Taking Chances (51 page)

Needless to say a public and media outcry followed that ruling, everyone demanding to know how many children had to die or women be shot to provide good reason. And meanwhile Forgon just carried on lapping up all the publicity, and relishing the sour-grapes gossip of his industry peers who were either accusing him of staging the entire show, or hissing with envy at his great good fortune.

But Michael was going to put a stop to it all tomorrow. His lawyers had now gained him the necessary legal status to vote on Ellen’s shares, so her forty per cent, together with Chris Ruskin’s eleven per cent, gave them the necessary amount to stop Forgon dead in his tracks.

Michael just hoped it was going to be enough to stop Chambers’s enemies too, for they had to be closing in on him by now, if they hadn’t got to him already. There had been no word from him since he’d left, so Michael didn’t even know if he was aware of Sandy’s interview, or if it had had the desired effect of thwarting his suicidal mission. So far there had been a lot of hot air blowing out of Washington, though whether anyone was doing anything, either there or in Colombia, was impossible to tell. If the authorities had managed to cut in on him there was every chance that kind of news would have been made public by now. So it was Michael’s guess that Chambers had either been able to give them the slip and was somewhere in hiding right now, or, God forbid, his enemies, having been tipped off by the interview, had been waiting for him when he got into Bogotá and had him exactly where they wanted him.

Chapter 23

THE VILLAGE WAS
two hundred kilometres from Bogotá, down in a valley, remote from the world. From a small dusty window Chambers watched the square. It was dense with plane trees and magnolias that shaded the hot, cracked pavements and drooped low over the crumbling buildings around. Local traders were starting to open up for the day. The man who sold lotto tickets was taking coffee with a couple of ice-cream vendors in a dim, vinyl-clad café close to the church, their empty carts parked against the kerb outside. A vagrant lay asleep on a bench. Rowdy birds fluttered and flocked to the gutter where a beefy-looking woman was dumping the remains of stale
arepas de queso
.

The church clock tolled the first of the seven chimes it was due. Already the sun was seeking a thousand different trails through the wide canopy of trees. A dog scooted from the path of a fast-trotting horse that was carrying a slit-eyed
campesino
dressed in a handstitched
ruana
and fine calf-leather hat. He was quickly lost from view, disappearing along a side street from which the roar of two ancient, rusting Jeeps could be heard, crunching gears and revving up engines to get past any debris or stray humanity that obstructed their way.

The open-sided Jeeps came into view. The drivers were both wearing camouflage, M16s propped on the seats beside them. They drove at high speed, bouncing
over
potholes and squealing round corners until they disappeared through the arch under Chambers’s window. They’d be parking up now in the courtyard behind the
hospedaje
– the small, cheap hotel where Chambers had been almost since arriving in Colombia.

He knew now that he had Sandy – and Larry King – to thank for his detention, which was what General Gómez was calling it. Kidnap would be the word Chambers would’ve used, had he been asked, but Gómez wasn’t interested in asking. Nor were the men who were guarding him – or holding him hostage, as he preferred to call it. He guessed he’d have to concede the point on guarding, however, since no-one was demanding any payment for his return. In fact, it wasn’t certain they were going to return him at all, though he couldn’t imagine what else Gómez was planning to do with him.

It was boredom that was making him fractious, for to be fair he knew he wasn’t really a prisoner, as he’d been provided with a gun and was free to come and go as he wished – though not without escort. He was here for his own protection, as Sandy’s interview had informed Gómez – possibly the only incorruptible police officer in Bogotá – that he was on his way, and why. The general had accordingly arranged for a welcome at the airport, sending a dozen of his handpicked men to board the plane and escort Chambers, much to the fascination of the other travellers, to a fleet of waiting cars, whereupon he was whisked off into the night. Had the general not done that, then Galeano’s people would most certainly have afforded themselves the privilege of meeting Chambers, in which case there wasn’t much chance he’d be sitting at this window today. And apart from the occasional stroll over to the café for a few games of
tejo
, or the couple of hikes through the hills he’d made in an effort to keep himself fit, about all he had done the past few days was sit at this window – and wait.

