“It’s still tough, losing the pipeline like that. Repairing it will cost hundreds of millions,” he said, but now he sounded like he was already trying to backpedal from his earlier outrage.
“Shall I write a memo describing how the DOD and Darkview successfully thwarted a major terrorist arms purchase?”
Margate gave her a look that told her he knew exactly where she was headed. “You do that.” He left the conference room, trailed by his assistants and a thoughtful Whitter.
57
EMMA SAT ON A DECK CHAIR, WATCHING SUMNER FISH OVER THE side of boat. Miguel slept beside her on a deck lounger. The attached canopy protected him from the sun. Boris dozed on the deck next to him. The dog was never far from Miguel’s side. Miguel slept the day away. His injuries didn’t allow for much else.
Emma watched through slit eyes as Sumner sat in the fishing chair and played out the line of his fishing rod. The boy, a fourteen-year-old orphan whose name was Enrico, sat next to him in the jump seat, also watching. Enrico was well on his way to idolizing Sumner. He didn’t say much, and they didn’t ask him too many questions.
Sumner fished every day without fail, and he always managed to catch something good to eat. The cruiser was well stocked, but not with the type of food required for their long journey. It was jammed with alcohol, high-end vodkas and whiskeys, cigars from Cuba and the Dominican Republic, as well as some of the finest armament that money could buy. The tinned food was adequate, but Sumner’s daily catch inevitably made dinner something special.
They’d been cruising for a week, informing no one of their location or their destination. Only they knew that they were in the Caribbean Sea, headed to Key West by way of Puerto Rico. The radio crackled, starting Emma from her reverie. She grabbed the receiver.
“Banner?” she said.
“Yes. Everything all right there?” Banner’s smooth voice came over the line. A few days before, Emma had used the radio to call him and ask for a favor. Now he was reporting in.
“Fine. All clear.”
“Good. How’s Miguel?”
“Sleeping. The wound is healing and the pain seems to be receding. Tell Perez thanks for the assistance. It’s not every day that a doctor makes a cartel cruise-ship house call.”
“I will. And I have some new for you. Gladys Sullivan says hello. She’s in Bogotá recovering from bypass surgery. She told me to tell you that she still prays for you every day, in between cigarettes.”
“What! They’re allowing her to smoke?”
Emma heard Banner’s chuckle over the line. “I doubt it. Her brand of humor, is all. Vivian’s doing well also. She’s no longer in Colombia, but reunited with her family.”
“And Maria? Were you able to find her?”
“I was. She asked to be moved to another location. I arranged for her and the children to be relocated to the Christian ministry formerly run by Gladys’s sister. They didn’t know what to make of Maria at the mission.”
“Why is that? Maria is a wonderful woman, and very pious.”
“They said that she is the first indigenous woman they’ve ever met who wears red lipstick.”
Emma laughed out loud. “My Engine Red.”
“I assumed you had something to do with it. Rest assured, you have a convert. Maria wears it every day. I have to say, it suits her.”
“I’m glad I could give her something.”
“Maria says that she always knew that God would protect all of you. Between Gladys’s prayers and Maria’s faith, you seem to be well protected by the powers that be.”
“I’ll take any protection I can get,” Emma said.
“And you? Are the headaches and nightmares getting any better?” Banner’s voice was concerned.
Emma was suddenly uncomfortable. She’d been having debilitating headaches along with recurring nightmares. The dreams revolved around Rodrigo. He’d walk toward her. His head was cut off, and he cradled it in his arms. When the head saw her, it turned into White and it would scream at her. Emma would start awake, sweating. In the last seven days, she’d had the dream four times.
“Still there, I’m afraid.”
“It’s post-traumatic stress. When you reach the States, if they haven’t resolved, I’ll arrange for you to attend some therapy sessions. Southcom holds them weekly for soldiers returning from Iraq.”
“Thanks, I’ll consider it.” To Emma’s great relief, Banner changed the subject.
“I’ve arranged for a crew to relieve you of the weapons before you hit United States territory. Until then, you may need them. We’ve been unable to pinpoint who the American businessmen were that you saw, but they’ve got to be furious at the loss of their cargo.”
“What about this yacht? Perhaps it is registered in their name?”
“No. It’s actually owned by one Miguel Estanga della Petroya, known throughout Colombia as ‘Estanga 60.’ The most notorious drug cartel leader in Colombia. Word is he was shot twice and his boat stolen in a siege orchestrated by the United States’ DEA.”
“Smoking Man,” Emma said.
Emma heard Sumner chuckle from his seat. “A siege? Mr. Della Petroya is embarrassed to admit that two men and a woman shot him and stole his yacht?”
“That you, Sumner?” Banner asked.
“It is.”
“Well, both of you, listen up. I was wondering if you would care to ditch your day jobs and join Darkview. The pay’s good and the excitement just about nonstop.”
“Banner, I was just relishing the lack of excitement,” Emma said.
Banner laughed. “Well, give it some thought. You don’t have to decide now. I’d better ring off. Don’t want anyone tracking you guys. Emma, you turned off that GPS wristwatch I gave you?”
“It’s off. But I thank you for it. I’ll never go anywhere without a compass again.”
“Keep it. I’ll get another one.”
Emma hung up. She settled down on the deck chair to think about Banner’s offer and to watch Sumner fish. Despite her ordeal and the lingering effects, she had a feeling of lightness that she hadn’t felt in years, perhaps not ever. She knew it was because she had faced the worst that life had to offer, and the ordeal had given her a greater appreciation of the best. And that moment, sitting on the sunny deck, in a cool breeze, on the gently rolling boat, and watching the sun reflect off the undulating sea, was definitely one of the better times. She smiled.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Emma Caldridge’s story is, of course, fiction, but many of the various plants and techniques she uses exist. Thankfully, the key item, the weapon with the ingenious disguise, is a figment of my imagination.
I especially love the medicinal maggots. I’d read about their use in sores that appear intractable. My thanks to Ronald A. Sherman, MD, MSc, DTM&H, Department of Pathology, University of California, Irvine, for his assistance in explaining the collection and application of these amazing creatures.
Emma’s use of scopolamine, or “devil’s breath,” its Colombian street name, is based in fact. Scopolamine is a chemical that contains antinausea properties and in commercial use is a favorite of scuba divers. It’s derived from the datura plant, a member of the nightshade family commonly called jimsonweed. All parts of the plant are toxic. When ground to a fine powder and blown in the face of the victim, it is said to create hallucinations and a “zombie” effect that renders the victim completely suggestible. While the hallucinatory effects are well documented, and the drug can cause the victim to fall into a stupor, I have my own personal doubts about the zombie reports. My cynical trial attorney’s antenna started vibrating after I read the claims of a politician who denied responsibility for stealing cash by claiming that he did so only while in a zombie state after thieves used devil’s breath on him. Be that as it may, jimsonweed is no joke, and it can kill.