Jamie Freveletti - Running from the Devil
“I have a doctor I know who will fix him up, no questions asked. I’ll get him in the copter and deliver him to you. I should warn you, the authorities in the U.S. are asking quite a few questions about Miguel’s and Sumner’s roles in the bombing of the pipeline. I may not bring them in until I can assess the mood over there.”
Emma snorted. “The pipeline’s all they can think about?”
“Guns and oil. For some, they make the world go ’round.”
“Then let them know that the soldier and Sumner just helped me stop a much bigger deal. My former boss wanted to force me to make an entirely new stealth weapon that he intended to sell on the black market to terrorists. I destroyed the weapon and its ingredients.”
Banner took a step closer to her, a concerned look on his face. “Where is this boss of yours?”
Emma pointed up the beach. “Back there. In that burning car.”
She watched Banner turn to look at the Range Rover, still burning in the distance.
“Do you know who his buyers were?”
Emma shook her head. “He claimed some shadowy figure from the Department of Defense wanted it, but he was a first-class liar, so there’s no way of telling.” She wanted to ask Banner for something, but hesitated.
He picked up on her hesitation. “Go ahead. Say what you’re thinking.”
Emma sloshed back to the beach and walked up to him. “Do you have a compass?”
56
STROMEYER SAT AT A CONFERENCE TABLE IN THE SOUTHCOM headquarters pounding on the keys of a laptop computer. The memo to suspend operations in Colombia was drafted, but not yet signed by Margate. Stromeyer was composing an e-mail to the bureaucratic heads of various obscure offices in the Department of Defense asking for further input on the memo’s language. She wrote, A decision of such import should be analyzed and approved by more than three branches of the Department of Defense. Protocol requires that these offices review and offer input. Darkview suggests that a committee be formed to determine the best approach to suspending the operation.
She hit send and sat back, satisfied. A committee would take days to appoint, convene, and inform. She hoped the e-mail would slow Margate’s signature even longer and allow Banner the time he needed to get the hell out of Colombia. Just then Margate himself slammed into the conference room, followed by Whitter and an assistant secretary.
“I just got word that the Oriental pipeline’s been bombed. The entire length of it is on fire. The third largest source of oil for this country destroyed in an instant. Where the hell is Banner?” Margate’s voice was low and held a thread of anger that Stromeyer had never heard before.
“I don’t know,” she said.
She watched Margate’s face suffuse with red. “I don’t believe you. Word is that you know everything, Major Stromeyer.”
“I’m flattered,” she said.
Before Margate could respond, there was a knock at the door.
Stromeyer was relieved at the interruption. “Come.”
Private Campbell, a female soldier newly recruited at Southcom, entered the room, followed by a man in his mid-forties. Private Campbell was charged to assist Stromeyer in debriefing the passengers. She was a quiet woman in her early twenties. Stromeyer found her to be efficient and friendly, two qualities she needed right now.
Campbell shot a worried glance at Margate before turning to Stromeyer. “The passengers are waiting to be debriefed. You’ll find the rest in conference room B. This man is Mr. James Barkett.”
Stromeyer shook hands with Mr. Barkett while Margate stood still. Barkett must have felt the hostility emanating from Margate, because he looked almost afraid to shake his hand. Stromeyer watched Margate’s face relax into a smile.
“Glad you’re back home, Mr. Barkett,” Margate spoke in an overly hearty voice and managed to make the sentence sound threatening rather than friendly. Barkett nodded, a wary look on his face. Stromeyer was impressed by the man’s caution. He was right to be careful around Margate. Barkett turned to Stromeyer.
“I wanted to meet you right away to tell you what I heard down there.”
Stromeyer raised an eyebrow. “All right.”
“One night, after we stopped for the day, three men came into the camp. They were obviously Americans. I overheard one talking to the man named Rodrigo.” Barkett hesitated.
“Go ahead, please.” Stromeyer urged him on.
“He said that the Department of Defense wouldn’t pay anything until Emma Caldridge was found. He said they were sending dogs.”
“Dogs?” Stromeyer said.
Barkett nodded. “Tracking hounds. At the time I didn’t know who Emma Caldridge was, but later I saw her at the watchtower.”
“Why are you telling us this, Mr. Barkett?” Margate’s voice was still threaded with anger.
Barkett pulled himself up and stared at Margate. “Because I thought it was strange that Americans from the Department of Defense were negotiating with our captors. They obviously saw us sitting there, held hostage, but acted as though they didn’t care.”
