Recluse:The Ramona Question



  Recluse: The Ramona Question

  Published by Philip John Walibba

  Copyright 2015 Philip John Walibba

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  Prologue

  Detective Rodrigo Rodriguez sat in silence on a squeaky wooden chair inside a tiny room. His arms and legs firmly tied with ropes, his mouth strapped with duct tape. Painfully, he tried to turn sideways but his neck muscles hurt, felt rigid. The pain was accentuated by the morning sun rays stinging into his eyes causing even more pain inside his head. His entire body ached. Narrowing his eyes, he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

  His eyes, it seems, were the only functioning part of his body. Turning to look through the visibly dirty glass window a few feet away, he noticed tree leaves and branches swaying gently on the outside. The smell of dental floss filled the room's stale morning air. Rodriquez didn’t know where he was. Turning left, then right, he noticed a few inverted chalk white scribbles on the damp deep maroon colored wall, possibly the handiwork of a minor. A tiny ash wooden table stood opposite him and on it sat a glass jar. The sun's rays accosting his eyes preventing him from scrutinizing the glass' contents. Angling his head to look above, he vaguely made out what appeared like a rusty iron roof staring blankly back at him.

  ‘What's this place?’ He muttered to himself. The temperature inside the room made his body sweaty and itchy. He felt helpless. Something awful had happened to him.

  A door squeak startled him. He tensed. Still, he was unable to see who or what it was that had caused the sound. Next, he heard footsteps approach. A stingy male odor almost immediately followed too. A severed head of a man was suddenly dangled in front of him.

  Rodriquez, stunned by the horrific look of the dead man's open eyes staring back at him gasped in terror. The head's blood soaked hair, at least some of it, hung loose, the rest was pressed in one knot by a muscular tattooed hand. The man whose hand held the head had piercing dark almond-shaped eyes. The man, Rodriquez quickly noticed also wore grey military fatigue folded at the elbows, a green cap with a red flag and star embedded in it. He also had a silver and black pistol tucked into his black waist line.

  'What were you thinking trying to double cross us?' He asked staring at Rodriquez his marijuana breath arresting Rodriquez' nostrils. He seemed not to blink just like the dripping head he was dangling.

  'What are you talking about?' Rodriquez asked, 'and please take that head away from Me.' turning to face in the opposite direction.

  The head, dripping with fresh blood, looked familiar, very familiar.

  'Who do you work for?' the man asked anger flashing across his creased face.

  Rodriquez fell silent facing the ground. He could see the man wore leather black military boots.

  'I will repeat this once' the man affirmed, 'who sent you? I know you were sent here to kill our leader, Soviet marshal Semyon Timoshenko.' the man spoke staring down menacingly at Rodriquez. His accent was surprisingly good, his Spanish flawless. He reached out his other hand and tore off the duct tape from Rodriquez' mouth.

  'Who are you?' Rodriquez asked laboring to speak through the pain.

  'That, my friend is the wrong question,' the man replied coming even closer to Rodriquez, stooped, his golden chain, and its crucifix at the tip coming to rest on Rodriquez's shoulder. Rodriquez could smell the man's rancid male odor. He whispered into Rodriquez' ear. 'But I will tell you anyway.'

  Standing up right again, his eyes fixed onto Rodriquez,

  'The right question should be,’ he said, ‘who are you, Detective Rodrigo Rodriquez?'

  Chapter One

  Sixteen months earlier

  ‘Hey, I made you breakfast Juan Manuel.’ Ramona’s soft voice greeted Rodriquez in his bed. His closed eyes burned from the morning Rio de Janeiro sun’s rays that shot through the drawn window curtains of his apartment bedroom window.

  ‘You need to get yourself a wife.’ she joked. He could hear the clinking sound of utensils being sifted. The wafting sweet smell of bacon mixed with a piercing aroma of coffee came and filled the room.

  ‘You’ve slept enough already, get up and eat something.’ She said as she pulled his beddings away from him.

