Colombiano

  Culebra, who was about to commence his basic training course with one hundred and sixty new recruits, offered to take on Coca-Cola as a punto. This involved sitting in the doorway of a shack along the highway from Puerto Bontón, holding a radio and reporting suspicious traffic movements. It was ideal for incapacitated soldiers – they continued to receive full pay and be of service to La Empresa – but it was also the most boring job imaginable. The only human interaction came when fresh batteries arrived. Besides, I didn’t want any replacements – the skirmish had made our unit tighter and I wanted to keep it that way.

  ‘Thanks, but I need him,’ I said.

  ‘Let me know if you think of anybody else who’s suitable.’

  I nodded and then left to seek out Alfa 1 privately in the office.

  ‘Did they find anything on the two bodies?’ I asked, hoping the slain guerrilleros might have had maps or phone numbers in their pockets that would give us a lead on the mother base.

  ‘Nada,’ he said. ‘The army arrived within the hour, but the bodies were gone.’

  I was disappointed. I wished I’d searched them myself when I took their rifles. Alfa 1, however, insisted I’d acted correctly. He’d ordered me to evacuate immediately. Besides, my description of the long-haired boat driver might prove useful. Of course, he might flee the area or join the Guerrilla for safety, depending on whether he believed he’d been seen by us. My recollection of the boat itself was vague, but Palillo had grown up around boats and promptly told Alfa 1 that we were looking for ‘a faded-green wooden lancha, six metres by two, with four seats and a forty-five-horsepower, long-tillered Mercury outboard.’

  ‘So what happens next?’ I asked Alfa 1.

  ‘We’ll pass on the descriptions of the boat and its driver to the army. Their river patrols will be on the lookout.’

  ‘There must be a hundred boats matching the description.’

  ‘But only one with a 5.56mm round lodged in the right bow.’

  ‘Won’t they scuttle and sink it?’

  ‘If the Guerrilla pays the owner for it, yes. Otherwise, that lancha is someone’s livelihood. Let’s see. In the meantime, take your men and relax. Five days leave. Go!’

  Trigeño’s accountant must have found some money. All of us were paid a month’s salary as a bonus and given five days fully-paid rest and recuperation leave at the Puerto Bontón Military Club, which boasted a swimming pool, a bar and two tennis courts. I received an additional two months’ salary for the confirmed kills and one month for the two AK47 rifles, which Culebra added to the container inventory. Alfa 1 handed me my bonus in cash. I’d never held so much money in my life.

  ‘And if you have any other requests, now is the time to ask,’ he said.

  ‘I’d like a scope for the Galil. All we had were binoculars. But if I’d had a scope …’

  ‘That might be difficult.’ Alfa 1 scratched his head. ‘But I’ll ask Lieutenant Alejandro if he can make one go missing.’

  ‘And there’s one more thing, comando. It’s about Piolín …’

  The first night at the Puerto Bontón Military Recreation Club, we drank Costeña beers until late and traded stories with the government soldiers who were on leave with their wives and girlfriends. They weren’t at all surprised by our skirmish – all over the country both sides were breaking the ceasefire, although nothing was reported publicly that might jeopardise the delicate negotiations. In fact, the soldiers were envious that we’d engaged the enemy. They felt betrayed by the government – the ongoing peace process was only giving the Guerrilla breathing space to fortify their defences and supply routes, increase recruiting and training, and move their civilian and army hostages.

  At midnight, MacGyver was drunk and wanted to take Palillo to Don Otto’s puteadero to celebrate. But Palillo refused, claiming he preferred to save his money. I guessed the real reason: he was still stuck on Piolín.

  The next day, as we lazed around the pool, hung-over, the fun and teasing continued. I had to take my share for having radioed in a ‘major battle’ in which we were ‘under siege from a large enemy force’. I laughed it off, glad I hadn’t said aloud that I’d seen forty enemy soldiers when there were really only twelve. Besides, my teasing was nothing compared to the ongoing humiliation shovelled upon Veneno.

