PRECIPICE (30 page)

Unbidden, the words sprang from Chip’s mouth.

“You wanna go to South America with me this winter?”
What the hell
, he thought. He’d made a pile of money training the team and had fifty grand more coming to him when he got home. She’d told him she was failing out of Stanford anyway. The idea wasn’t any crazier than the events they’d been through in the last week. It almost seemed like the next logical step. They could put all of this behind them, take some good from it, and get away. Years of experience told him that having this work out was about as likely as any relationship he was going to find with his current lifestyle.

Sam turned in surprise and looked into Chip’s eyes.

“Yeah,” she said, a smile splitting her face. “Let’s go.”

They sat back on the bus and whiled away the drive excitedly talking about the places they could visit in South America as Chip regaled her with stories from his past adventures below the Equator. As the bus barreled down the desert highway, the jungle camp seemed to fade to insubstantiality behind them and disappear into the glow of the road that lay ahead. It was nice to be looking forward.

*

Harris lay in the desert with the sun’s relentless rays pounding against his back like a blacksmith’s hardened steel hammer. He could feel sweat oozing through his pores, but at least the oppressive heat helped lessen the fever chills that racked his weary body. He hunkered in the brush, his camouflage fatigues blending seamlessly into the tiny green leaves of the scrubby bushes that littered the area. He had been lying prone behind one all morning watching the activity at the metal barn.

The place had been deserted until almost 11, then a large truck loaded with armed men had bounced down the road and into the building. The men had come out and scattered this way and that, calling out for their lost friends who were supposed to be on guard. No one seemed overly concerned, however; and more importantly, nobody walked very far into the scrub to search. A few of the men took shovels out back to put some finishing touches on the pit they’d dug the day before while the rest loitered around and talked or smoked. Harris was pleased to see that even though the men were well armed, none of them had the demeanor of professional soldiers. There were fourteen of them, though, which still meant that he’d face long odds if there was no other choice but for him to attack. The idea of facing fourteen men and then trying to escape in an ungainly truck still didn’t feel like a reasonable plan. He would wait and see what else developed.

*

Chip and Sam’s conversation had moved from the beaches of Ecuador to the Volcanoes of Chile; they were excitedly planning the trip of a lifetime. Chip had been around long enough to know they had crossed the line into youthful fantasy, but he was committed to the indulgence. The conversation made Sam happier than he’d seen her yet. After what she had just been through, she deserved it. Sam’s eyes were shining with life as her mind’s horizons spread wider than she’d dreamed possible only days before. They were interrupted when the bus slowly rolled to a stop on the side of the highway. They’d been driving for three and half hours, and it was almost noon.

Chip could see the flashing lights of a Mexican Federal Police car through the window behind them. He’d been through plenty of stops and searches on past trips to Mexico, but he’d no idea that they searched bus travelers as well. With only two hours left to go, the delay was more annoying than anything else. Hopefully this wouldn’t take too long.

A young man in police garb with an automatic rifle climbed aboard the bus. Sam gave Chip a worried look, but he reassured her that the police carried such weapons at all of the checkpoints down here. It was nothing to fear. When the door closed and the bus lurched into motion with the man still inside, Chip became slightly uneasy as well. Over his shoulder through the window behind them he could see the police car pull out and follow the bus down the road. After about two hundred yards the bus made a left turn onto a dirt track leading into the desert, and Chip’s gut finally twisted into a tight knot of fear. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be normal. The other people on the bus were disturbed as well, and Sam’s eyes grew wild with panic as the ungainly bus jostled down the rugged road. Chip tried to stay calm and figure out what to do. He still had the silenced Sig in his pants, but maybe he was overreacting. Maybe everything would be OK.