  ‘Okay, I’m up.’ he said pulling himself up. He felt mildly embarrassed because she had called him Juan Manuel; it was the alias he’d given her when they sat next to each other on the flight to México. He also felt uncomfortable she was in his bedroom.

  ‘Thank you Juliana Lopes Menezes.’ Rodriquez shot back with a chuckle. He reached out and clutched the cup of coffee.

  ‘Who told you all three of my names?’ Her honey-blond hair hang long spreading along her white cotton t-shirt.

  ‘I thought you were a brunette?’ he asked ignoring her question. The bacon tasted savory and salty.

  ‘I’m many things you don’t know.’ She said coming to sit next to him on the bed. He took in her distinct sharp spicy fragrant.

  ‘It’s J’adore by Christian Dior, if you ask.' She said.

  ‘I guess that’s your daughter in that picture.’ she said as she stretched out her long arms and took the frame from the coffee table.

  ‘Yes. Mariana.’

  ‘She is very pretty. She has your eyes.’

  ‘Had.’ He corrected.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s alright.' He answered in reply. 'She can finally rest easy now.’

  ‘Who told you my names?’ She quizzed changing the conversation.

  ‘Some ugly bird whispered to me, the same bird you shot dead.’

  ‘I have shot a lot of ugly birds dead in my life time.’ She quizzed again. 'Please be specific.'

  He turned the other way.

  ‘Is something the matter?’ She asked looking concerned.

  ‘Yeah,' He answered. 'I’m still to yet figure out why I saw the same crime scene in the favela twice.’

  ‘What exactly are you talking about?' she asked

  Rodriquez went on to describe the bizarre ‘double’ death of Isabella, and how her death had spiraled into all the events leading up to that moment. When he was done, Ramona turned towards him, took his face into both her delicate soft palms saying,

  ‘That is what they turn you into Rodriquez. It’s what they’ve turned us all into, killing machines.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You will after I tell you this.’ She said. ‘Recluse is a deep cover army of paid mercenaries which operates covertly. We eliminate targets deemed a risk to our funders, no questions asked. The double death you just described was part of your training. It was meant to distort your sense of reality, question your very existence, and drive you insane. The first time you found the corpse, it was faked. The second time, unfortunately for her, it was for real. But now that you’ve gone and killed not one but two of our own, if they find out, of which I’m most certain they will with the kind of resources at their disposal, then you are a marked man. These people, whoever they are, will stop at nothing in their pursuit to find you and kill you. They will activate sleeper recluses, merciless assassins, to hunt and cut you off from the land of the living.’

  ‘Then I will find them first and kill them.’ Rodriquez affirmed.

  ‘Remember, from now on, trust no one.’ Interjected Ramona, ‘you’re on your own, a recluse.’

  ‘Not even you?’

  ‘Yes Rodriquez, not even me.'

  'When I think about it,' Rodr
iquez said, 'what you are saying kind of makes some sense. You see, that crazy priest Aurelio said something quite similar to me.'

  'What did he say to you?' She asked letting go of his face.

  'He said to me something like my soul was in grave danger and that Hell’s armies would be unleashed to find me. He also said some souls here on earth were my guardians, and that I should trust no one because even amongst them, the enemy lurks.'

  ‘By the way’ Ramona said changing the subject, ‘Miguel was up to something else. I brought with me the manila folder he was holding onto and its contents are startling. He and Marcelo had already made contact with the FARC rebels in Colombia to deliver the SAMs’

  ‘This has nothing to do with me.’ Interjected Rodriquez, ‘Honestly, I’ve been through enough already.’

  ‘I’m not asking you to come with me. I will deliver those SAMs’ myself.’

  ‘You’re kidding!’ he said grabbing both her arms with a firm grip.

  ‘No am not.’ She replied. ‘The FARC are holding someone very dear to me hostage for a very long time now and this is my opportunity to extract him.’

  ‘Look Ramona, Colombia is a totally different ball game, and there, you’ll be playing with the big boys.'

  A sharp loud buzz from Rodriquez’ phone cut into their conversation.