  Ñoño renamed him, diluting his apodo from ‘Poison’ to ‘Water Bottle’. Tortuga initiated a debate over which was a more masculine drink – Coca-Cola or Water? We laughed at how, crawling awkwardly forward with the radio on her back, she had truly resembled a turtle. But since she’d come out firing, Palillo affectionately renamed her ‘Ninja Turtle’, which eventually stuck and got shortened to ‘Ninja’. Veneno’s new nickname would probably also have stuck if he’d continued on with us. However, before our next patrol he’d be receiving some unexpected news. I’d recommended he be assigned to permanent punto duty.

  I had an even bigger surprise for Palillo. ‘Do you still have those plane tickets to Cartagena?’ I asked him.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Piolín’s out of Beta’s unit. She’s now under Silvestre. And she’s on leave right now.’

  Palillo hugged me in joy and disbelief. ‘You asked Alfa 1?’

  I nodded. ‘But this isn’t an official sanction of your relationship. You still need to be discreet.’

  Seeing Palillo so ecstatic, I immediately phoned Camila. For once, everything had gone right and I wanted to share my happiness with her.

  ‘Great news, amor,’ I began.

  ‘¡Qué bueno!’ she exclaimed excitedly. ‘What?’

  Then I stopped, realising exactly what that great news was and how it might sound to her. What, precisely, was I going to tell her? That I’d killed two men with a rifle from two hundred metres and been commended by my superiors for confiscating their weapons? That if our friends in the army could track down the boat driver, he might give up valuable information that could then lead us to Santiago’s camp, and that I wanted to be in the front line when we raided it?

  No! These were the exact things that would make her worry. Although we’d sworn to each other no more lies, I realised this was an impossible promise to keep if I wanted Camila to feel safe and keep loving me. And as much as I wanted to share every part of my life with her, for as long as I was in the Autodefensas there would always be important things I’d have to shield her from.

  ‘I got paid a bonus!’ I said instead. ‘I want to buy you a present. Choose anything!’

  ‘Well …’ she began coyly, ‘we’ve both been invited to a party next Friday, and there’s a green dress I like—’

  ‘Buy it!’

  ‘Oh, amor! I miss you so much. When are you coming?’

  I looked at the date on my phone. We had four more days’ accommodation paid in advance at the Recreational Club before our second leave officially started.

  ‘Right now,’ I said. ‘I’m boarding a bus right now.’

  PART FIVE

  LOS NARCOS

  76

  THE FIRST LEG of the journey, to Villavicencio, took six hours. My bus passed through two government checkpoints, and at each I tensed, hoping the army searches would not be thorough. The stolen Galil that I’d retrieved from the dump was dismantled in a black sports bag deep in the undercarriage of the bus, my own Smith & Wesson pistol was taped under my seat, and the photocopied intelligence files – which I’d collected from among the reams of paper in the office – were in my backpack. However, my fears of discovery were unrealised; the soldiers merely asked us for identification and did not bother examining our luggage or asking us to disembark.

  At Villavicencio, I changed buses and phoned Mamá to inform her of my arrival time. I was sure she’d be overjoyed to learn about my bonus. It would be enough to get her out from under Javier Díaz’s roof and into her own rented place. I would no longer be under any obligation to the Díaz family. And when Uncle Leo found out, I hoped he and his little amigas would feel ashamed.

  During the final
leg, the overnight trip to Garbanzos, I passed the time by plotting Zorrillo’s demise. That Sunday’s market in Puerto Galán would be the first of the month – always the biggest for cattle sales – so I figured he’d attend in person. I’d find a well-concealed ambush point at a reasonable distance from the market that was within my shooting capability. There, I’d wait until Zorrillo arrived and then disable him with a bullet in the knee, stomach or wrist. I’d dispense with his two or three bodyguards and then sprint in, disarm him and begin circling for my ritual interrogation.

  I became so absorbed in my planning that I hardly noticed the bus’s arrival. When its doors swished open, it was 8 am and I was the only passenger left on board.

