A Touch of Malice (29 page)

After a few agonizing seconds, Merrick was brave enough to turn around and face his tormentors. The first thing he saw were two bodies sprawled on the ground, both face down in the undergrowth, pistols still in their hands.

The driver of the vehicle stood there with a slight smirk, as if the two of them were in on this big joke that no one else was in on. The entire world living outside the realm of their little secret. He pulled off his sunglasses and his smirk grew into a large smile while chewing on a purple toothpick in the corner of this mouth.

The driver reached out his hand to lift Merrick from his knees. “How ya doing, Mr. President,” the man said in a pitch perfect East Coast accent. “What’s say we get you home, huh?”

Chapter 36

Pablo Moreno brought the two FBI agents to the priest’s rectory attached to the main building. San Felipe Cathedral was one of the largest parishes in that part of Bogota and Moreno’s funding had kept the church vibrant and prosperous even during some very trying financial times.

The rectory was not only the priest’s living quarters, but his office as well. It also served as a sanctuary for Moreno and his men. The Colombian officials knew this and were instructed to stay clear of any activity that took place in or around the church. An order that was followed so well that even the neighborhood took notice. No matter how many gunshots or squealing tires they’d heard, the neighbors all knew to stay indoors and keep quiet. Besides, their calls to the authorities were going to be ignored anyway.

The rectory had two bedrooms, three bathrooms and a large office big enough for fifteen or twenty visitors to feel comfortable. Currently the two visitors were FBI agents who had been a real thorn in Moreno’s plans. They were tied down in their chairs, hands behind their back and ankles taped to the legs.

A few months back, Moreno had an altar installed in the office, an exact replica of the altar inside the church. It could be used for training visiting priests from other parishes, but this one had a second purpose. It served as a great bar for Moreno and his guests.

There was a mirror behind the altar and Moreno was checking out his jet black hair, making sure he didn’t see any grays popping up when he saw his security guard, Cesar, in the reflection waving his large boning knife at the two agents as if they were fleeing.

Moreno turned around. “Cesar, what are you doing?”

“I am making sure we are secure, Patron.”

Moreno shook his head. “Chingow, we have twenty men protecting the grounds. There are two of us here and both of them are tied up. What are you so frightened of?”

Cesar lowered his knife and shrugged. He was a large man from head through toe, with long scraggly hair. “Just being careful.”

Moreno understood the concern. These two men had just successfully overtaken the Camenos’ Amazon camp and somehow had survived the experience. Moreno had sent men to verify the condition of the camp and the status of their prisoner, but hadn’t heard from them yet.

Moreno looked at the main agent, Nick Bracco, who sat there in deep thought as if he was trying to find a way out of his predicament.

“There are two reasons why you are both alive right now,” Moreno said. “Number one, I am not receiving any communication from our camp in the rainforest and I know you two were there. I need to know how you got out. You had to have inside help. I need to know who?”

The two men sat in their chairs with two entirely different dispositions. Bracco seemed to be more contemplative, keeping things inside. The other one, the man was a soldier, a warrior in the United States Special Forces, he seemed to be constantly tugging at his bindings, aggressively fighting the inevitable until his last breath.

Moreno took a water glass and placed it on top of the altar. He poured himself a glass of rare Bolivian whisky, taking his time to prolong the agony of his guests.

Moreno let out a sigh and pointed to Matt McColm. “That was my brother you killed out there.”

“He was an idiot,” Matt said, no remorse in his tone.

Moreno came out from behind the bar and took a sip of the whisky. He shrugged. “Yes, he was definitely the runt of the litter. Francisco always thought of himself as some kind of outlaw or gangster. He watched way too many of your American movies.”

“Yeah, well I cured him of that nasty habit.”

“This brings me to the second reason you are still alive,” Moreno nodded toward Cesar and his knife. The big guy swung the knife with great skill, cutting the arm off a wooden coat stand with one slash. The man smiled as the wooden pole clanked down to the floor.

