“Stupid. You are stupid. We make some money selling, true, but we make ten times as much stealing your two million dollars. Easy to figure. With two million, we could quit the drug trade, but when we go back with the money and the goods and tell our boss how you tried to double-cross us, we get big bonus and promotion. The Cali people are most generous.”
They made Tony struggle out from under the table and put him on the table so they could treat his wounds. Instead, they tied him down to the table so he couldn’t move. It happened quickly and before Tony’s pain-dulled reactions could prevent it.
The two Colombians talked again in Spanish, then took a bottle of whiskey from the suitcase they had lifted to the table. They had glasses, cheese, crackers, a whole array of snacks. The man who hadn’t talked downed his whiskey neat, then took out a switchblade knife and five inches of cold, sharpened steel and waved it at Tony.
“Oh, now you’ve made Rodolfo angry. He can be muy malo, when he gets riled up. His knife, his cuchillo, it can make you cry like a small niño. You should not shoot him in leg.”
Rodolfo hovered over the helpless Tough Tony. The knife slashed, and moments later, the heavily muscled New Yorker was naked on the table, his cut-apart clothes in piles on the floor. The four gunshot wounds showed on Tony’s arm and one leg.
Rodolfo grinned at Tony and sliced down his arm. The cut wasn’t deep, but it brought a gout of blood. He sliced the other arm and then lifted his whiskey glass and drained it. The two Colombians watched Tony writhing on the table.
“Bastards. Fucking shithead motherfuckers. Gonna do you both good when I get off this table. Gonna cut off your gonads and make you chew them up and eat them.”
Pablo slapped Tony’s face one way, then the other, then spat in his face. “Now you are making even me angry. I’m the calm one. I won’t be able to hold back Rodolfo. He understands English; he just doesn’t speak it so well. You in trouble, badass.”
The knife came again and again. The slices were precise, so they would bleed but not seriously wound Tony. The two Colombians drank and laughed and sliced and drank again. When Tony passed out after a half hour of torture, they slapped him awake.
“You are missing all the fun, amigo,” Pablo said. “Stay with us. You are not nearly ready to meet the angels yet.” Rodolfo’s knife came down again, and Tony wailed in terror and agony. Never had he hurt so much, never been so frustrated and helpless.
Later there came a time when he wanted it to end. He could see part of his body. It was totally smeared with his own blood. Slices and cuts on every part of his body bled. No one cut was severe enough to kill him, but over another hour he would surely bleed to death.
His voice was raspy from screaming. At last he swallowed and watched Pablo. When the man looked at Tony, he whispered his request.
“Slit my throat. Do it now. I can’t stand anymore. Kill me quickly.”
Pablo held up his hands. “Cannot do that, mi amigo. This is Rodolfo’s party. I promised him two, but we have only one. It will be over soon.”
A half hour later, the two drug traffickers sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, singing in Spanish. They hardly looked at the turkey meat of a man who lay on the table. The floor around the edges of the table was red and slippery with blood. They tipped the bottle again and sang another song.
It was two hours later that the two Colombians roused themselves and stood. Pablo had checked the briefcase of money and found the two million dollars in crisp $100 bills. They kicked aside the box that they had brought the booze and food in.
Pablo Ernesto turned at the door and saluted the two dead Americans.
“Vaya con diablo!” he said and guffawed as he and Rodolfo staggered out the door and down another set of stairs to the street below, a block away from the entrance that the Americans had used. Three blocks away, the two Mafia men from New York waited in their rented car.
7
Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock looked up from where he sat at his desk.
“Sure, Senior Chief, come in, sit.”
Dobler had his floppy cammie hat in his hands, and that triggered a frown from Murdock. He killed the frown before it showed and put down the pen he had been writing with. Over the years he had learned patience when dealing with the personal problems of his men, and this sure looked like one.
Senior Chief Dobler sat on the hard wooden chair, squirmed a moment, then slapped his hat on his knee.
“Commander, you’ve met my wife, Nancy.”
Murdock nodded.
“Unless you dug deep into my personnel file, you probably don’t know that for years she’s had some mental problems. Sweetest little lady you’ll ever find, when she’s feeling good. Lately she’s been on a tear.
“I had to leave training yesterday to get home. When I got there, I was too late. I knew she’d been feeling terrible. Yesterday afternoon she tried to kill herself. She’s in the Coronado Hospital.”
“Anything I can do, Chief, just name it.”
“She hasn’t tried anything like this for four years. They pumped her stomach, sewed up her wrists, but will keep her for three days for observation.”
“Your kids?” Murdock asked.
“I asked Maria Fernandez to help. The kids went there after school and stayed the night. I don’t know about tonight.”
“Nancy wants you to quit the SEALs,” Murdock said.
Senior Chief Dobler looked up in surprise. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve seen it happen before. The JG’s woman goes up and down that same ladder, and they aren’t even married.” He watched Dobler a moment. “How old are your kids?”
“Helen is fourteen, and this is tearing her up. Chuck is eleven, so he isn’t so affected, as near as I can tell. I just don’t know what to do.”
“You probably do, Chief, you just don’t want to admit it. What’s the first decision you have to make?”
Dobler took a deep breath, stared out the door, and fiddled with his hat. “Oh, damn, you’re right again. I have to decide which is more important, my wife and my family or the SEALs.”
“That’s the big one, Senior Chief. Absolutely one of the hardest choices that you’ll ever make. I imagine that you’ve been considering this choice for some time. You’ll need some more time right now to get it worked out. I want you to take seven days’ emergency leave. I’ll have the master chief get your papers drawn up right now.”
He reached for the phone and dialed. He gave the order in one sentence, cut off any question, and hung up the phone.
“Stop by at the quarterdeck. Your papers will be ready.”
Dobler made a move to get up.
“Stay a minute if you can, Senior Chief. When the time comes, I’d say that Maria Fernandez should talk to your wife. It should be easy and natural since she’s been keeping the kids there. If you can arrange it, I’d like to have Milly there, too. She’s the woman the JG lives with. Both have had the problem and worked through it.”
“What about the training?”
Murdock shrugged. “Anything a SEAL can do that you can’t do, Senior Chief?”
He let a thin smile brush his face. “Not that I can think of, Commander.”
“If you get this straightened out with Nancy and feel you can leave her with the kids, you’ll be on the flight to Colombia. If you decide that Nancy isn’t well enough to stay with the kids alone, and you don’t have any relatives who could live in, then you’ll be free to ask to be excused from the mission.”