Betrayed (22 page)

They were flying now between two ridges that rose higher than the plane. On her side was a cliff face dappled with browns and reds and grays so close that it seemed Vicki could open a window and touch it. A waterfall shooting over the cliff had caught the sun to form a rainbow, both cascade and arch losing themselves in the mists that filled the valley below. Above the falls, a pair of condors wheeled on outspread wings. The beauty and peace made Vicki’s throat ache.

“Holly doesn’t—didn’t—remember the before. And I always made it my business to protect her. Not that I did a very good job, evidently.” Vicki’s teeth closed on her lip to keep it from trembling. “It’s not that I don’t see the good and the beauty. I do. It’s just that I see so much more ugliness and suffering and pain and killing. And that’s what’s winning, not the good. Whatever little bit I can do—or
anyone
can do—is only holding back the inevitable. Including all this. I just . . . I can’t understand a God who could create something so unbelievably beautiful and let the bad guys win. Watch it all be destroyed.”

“Yet you keep trying. You really believe you can’t make a difference, but you don’t head home and settle down to a comfortable life of shopping malls and cable TV. Why? I saw what you were doing with those kids. You are a total contradiction.”

Again Vicki thought she detected censure. “At least I’m trying. Isn’t that better than burying your head in the sand—or surf and pretty mountains?”

“If that was meant for me,” Joe answered, “you’re wrong. Of course I see the pain and the ugliness. But maybe I just look at it the other way around. If the Creator of this world
is
who He says He is, if He made all this—”

They were flying past the waterfall now, the spray leaping out to grab at the wings. For a moment the rainbow enclosed the plane in its jeweled prism before falling behind them.

“—and He allows human beings to spoil it all with their own bad choices, then what value does He see in that freedom of choice? After all, God could turn us into robots with a snap of His fingers, assuming He has fingers. So what value does He see in
us
that’s worth all the pain and ugliness to which we have submitted His creation? Hey, I’m just a simple guy—”

Yeah, right!

“—and I’m certainly no theologian. But I choose to believe God
is
who those military base chaplains always told me He was when I was growing up. Otherwise this world really wouldn’t be worth living. Okay, I’m not saying it isn’t everything you say it is. But . . . well, maybe it’s like a butterfly coming out of its cocoon. Maybe there’s something of value in what we learn from the suffering. Something of more value than making this world easy and pretty for us, which if you believe God’s real, you’ve got to admit He could do easily enough. Something we can’t get a glimpse of because we can’t see far enough ahead to understand it. But it’s got to be beyond imagining to be worth all this.”

With a crook of his mouth, he added dismissively, “There’s a lot of time to think on a surfboard.”

But Vicki wasn’t fooled by his lightness. Maybe not a theologian but a philosopher certainly. It was this man, not Vicki, who was turning out to be a maze of contradictions.
I could like this guy
.

Yet an instinct she’d learned to trust, honed by too many years of sifting through lies and deception, made her wary.
Anyone can spout off nice-sounding philosophy. I know he’s hiding something
.

Joe was clearly not expecting a reply from Vicki, so she made none. He’d fallen silent again, not with his earlier caustic reticence but because he was occupied.

The plane had dropped farther between the two ridges, and the mist was actually boiling up over the windshield. Through it Vicki could see the cloud forest canopy only meters below. Not the pines that cloaked the higher slopes but broad leaves and rounded crowns, punctuated by odd pencil-straight trees topped with a single tuff like upside-down brooms. Looping it all together were the liana vines that offered the monkeys and other canopy dwellers a transportation system the length and breadth of the cloud forest.

Vicki knew what he was looking for—the unauthorized clearings of which he’d spoken. But if there was any break in that green sea, she couldn’t spot it. They rose over a ridge and into another valley, this one with only wisps of mist. Joe slowed over a hillside opening, looping a lazy circle. It was clearly an old one, already grown back over with elephant ears and saplings.

