Survival (20 page)

The cop stood a few feet from the driver’s side window, looking up at Armando. Matt and Hannah remained out of sight – unless he looked inside. Armando wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and coughed.

“
Hola
, my friend. How are you today?” the cop asked.

“Sick. I’ve got the flu. Half of Santuario is down with it. Don’t get too close unless you want to spend the next week in misery.”

Armando coughed again and gave the officer a suffering look. It had the desired effect. The cop took a step backward. Armando cleared his throat. “What are you guys doing out here?”

“Oh, we have to go find some gringo in Antonio Salguero. We’re waiting for backup to arrive.”

“A gringo? There?”

The cop shrugged. “I know. Not exactly what you’d expect, eh?” He eyed the chicken coops stacked high, strapped to eyelets along the edge of the flatbed. “How’s the chicken business?”

“Long hours for low pay.”

The cop laughed. “Isn’t that always the way?”

Armando coughed again, and the officer waved him on. Armando pushed the transmission into gear and pulled away, unhurried, as the police cruiser disappeared in his rearview mirror. “You can sit up now,” he said, and then squinted at the road ahead and stiffened. “Maybe not yet. Stay down.”

“What is it?” Matt asked.

“Two black SUVs barreling down on us fast. That’s weird. The police don’t use those.”

A pair of Suburbans flew by at high speed. Matt waited until Armando gave him the all clear signal and sat up, helping Hannah do the same.

“Usually a lot of traffic on this strip?” Matt asked.

“There’s nothing out here except God’s country and cocaine-processing plants and a few small towns along the rivers. If this road sees ten cars a day, I’d be surprised.”

“Wonder where the SUVs were going?”

Armando shrugged. “Best not to wonder too much. They looked like narco traffickers to me. The cartels tend to favor those cars and ignore most traffic laws. Goes with being rich and all-powerful.”

“I thought Colombia had cleaned out the cartels.”

“The big ones, sure. But nature hates a vacuum. There will always be regional warlords.” He eyed the dusty rearview mirror. “That’s just the way it is around here. They leave me alone; I do the same with them. It’s the best way to assure a long life in Colombia.”

Matt had no argument with that and settled into an uncomfortable silence as he kept his eyes on the side mirror, a part of him dreading the reappearance of the SUVs. After a few miles he glanced over at Armando. “Do you have a cell phone I can borrow?”

Armando slipped a little black Nokia from his shirt pocket and handed it to Matt. Matt dialed Jet’s cell from memory, but it went to voice mail, saying she was out of the service area. “Change of plans. We’re headed for a town called Santuario. I’ll see if I can buy a phone and call you once we get there. Should be a couple, three hours. Hope everything’s okay on your end.”

He terminated the call and handed the phone back to Armando.

“Thanks,” Matt said, and eyed the speedometer. The truck was barely doing thirty miles per hour. “Does this thing go any faster? Don’t take it the wrong way, but the sooner we’re off this road, the better I’ll feel.”

Armando gave the big truck gas. “Sorry. I’m used to taking my time in order to conserve fuel. But if you’ll throw a few dollars at the tank, I’ll open it up – give the chickens the ride of their lives.”

Matt smiled at the young man’s entrepreneurial enthusiasm.

“It’s a deal.”

Chapter 30

Colón, Panama

Igor was finishing a late lunch of spicy fish at one of a half-dozen questionable seafood restaurants on the waterfront when his sat phone warbled at him. He set his fork down and thumbed the line into life.

“Hello.”

“Igor, it’s me. We’re about to head into the town where the man and the little girl were last seen.”

“That’s great, Fernanda! Congratulations.” He paused. “I don’t need to remind you to take them alive.”

“Of course. I’ve already advised the local police to stand down once we have them in sight.”

“It’s always nice to have the cooperation of the authorities.”

Fernanda stole a glance at Jaime, his engraved Colt 1911 .45 pistol on the seat beside him. “I’m hopeful we’ll get this put to bed in the next few minutes. Any progress on the woman?”

