Running from the Devil (23 page)

“Paralysis is good. We’re under the strap.”

Emma glanced out of the corners of her eyes, trying to move as little as possible to avoid drawing any attention their way.

“Can you reach it?”

“No. Too high.”

“Let’s go to the ladder.” The ladder was at least twelve feet away.

“No time. When I say ‘now,’ I’m going to come around the front of you, pick you up, and hold you against the wall. It’ll be a stretch, but I think you’ll be able to reach the gun.”

“And then?”

“Aim it at them while I lower you back down. Be ready to use it if you have to.”

Another guerrilla started walking in jerky movements, like a robot. The majority of the guerrillas were affected now, but Emma counted at least ten who were not. Mathilde had worked her way around the group to stand next to Luis. She held a rifle as well. She prodded Alvarado with the tip while she yelled at him. Alvarado turned his attention to her, but there was no recognition on his face as he stared.

The passengers huddled in the circle drew closer together. One of the affected guerrillas fell into the center. He writhed and screamed on the ground.

“Get ready,” Sumner said. “Now.”

Sumner stepped in front of her. He grabbed under her arms, lifted her in the air, and held her against the watchtower wall. His muscles bunched as he held her up.

Emma grabbed the parapet edge with her hands. Now she hung from the parapet, but if she let go to grab at the strap, she’d fall to the ground. She needed to brace herself and to stay high enough to reach the strap. She wrapped her legs around Sumner’s waist.

She gripped him tighter with her legs while she pushed herself higher against the wall. Her head struck the underside of the wooden parapet. She crooked her neck to allow her arm to reach up and over. She moved one hand farther onto the parapet. The angle forced her to bend her arm, elbow forward. She swept her hand along the shelf, feeling for the gun.

One of the drugged guerrillas started screaming “Rat, rat, rat,” and let loose a volley of gunfire at a beast only he could see. His bullets bounced off the ground. Emma glanced forward. She saw Luis turn to look behind him. He locked eyes with her.

Emma’s fingers closed over the machine gun’s strap.

36

EMMA BROUGHT THE MACHINE GUN DOWN AND AIMED IT OVER Sumner’s left shoulder just as Luis yelled an order to the remaining sober guerrillas and swung his rifle into position. She squeezed the trigger. The gun vibrated in her hand and gunfire exploded in her ears. She swept the gun to the left, spraying bullets in a semicircle. The gun bucked like a wild animal, hitching upward with each recoil. She watched the men rear up and plunge into the trees. Some made it to safety, but most went down, blood catapulting out of their bodies.

She swung the gun back, showering them with shot, trying to control the weapon long enough to aim for Luis. The bloodlust rose in her. She wanted Luis dead. She saw the back of him disappear behind a tree and she aimed that way. Bullets hammered into the tree, sending bits of bark flying. She concentrated on the tree and the area around it before swinging the gun back the other way. She heard high-pitched screams from the circle of passengers. They scattered and ran straight into the woods.

Emma continued to empty the gun. She couldn’t stop. It was as if she were possessed. She heard her name, repeated over and over, but the voice was far in the distance. The shooting stopped only when the gun was empty. She heard a long series of hollow, clicking sounds.

“Caldridge, stop!” Sumner said.

He still braced her against the wall with his body. Emma tore her eyes away from Luis’s tree and looked down at Sumner. She tried to open her mouth, but she couldn’t speak. He put a hand on the side of her face. She felt the warmth of his palm, and it helped to calm her.

“The gun is empty. I’m going to lower you down. We need to run. Can you run?”

Emma didn’t move. She wanted to nod but couldn’t. Sumner let go of her. For some reason, she stayed where she was. Her legs remained locked around Sumner’s waist in a vise grip.

“You need to release your legs.” The urgent sound in Sumner’s voice got through to her. It took all her willpower to relax her leg muscles and release her grip on him. The minute she did, Sumner crouched low and jogged to the fallen men. He rooted around the corpses until he found one with a machete in a sheath attached to his belt. He took it off, belt and all, and wrapped it around his waist while he reached for a machine gun. He collected the gun with the grenade launcher and pulled rounds of ammunition out of a pile. He slung the rounds over his shoulder, grabbed several more, and returned to Emma.

