast and efficiently, whipping down the side of the airstrip, chewing up the pavement. A man was chasing her, but it was clear he couldn’t hold on. Sumner watched the man stagger sideways, bend over, and put his hand on his knees, his chest heaving.

The helicopter’s radio crackled, and a voice barked at him in Spanish.

“This is Officer Lopez of Air Tunnel Denial, Colombia. Your aircraft is unregistered and has been deemed to be of suspicious origin. Please identify yourself.”

Sumner grabbed at the radio. “Officer Lopez? It’s me, Cameron Sumner. I’ve hijacked a para’s copter and I’m under fire.”

“Señor Sumner? You live!”

Bullets hammered into the copters skids. Sumner yanked the copter to the other side.

“Not for long if I don’t get out of here. Where the hell am I?”

“You are east of Cartagena along the Venezuelan border.”

“Report my coordinates to the guys in Key West.”

Sumner swung the chopper around and flew back the other way. He circled the runway and lined up. He flew the copter straight down the runway, nose down and tail up, remaining fifteen feet off the ground. He headed right for the men, who screamed and leaped sideways as the copter flew into them. Sumner slowed a bit, but as he came even with Emma, he watched her grab the copter’s landing skids. She wrapped her arms around them.