When the bus drove into a large metal barn in the desert and parked in the shade inside, the last of Chip’s hope faded away. The policeman at the front of the bus raised his rifle and began barking commands in Spanish that the two Americans couldn’t understand. The other passengers panicked. Some of them began crying or praying hysterically while others stoically awaited their fate. Chip’s mind was spinning, and he gripped the handle of his 9mm. Should he shoot this guy now? Could they still get away? Through the tinted windows he could see a row of men in fatigues outside all training assault rifles at the bus. The police car pulled into the building as well and parked along the opposite wall, and a man in full police uniform stepped out.

Chip dolefully realized that he was completely outgunned. Sam was crying softly and clinging to him, and he put an arm around her and held her close to his side. He slid the Sig from the front of his pants and moved it to the small of his back where it would be better concealed. Hopefully it would escape notice and he could use it to help them escape if the opportunity arose.

The passengers were herded off the bus in a line. As Chip and Sam shuffled to the front of the vehicle, Chip protectively shielded Sam behind him. Through the windows he could see the passengers being sorted into three groups. Some clung to each other in panic until they were roughly torn apart by the armed men and prodded with gun barrels to join their assigned bunches. All of the old or feeble passengers were lined up along the wall in front of the bus. Women were herded to the other side of the room. Once there, a pair of jeering guards prodded them as if surveying horses they were considering buying. Any male passengers who looked relatively fit were moved to the middle of the open barn where they were surrounded by a group of alert guards with guns held ready.

As Chip reached the steps leading from the bus, he impulsively pulled the pistol from the back of his pants and pressed its grip into Sam’s stomach, hiding the motion behind his body. She wordlessly took the gun and concealed it in the front of her own jeans.

All of the men turned their heads to look when the tall blonde girl stepped from the bus, and a raucous cacophony of hoots and jeers rang through the barn. Sam clung desperately to Chip as men converged to pull them apart. An armed man wrestled Sam from Chip’s grasp and lasciviously pawed one of her breasts. She yelled and kicked hysterically as she was forcibly carried away. Chip glared balefully into the eyes of another man who held the barrel of his rifle against Chip’s chest. He tried to shut out Sam’s increasingly desperate cries, to shut out his fear, and to shut out the fact that his heart was breaking over what was surely about to occur. He never let his gaze waver from the guard’s eyes as he was slowly pushed backward across the dirt floor to join the other men in the center of the barn.

Sam’s screams amplified, and Chip reflexively swung his head around to see what was happening. He wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. The uniformed police officer from the patrol car stepped over and gave a swift cuff to the head of a soldier who was groping Sam.

“¡Para el jefe primer!” he admonished, shaking his finger in the man’s face until the assailant reluctantly stepped away from the girl.

No sooner had this exchange ended than gunfire erupted from the other side of the barn, deafening Chip and almost causing him to reflexively drop to the ground. Some of the prisoners in his group did drop and cower in the dirt at his feet. He turned around just in time to see the last of the older bus passengers slump to the ground along the wall, perforated by a barrage of bullets from the rifles of several armed troops, their lives slowly seeping into the dirt floor. With his ears ringing and the smell of cordite thick in the air, Chip took in the muted sounds of the remaining prisoners, far more subdued now that a third of their number were no longer breathing. He counted fourteen bodies, but it was hard to tell the exact number with them slumped haphazardly on top of one another. He searched his heart for some sadness at their passing, but the only emotion that rose to greet him was hate. Hate for the men who had taken these lives. Hate for the men who had taken his friends. Most of all, it was hate for himself because he’d led an innocent girl into this torture; and no matter how hard he tried to think of some plan, he could come up with no good way to get them out of this.

Chip was herded with twelve other men toward the back of the building where they were lined up along one wall. Two men stood guard over them with rifles raised. He could see two more men standing over the remaining group of nine women, while the rest of the soldiers eagerly moved out the back door into the dazzling sunlight.