Gómez’s men were not great conversationalists, nor
did
they show much interest in what was going on in the world. This meant that Chambers still didn’t know if the movie had been stopped, or if Ellen was managing to hold on. He’d have given a sizeable sum to be able to contact Michael, though even if he could, what the hell he’d have said he had no idea. Even with so many hours to think, Chambers was still unable to find adequate words to express how he felt about all that had happened, or how sorry he was that he had ever come into their lives only to bring them such pain. It was too late now to change it, though God knew he would if he could, but he could at least try to put an end to Galeano’s monstrous control over their lives, which he knew amounted to little more than a game to the old man, something to keep him amused, and his enemies in tune with his power, during his ever-decreasing stretch in jail.

Deciding to go get himself a coffee, he tucked an old navy cotton shirt into his jeans, belted the Beretta automatic, and left the room. Carrying a lethal weapon in this village wasn’t only normal, it was also an extremely wise thing to do, since the military base just down the road made an attractive target for every insurgent and
bandido
for miles around. There was also a pretty good chance that the price of his whereabouts was an especially high one, so Galeano’s people could come riding in at any time.

Taking the back staircase he found his escorts in the quaint little courtyard, idling around the Jeeps and smoking
barillos
, the two newcomers about to check in before the other two checked out. Chambers didn’t have a problem with the marijuana, but he didn’t imagine Gómez would be too impressed were he to happen along.

‘Ah, Señor Tom,’ one of them greeted him. It was Valerio, at twenty-eight the oldest and also most senior-ranking among them. He had just arrived, so would be one of Chambers’s companions for the day. Of them all,
Valerio
was the most talkative, and probably the best-informed in matters not pertaining to their immediate surroundings. It had long since occurred to Chambers, however, that Valerio and his fellow officers had been carefully instructed in their ignorance of the outside world.

‘I have a message for you,’ Valerio declared, dropping the end of his cigarette on the ground and grinding it with a standard issue field-green Vietnam boot. ‘The general sends his apologies that he has not come to see you sooner, but there have been important matters for him to attend to. However, he will be here in maybe an hour. He says you should be ready to leave.’

This unexpected piece of news surprised and cheered Chambers, until it occurred to him that he might be taken to the airport and deposited on the next plane out.

‘No, that is not my intention,’ Gómez informed him, when he finally showed up, some three hours later. ‘I am taking you to La Picota to see Hernán Galeano.’

Chambers stared at him in amazement. He was a slight, impeccable man, with a handsome thatch of silvery hair and an impressive black moustache that framed his mouth like a horseshoe. He was well-known for the risks he took, and the fearless and impossible battle he waged against organized crime. He was also known as something of a joker, and it was to that side of his character that Chambers’s suspicions immediately turned.

‘I take it you do want to see the man?’ Gómez barked.

‘I don’t know about see him,’ Chambers responded. ‘I’d like to kill him.’

‘We’ll need to discuss that,’ Gómez replied, deadpan. ‘But now you will come with me and we will drive to the prison. Galeano is expecting us. I did tell you, did I not, that the order for his release has been signed? He will be free by the end of the month.’

Though disgusted, Chambers wasn’t surprised. It was
possible
to buy anything here, including escape from a life sentence.

Minutes later they were speeding along the
autopista
in Gómez’s grey armour-plated Mercedes. Though it was against regulations, he liked to drive himself once in a while, so the chauffeur had been banished to one of the gleaming black Jeep Cherokees – also armour-plated – that were providing the escort. The eight bodyguards inside the Jeeps were equipped with Uzi smgs and CAR-15 carbines, standard issue for the protection of high-ranking officers. The weapons were certainly necessary, for there had been at least two dozen attempts on Gómez’s life that Chambers knew of, so the fact that he was still living was pretty convincing evidence that no-one went until their time was up. He’d come damned close on a few occasions, however, one of them not so long ago, hence the reason for his lengthy Spanish vacation, recuperating from a car-bomb attack outside his brother-in-law’s country home.

‘So why the visit?’ Chambers asked.