“No. The bar they met her at doesn’t open until evening.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll go in and see if anyone recognizes her. It’s a long shot, but you never know. I’ve also called our Panamanian contact and asked him to put out the word to the lowlifes in the area that there’s a big reward waiting for anyone who’s approached to smuggle someone across the border. Money tends to talk with that group…”

“You might want to get to the bar a little before it opens so you can have a discussion with the bartenders before it’s filled with customers. They usually have good memories if you wave some cash under their noses.”

“Way ahead of you. The place opens at eight, so I’m planning to stop in around seven thirty or so. Can’t hurt.”

“Have you gone to see the other guy she beat up?”

“Not yet. I’m debating the wisdom of having both meet with unfortunate accidents on the same day. I was quite thorough with the one I interrogated. I don’t think I’ll learn anything new by taking the other one apart. Although if I don’t make progress and the local smugglers don’t cough up any leads, I’m open to suggestions.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I have the gringo and the girl. Then we can figure out how to lure our mystery woman into a trap. Or if we’re lucky, he’ll tell us where they’re supposed to meet and we can arrange an unpleasant surprise.”

“I’ll keep my phone on.”

Igor hung up and returned to picking at his plate of fish. The spicy red sauce it was slathered with set his lips on fire. He took a final heaping mouthful and pushed the plate away, chewing thoughtfully as he gazed through the restaurant picture window at the waterfront, where massive shapes of tankers in the distance were transiting the canal, and smiled to himself. It wouldn’t be long now.

~ ~ ~

The Suburbans bounced along the rutted road to Antonio Salguero, tires throwing up muddy spray from the recent shower’s rainwater that had accumulated in the depressions. The squad car in front crawled through the muck in low gear, as the police were uninterested in blowing out their suspension on the treacherous trail.

The vehicles labored around a bend and entered the town, little more than a line of clapboard buildings, each more unappealing than the last. Fernanda eyed the residents lounging in the slim shade provided by the roof overhangs, passing bottles and well-used stories back and forth as they watched the new arrivals roll down the main drag. She noted that even the young women had a beaten look to them, old before their time, the result of a harsh life and no expectation that anything would ever change for the better.

Jaime pulled to a stop outside a meager dwelling at the end of a small lane as the police officers climbed from their car and moved to the front door. Fernanda tensed as they knocked, and whispered to Jaime.

“We move in the second they give us the signal. No shooting. Please. Your men understand, right?”

“Of course. This is your show. We’ll do it your way.”

A wiry, dark-skinned man opened the door and looked from one officer to the other, and Fernanda saw him shake his head. The tension that had been building in her stomach changed to a sinking feeling that was by now a familiar norm on this assignment. The cops went inside and were back after five minutes, dour expressions on their faces. One of them approached the lead Suburban and Jaime rolled down his window.

“They’re not there. The fisherman says they left last night after the fight – that the man was afraid of retribution once daylight came. He also says he’ll swear that our victim was actually the instigator and pulled a knife on them. The fisherman wants to press charges against him for attempted murder.”

Jaime looked at Fernanda, who shook her head. “Damn. Did he say how they left?”

“An old bicycle was missing this morning when he woke up.”

“How far could they have gotten on a bicycle?”

“In…twelve hours? Far enough. There’d be any number of connecting roads once they made it to the main artery.”

Fernanda’s eyes narrowed. “I want to talk to him.” She eyeballed the officer. “Tell them I’m a special investigator.”

The cop fought to keep his composure. “A special investigator on a case involving a broken wrist in a swampy backwater?”

Jaime fixed him with a glare. “Just do it.”

The unhappy cop returned to the front door and knocked again as Fernanda and Jaime got out of the car. Jaime turned to the second SUV and signaled to his men to remain inside. The fisherman opened the door again and the policeman gestured to Fernanda.

“This is the detective in charge of the case. She has a few questions.”

Fernanda nodded. “Yes. Luis, right?”

“That’s right,” Luis said, his tone puzzled.

“I’m investigating this because I believe the man who was staying at your house may be someone we’re looking for.”

“Looking for?”

“Yes. Without going into too much detail, he’s responsible for some very serious crimes involving a cargo ship. We believe that among other things, he stole a lifeboat and escaped to Colombia.” She paused, gauging how thick to lay it on. “He’s a very dangerous man, if he’s our perpetrator.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“How did you meet him, Luis?” She glanced up at the clouds, the sun burning through the overcast, and waved away a mosquito. “Do you mind if we come inside for this?”