  'Listen,' Rodriquez said settling gently next to her as she sat staring at the morning news Bulletin on Rede Globo. The newsflash dominated mostly about the murder of Miguel.

  'Now that Miguel is dead, you are free of his clutches, you and I don’t...'

  'Don't what?' Ramona interrupted turning to stare at Rodriquez, a hardened gaze plastered in her eyes.

  'Alright, you win. I'll let you go, but, promise me one thing.'

  'I don’t make promises.' she answered in reply.

  'Make this one exception, for me.' He said.

  'What is it you ask?'

  'Promise me you will stay alive.’ Rodriquez said turning to stare into her hazel eyes.

  She let a brief smile escape her lush lips revealing a delicate set of white teeth.

  'I will Rodrigo, I promise.' She said gently.

  'And if anything should happen to you,' Rodriquez said his hardened face turning furrowed, 'know this,' He continued. 'I will not sit here, but will come for you.'

  'Okay.' She answered.

  Chapter Two

  Twelve days ago, Monday, 1:51pm, Bogota, Colombia

  Rodriquez arrived in Colombia's capital feeling anxious and troubled. His expensive looking navy blue blazer suit revealed no signs of the volcano of emotions threatening to erupt inside him. The previous night, he'd received the most disturbing news, a phone call. It was Ramona, her captors to be precise.

  The rented small private aircraft had quietly taxied onto the hot El Dorado International Airport tarmac, no one waiting for him, but someone was expecting him at an agreed location and at a specific time. The voice on the phone had said 2:53pm. He tried to subdue the feeling of anger rising within him as he sat uncomfortably in the rear of a cab heading for the city center, his big brown eyes remaining glued to his phone. He had exactly One hour to the agreed location. He anxiously glanced down at the black leather briefcase on his lap, its contents were what would possibly save Ramona's life.

  She, after exiting his flat sixteen months ago had completely gone silent. It was as though she had simply vanished into thin air. He never heard from her at all but that was until yesterday.

  'I want proof of life.' He'd nervously asked on the phone before the husky male voice demanded he hold the line. His heart had pelted so hard, his hands shaking from rage and sweat had quickly filled his forehead. Memories of Mariana had come flooding back and how her captors too had told him then to hold the line when he demanded he speak with her.

  The yellow taxi cab came to an abrupt halt in front of the Hotel Casa Galeria in the heart of La Candelaria district, central Bogotá.

  'Por aca, por favor -Here please.' the Driver of the yellow airport taxi cab said. He appeared elderly and wore a grey woolen cap.

  'Gracias' Rodriquez answered handing the man four thousand pesos as payment. Rodriquez was taken by surprise when the man instead grabbed hard at his arm pulling on to it tightly.

  'Hey!' Rodriquez yelled in an attempt to retrieve his hand from the man's grasp but to no avail. The old taxi cab driver it seems had an unusually strong grip.

  Suddenly, the cab’s rear door flung open, someone grabbed Rodriquez' briefcase making off with it. Alarmed, Rodriquez flung himself forward head butting the driver powerfully and freeing himself in the process. He leapt from the cab in an attempt to run after the mugger colliding instead into a tall blond woman. Rodriquez, almost dropping to the ground from the sudden impact, recovered quick enough to stay on his feet. The thief, he saw, was racing through the afternoon crowds rapidly. Rodriquez put on a burst of speed chasing after the man. The man, he observed, was no ordinary petty thief. He weaved through the crowds creating diversions by yelling incoherently and deliberately trampling over open air vendor stalls causing commotion and panic.

  A few more turns and more running, Rodriquez quickly realized he had lost him. Panting profusely, he stopped looking dazed and tired. He hadn’t expected such a dramatic turn of events. Then his phone rang. It was the same people holding Ramona.

  'Rodriquez,' he answered breathing heavily into the phone.

  'It seems you're having some trouble delivering what we asked for in exchange for your friend.'

  'Look mister,' Rodriquez answered angrily, 'someone just made off with my briefcase and I think he is one of your men.'