  Normally, the multi-levelled Garbanzos Bus Terminal pulsed with activity. Street hawkers and overzealous porters would compete to be heard above crackling loudspeaker announcements. That morning, however, the arrivals hall was so quiet that I could hear my own footsteps echoing off the dusty concrete floor. The food and souvenir stores were closed. Boards were nailed across the windows of six of the eight bus company offices lining the eastern wall. Only two ticket counters were staffed – TRANSPORTADORES DÍAZ and RÁPIDO VELASQUEZ.

  I spotted Mamá immediately among the rows of vacant plastic chairs. On either side of her stood two broad-shouldered men. Judging by the bulges at their waistlines, both were carrying pistols. Mamá rushed towards me with open arms.

  ‘Pedro, I’ve missed you so much!’

  ‘I’ve missed you too.’ We hugged. ‘But who are they?’

  ‘Javier’s driver and bodyguard.’

  ‘You won’t need them anymore,’ I said confidently, draping my arm across her shoulders and guiding her towards the exit. ‘I got a promotion and salary increase. I’m finding you a new place to live this afternoon.’

  I’d expected Mamá to be surprised, but not to stop dead and stare at me. She hesitated and glanced around the empty terminal. ‘Pedro, I can’t move house right now. It’s too dangerous.’

  I remembered things Mamá had said over the phone – that the situation was ‘complicated’ and that I would have to be ‘discreet’.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She looked out to the car park and gestured to a black Mercedes SUV with tinted windows. ‘I’ll explain in the car.’

  When I insisted I wasn’t going anywhere until she told me, Mamá reluctantly opened her handbag and handed me an envelope. ‘This was slipped under Leo’s door three months ago. I didn’t want to discuss it over the phone.’

  Inside was a letter printed under the Guerrilla’s logo – crossed rifles and an outline map of Colombia against a yellow, blue and red background – the same logo that had appeared on the threat addressed to Padre Rojas. I read it with increasing alarm.

  Esteemed Señora Gutiérrez:

  I am hereby communicating with you on behalf of Frente 34 of the People’s Army, The Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia. You are required to attend a meeting in Puerto Galán next Saturday to discuss recent developments in local security.

  It was signed ‘Jorge Emilio Botero’, which I knew from the army’s intelligence files was Zorrillo’s latest political alias.

  My hand began shaking. If Mamá had attended the meeting as demanded, the Guerrilla might have kidnapped her. But by failing to attend, she would have been declared an objetivo militar – a military target.

  The letter was dated May 5th.

  ‘A month after my last leave?’

  Mamá bit her lip and nodded. We both knew what that meant: after seeing the AUC graffiti, the Guerrilla had investigated and linked it back to me.

  I was so angry I wanted to ram my fist into Zorrillo’s face and pummel it to a pulp. However, my anger at Zorrillo paled beside my guilt and concern that I’d put Mamá in danger.

  ‘What happened when you didn’t go?’

  ‘They phoned me twice at your uncle’s. I hung up both times. After that, we unplugged the phone. Leo didn’t want to leave the house. That was when Eleonora offered me a place to stay.’

  Finally, everything made sense: Mamá not answering Uncle Leo’s phone for weeks; her moving out; her fretful, guarded voice during recent conversations; and now the bodyguards. None of this was Leo’s fault; it was all mine.

  ‘Mamá, I …’

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said softly, taking my hand. ‘I’m safe where I am.’

  It seemed that not only would Mamá have to remain with Javier Díaz, but that I had reason to feel grateful to him.

  ‘Colonel Buitrago thinks it’s best if you stay with us. Javier has electrified fences, an armoured vehicle and guard dogs …’

  I gritted my teeth and waited for her to finish. Though I couldn’t object to Mamá continuing to live at the Díaz finca, I didn’t have to accept any favours from them myself. I told her to thank Javier but that I was staying in a hotel. Although Mamá looked disappointed, she didn’t try to argue.

  ‘At least come next Friday. Javier’s having a party. Eleonora and Fabián are flying down to attend. The family has been good to me, Pedro. It would be rude not to show your face.’

  Luckily, I had a perfect excuse. ‘Sorry, but I’ve already committed to a party that night with Camila.’

  As I kissed Mamá goodbye, she gripped my hand tighter.