Emma stood there, shivering in the heat. Sumner laid the rounds down and jogged back to the main tent. He disappeared inside for a few seconds. When he emerged he was wearing a new, clean T-shirt. He carried a second shirt in his hand as well as her backpack.

“Yours,” he said.

Emma still held the gun. Now she was having a hard time getting her fingers to release their grip on the gun so she could take the shirt. She took a deep breath and reached out. She slid the shirt into the backpack, and then accepted the ammunition rounds Sumner held for her. She put the rounds across her body, over her shoulders. She put the backpack on last.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Sumner said.

Emma looked around the encampment before she turned to Sumner. “Not until after we burn this place to the ground.”

“We don’t have the time.”

“I don’t care.”

“Let it go.” Sumner sounded aggravated.

“No.”

Sumner made an irritated motion with his hand.

“God knows you’re stubborn. Let’s not stand here in the open longer than we have to. You get the fire and I’ll move toward the tree line and give you cover.” He jogged away.

Emma went to the bonfire and pulled at the end of a stick protruding out of it. As she headed back to the watchtower she snagged a bottle of liquor lying abandoned on the ground. She sloshed the alcohol over the watchtower’s supports before applying the fire. The old wood lit up with a satisfying whoosh.

The sound of gunfire erupted from the trees, somewhere near Sumner’s hiding spot.

She heard Sumner yell, “Caldridge, run!”

Emma flung the stick away and ran. Her arms and legs pumped as her feet flew. She ignored the sounds of gunfire behind her. She ran out of the clearing onto the path, paying no attention to the rocky, narrow, and at times slick surface. She scanned the ground only long enough to avoid the obvious obstacles. She avoided the rest by using her peripheral vision. Her feet flew and her heart pumped. The path curved upward and she powered into the rise, the exact opposite of what she would do on an endurance run. She wasn’t aiming for endurance, she was aiming for speed. A branch lay across the path ahead, creating a natural fence. Emma hurdled it like a pro, leaping into the air, front foot extended out in front of her. She landed on the other side and kept moving, not missing a stride. She lowered her head and forced her muscles to bring on another burst of speed. Her arms and legs pistoned in a precise rhythm.

She ran even faster. She careened through the jungle and shortened her stride, trying to add even more speed to her already blazing pace. She heard Sumner’s grenade launcher fire, the distinctive thud overpowering the lesser sounds. The noise faded into the distance as she chewed up the miles.

37

MIGUEL, KOHL, AND THE REST OF THE TEAM STARED INTO THE night sky. It glowed dark red in the north.

“Little early for sunrise,” Kohl said.

“It’s them. They’ve burned the old army base,” Miguel said.

“Ms. Caldridge? Sumner? Who? Why do you say that?” Kohl looked astonished.

Miguel barked an order to the team to prepare to march to the fire.

“You asked me what I’d do if I were in their shoes? Well, I’d burn something to indicate my position.”

“They’re indicating their position to the guerrillas, too,” Kohl pointed out.

“Something tells me they’ve got them on the run. We’re deep in their territory. Even guerrillas don’t burn their own homes. That fire is a sign that something disastrous happened.”

Miguel whistled to Boris. “Hope that nose works just as well in the dark as it does in the day, boy.”

Within fifteen minutes, Miguel and his troops were on the move. Boris trotted in front, his head swinging from side to side. Miguel estimated the fire to be five miles ahead. The path currently ran in a straight line, with only a slight rise. If the path stayed straight, and there were no switchbacks, Miguel hoped to reach the burn site in an hour and a half.

The exhausted men fanned out behind. They were used to pushing through exhaustion, and none complained, but Miguel would have to allow them to rest soon.

Forty minutes into their march, a man stumbled out of the bushes and onto the path.

Boris barked once, and the soldiers dropped to the path and took aim.

Miguel saw the man’s tattered civilian clothes. “Hold your fire!” he shouted. He walked up to the man, who swayed in place, and then fell to his knees.

“Do you speak English?” the man said.

“Major Miguel Gonzalez, United States Special Forces. Who are you?”

The man burst into tears.

They helped him to a nearby tree stump and gave him some water. He gulped it down and wiped his eyes.

