“Proportionality.”
“Proportionality you say? Ah, yes, jus bellum iustum, the teachings of Saint Augustine. Just War Theory. You know this theory?”
“I’ve been exposed to it,” Wilson said.
“Obviously. Are you fighting a just war?”
“Yes.”
“Of course, or you wouldn’t be here. So, your President declared war?”
“Yes, actually our Congress must declare war.”
“I see. Did you hear your President declare war?”
“No, I was flying—” Wilson stopped short.
“Yes, like the Japanese at Pear Harbor, eh? Like when I got the first lick on Evan, don’t ya know? He didn’t see it comin’. Knocked him on his keister, I did!”
“To minimize harm to us, we attacked with surprise. It’s a valid tenet of warfare.”
“Yes, yes. Well, why did you attack Venezuela in the first place? What forced your President to send you?”
“They kidnapped our ambassador.” Wilson could see where this was going, and he knew he had a weak hand.
“Kidnapped him? Well, I should say, then, we’ve been lucky not to have endless war here in Trinidad with all our kidnappings. And I’m sure they happen on the continent on a daily basis.”
“He’s our sovereign ambassador. It’s different with countries. You just can’t go doing that.”
“Yes, like Tehran in 1979, eh? But as I recall all your countrymen were returned safely. Not justifying it, mind you.”
“And we’ve been in a state of quasi war with them ever since,” Wilson answered.
“Yes, and, from what I can see, Venezuela, too. What is it about Venezuela you don’t like? Socialism?”
Wilson drew a breath. “Venezuela harbors narcotraffickers who produce drugs and then ship them to the United States and Europe. They are killing our kids with this stuff.”
“Yes, drugs. I’ve heard of this War on Drugs. Been going on for some time now, hasn’t it? Are you winning that war?”
Wilson didn’t answer.
“Didn’t think so. Why does Venezuela want to destroy your country, to kill your kids as you say?”
“They don’t want to destroy it. They—” Wilson stopped, and turned away to exhale.
Father Dan smiled at Wilson as the pilot realized what he was about to say.
“Yes. Destroying your country would be bad for business, now, wouldn’t it? Who would buy the cocaine, the marijuana? Supply and demand, is the key. And there’s certainly demand in the United States and in Europe, now isn’t there, Jim? When I was a young man visiting Boston, years ago in the sixties, the demand wasn’t there. But soon it was. Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds it was. The Summer of Love it was. Aye, dreamy times. No one had a care in the world. If it feels good, do it, and I think there was a lot of doing it going on then, Jim, before you were born. And then there was Women’s Lib. Why not act like a man? Indeed, why not? So you can make love, as they say, with no consequences. Just take this little pill, and, if Heavens to Betsy, a wee one comes along — a mistake as they say — you can kill it. Just kill it, legally now. Millions and millions of innocent babies. You can take care of it, they say.”
Wilson absorbed the truth of Father’s words.
“So, the upshot of all this…. People delay getting married and delay having a family. Or they ask, why get married at all? There’s time of course, time to have fun, and the girls are offering their bodies with no strings. So, why not? Everyone has a little fun, and no one is to blame. Freedom, they call it. And, if we are not happy all the time, we can divorce, and the state can take care of the wee ones. And, speaking of the state, we can’t have any favoritism, so we’ll banish prayer and moral teaching from the schoolhouse. That way anything goes — freedom of expression, separation of church and state and all that. So kids grow up without parents, and they devalue life, devalue women. After all, naked girls are only a few clicks away on the Internet. And we can play songs about killing each other or ourselves on the radio or cheat each other to gain money and power. And God is nowhere in sight, is He now? We have no peace, nothing but anxiety and worry all the time. No prayer for healing. No forgiveness. No trust. No love. And no gracious mercy from God because no one seeks it.”
Father Dan got up and stepped to the stove. “I must say, Jim, I’d probably stick a needle in my arm, too, if I had to live that way.”
“That is not how our country is,” Wilson growled, perturbed. Father Dan continued to work at the stove, preparing the tea.
“No, you’re right. I mean, who am I but an old Irishman in the Caribbean woods preaching the Gospel? Oh, there’s sin all over the place here, too: gossip, jealousy, promiscuity, greed. It’s no different here than in the states. But people here do for each other more. They don’t have little gadgets in their faces all the time, and they are happy with what they have. And, for the most part, they are good parents for their children, even though they have little. Yes, they marry and have children, and they bring their wee ones to church to worship God. Like I saw in the United States fifty years ago.”
Wilson sat with his head down, reflecting on Father Dan’s words of indictment. Wilson knew he was right.
“So, what do we do, Father? Are we doomed? How do we turn ourselves around?”
“Well, do you go to church?”
“No,” Wilson answered, ashamed.
“Well, then, go to church, and pray, and take your family with you. Lead them in prayer. Live your faith. Ask for forgiveness. That’s all you have to do. Now, if you were a Catholic, we have some more requirements involving things like confession and days of obligation. But for now, until you become a Catholic, all you have to do is lead your family to church. I should think they need men like you more than ever.”
While Wilson considered the priest’s words, a car drove up. His face strained with apprehension, Wilson struggled to look through the window.
“Ah, Monique — and breakfast. And some clean clothes for ya.” Father Dan said.
CHAPTER 67
“Trinidad!” Daniel exclaimed to Hernandez on the other end of the phone line, stunned and pleased by the news that the American may still be alive — and not yet safe.
“Sí, señor. Last night, one of our operatives heard some loose talk in the town of Guayaguayare, to the southeast. The American may be in the nearby hills, harbored by a missionary.”
“How did he get there?”
“We do not yet know, but we need a team to investigate.”
“Then send one!”
“It is not that easy, señor. The American combat air patrol will see a helicopter the moment it gets airborne, and, once it’s in the open, they will shoot it down. And all of my fighters are now in and around Caracas to repel the expected American attacks today.”
Exasperated, Daniel exhaled in disgust. “Then, what do you propose, mí general?”
“Señor, your team from Paria could fly across the Dragon’s Mouth, stay clear of Port de Spain, then fly down to the expected location in the south.”
Daniel had two Jet Rangers and four military-trained men, equipped with automatic weapons, who could do this job — either in broad daylight or at night. They could swoop in and kill those harboring the American—a missionary? — and return the pilot to him to use as a hostage for bargaining with the Americans or with Ramos. Of the two, Ramos, his ticket out of Venezuela, was top priority.