Two of the men from Chip’s prisoner group were dragged out the door, eliciting a wild cheer from the crowd outside. The noise slowly grew over the next few minutes until it sounded like a sporting event was taking place in the sun behind the barn. Chip looked broken-heartedly across the room to where Sam was huddled on the ground and searched in desperation for some way to prevent her inevitable fate. Then he reached deep into the pit of his stomach and found the fiery ball of hate, and he poured all of his willpower into it until it spilled outward and smothered every other feeling he had left inside. It was the only way he could see for either of them to survive. He would have to be stronger than ever now.

Harris watched over the sights of the AR-15 as a bus and a police car rolled up the road and disappeared into the barn. They were the same two vehicles that he’d seen leave last night. He looked at his watch. It was 12:15. He began slowly crawling around to get a look at what was happening inside. He could hear shouts and cries as if there were a large number of people in the barn. The crowded confusion could be a tremendous ally to him, but he knew he couldn’t rush in blind. He was surprised to hear one woman yelling in what sounded like English, but there was no time to contemplate what that might mean.

He could almost see through the front door when gunfire erupted inside. When the din subsided, it was eerily quiet. He wondered what had happened. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good for those bus passengers. Harris still held out hope that the arrival of the bus, the police car, and all of these people would cause enough distraction to give him the opportunity he needed to get out of here. Moments later cheers erupted from the far side of the barn, and he reversed direction to try and get a view of the new commotion.

It took him ten minutes to crawl around the building through the scrubby brush until he finally found a spot about one hundred fifty yards out, luckily with the winter sun at his back. Although he was concerned that he could no longer see the road leading to the barn, he had to know what was going on before he could act. He now had a clear view of a dozen armed men crowded around the freshly-dug pit. They were cheering as if they were at a soccer game, excited by some kind of action in the hole at their feet. Several of them brandished large quart bottles of beer, others smoked, and still others held wads of cash—perhaps they were wagering on the outcome of the mysterious event? Over the top of the pit Harris could see flashes of motion, but it was impossible to tell what was going on from this distance through the milling legs of the crowd.

About three minutes later the crowd erupted into more vigorous cheers and money changed hands. Some of the soldiers congratulated each other while others kicked at the dirt in frustration. Whatever they had been watching, it was over. He saw them haul a man out of the pit. He was dressed like a peasant and covered in blood. He shuffled dejectedly back into the barn, prodded by one of the troops. Harris surmised that it was some form of blood sport. They must be using the people from the bus as gladiators. He barely had time for the disgusting notion to percolate through his mind before two more men were walked out of the building at gunpoint and herded towards the pit. Harris couldn’t believe his eyes. One of the men was lean, muscular and blond. It looked like Chip. Before he could get a better view to confirm whether it was really his friend, the two men were shoved into the pit.

Chip wanted to scream. He wanted to run for his life. He wanted to do anything but stand idly by while others controlled his fate, controlled his end and Sam’s. He glanced across the room again to where a guard was gyrating on top of one of the women while another stood watch. Fortunately he couldn’t hear the noise over the roar of the crowd outside. Anger boiled up in him until his muscles tensed and shook, and he felt as if he might explode. It took all of his restraint to resist dashing across the room to kill the man with his bare hands. To attempt it would be to die. The small remaining rational part of his brain knew that as soon as he took a single step, the guards would open fire. He glanced briefly at Sam’s huddled form and wished that he had kept the pistol that she now held. If he had it he could try something to save her. Anything would be better than waiting impotently for their fate. He pulled his eyes away from the women then cast them forlornly at the ground. There was nothing he could do, and the powerless feeling caused him more despair than he’d known since that horrible hour watching water flow around the end of Daniel’s kayak with his friend’s lifeless body hidden underneath. How could he have let Sam down so badly?

A few minutes later, a blood-soaked man shuffled in from outside to rejoin Chip’s group. The man’s eyes were vacant and haunted, and he was bleeding from a ragged wound on his leg. Before Chip had time to wonder what had happened to the guy, he and another man were culled from the group and ushered out the door at gunpoint.