“Sorry. I never thought I’d hear English again. I’m James Barkett, from Flight 689.”

“Where are the rest?” Miguel said.

“Scattered in the jungle. When the woman started shooting, we all ran for our lives.”

“What woman, and how did she get a gun?”

Barkett shook his head. “I don’t know her name. She was captured later, with Mr. Sumner.” He described Emma and told Miguel about Rodrigo threatening to kill Sumner unless she told him what he wanted to know.

“Jesus.” Kohl breathed the word.

Miguel’s face hardened. “Do you know which way Rodrigo went?”

“No. I don’t think he’s far, though. It’s even possible that she grazed him.”

“What about Sumner and the woman? Do you know which way they ran?”

Again, Barkett shook his head. “I don’t, I’m sorry. When she started shooting, I dove for cover and then ran like hell. I assume they started the fire, though. That’s the watchtower burning.”

“Any idea where the other passengers are?”

Barkett waved at the jungle. “Behind me. We should see them in a few minutes. It takes time to get down the path because of the land mines. There are lines strung all over that path.”

“Any idea how many lines and at what levels?” Miguel said.

“They seemed to run in patterns. Mostly low, but some higher up.”

“Five to one, I’ll bet.”

“I beg your pardon?” Barkett looked confused.

“Five low lines, then one higher. It’s a good rule of thumb when stringing land mines.”

Barkett stared at Miguel. “I’m a manager of a small office-supply store, so I’ll have to take your word on that.”

Miguel smiled. “You’re making jokes. Guess you’re feeling better.”

“Oh, yeah. Now that I’m with you guys, I’m feeling a whole lot better.”

Miguel used the field phone to call for helicopter backup.

“I expect to have most of the passengers here with me soon, but at least two are still out there. Cameron Sumner and Emma Caldridge.”

“Mission’s over. We’ve already dispatched two copters to extract you. We’ll load up and that’s it,” a soldier with the Southern Command, and Miguel’s liaison, said.

“Banner said I had twenty-four hours. These two managed to free the passengers, and they’re close. They deserve to be rescued.”

“I don’t think you understand what’s happening. The cartels and the guerrillas are blanketing your area. Our helos have been fired on twice already. Frankly, they’re going to set down fast, load up, and get the hell out of there. I suggest that you do the same.”

“And the two?”

“The Colombian special forces are on their way.”

“Are these the good ones, or the bad ones?” Miguel didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

“I hear your frustration, Major, but there isn’t much we can do. The army has been ordered out of Colombia. We’re not wanted here.”

“I want to talk to Banner. He’s in charge of this operation.”

“His jurisdiction extends only as long as the Department of Defense wants it to.”

“Has the DOD pulled the plug?” Miguel said.

There was a short silence. Then the phone crackled. “Not yet, but we expect it to very soon. They’ve been negotiating with the pipeline executives. Apparently the executives believe that they will be summarily executed by the guerrillas once the special ops guys are pulled off the detail. The DOD agreed to evacuate them first out of the pipeline area.”

“I need to speak to Banner.”

“He’s not available.”

“Then get Carol Stromeyer from Darkview on the phone and call me back when you have her.”

Miguel snapped the phone shut.

He turned to look at the passengers huddled together on the path. Kohl stood next to Boris, patting him on the head. Miguel waved him over.

“We leaving without her, sir?” Kohl said.

“Washington pulled the plug on Colombian aid, and Colombia pulled the plug on our mission. Helos are on the way to pick us up. I want you to load everyone on and stay with them until they are out of this godforsaken country.”

“What about you?” Kohl said.

“I’m waiting for a call from a very important woman.”

Kohl stared at him for a moment. “If you stay, I stay.”

Miguel shook his head. “You can’t stay. It would be in defiance of a direct order from Southcom.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Kohl said.

“I’m falling back on a technicality. I’m operating under different orders issued by Edward Banner under a joint operation between the DOD and his private security company.”

“I don’t see how that changes anything,” Kohl said.

“I haven’t been ordered out by Banner yet.” At least that’s what Miguel would argue if and when he would be dragged in front of the powers that be. He was pretty sure Banner would cover his ass.