Jamie Freveletti - Running from the Devil
The helicopter heaved into view, flying high above her head. A searchlight on the front raked over the Lost City. Emma curled as close to the platform as she could.
The helicopter began its descent. Although she still shook from the poison, Emma forced herself to rise. She didn’t have much time to accomplish what she’d come to Colombia to do. She shoved a hand in her backpack to remove the lipstick Mathilde had used. She swiveled it open and dropped it into the pot of antidote, neutralizing it.
Next she began to pull up the plants, throwing each into the fire. As far as she knew, these were the only plants like this in existence. Once they were gone, the ingredients for the formula would be extinct. No one would ever be able to make the weapon she had again. She pulled the last plant from the ground and threw it into the fire when the helicopter began settling onto a cleared space about two hundred yards from her.
52
EMMA WATCHED THE HELICOPTER TOUCH DOWN. HER MUSCLES still twitched, but the left thigh was already still. By no means could she walk, but she wasn’t getting any worse, either. Three men stepped out of the copter. Smoking Man, his bodyguard, and Gerald White, Emma’s boss.
Emma felt as though someone had kicked her. All the pieces began to fall into place. White was the one she’d told when she’d noticed the plant’s unusual qualities, White was the one she’d gone to when the strange man claiming to be from the Department of Defense came to demand the formula, and White was the one she’d consulted when she was deciding to fly back to Bogotá.
He ran to Emma. The still-beating helicopter rotors and crashing thunder drowned out any sound of his approach. When he reached her, he picked up a stick and used it to fish the still-burning plants from the fire. He managed to rescue a few scorched leaves and stems. When he was finished, he turned on her.
“Are you insane? Killing the plants! Do you have any idea what these are worth?” He looked at the fire. “You burned them all, didn’t you?”
Emma just stared at the man she’d grown to respect. “You told Mondrian about the poison.”
“Of course,” he yelled at her. “How the hell else do you think they learned of it? You were too stupid to see the value in what you’d discovered. Do you have any idea what it’s cost me to track you down?” White picked up the tin pot and fished out the lipstick. He shoved it under her nose. “Does it still work?”
Emma shook her head. He kicked her in the thigh before tossing the lipstick into the fire. He grabbed the pot, turned it over, pouring the liquid onto the ground. He flung the pot away.
“That was the antidote,” Emma said.
“Do you think I care?” White’s face turned a dark red as he raged at her. “Do you know how much a weapon like this will garner on the arms market? Hundreds of millions. And the uses! A female terrorist could be sent into Parliament or Congress, and with one application of lipstick wipe out an entire room. No bombs to carry. No chance to be caught at security.”
“She’d die on contact.”
“And the autopsy would show nothing.”
“Did you bring the plane down just to get to me?”
White snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. I could have gotten to you every time you walked into the lab.” White leaned in close to her face. “I already have a buyer for this weapon. They were working up the hijacking for their own purposes. When you said you were going to Bogotá, we decided to kill two birds with one stone. It was an opportunity too good to pass up.” White blew on one of the still-smoldering plants.
“My buyers want some modifications. They want to punch up the residual effect, have the molecules travel much farther than ten feet, and to delay the direct effect on the user to give her time to slip away. I told them if anyone could do it, you could.”
Emma’s right arm stopped twitching. Her leg continued to bounce.
“It’s over now. I’ve burned the plants,” she said.
White laughed like a hyena. “You can’t possibly think that. You, of all people.”
Emma said nothing.
He leaned in to her. “I guess you’ll just have to make new ones.”
Emma shook her head. “How in the world would I make new ones without the original?”
“With your artificial chromosome technology, of course.”
Emma went cold. “With what? I don’t have the original plant’s chromosomes. The technology won’t work without them.”
White picked up some of the scorched plants. “With these.”
White waved over Smoking Man’s bodyguard. He turned back to her. “They don’t have the ability to reproduce, that’s true, but they’ll suffice as chromosome donors. You’ll just have to insert their chromosomes into a roomful of plants that can reproduce.”
“I won’t do it,” Emma said.
White stared at her. “Oh, I think you will. I promised these buyers a weapon, and if I don’t deliver, they’ll kill me. We have your Mr. Sumner. Rodrigo’s there. He’s twitching like hell, but he’ll live long enough to administer his unique form of torture. You’re going to watch. When he’s done, we’ll start on you. Don’t worry, we won’t kill you, we’ll just give you that added incentive to do what needs to be done.” He turned to the bodyguard. “Put her on the helicopter.”