  'Detective,' interjected the voice on the other end of the line, 'that is not my concern, we agreed you deliver the information and we give you your friend in one piece but it appears you've let her down.'

  'Wait!' shouted Rodriquez into the phone. I still have the information with me.'

  'Well then,' said the man, 'bring me the information, same place, same time. I will be waiting.' before adding, ‘welcome to Colombia Detective Rodriquez.'

  The line went silent.

  Confused and enraged, Rodriquez walked back towards the Hotel Casa Galeria, the afternoon Colombian sun blazing onto his brooding face. He was running out of time. Then, he spotted the tall blond woman he'd crashed into earlier walk towards him. She too seemed to spot him, a fraction of a second late before switching direction. He sensed something odd about the woman. She had all of a sudden had made a U-turn and was now briskly walking away. He increased his strides through the crowds and she seemed to notice he was on to her. She must know something he thought, otherwise why act suspicious. She crossed the road abruptly waving for a cab but continued past it jelling into the crowds on the opposite walkway. Rodriquez continued observing her, keeping his distance. A few meters further, she turned into a narrow street. His heart skipped. He had to track her and ask her a few questions. Crossing the road, he reached the place she had made the turn but she was nowhere in sight. He was now even more nervous. He increased his strides joining an adjacent street. He glanced both sides of the street before he caught sight of her disappear into an old gray building a few yards up ahead to his left. He run weaving through parked cars, pedestrians, past a group of cyclists on a Cicloruta-bike path, and entered the same building.

  Inside was dark and eerie. He stood motionless long enough for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He saw a narrow stair case leading up somewhere. Where was she? He pondered. He had observed she wore black heels. If he listened intently, he would hear them clink on the cement floor.

  Then he heard them, sounding, upstairs.

  He rushed up the staircase making a sharp turn and racing up the other half. He was surprised the stairs ceased at an open deserted floor and the woman, Rodriquez saw, was standing, her back turned towards him. She was calm, staring through the huge glass window into the adjacent buildings in the Bogota sky rise.

  'Hey!' he called to her. She remained put.


  'Excuse me,' he said still no answer or movement.

  'Madam, I am detective Rodriquez visiting Bogotá for the first time. You witnessed someone rob me a few minutes back at the Hotel Casa Galeria.' He kept cautiously moving towards her. He didn’t want to alarm her.

  ‘I was of the view perhaps,' he continued, 'you did identify the man who robbed me, so you can help me get my documents back.' His tone was low and pleading.

  He was now a foot away from her. She turned to face him a smile escaping her bright red lipstick painted lips. Rodriquez noticed tears running down her cherry cheeks before he heard a muted hissing sound.

  Blood spluttered out of her head before the woman slumped heavily onto the cement floor. Rodriquez, in shock too ducked onto the floor. She had been shot. A sniper's shot no doubt. What was going on? His mind was racing. Where had the shot come from? The adjacent building no doubt. This only meant he was being watched, in the line of fire, a dead man. Crawling on all fours toward the woman's body, he lifted her up, dragging her towards the stair case while using her corpse as cover. Two more hissing sounds whizzed past him, another struck the woman's torso. Rodriquez knew he was now the intended target, but why? Who were these people? Upon reaching the staircase, he dropped the heavy body and rushed down the stairs skipping a few in the rapid descent.

  He burst onto the lively street panting, mingled into the crowds hoping it would make him a much harder target now. Preserving his life for now was his top priority but he still needed to figure out what was going on. Spotting a parked police car nearby, Rodriquez rushed towards it.

  Approaching, a hysterical Rodriquez yelled at the two officers seated inside the vehicle.

  'A woman has been shot in that building!' pointing towards the old gray building his back hunched using the car as a shield.

  The officer at the wheel looking rather startled asked 'Are you certain?'

  'Yes!' Rodriquez replied sounding distraught.

  The man's quizzical face turned to alarm when he spotted Rodriquez' blooded white shirt and crisp navy blue suit.