Deadly Journey (8 page)
Authors: Declan Conner
The Makeup Lady
The morning
arrived and brought with it little comfort at having survived another day. The
headache from hell pounded in my temples. The lights were on in the room and
when I sat upright, I was surprised to see no guard. A lack of logic, probably
brought on by my exhausted brain, gave a glimmer of hope that I would find the
villa deserted. For a brief moment, I was in a good place at the idea I could
just walk out of there.
But I didn’t have to delve deep within
myself to realize it was a delusion. I hadn’t needed nightmares to unsettle my
sleep. Every waking minute of the night had been shrouded in angst. Visions of
Miguel’s severed head and the demise of Leila’s family had tormented me. Those
awful flashbacks had been interspersed with wondering how my family was coping
and what, if anything, the authorities would be doing in response to my going
missing.
The incident with Leandra had unsettled me.
It was hard to work out if they were going to use the photographs as a means of
blackmailing me into telling them what they wanted to know, or if they were
going to add them to the ransom note.
I glanced at the photograph of Mary and the
kids on the nightstand. The knowledge that Mary was a strong woman, one who
tended take problems in her stride, gave me little comfort. She would be
kicking butt down at the FBI, demanding answers, rather than sulking in a
corner. It was how my kids were managing that I couldn’t figure out.
Instinct told me to head for the door and I
threw the bed covers to one side. Catching sight of the beeping LED on the
ankle bracelet stopped me in mid-flight. A glance at the CCTV dome on the
ceiling brought on a sigh. Whatever the day threw at me, I decided that I had
to make a determined effort to create empathy with all of my captors, in the
hope an opportunity would arise for me to escape.
Intermittent screeching outside the room
broke the silence. The noise stopped and the door handle twitched. First one,
and then another guard entered. Leandra backed into the room with the breakfast
cart, its broken wheel still squealing annoyingly.
‘Buenos días, amigos.’
Neither of the guards responded to my
attempt at a greeting. One of the guards opened the window shutters and the
other turned off the light.
‘Buenos días, Kurt,’ Leandra said and approached
the side of the bed. ‘Lights, camera and action for you today. First breakfast,
then a nice shower and shave.’
She pointed to a razor and shaving cream on
the bottom tier of the cart. Maybe it was out of her still carrying the
embarrassment of yesterday’s escapade at the poolside, I couldn’t be sure, but
she avoided looking directly at me. She made her usual twirl and left the
bedroom.
The breakfast smelled good, but a churning
stomach had me picking at the scrambled eggs. Somehow a night spent dwelling on
the events at Leila’s home and seeing how hens produced eggs took away my
appetite. The image of Leila’s daughter’s body twitching in tandem with the
chicken at her side just wouldn’t go away. Half a slice of toast and a coffee
was as much as I could manage.
My thoughts turned to apprehension over
what they would want me to say on camera and what sort of demeanour I should
portray. I’d seen footage of captors from Iran through to Afghanistan; most of
them looked as though they were already wearing a death mask. But then, they
were only minutes away from losing their lives. That notion froze my mind and
sent a shiver running through my body. It made me wonder if I was reading
Leandra the wrong way and her avoiding looking at me was because she knew they
were going to execute me on camera. The cartel’s members thought little of life
and death... except their own. My head ached at the thought. Maybe the ransom
note was just a ruse to keep me compliant and to give me false hope.
‘
Ducha
,’ one of the guards said, and
he began acting like an ape, scratching at his armpits.
Assuming he meant for me to take a shower,
I threw my legs over the side of the bed, shook my head, and pointed to the
tracking bracelet on my ankle.
‘Waterproof,’ the guard said. Using the
barrel of his rifle, he signalled me to go to the shower room.
I felt an urge to leap at one of them to
disarm him and use his body as a shield to take out the other. Only the
determination in their eyes, and their fingers caressing their remote
detonators, prevented me from moving on them.
Rolling over on the bed away from them, I
took the razor and shaving cream and headed for the shower.
There wasn’t time to savour the shower as I
took the time to go over what I had gleaned. Both guards had chains around
their necks with a key and a remote each for the tracker. There was a window of
opportunity to escape, so near I could taste it, but also a fear that any move
I made could end my life. I worked out that my priority was to return safely to
my wife and kids rather than someone finding me dumped on the roadside. A glance
at the window told me it was too small to squeeze through.
Turning off the shower, I dried myself.
I started to shave and I worked out that
they were unlikely to film my death. If Perez thought I had information he
wanted, as long as I could endure his questioning, I could hold onto a tenuous
hope of escaping.
The sound of a light aircraft engine buzzing
caught my attention. This was three days in a row, if it was the crop duster
coming in to land.
Two women were talking in the bedroom, one
of them Leandra. I put the towel around my waist and entered. There were now
three guards at one end of the room, one of them with a Taser in his hand.