Stromeyer felt her own anger rising. “Do you know anything about this, Secretary Margate?”
Margate snorted. “I do not.” He pointed a finger at Barkett. “What makes you think these people were telling the truth?”
Barkett hesitated. He shook his head. “I can’t be sure of anything they said. I’m just telling you what happened.”
Margate took Barkett’s arm and steered him toward the conference room door. “Thank you for that information. Rest assured that we will do everything in our power to determine if what those criminals said was true. Also, be assured that at no time before your actual rescue did we know how to find you. If we had, we wouldn’t have failed to act.” He ushered Barkett through the door and closed it behind him. He turned to Stromeyer. “Quite a story.”
“One that I intend to follow up on,” she said.
Margate gave Stromeyer one of his fake smiles. “Of course you must. But I’m pulling the plug on this operation and I want everyone out of Colombia now. You will not conduct your investigation from inside that country, is that understood? And Banner had better not be there.”
Before Stromeyer could respond, her BlackBerry started beeping with an incoming text message. She watched it scroll across the screen.
“Is that Banner?” Margate indicated the buzzing device.
Stromeyer nodded. “He said to tell you that Emma Caldridge has been rescued. That she claims to have destroyed a terrorist cell operating out of the States that was intent on getting her to create a new weapon for use against Americans.” She continued to read the unfolding message. “Ms. Caldridge says the ringleader of the group was her former boss. He was preparing to sell the weapon to an unidentified member of the Department of Defense.”
Stromeyer watched Margate and Whitter closely as they digested this information. Whitter looked shocked, Margate, not so shocked.
“Did she say who the person was who was attempting to buy it?”
Stromeyer shook her head. “We’ll debrief her when she gets back.” Stromeyer thought she detected speculation in Margate’s eyes, like he was running names through his head.
“That’s a serious claim,” he said.
“So was Barkett’s.”
Margate turned to Whitter. “Sit in on the debriefing. I want to hear everything this woman knows. I won’t have a turncoat in my operation.”
Stromeyer disliked Margate, but at that moment she almost admired him.
“What is this weapon she can make? Maybe she can make it for her own government?” Margate looked intrigued.
Stromeyer’s brief moment of warmth toward Margate was extinguished. His obvious desire for a new weapon of death was more like the man she’d come to know and dislike. She read the text. “Banner doesn’t describe it, but he says she destroyed the ingredients for it. No one can make it anymore.”
Margate shook his head. “That’s a shame.”
“Guess it’s lucky that she was able to avoid such an outcome, despite the damage to the pipeline.” Stromeyer couldn’t help but stick it to Margate a little. She could see the gears in his head turning as he considered the new information from all angles.
“It’s still tough, losing the pipeline like that. Repairing it will cost hundreds of millions,” he said, but now he sounded like he was already trying to backpedal from his earlier outrage.
“Shall I write a memo describing how the DOD and Darkview successfully thwarted a major terrorist arms purchase?”
Margate gave her a look that told her he knew exactly where she was headed. “You do that.” He left the conference room, trailed by his assistants and a thoughtful Whitter.
57
EMMA SAT ON A DECK CHAIR, WATCHING SUMNER FISH OVER THE side of boat. Miguel slept beside her on a deck lounger. The attached canopy protected him from the sun. Boris dozed on the deck next to him. The dog was never far from Miguel’s side. Miguel slept the day away. His injuries didn’t allow for much else.
Emma watched through slit eyes as Sumner sat in the fishing chair and played out the line of his fishing rod. The boy, a fourteen-year-old orphan whose name was Enrico, sat next to him in the jump seat, also watching. Enrico was well on his way to idolizing Sumner. He didn’t say much, and they didn’t ask him too many questions.
Sumner fished every day without fail, and he always managed to catch something good to eat. The cruiser was well stocked, but not with the type of food required for their long journey. It was jammed with alcohol, high-end vodkas and whiskeys, cigars from Cuba and the Dominican Republic, as well as some of the finest armament that money could buy. The tinned food was adequate, but Sumner’s daily catch inevitably made dinner something special.
They’d been cruising for a week, informing no one of their location or their destination. Only they knew that they were in the Caribbean Sea, headed to Key West by way of Puerto Rico. The radio crackled, starting Emma from her reverie. She grabbed the receiver.
“Banner?” she said.