But another ridge and valley later, Joe slowed to trace another circle. This time she could see the signs of recent clearing. There were no accompanying indications of human presence, and if a crop had been planted, it was already being overtaken by weeds and wildflowers.

Joe nodded past Vicki to where beyond her window a cliff face directly ahead made the valley a dead-end canyon. Above the cliff face, the mountain slope rose to a steep crest. “We’re almost to the end of the biosphere here. The center is maybe ten minutes over that mountain. The village that was massacred a couple months back was just up the ridge between here and the center. I’d say that was probably one of their clearings.”

Dropping lower, he looped a wider circle that revealed half a dozen more of the abandoned clearings. The removal of the original undergrowth had allowed the clearings to be invaded by a virtual carpet of flowers. The petals were dropping, but there were enough remaining on the stalks—white, pink, lilac, red—to visualize the swathe of beauty it must have been in full bloom.

“Well, Greenpeace was probably right about one thing. It would seem the massacre has scared the local peasants from crossing the line. Okay, let’s head home.” Joe vigorously added power and pulled back hard on the yoke, the plane rising so steeply it felt as though they were flying up the side of the ridge in front of them.

Vicki, who hadn’t yet felt the need of that airsickness bag, grabbed at her shoulder strap, her stomach flying into her throat as Joe banked right to head down the valley toward the cliff face. The only sound was the roar of the propeller. When the plane jolted, Vicki thought they’d hit an air pocket or even a bird. Then she saw the stitching of light through the material of the wing just outside the window. “Joe, there’re holes in the wing!”

“Bullet holes,” Joe gritted between his teeth, fighting grimly with the controls. “We’ve been shot! Hang on!"

This time Vicki saw the light burst of tracers shooting up from the green tangle of the hillside. The plane fell sideways so sharply that she was thrown against Joe’s shoulder.

It was an eternity before the wings finally straightened out. The DHC-2 raced up the valley toward the cliff face beyond which Joe had promised sanctuary. Vicki could see no other damage to the plane as she fell back into her seat. They had reached the cliff face now and were rising steeply to clear the ridge above. But even as she let out the breath she was holding, she heard the
throp-throp
of another engine.

The propellers rose first above the ridge, then the long, sleek gray-green shape of the military helicopter. A Vietnam-era Huey, Vicki recognized incredulously from a thousand news shows and movies. Donated as war surplus by the US to allies around the world. The side door was open, and there was no blinking away the machine gun staring at them through the open doorway.

Chapter Seventeen

This time Vicki could hear the
rat-tat-tat
of rapid gunfire as well as see the flicker fire of tracers streaking across their flight path. Was she screaming, or was Joe? Or maybe both.

Now Vicki was able to judge the proficiency of Joe’s Spanish as he grabbed the mike. “
¡Socorro! ¡Socorro!
Don’t shoot. We’re unarmed. We’re civilians. Call numbers N62513. Don’t shoot!”

For an endless moment Vicki was sure they hadn’t heard or had chosen to ignore Joe’s call. Banking, the Huey took up a flanking position beyond Joe’s window. Looking past him, Vicki could make out at least half a dozen men in khaki uniforms inside with that huge, bolted-down machine gun.

Vicki closed her eyes as the gun barrel swiveled toward the DHC-2’s cockpit. When she thrust away cowardice to force them open again, it wasn’t to machine gun fire but the arm gestures of a uniform crouched in the open door of the Huey. The gist crackled over the radio in Spanish. If some of the terminology was unfamiliar to Vicki, she had no problem translating their general meaning: “Follow us and land where we tell you, or we’ll blow you to bits.”

Then they were over the ridge. All she saw was the asphalt runway rushing up to meet them. Beyond the airfield and sweeping up into the mountains was uncleared cloud forest that marked the beginning of the biosphere. Bordering one side of the runway was a high chain-link fence, topped with barbed wire and broken by guard towers and a wide gate. A collection of army trucks, Jeeps, and other vehicles lined the edge of a packed-earth parade ground.

Marking the far end of the runway was an open-sided hanger and a small air control tower. Outside the hanger a second Huey sat alongside a DC-3 military cargo plane.