Moreno sat on a couch facing the agents and crossed his legs. He placed his drink on the end table next to him and lifted a manila file into his lap. As he opened the file, he exaggerated his interest in the content as if it were the first time he was about to read the confidential information.

“Let us see,” Moreno said. “You have a very pretty wife, Agent Bracco. And your young son, how awful it is to grow up without a father. Very sad.” Moreno saw Nick’s expression grow more severe with every page he turned.

While still examining the file, Moreno said, “You do know what a Colombian necktie is, yes?”

Both agents became gravely still. Their faces dropping like a punctured balloon. They most certainly knew about the Colombian method of slicing open a man’s throat then pulling his tongue out of the new orifice so it stuck out like a necktie.

“It is not a pretty picture,” Moreno looked up and stared at Nick. “When your wife receives the photo, she will never be able to get that image from her mind. It will torment her for the rest of her life.”

Nick’s face tightened into a ball of fury. “I’m going to kill you,” he said with great sincerity.

“Yes, of course you will,” Moreno said. “Now, why don’t you tell me who is the mole in my crew. I can promise you I will make your death much more satisfying.”

“You’ve got plenty of moles,” Nick said, still seething.

Moreno picked up his whisky and nodded to Cesar who was swirling the knife and getting closer to the two men. “We can test out that answer, can’t we?”

There was a respectful silence in the room as the two men came to understand the reality of their predicament.

“By the way, your cousin, Tommy,” Moreno said, “he is also dead. Your death toll is on the rise, Agent Bracco.”

Nick Bracco looked as if he were trying to kill Moreno with a deadly stare. His face using every muscle to conjure up his anger.

Moreno took a sip of his drink and placed the drink back down. “You think I am a bad person because I grow coca plants and sell them in your country?”

No response. Matt pulled his arms in a particular motion. Nick sat stoic.

“Well the truth is, I am not the reason there is a drug problem in America. I am simply the conduit to their happiness. These are people who are miserable with the lifestyle they have endured because of your uptight legal system. We all know it is just a matter of time before drugs are legalized much like alcohol.”

Moreno held up his index finger and thumb an inch apart. “We are that close to becoming manufacturing partners with your country and I will be considered a business partner with your government.” Moreno shrugged. “See, all of this drama for no reason.”

“We didn’t come down here because of cocaine and you know it,” Nick said. “We came down here because you kidnapped the president’s brother.”

“Yes, well.” Moreno lifted his glass of whisky and drank the last of it. “That’s where you are wrong. He was spying on a private meeting and fell from a tree. We were simply nurturing him back to health before we returned him to your country.”

“Tell me the one about the three bears,” Matt said. “That’s more believable.”

“You may not believe this, but I am very highly regarded in my country. I spend thousands of dollars every month feeding the poor and housing the homeless. It is the reason Father Santo was willing to offer me his rectory as a place of business. It is also the reason he lured you into this church. He knows who the good guys are. It is the people who keep his congregation healthy and alive.”

“Good old-fashioned Catholic guilt,” Nick said. “It works wonders.”

Moreno pushed off the couch and placed his empty glass on the bar. “Well, this has been amusing, but I have other pressing business to tend to.” He nodded at Cesar. The large man closed in on the agents with a grin of satisfaction.

“Listen,” Nick said in a professional tone, “we both know we’re going to die, right?”

“Ah,” Moreno said. “You are finally coming to that realization. That is very healthy.”

“So I believe there’s a Colombian tradition of offering a final drink to the victim.”

Moreno tilted his head. At first he wondered about the inspiration of such a request, then realized these were the last moments of their lives and who wouldn’t want to extend it for another few seconds.

“Of course,” Moreno said. “How inconsiderate of me. Would you like some of my Bolivian whisky? Or perhaps some of Father Santo’s wine?”

“Whisky is just fine.”

Moreno took a couple of water glasses and poured the whisky until the glasses were half full. He gestured to Cesar to bring them to their prisoners, but as the security guard approached the bar, he looked hesitant.

“Cesar,” Moreno said, “they are both bound tightly to chairs.”