Leandra stood at the door with a gray-haired, portly woman, maybe in her
fifties. The woman was holding a wooden box and Leandra held orange overalls in
her arms, with shackles on top.
‘I’ve brought Maria to see you,’ Leandra
said. ‘She is going to apply makeup to hide those bruises before they start
filming. But first she’s going to apply a face mask.’
A guard placed a chair in front of the bed.
Maria sat with the box placed on her knees. She lifted the lid and took out a
spatula and two straws.
‘This isn’t going to hurt, only maybe your
pride,’ said Leandra. ‘Close your eyes and she’ll place the straws in you
nostrils for you to breathe while the facemask dries. It won’t take long.’
The inserts hurt more than my pride, with
my nostrils still inflamed from my broken nose. At least I could still breathe.
Gradually, she covered my entire face with what felt like a warm rubber
solution. It seemed to take forever and felt akin to being buried alive. There
was silence in the room. Every once in a while, I would feel what I imagined
was a finger poking at the mask. Finally, she removed the straws. Fingers
teased at the mask until it came free. I opened my eyes and could see it had
been removed in one piece.
I took in a long, slow gulp of air.
She used a ball of cotton with an alcohol
solution to wipe away the residue. My lips stung as she swept the cotton ball
across them.
‘Ouch, careful.’
‘Sorry,’ Leandra said. ‘She’s nearly
finished.’
Maria passed the mask to one of the guards,
who took it out of the room. She then took a face duster from her box as if she
were going to check for fingerprints. I simply closed my eyes and let her
complete her task. She started to chat to me in Spanish and laughed.
I opened my eyes at the prod of her finger
in my midriff and she winked.
‘What’s she saying?’
‘She says you have a nice firm body and
she’d like to take you home and mother you,’ said Leandra.
‘You sure you’ve translated the “mother”
part correctly?’
Leandra giggled. ‘Okay, you’re done. Put on
the overalls and we can go down to make the film.’
Maria closed her box, sat back and folded
her arms as if she wasn’t moving.
‘Do I have to get changed with you two here
in the room?’
Leandra spoke to Maria, who huffed, stood,
and left the room. Leandra threw me a half-hearted smile as she followed Maria.
The smile and her expression told me she knew I had lost her trust.
A guard threw the orange overalls down
beside me. Standing, I dropped the towel and quickly slipped them on over my
legs, while edging toward the window. The facemask troubled me. Mary used them
often, but I’d never seen her peel one away in one solid piece. She had always
washed them away. But then what did I know? Maybe it was a Mexican treatment.
I could see the crop duster taxi on the
field maybe two hundred yards away as I slipped my arms into the overalls and
started to fasten the buttons.
There was plenty of cover between the villa
and the runway. To the right of the pathway leading to the villa, there was a
neatly cut maze of bushes. In the centre of the maze was a structure that
looked like a wishing well. When I turned to face the bed, one of the guards
fastened the leg and wrist shackles. Expressionless and with my arms held out
submissively, I stared at the bed sheets. Two tied together, I reckoned, would
get me to the ground floor.
Lights - Camera - Action
Standing erect, I
drew in a breath. My chest slowly rose and then fell along with my shoulders. A
final glance at the photograph of my wife and kids on the nightstand and a push
in my back from one of my guards sent me on my way. The shackles afforded a welcome
shuffle out of the bedroom and a slow descent down the stairway. All
deliberations as to the demeanour I should strike during my captors’ filming
took second place to the spectre of them beheading me on camera.
One of the guard escorts hurried ahead and
opened a door in the hallway.
All of my focus turned to the door, trying
to second-guess what lay inside. The doorframe loomed large. My body felt as
though a heavy shroud had engulfed my entire essence and I found it impossible
to discard the feeling of gloom. At least a prisoner on death row taking their
final walk knew what to expect and had made their peace with it. The
uncertainty of what would happen at the end of my walk was like living each
moment with a toss of an imaginary coin. Heads I live... tails I die.
A hand grasped my shoulder and turned me to
face the doorframe. Inside, I could see a video camera set up on a tripod,
fronting a bank of lighting. Set on a low table in front of the camera was a
television with a cable connected to a laptop to one side. Shaking my head and
shrugging my shoulders did little to dispel negative thoughts. An itch in my
nose developed. I bowed to reach my outstretched finger, but my restraints
prevented me from connecting to administer relief. Arms grabbed me from behind
and forced me to stumble to the inside of the room.
To the left, a black sheet hung on the wall
as a backdrop. On the cloth, words in large-white lettering spelled out “Cobra
Freedom Front”. I took a short step backward to consider the inference. On
either side of the wording, they had sign-written a sword with a tattoo-style
cobra snaked around each sword. It was the perfect setting for classic
misinformation. Perez was winning the fight with his competition, the deadly
Cobra gang, who had for many years dominated the Northeast territory of Mexico.