“Yes. Everything all right there?” Banner’s smooth voice came over the line. A few days before, Emma had used the radio to call him and ask for a favor. Now he was reporting in.
“Fine. All clear.”
“Good. How’s Miguel?”
“Sleeping. The wound is healing and the pain seems to be receding. Tell Perez thanks for the assistance. It’s not every day that a doctor makes a cartel cruise-ship house call.”
“I will. And I have some new for you. Gladys Sullivan says hello. She’s in Bogotá recovering from bypass surgery. She told me to tell you that she still prays for you every day, in between cigarettes.”
“What! They’re allowing her to smoke?”
Emma heard Banner’s chuckle over the line. “I doubt it. Her brand of humor, is all. Vivian’s doing well also. She’s no longer in Colombia, but reunited with her family.”
“And Maria? Were you able to find her?”
“I was. She asked to be moved to another location. I arranged for her and the children to be relocated to the Christian ministry formerly run by Gladys’s sister. They didn’t know what to make of Maria at the mission.”
“Why is that? Maria is a wonderful woman, and very pious.”
“They said that she is the first indigenous woman they’ve ever met who wears red lipstick.”
Emma laughed out loud. “My Engine Red.”
“I assumed you had something to do with it. Rest assured, you have a convert. Maria wears it every day. I have to say, it suits her.”
“I’m glad I could give her something.”
“Maria says that she always knew that God would protect all of you. Between Gladys’s prayers and Maria’s faith, you seem to be well protected by the powers that be.”
“I’ll take any protection I can get,” Emma said.
“And you? Are the headaches and nightmares getting any better?” Banner’s voice was concerned.
Emma was suddenly uncomfortable. She’d been having debilitating headaches along with recurring nightmares. The dreams revolved around Rodrigo. He’d walk toward her. His head was cut off, and he cradled it in his arms. When the head saw her, it turned into White and it would scream at her. Emma would start awake, sweating. In the last seven days, she’d had the dream four times.
“Still there, I’m afraid.”
“It’s post-traumatic stress. When you reach the States, if they haven’t resolved, I’ll arrange for you to attend some therapy sessions. Southcom holds them weekly for soldiers returning from Iraq.”
“Thanks, I’ll consider it.” To Emma’s great relief, Banner changed the subject.
“I’ve arranged for a crew to relieve you of the weapons before you hit United States territory. Until then, you may need them. We’ve been unable to pinpoint who the American businessmen were that you saw, but they’ve got to be furious at the loss of their cargo.”
“What about this yacht? Perhaps it is registered in their name?”
“No. It’s actually owned by one Miguel Estanga della Petroya, known throughout Colombia as ‘Estanga 60.’ The most notorious drug cartel leader in Colombia. Word is he was shot twice and his boat stolen in a siege orchestrated by the United States’ DEA.”
“Smoking Man,” Emma said.
Emma heard Sumner chuckle from his seat. “A siege? Mr. Della Petroya is embarrassed to admit that two men and a woman shot him and stole his yacht?”
“That you, Sumner?” Banner asked.
“It is.”
“Well, both of you, listen up. I was wondering if you would care to ditch your day jobs and join Darkview. The pay’s good and the excitement just about nonstop.”
“Banner, I was just relishing the lack of excitement,” Emma said.
Banner laughed. “Well, give it some thought. You don’t have to decide now. I’d better ring off. Don’t want anyone tracking you guys. Emma, you turned off that GPS wristwatch I gave you?”
“It’s off. But I thank you for it. I’ll never go anywhere without a compass again.”
“Keep it. I’ll get another one.”
Emma hung up. She settled down on the deck chair to think about Banner’s offer and to watch Sumner fish. Despite her ordeal and the lingering effects, she had a feeling of lightness that she hadn’t felt in years, perhaps not ever. She knew it was because she had faced the worst that life had to offer, and the ordeal had given her a greater appreciation of the best. And that moment, sitting on the sunny deck, in a cool breeze, on the gently rolling boat, and watching the sun reflect off the undulating sea, was definitely one of the better times. She smiled.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Emma Caldridge’s story is, of course, fiction, but many of the various plants and techniques she uses exist. Thankfully, the key item, the weapon with the ingenious disguise, is a figment of my imagination.
I especially love the medicinal maggots. I’d read about their use in sores that appear intractable. My thanks to Ronald A. Sherman, MD, MSc, DTM&H, Department of Pathology, University of California, Irvine, for his assistance in explaining the collection and application of these amazing creatures.