‘Galeano requested it,’ Gómez answered. ‘I thought you would have no objection. Did you ever visit La Picota before?’

Chambers nodded. ‘There are a lot of people with a lot of information inside those walls,’ he replied.

Gómez’s eyebrows rose in agreement. ‘Did you visit the rich guys, or the
lobos
?’ he asked.

‘Both.’

The forward Jeep was racing ahead. Gómez swerved out from behind a lumbering bus straight into the path of an oncoming truck. His foot hit the gas and he pulled off the pass with inches to spare. The men in the car in front, and the Jeep behind, appeared oblivious to their boss’s close call with mortality, so intent were they in challenging their own.

‘So, if you’ve already seen the rich guys, you know what to expect?’ Gómez continued.

Chambers let go his breath. ‘More or less,’ he said. ‘Why did he request the visit, do you know?’

‘He wants to offer you a deal,’ Gómez answered.

Chambers was immediately wary. ‘What kind of a deal?’

‘The kind where he gets to win and you get to lose,’ Gómez answered with a grin. ‘What other kind of deal is there, if you’re Hernán Galeano?’

‘He didn’t tell you what it was?’

‘No. By the way, did anyone tell you that the movie got cancelled?’

Chambers turned to look at him. ‘No. When?’

‘A couple of days ago. Everyone’s flying back to LA, it was on the CNN news last night. They also said that the woman who was shot is making some progress.’

Chambers’s relief to hear that Ellen was still alive momentarily swamped everything else. He thought of Michael and wished again that he could be there now, lending some support, doing whatever he could to help him through all this. He didn’t imagine that Michael would welcome his presence, however, and it saddened him greatly to know that he had probably lost one of the most valued friends of his life.

Turning his thoughts abruptly away, he considered Galeano’s victory in getting the movie stopped. That the man could wield such power from a prison cell was an outrage beyond any civilized level of tolerance, so too was the fact that Rachel’s death remained unavenged. Bitterness welled in him with all the might of impotent fury – no-one, but no-one, should be allowed to get away with the hideous crimes and manipulation that Galeano was enjoying, though how to stop it, when the man owned half the Government, was a question with no easily detectable answer.

‘What about the kids?’ he asked. ‘Did the list get any longer?’

Gómez kept his eyes on the road. ‘Seven died that we
know
of,’ he answered. He glanced at Chambers. ‘You want to know why I did nothing to stop it,’ he said, ‘so I will tell you. There was nothing I could do. The men he was using were all officers of the Metropolitan Police Command, which, as you know, covers the dope-dealing, gang areas of Calle del Cartucho and Olla de la Once. Not nice places. This is not my territory, nor are they my officers, so I was unable to get any news of the investigation.’ He looked at Chambers again, then added, ‘Until yesterday. I am still not sure there is anything I can do, the officer in charge of that area is notoriously corrupt and is known to encourage the death squads. He will do all he can to protect his men, and Galeano will pay him handsomely to do it.’

Chambers sat with that, knowing that nothing he said or felt would change the intolerable truth of this nation’s horrifying corruption.

‘There is also some other news you should know about,’ Gómez told him. ‘Your friend, Sandy Paull, has disappeared.’

Chambers’s head spun round.

‘Calm down,’ Gómez chided, before he could speak. ‘Alan Day informs me that she took herself into hiding right after the interview she gave. A very wise move, if you ask me. First she saves your life by letting me know you are coming, then she saves her own. Sounds like a pretty smart woman.’ His eyes were twinkling, as he waited for his suspicions of a romance to be confirmed.

Chambers turned away, then immediately tensed as they rounded a bend and came right up on the tail of a horse-drawn cart.

Gómez was unruffled as he slammed on the brakes, then accelerated hard towards an upcoming bend.

This was by no means the first journey Chambers had made with Gómez behind the wheel, but, as always, he considered it could very likely be his last. Should that turn out to be the case, the irony of his last will and
testament
being called into play for a road accident would only be surpassed by the indubitably supreme irony that he had left all his worldly goods to a child who wasn’t his.