The bodyguard hauled Emma to her feet, wrapped her arm around his neck, and dragged her to the copter. Her right leg still jerked out of control as it plowed through the mud. He hauled her into the copter, placing her in the back where the seats, if there ever were any, had been removed. He handcuffed her hands with plastic tie cuffs. White and Smoking Man took seats near the pilot. White buckled up, but Smoking Man didn’t bother. He crossed his legs.
They rose into the air. The lightning sparked all around them, followed by crashing thunder. The rain came harder, pounding on the helicopter’s windshield. Within minutes, it became a deluge. The rain hammered the sides of the copter while the wind buffeted the machine. They pitched and rolled through the night.
“Can we make it back?” White yelled to the pilot, who responded in Spanish.
“What’d he say?” White asked Smoking Man.
“The storm is bad. One hit from the lightning and down we fall.” Smoking Man removed a cigarette from his shirt pocket. He flicked on a lighter. Emma saw his grin by the lighter’s flame.
“You don’t seem worried,” White said.
Smoking Man just shrugged.
The rolling worsened. One flash of lightning lit the entire cabin. Emma thought she could hear the sizzling as it streaked by. The pilot swore in Spanish.
Smoking Man’s bodyguard clutched his stomach, groaning. The lightning illuminated the interior of the helicopter like a strobe light. Emma could see White clutching the sides of his seat. His knuckles went white. Smoking Man smoked. The tip of his cigarette glowed brighter with each pull.
Emma used her legs to brace herself against the metal side of the helicopter. Her left leg had ceased its twitching some time ago. Each time the machine bucked, her back slammed into a steel support. She could feel bruised spots along every inch of her spine. She wished with all her might that she was back on her swollen, blistered feet and working her ruined shins. Those aches and pains were more welcome than this. She railed at God in her head: You spare me from the plane crash and Rodrigo and poison only to kill me now? Some benevolent being You are. If God heard her, the only response was another boom from the heavens.
Lightning struck the helicopter halfway through their descent. One minute they were lowering in a controlled fashion, and the next they were plummeting downward. The pilot yelled an oath. Emma lost her grip on the floor. She skittered sideways until she slammed into the back of Smoking Man’s seat. The bodyguard muttered something that might have been a prayer, and White gave an incoherent yell. Only Smoking Man remained silent.
They landed with a bang, catapulting into the tree line. Emma heard the branches splintering as they plowed through them. The windshield cracked. The helicopter ground to a halt.
Emma lay against the sidewall, catching her breath. She watched the pilot shake his head. White slumped in his chair, breathing heavily. Smoking Man unfolded from his seat. He patted the pilot on the back. The rain poured down the sides of the helicopter, like a waterfall. Smoking Man leaned into White.
“You want to bring her now?”
“I want to get the hell out of this helicopter,” White yelled over the noise of the rain. “We’ll deal with her in the morning.”
Smoking Man gave an order to the bodyguard, who looked pale as death. The bodyguard staggered toward Emma. He pulled her back to a sitting position against the sidewall before handcuffing her ankles together with another plastic tie cuff. He followed White, the pilot, and Smoking Man out into the downpour.
Emma sat in the dark, dank helicopter thinking of Sumner. She pictured Rodrigo torturing him in front of her. The thought was unbearable. She tried to think of options. She could sabotage the artificial chromosome procedure. Deliberately arrange it so it would fail. White was a scientist, true, but only she knew how to insert the chromosomes. The process was tricky and prone to failure, even when she’d done it. White wouldn’t know she’d sabotaged the trials until the formula failed to work. At least she would have bought a little time to make an escape plan.
One thing Emma was sure of; she wouldn’t make the weapon again. If she and Sumner died for her refusal, then so be it.
53
EMMA STARTED AWAKE HOURS LATER. THE LIGHTNING LIT THE interior of the helicopter, throwing eerie shadows. The thunder still boomed, but long after each flash. The storm was losing its force. The rain pattered on the helicopter’s side rather than buffeting it like before. She heard irregular footfalls outside. She listened as someone’s steps crunched toward her, making a strange lurching sound. The rhythm was step, drag, step. She felt a stab of fear.