  ‘Be careful, hijo. Our finca is fine, but things have changed since your last visit. The colonel asked that you not contact him directly. But he said to warn you that there’s now a Guerrilla roadblock on the highway entering Llorona. Apparently they have two lists of names. One for people who are permitted through. The other for people considered military targets. Three people have been taken hostage in the last month, including a young girl.’

  Mamá didn’t say it outright, but I could guess what she was thinking: what if I was on their list? And I didn’t say what I thought either: I didn’t care. If Zorrillo and Caraquemada had added me to their list, good. They were on mine. Nevertheless, I promised Mamá I’d be safe, and I meant it.

  I decided not to stay at the Hotel Pandora, where I’d stayed on my previous leave, choosing instead a different residencia two blocks closer to the police garrison. I checked in using the name on the fake cédula provided by the Autodefensas – Jhon Jairo García Sanchez. I took a second-storey room with a window overlooking the plaza and another window that backed onto an awning, from which I could jump if I needed to make an emergency escape.

  I left a message on Camila’s phone with details of my new hotel and check-in name before walking to Uncle Leo’s hardware store four blocks away.

  As I entered he gave a start and then nervously looked around, as though he were suddenly harbouring the world’s most wanted man.

  ‘You can’t be in here,’ he hissed. He turned to his new ‘assistant’ – an attractive girl with a vacant look on her face who probably didn’t know the difference between a nail and a screw. ‘Amelia, pull down the grill and padlock it.’

  ‘Nice to see you too, Uncle. I won’t stay long. I’m here for my bicycle.’

  ‘You have some nerve showing up here. Everyone knows what you’ve done,’ he said, becoming more aggressive once the grill was down and he was safe from prying eyes. ‘That graffiti could have got me killed! Not to mention your mother!’

  I glanced deliberately at his pretty shop assistant. ‘At least now you have your privacy back.’

  I left via the back exit but took my time, helping myself to a hammer, nails and rope – all of which would be crucial to my plan of getting Zorrillo – and leaving the money for them in the back storeroom. I wasn’t going to owe Uncle Leo anything.

  If he wanted to avoid me, that was fine. However, if it were true that everyone knew what I’d done, this vacation would be very different to the last. I would be disciplined about security – eating my meals and meeting Mamá indoors. When I was outside, I’d wear a hat to cover my short hair.

  All morning and afternoon I sat alone on my hotel bed, looking out over the dreary pl
aza, feeling deflated.

  Thanks to the ceasefire, the Guerrilla’s operations were expanding and they were becoming more daring – hand-delivering letters inside Garbanzos, establishing roadblocks to control the movement of people and goods, and snatching motorists from cars. No wonder the bus terminal was as deserted as a graveyard. Brazen kidnappings deterred travellers, which in turn caused business closures and unemployment. Eventually, the Guerrilla might paralyse our local economy.

  Without Palillo to cheer me up like last time, I felt lost and alone. It was not until 3.30 pm when I heard a faint knock at the door that my mood suddenly lifted: Camila.

  77

  CAMILA SWEPT INTO the room like a fresh summer breeze. She dropped her school satchel and the shopping bag she was carrying and launched herself at me, wrapping her legs around my waist. She kissed me over and over, covering my cheeks, neck and ears, and began unbuttoning my shirt. But when I slid my hands up her thighs and under her school uniform, she slapped my wrists away.

  ‘Not yet, señorito. First I have a surprise.’ Taking the shopping bag with her, she locked herself in the bathroom and called through the door, ‘You’re going to love this.’

  Secretly, I hoped it was lingerie. Pink lingerie. Or maybe blue, like the bra she was wearing the first time we made love. Finally, Camila flung the door open and waltzed out wearing an emerald-green cocktail dress.

  ‘Well?’ she said, twirling nervously on bare feet. The dress opened in a V-shape halfway up her spine, revealing the flawless olive skin of her back and her delicate shoulder blades, which jutted out like budding angel wings. ‘Do you like it?’

  I stood from the bed, held her hips at arm’s length, appraised her fully and then slid my hands slowly up her body. ‘Almost as much as what’s inside.’