As the DHC-2’s wheels touched the ground, running figures in army fatigues boiled out of the control tower and hanger. Through the fence, Vicki could see an army Jeep and a pickup speeding from the parade ground, guards hurrying to open the gate.

The most bizarre sight to Vicki was a huge pair of army boots, as broad as the gate and taller than the base wall, topped with an equally oversize army helmet, both painted in camouflage greens and olives. It was the most blatant advertisement of the central status of the military she had yet seen in Guatemala.

“We’re landing at the military base?” Vicki demanded. “Where’s the airport?”

“This
is
the airport.” Joe’s expert hand on the throttle slowed the plane to a taxiing speed. As he pulled in next to the DC-3, their helicopter escort settled to rest on the opposite side, the wind of the propellers rocking the lighter DHC-2.

Men in khaki uniforms spilled out of the Huey, the automatic rifles unslung in their hands considerably smaller than the Huey’s machine gun but no less intimidating. From the hanger, army fatigues fanned out around the plane.

“The center pays a ridiculous rent to park their plane here. What kind of hornet’s nest we’ve stumbled into, I can’t imagine. But just sit tight and let me do the talking. A simple explanation should clear this up.” Joe’s tone was even and cool, but the clenching of his fist as he reached to unbuckle his seat belt gave away his anger.

At the sharp tap of a rifle butt on the fuselage, he opened the cockpit door and climbed out, hands outspread.

A moment later Vicki’s door was yanked open. A hand grabbed at her forearm as she clambered out. She miscalculated the short jump, landing hard on her knees.

By the time she’d scrambled up, brushing off her jeans, Joe was being herded around to her side of the plane. He didn’t look at all cowed by the rifle barrels directed at him. Maybe it helped to be head and shoulders above your captors. Her own guard was not only half-again larger in body mass than Vicki, but standing close enough to overpower her with the rankness of sweat and body odor.

“Don’t touch that!” Joe barked at two men in army fatigues who had opened the plane’s cabin door and were wrestling out a cargo crate. “Those are medications belonging to the wildlife center. If any are broken, you will be held personally responsible.”

Hastily, but carefully, the pair lowered the crate.

Joe turned to the nearest khaki uniform, whom Vicki recognized as the one whose gestures had directed them to land. He was tall for a Guatemalan with a strong European infusion into his gene pool, curly hair more brown than black and a beard that bore a striking resemblance to a younger Castro.

“What is the meaning of this unprovoked attack?” Joe demanded in Spanish, motioning toward the bullet holes stitched across the wing overhead. “This is a private aircraft belonging to the Wildlife Rescue Center and authorized to land at this airstrip. We informed your radio control of our arrival.”

“You lie!” the man who looked like Castro returned. “I know the center aircraft and its pilot. Where is Ro-hed?"

It took a moment for Vicki to realize he was referring to Roger, Holly’s British WRC colleague, whom Joe had replaced. “As to an attack, do not think you can escape blame for this. Our radar caught your evasive maneuvers. We saw you trying to flee. What are you transporting? Narcotics?”

“We weren’t trying to flee. We were trying to keep from being shot down.”

At their leader’s gesture, the two men who’d lifted down the crate used rifle butts to smash in the lid.

“Hey!” Joe took a step forward, then as rifle barrels came up, relaxed, his hands spreading wide. “Please, there is clearly a misunderstanding. Yes, you are right; this is not the same aircraft we had stationed here before. We just purchased a new one. The papers have been filed with your
comandante
. And I am the pilot now. Roger returned to his own country. Again, you have only to check with your headquarters. I have flown in and out of here several times over the last weeks.”

“I was not present then,” the man said arrogantly, as though that negated anything Joe had said.

“Coronel.” A man in army fatigues held up a vial he’d lifted from the crate. “It is true this contains medicines. The label says this is an
antibiótico
.”

“It could be a trick to disguise
narcóticos
,” the colonel snapped back. “Anything can be printed on a label.”