It looked as though he meant to create some heat for them with this trickery.
‘Sit.’
A guard manoeuvred me behind a table in
front of the banner. He pulled out a chair. With a rap of his clenched fist on
my chest, I collapsed onto the seat.
It was a clever ploy to use insignia of the
competing drug cartel. Besides sending investigators to concentrate on the
opposite side of Mexico, it was also worrying. Once they had what they wanted,
the ruse would leave the true culprits with clean hands at my death.
At last, I could scratch my itch. The chain
connecting my leg irons to the wrist shackles made it impossible to raise my
hands much above the waist. With my hands resting on the table, I leaned
forward, this time connecting a finger to relieve the irritation. Lifting my
head from the table, I glanced around the room. No one had possession of a
machete, but then each guard carried a combat knife, strapped and sheathed. It
would paint a gruesome picture, should they draw a blade across my throat at
the conclusion of the film.
The guards didn’t look or sound too
concerned. They gathered around the camera, poking at the controls, laughing
and jostling each other. The normal tension they brought to the ambience with
their expressionless stares was missing. Acting light-hearted, they appeared
human for a change. I took it that as a sign that they were either nervous
about what lay ahead, or it was a welcome distraction from their mundane
surveillance of my every move.
Leandra breezed into the room, her
radiating smile relieving the anxiousness tightening my stomach. It was as if
my body breathed a sigh of relief. The makeup lady followed her into the room.
She winked directly at me and chewed suggestively on her bottom lip. Leandra
gave her a playful tap and mouthed in Spanish.
‘Behave.’ Leandra turned to face me. ‘Bet
you can’t wait to get this over with.’
‘Are you staying for the recording?’
She laughed, stood akimbo and rolled her
eyes.
‘By the look of you, it’s a good thing I am
staying. You look like you’re waiting for an execution. Don’t look so worried.’
Her words gave me hope. She waved a
computer disc at me with one hand, while holding a buff-coloured file in the
other.
‘Your script,’ she said and placed the file
on the table. ‘You can read the typed version to practice, but you’ll be
reading the words on the television screen.’
‘What, like karaoke?’
She laughed and swayed her head. Her eyes
danced to look at the ceiling.
‘Well, yes, I suppose, if you want to be an
amateur about it, but I thought you called it an auto prompt?’
‘Yeah, I guess.’
The heat in my cheeks rose a few degrees
and I imagined the pallor had returned to my ashen features.
‘That’s better, you smiled. Now start
practicing and let them do it in one take so we can get to the pool. Just pass on
the first part. A guard will read that.’
At ease with her warmth, I flicked open the
file and began to read.
The guard’s monologue brought on a raised
eyebrow.
‘We have your agent, Kurt Rawlings, as our
prisoner. We demand you concede to our requirement for the payment of
twenty-five million dollars for his safe return. Failure to accede to any of
our demands and instructions will result in your officer’s death. Further
contact will be made with directions for the payment to be paid and the manner
of his release.
‘In addition, the amnesty promised by the
current administration for all illegal Mexican immigrants must be acted upon,
with a ten thousand dollar
ex gratia
payment to each individual for the
duress inflicted upon them because of your inhumane immigration policies.
‘Until you comply in full with our demands,
Agent Rawlings will be treated in accordance with the same respect enjoyed by
your detainees at Guantanamo Bay.’
Those last few words had me glancing at the
sleeve of my orange overalls. What the guys back at headquarters would make of
the speech puzzled me, no doubt as much as it would them. The Cobra cartel had
no inclination to involve themselves in politics, other than to garner corrupt
officials. I was guessing that like me, the analysts at headquarters would hear
the political content as the work of the Perez cartel. I doubted they would be
fooled by the cartel’s attempt at deception. In a way, it was a relief that I
wouldn’t have to contort my features and use gestures to give clues to those
who might watch the film. This was going to be a stupid error for Perez if the
film was televised, as it would give the Cobra cartel the moral high ground for
the political sentiment amongst Mexican citizens.
I speed-read my part. Nothing in there
surprised me. I decided simply to read it aloud without showing signs of
stress, just in case they decided to screen it for Mary.
Stony Face entered the room and barked
orders at the guards. One guard stayed behind the camera, the other two
unfurling ski masks over their heads as they made their way to stand to either
side of me and to my rear. Stony manhandled the guard operating the camera out
of the way. His eye fixed firmly to the viewing lens. A sway of his hand and I
heard the shuffle of boots behind as he guided the guards into camera shot on
either side of the banner.
‘More makeup on his nose,’ he ordered.
The makeup lady approached. Leandra placed
the computer disk in the drive to make ready.