“Oh. Um…it’s not a good idea. I have two dogs. They don’t like strangers. I’m sorry.”

Fernanda’s tone hardened. “Perhaps we’ll take you to the station, then, to get your statement.”

Luis shrugged. “I don’t have anything else to do today. Do those trucks have air-conditioning?”

That hadn’t gone as she’d hoped, so she changed back to the gentle approach.

“Hopefully that won’t be necessary. How did you meet this man? Actually, let’s start with his name.”

Luis laughed nervously. “His name was Tom.”

“And you met him…?”

“He was camped out in the jungle on a trail we use to get to the beach. Him and his daughter. Are you sure we’re talking about the same man? He didn’t seem very dangerous to me.”

“He is. Look what he did to your friend.”

“My friend? You mean Pedro? That drunk fool pulled a knife on us and tried to stab him.”

“Then you’ve seen him in action – what he can do.”

“All he did was knock the knife out of the idiot’s hand with his cast. I don’t think he was trying to break his wrist. Although it serves him right.”

“Cast?” Fernanda asked in surprise, but recovered quickly. One of the first rules of questioning was to never admit to the subject you’re interrogating that you don’t know at least as much as he does.

“Didn’t Pedro tell you?” The fisherman shook his head, an expression of disgust twisting his lips into a sneer. “That figures. He left out that he was not only trying to stab a man with a broken hand, but that he got his ass kicked by him.” Luis looked at the officer. “I’m serious. I want to press charges against Pedro – I’m willing to go fill out the paperwork right now. He tried to kill me. Us.”

“Let’s get back to the man. You say he was camping in the jungle? Didn’t that strike you as unusual?”

Luis shrugged. “Gringos do all kinds of crazy things, I hear.”

“How did he wind up staying with you?”

“He said he wanted to have a genuine Colombian experience, and asked if he could stay one night. He offered money and seemed like a nice enough guy, so I agreed. Why not? Everyone can use a little extra cash these days.”

“And you believed that?”

“Not really. I thought he may have misjudged how hard the jungle could be to camp in, and just wanted to get out of the rain and take a shower.”

Fernanda switched gears. “Tell me about the little girl.”

“What’s to tell? Or is she also a suspect in your cargo ship case?”

“How old is she?”

“Maybe two or three? I didn’t pay much attention.”

This was going nowhere. “You say they left after the fight?”

“I warned him that Pedro was a liar and a cheat, and he’d probably try to hurt him if he stayed around. He decided that it would be safest to move on.”

“Did he give you any idea where they were going?”

“No. It was late, and…I was tired. I’d had a few beers.”

“You didn’t ask him?”

“Why? I was beat. Why would I care where some gringo went? I had his money.”

Back in the SUV, Fernanda glared at Luis through the windshield as he shut the front door of his house. She turned to Jaime, who’d stood silently by as she asked her questions, and frowned. “What do you think?”

“Oh, he might have been lying. But it’s hard to tell. Lying’s the national sport in these towns – it’s a way to entertain yourself in a place where nothing happens.” He tilted his head and regarded her. “You want me to have him taken? Put your questions to him more forcefully? We can come back tonight. We can’t do it now – too many witnesses saw us come in, and when he disappears they’ll raise a stink.”

She sighed. “Let me think about it.”

“No problem.” Jaime paused. “Sorry your man wasn’t here. But we still have the word out, and now we know where he was until last night, so we can narrow the search. He can’t have gotten that far on a bike with a broken hand and a little girl.”

“I don’t believe for a minute he left on a bicycle.”

“Which brings us back to taking the fisherman for his last ride tonight.” He grinned. “No extra charge for the disposal of his body.”

Chapter 31

Colón, Panama

Igor hung up after Fernanda finished telling him that the man and his daughter had escaped and remained at large. The call only soured his already bad mood further. He sat in his rental car down the street from the bar the woman had been trolling, and watched the staff arrive. An older, heavyset man with the physique of a gone-to-fat boxer trundled up the sidewalk and gave a high five to one of two younger men, both with the muscular bulk of bouncers, and then unlocked the front door and entered.