The helicopter shook. Rodrigo hauled himself into the cabin. He clutched a bottle of whiskey in his left hand and his ever-present machete in his right. The lightning illuminated him. His right side twitched and jerked with a palsy, his right leg bounced back and forth. He tried to raise the bottle to his lips. His hand shook like an alcoholic with withdrawal symptoms. He prevailed and managed to drink a huge swallow. He began moving toward her, his lips twisted in a snarl. The helicopter lit with a huge crash of lightning, then plunged into darkness so deep that Emma couldn’t see Rodrigo. She struggled sideways, pushing herself with her legs while she scooted along the wall. Her panic rose with each second that she couldn’t see him.
The lightning flashed again. Rodrigo was on his hands and knees now, only a few feet away from her. The machete flashed as he used the hand that held it to crawl forward. His entire body convulsed as the poison took over.
“You spilled the antidote. The gringo told me,” he said. He spoke in a jerky fashion, as if he couldn’t control his vocal cords. The helicopter went dark. Emma pushed harder with her legs. Her shoulder hit the end of the cabin. There was nowhere left to go.
The lightning sparked, illuminating the helicopter’s interior like a strobe light. Rodrigo loomed over her, frothing at the mouth. He raised the machete, gasping as his throat convulsed. The helicopter went black. Emma screamed and scrabbled against the floor. She felt her foot hit Rodrigo. He fell on top of her, convulsed once, then stilled.
Emma pushed at his body with her bound hands. She was in a complete panic at just the thought of Rodrigo so close. She managed to move most of him off her. His body pinned her legs to the floor.
She sat that way for a long time. She tried to take deep breaths to slow her racing heart, but each time the helicopter interior lit up, all she saw was Rodrigo’s face, contorted in a death mask. After what felt like forever, the rain stopped and the sky took on a transparent color. Birds started twittering in the trees. She felt the helicopter lurch sideways again. The boy soldier stepped in. He shot worried looks all around, his gaze coming to rest on Rodrigo’s body lying across her legs.
His eyes widened. He pulled Rodrigo’s body the rest of the way off her. He slid his own machete out of a beaded sheath and started sawing at the plastic cuffs around her ankles. When he was finished, he indicated she should turn around to allow him to work on the handcuffs. He had those cut in seconds. He operated in complete silence.
Emma heard a man call a name, somewhere in the distance. The boy’s head shot up. He nodded once to her before leaping out the side door. She was free. Emma didn’t hesitate. She crawled out of the helicopter, which was embedded in the trees. The ground was still wet from the downpour, but the heat was already rising, even though the sun was a good hour away.
She slunk around the copter’s tail. To her right was a dirt road that sloped gently down into the water, forming a boat landing. A long sleek yacht floated in the water not fifty feet from the landing. It bobbed gently in the swells. Its windows were bright spots in the gloom. A deck light shone on the water.
The Daihatsu pickup trucks were lined up at the edge of the landing. They still carried their cargo. Emma could see the boxes labeled BANANAS arranged in neat rows in the pickup’s bed.
She craned her neck the other way. The waning moon broke through the clouds, bathing the area in light. The road opened onto a grassy field that sloped upward and was lined on one side by trees, the other side by the ugly, metallic pipeline. The pipeline sat on four-foot-high tripods, running like a large snake along the trees. In the distance, Emma saw the tip of a column of flame. The pipeline burned steadily.
She returned her attention to the yacht. They were going to offload the guns onto it for transport. She was certain. And she was just as certain that not every weapon would make it to the boat. She needed one if she was going to survive.
Time to move, she thought.
Emma jogged to the pickups, keeping low, watching for the soldiers to return. When she got to the first pickup, she reached into an open box and pulled out one of the rifles. It was close to the same design as the AK-47, but even Emma, with her lack of experience with weapons, could see that it was a technological leap forward. It was sleek and felt powerful in a way the AK-47 wasn’t. The high-tech scope on the top looked like the weapon had been designed for a marksman or a sniper. Someone who would hide in cover and had the expertise to shoot the enemy at a distance and with skill. Someone like Sumner. No one like Rodrigo and his band of losers. She thought of the damage that even one shooter with such a weapon could do from a hidden position in a high-rise building. She fiddled with the rifle a moment, checking to see if it was loaded. It wasn’t. Emma wanted to spit, she was so disappointed. She climbed into the truck to rummage through the boxes. The open box contained some spare ammunition. She grabbed it, jumped off the truck, and retreated a hundred feet into the trees. She squatted down next to one to analyze her new weapon.