Dust from the makeup brush further
irritated my sinuses and I breathed in heavily through my mouth to avoid
sneezing. The woman backed away to inspect her handiwork, followed by a
thumbs-up sign. Leandra knelt at the side of the laptop and called out.
‘After your lines, you’re to stand and walk
to the door. Then we’ll cut filming and you can relax when we remove your
chains.’
The significance of the final paces,
shuffling in shackles, was not lost on me. Headquarters wouldn’t need a prison
manual to understand how I was going to be treated, especially after my
captor’s monologue. One of their own taken prisoner was bad enough, and I
guessed once that they got the ransom message a few backsides would tighten
along with their personal security.
I just hoped the sight of me trussed up
like a terrorist would be motivation enough for them to think
There but for
the grace of God
and pay the damned ransom. In reality, I knew that that
would never happen. Just as I knew that not having a blindfold meant I would
never be released, payment made or not. Only escape through my own efforts
would bring me freedom. That thought was never far away in an all-consuming and
ever-changing cauldron of recipes.
On either side of me, the guards stood
rigid and staring ahead. Each one clutched an automatic rifle. The scene looked
all too familiar from CNN reports made during Middle East conflicts.
Stony Face took hold of his two-way radio.
‘Ready, Sénor Perez.’
Thoughts of Perez watching the proceedings
somehow instilled the onset of pinpricks washing in Mexican waves throughout my
limbs. After a few minutes, the door opened and in he walked. Thankfully, he
stood underneath the lighting, obscuring my vision of him and enabling me to
forget his scrutiny.
Leandra smiled directly at me. I looked
away and cleared my mind of emotion. Stony Face stepped forward, donned his ski
mask, and stood in front of me facing the camera. He nodded and then commenced
with the monologue in a strong Mexican accent. It was a relief to be looking at
his back, as if I were looking directly into a void. He finished and stepped to
one side. The words began to roll on the screen. With tunnel vision, I recited
the words from their script.
‘I’m begging you to meet the demands of my
kidnappers to the letter of their commands. I can assure you that they will
carry out their threat to kill me if the ransom is not paid. Any attempt to try
to rescue me would result in my death. I have explosives attached to my body
that they can trigger by any one of multi-remote detonators held by my captors.
Please...’ The words stuck in my throat and I felt my eyes moisten. My Adam’s
apple danced to clear my throat. I struggled to continue. My voice faltered,
the cue on the screen was long gone, but the words were etched in my memory for
the truth of the sentiment. ‘For... for the sake of my wife and children...
please... please do as they command and tell my family I love them.’
Grabbed under my armpits from behind, I
stood. With head bowed, I shuffled to the door. The whirring of the camera zoom
drew me to glance in its direction. Leandra silently tapped her fingers in a
mock clap. The makeup woman pouted her lips in an imaginary kiss toward me.
Without warning it came from nowhere, an unwelcome Elvis smile transforming my
lips into a sly grin.
‘Cut,’ said the cameraman.
Chatter filled the room as everyone
converged on the camera to see the playback. Perez stepped forward and out of
the glare of the lighting. He scowled, his eyes scrunched, making the abnormal
ridge across his brow protrude more than it normally did. He was annoyed about
something and paced around the room. All eyes turned to him and the frivolous
talk silenced. He stopped pacing and began to speak.
‘Edit out the second paragraph about the
immigration demands. The Cobra cartel would never have said that.
Besides,
with over twelve million undocumented Mexican immigrants, it would cost too
much.
’
My body sagged at his words. I could only
hope that using the non-existent “Freedom Front”, together with the mention of
Guantanamo, would be enough for HQ to decipher the film as having the hallmark
of the Perez cartel as a ruse.
Thinking that, I was pleased they would
miss out the demand for the
ex gratia
payment. He was right, the cost
would be ridiculous.
Perez walked up to me.
‘Now the games can begin. You’ll soon find
out if they value your commitment to their cause.’
I couldn’t let the moment pass. I had to
say something.
‘You know they won’t pay when the time
comes, without further proof I
am
still alive?’
‘Yes, I am aware. The next moves will be
interesting. I’m looking forward to pitting my wits against your finest.’ A
supercilious grin spread on lopsided lips and he peered at me over his
half-rimmed spectacles.
His acknowledgment to my question was at
best simply that. There was little comfort from his answer. There was a
realization that as a politician, he would know that the government wouldn’t
pay the ransom if they were to hold out as being a terrorist wing of the Cobra
cartel. So just what game he wanted to play with the authorities, I couldn’t
guess. Neither could I fathom at what stage he would tire of the proceedings.
He turned to the others in the room and
pulled one of the guards to one side.
‘When you’ve finished the edit, I’ll add it
to the envelope. Make sure it gets through our usual distribution channels to
Austin. Pay someone not connected to us to mail it from there. Then have them
disappear... for good.’