“Why would anyone smuggle drugs into here?” Vicki had been silent till now, the adrenaline jolt of their forced landing leaving her shaking and nauseated.

Though the sun was high overhead, a brisk wind blew across the mountain plateau, so heavy with moisture that Vicki could taste it. It was an unpleasant reminder of how much she disliked mountains. And soldiers. The running uniforms, dozens of them converging. The harsh shouts and hard dark faces. The black boots pounding on the asphalt. The smell of burning.

Wait a minute; there was no burning.

Vicki took deep breaths to blink the dizziness away. It had to be the altitude that was making her heart pound so hard. “I thought people tried to smuggle drugs
out
of these mountains, not in,” she got out between chattering teeth. “You’re not making any sense. Just let us go!”

Vicki caught Joe’s warning glance, saw it shift to concern.

The colonel’s expression bristled with anger. “That remains to be decided. What makes sense is that you are both under arrest.” He snapped his fingers at a knot of soldiers who had just arrived from the direction of the hanger. “You—secure the plane. And you—escort the prisoners to headquarters.”

A roaring filled Vicki’s head as fingers tightened on her upper arm. The dark faces crowding in above her seemed oddly distant and hazy, her breath coming fast and shallow. She was going to faint or throw up on the colonel’s polished black boots.

The blare of a horn scattered the soldiers. As the grip on Vicki’s arm dropped away, the army Jeep she’d spotted from the air slammed to a stop, the pickup pulling up behind it.

A dozen uniformed men were crowded into the Jeep, squeezed into seats, squatting on the floor, perched on the tailgate. Vicki spotted a lighter head and taller frame of the man seated beside the driver. She could have wept with relief as he jumped to the ground and strode in their direction.

“Michael, what are you doing here?”

 “Hello, Vicki.” He reached her and smiled. “I told you I’d be shuffling my training schedule around, though I hadn’t expected the pleasure of seeing you this soon.” He stopped to exchange a brief handclasp with their captor. “Colonel Alpiro. So you made it back. And I see you’ve brought a couple of my countrymen with you.”

Michael turned back to Vicki. “May I introduce Ramon Alpiro, commander of the new UPN and my local liaison for this training program.”

“UPN . . . " But . . . I thought they were soldiers.” Even as her head whirled, Vicki realized there were indeed two distinct uniforms facing her: the camouflage fatigues that had raced toward them from the hanger and the solid khaki of the helicopter continent. Only now did Vicki take in the
UPN
across upper sleeve and lapel, the khaki beret replacing army caps. Michael’s Jeep companions wore the same uniform.

“Yes, well, you’re partly right. The local military command is working closely with UPN. Pooling resources is the only real way to accomplish this mission.” Michael’s hand shot out to steady Vicki as she swayed. “Are you okay?”

“Okay? Of course she’s not okay.” Shaking off restraining hands, Joe took a step forward that put him face-to-face with Michael. “Can’t you see you’ve scared the poor kid half to death? Your goons could have killed us. Tell me, is shooting down civilian aircraft always part of your training exercises?”

“Shooting?” Michael glanced at the wing damage above his head, and the smile abruptly left his face and eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that we could have been killed,” Joe said icily. In fact, it’s a miracle nothing vital was hit.”

The two men had spoken in English, and Vicki shifted to the same as she spoke up. “He’s right, Michael. Someone fired on us from the jungle. And then these  . . . these police, soldiers, whatever—” her voice shook as she indicated the helicopter crew—“arrested us.”

“I can assure you it wasn’t
my
goons who did the shooting. To start with, these people aren’t my goons. As Americans, we are here only in an advisory capacity.” When Joe’s expression didn’t lose one degree of skepticism, Michael went on shortly, “In any case, all ground personnel involved in the training exercise were back over an hour ago, as half the base can attest. Colonel Alpiro and the helo unit just happened to be making a final surveillance sweep of the biosphere when they radioed that a suspicious aircraft was buzzing in a restricted zone and trying to evade pursuit.”