“It is not that, Patron,” the big man said. “How do they drink it without their hands?”

“You can untie us,” Matt quickly said.

Moreno laughed. “I have to admit, you two are quite entertaining for a couple of stiff government agents.”

Nick was staring at a glass of straws on the bar. “Just give us the drink with a straw and place it between our legs. We can manage from there.”

Moreno looked at Cesar, who didn’t seem as if he was willing to do anything without Moreno’s approval.

“Cesar, do as the man said, please. We are wasting time.”

The security guard frowned. He picked up his knife first, then put a straw into one of the glasses and brought it over to Nick and placed the glass between his legs, with his knife held out the entire time.

While Cesar returned for the second glass, Moreno twisted the cap onto the Bolivian whisky and bent down to put it back behind the altar in a special cabinet, away from the holy water and wine used for the services. As he closed the door, he heard a strange thump in the room. When he stood, he found Cesar lying on the floor, his knife loose next to him.

Moreno was entirely confused. The two prisoners were still bound in their chairs, unmoved. When he looked at Nick Bracco, the man had the straw in his mouth and he was pointing it straight at Moreno as if he were going to squirt a stream of whisky at him. Instinctively, and without real understanding why, Moreno ducked and raised his hand to protect himself from this futile squirt of whisky. A moment later, he felt a pinch on the palm of his hand. He looked at his palm and saw a green stick protruding from his skin. He couldn’t understand what had just happened.

And he would never live long enough to find out.

* * *

Nick blew the straw from his mouth and spit out any imagined leftover poison from the frog skin dart. The leaves that were wrapped around the dart truly protected him from the poison because he felt no side effect, but for the sense of relief from being alive.

“Damn,” Matt said. “You really meant it when you said you were going to kill him.”

“No shit.”

“How’d you do that?”

“A little trick I learned in the Amazon. I stuck the darts in my mouth once we entered the church. I had a bad feeling I might need them.”

Matt shook his head, a grin threatening to break out. “Damn.”

“We need to get out of here,” Nick said, his relief lasting only seconds before the realization of their existing predicament set in.

Matt leaned back in his chair and worked his wrists, while Nick tried to stand up and fell hard on his side, the chair slamming down as the glass of whisky shattered to the floor. His shoulder absorbed most of the impact, but that’s not what he was concerned about. The place was crawling with Cameno soldiers and it was only a matter of time before one of them came looking for their leader. Noise didn’t help their cause.

Lying there on the cold floor, groping with his bindings, he thought about how close he’d come to making it home and now he wasn’t so sure he’d get there. He thought about Thomas growing up without him. He wondered if the first time his son would ever say the word “Daddy,” it would be to a complete stranger.

Matt was jerking his chair toward Cesar’s corpse.

“What are you doing?” Nick asked.

“I’m getting that knife.”

As Matt scraped his chair noisily along the floor, he forced himself to fall on his side and began maneuvering toward the knife.

“You’re making a real racket over there,” Nick said, tugging his taped hands trying to free them.

Minutes passed. Matt said nothing as he stared at Nick and fidgeted. The two of them on their sides, tied up, facing each other, helpless.

In the distance a helicopter thumped. It was hard to tell whether it was coming closer or moving laterally across the city.

Nick could hear footsteps outside the door.

Matt seemed to find the knife and appeared to be making progress.

“You having any luck?” Nick said.

Matt’s face was scrunched up tight as his hips moved side to side. “Quit bugging me.”

The footsteps came closer. They were just outside the door now.

“Matt?” Nick’s stomach was up in his windpipe, choking him.

“I’m working on it.”

That’s when the gunfire erupted outside. It came from all directions at once and Nick could hear screams mingled in with shouts of anger.

There was a steady stream of automatic assault weapons firing nonstop. Nick’s facial tic began fluttering like a butterfly trying to get out of his cheek. Matt was shaking his head with disgust. Frustration painted on his face.

The shouts subsided, but the firefight continued. Nick was biting his lower lip so hard he began to feel blood trickle down his chin.