Disclaimer Continues. Much like the story…
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Chapter 10
1-1/2 to 3 MONTHS AGO…
After watching Salazar kill Don, Charlie was taken away from the jungle again, back to a city. Salazar did not even bother to blindfold him. He remained gagged and inert on the floor in the back of the van. Charlie did not even pay attention to the things he could see out the window, things that might have helped him figure out where he was. He couldn't care where he was. All he could see, all he could hear, was Don being shot, and the sound of the incessant rain on the roof of the van.
When the van finally stopped, and Salazar threw open the back door, they were in some kind of dark parking garage, off the street. Dragged out of the van by his hair, Charlie could see the nearby lights and hear the sounds that indicated they were in a city again. It crossed his mind how war-torn a country must be, when someone could be led, bound and gagged, so freely about.
He stumbled along sliently, letting Salazar push him through the structure. It was either abandoned or designated for businesses that were already closed, for there were no other cars. Charlie counted the faded white lines that delineated parking spaces. There was no elevator – or if there was, it wasn't working, and Salazar shoved him up seven flights of stairs. The guard cursed when Charlie missed a step and fell backwards into him. The handgun he had been waving discharged, the bullet whistling past Charlie's head and the sound echoing in the stairwell. Charlie just wished it had found its mark.
By the time he was finally deposited in a bare room, alone, Charlie sank to his knees on the floor, not even hearing the threats anymore. He didn't really register someone affixing one end of a chain to his ankle, and the other to an iron loop bolted low on the wall. The sound of the door slamming and locking meant nothing to him.
All that mattered was that he had gotten Don killed.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
That was the month that Charlie dropped most of the 33 pounds he lost in captivity. Guards may have come every day – he didn't really know. He just lay on the floor, attached to the wall, often for days at a time. Other hostages were brought in to speak with him, eventually. In the presence of guards, they would urge him to move, to eat. He would lie there and soil himself.
He awoke one day to find himself staring at Senator Richland. It was the first time he had seen anyone he was taken with, and it surprised him enough that he sat up, a little. The chain dragged on the floor and he leaned heavily against the wall and blinked. The Senator was not chained, or bound in any way. Of course, there was an ever-present guard with a machine gun standing near the door.
The Senator walked a few steps closer, slowly, as if he was in pain. "They tell me I'm going home," he started, "and I want to know when you broke. I'll need to tell your family."
Not the conversational tack Charlie was expecting the man to take. "Wh?", he croaked. He hadn't spoken for quite some time, so the entire word proved too taxing. Still, the Senator got the gist.
"Thing is, they'll ask. I want to be able to answer. Can you tell me the exact day they broke you?"
Charlie was starting to think this was some kind of weird dream or hallucination, but it was still making him angry. "Killed Don," he rasped out, and coughed. "They killed my brother," he repeated, his voice stronger.
The Senator nodded. "So your father is home alone, now. When he finds me and demands to know about you, I should tell him that these bastards got both his sons with the same bullet? I won't mention that it just took you a little longer to die."
Charlie weakly tried to stand. His intention was to kill the Senator himself, before the guard did, but the chain was not that long. He settled back on the floor and glared, instead. The Senator wobbled a little before him. "You don't look so good," Charlie finally said.
Senator Richland grinned. "I haven't had any medication during our vacation."
Charlie was surprised the man was alive at all. Maybe he was a hallucination. Senator Richland had severe diabetes, and gave himself shots twice a day at home. "You're going home…they'll get it back under control."
The Senator tilted his head a little. "Right. This is only the fourth time they've told me I'm going home. I'm sure you'll understand if I don't hold my breath."
Charlie found himself grinning. "Did they ever give you a leisure suit?"
The Senator nodded. "Every time. I think they just keep using the same one over and over on all of us." He glanced back at the guard, who, surprisingly, hadn't objected to any of the conversation yet. "Haven't brought it to me this time. Don't think their hearts are really into this deception. Miguel here speaks perfect English. Educated at Yale."
Charlie looked at the guard in shock. The man just smiled slowly at the Senator, then looked down at Charlie. "My aunt and American uncle arranged for my education. I came back to my country as soon as I could. Our battle against the regime is all that matters. We must win democracy."
Charlie swallowed drily. He tugged on the ankle chain with one hand. "This is not democracy. You fight with the wrong tools."
The guard frowned. "Nothing is perfect. There are those of us who agree with you. But we are only soldiers. We do not make policy. One day, we will. You will see a change in the insurgence, then."
The Senator wobbled over to a wall between Charlie and the guard, put his back against it and began to slide down to the floor. "Since I'm not going home," he deadpanned, "I hope you don't mind if an old man has a seat."
Charlie looked at him again, then up at Miguel. "He's ill. He needs his medication."
Miguel shrugged. "This I cannot do. It is one thing to sneak him in here for a few moments as the others have dinner."
Charlie thunked his head back on the wall. "Why does it matter so much, that I will not eat? Who do you think I am?"
"I know who you are," Miguel answered easily. "I studied mathematics at Yale. I do this as a favor to Carlos. He says that we must counter the Salazars until we have the power to eliminate them."
Great. An underground insurgence within the insurgence, and somehow Charlie had ended up in the middle of it all. He couldn't even think of an answer to that.
The Senator studied him. "You stink, kid," he finally noted, and Charlie blushed furiously beneath his beard. He looked at the floor.
Miguel moved. "Come. They return soon. I take you to clean up, find new clothing." He shouldered his machine gun and approached Charlie's ankle chain.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
The next day, several things happened.
All the prisoners were brought into the same room together, and lined up against a wall. Charlie was sure that they were going to be executed. Considering he had just stopped trying to die the day before, he was surprised it disturbed him so much.
There were four of them. All from the aircraft; they were together, again. Charlie, Senator Richland, Martin and Jerry. They watched silently as four guards entered. Charlie started when the next man in the room was the uniformed officer from the jungle; the man in charge. Behind him came Carlos, and then Miguel.
"Do you want blindfolds?", the one in uniform asked. Charlie swallowed drily, and shook his head. The others must have as well, for no-one approached them. In Spanish, the officer then directed the first four men to train their weapons on the hostages. He stationed Miguel at the door behind them, then took Carlos into a corner with him. He barked a command, and the guns raised. Charlie noticed for the first time that they were rifles. He wondered where the machine guns had gone. Maybe they were not deemed worth the waste of ammunition.
The officer barked another command, and the rifles raised a little further, and the soldiers sited their targets. Charlie heard a whimper escape Jerry, next to him on the right. On his left, his old friend Martin stood stoicly. Charlie tried not to think of Alan, waiting at home, forever, for both of his sons.
The officer barked a third command. As a unit, the four gunmen swung around, in a move that looked almost choreographed. In the final act of the macabre ballet, they each emptied their weapons…into Miguel.
Jerry fell on the floor in a dead faint. Charlie willed himself not to look through the smoke at Carlos. If they did not know about Carlos yet, he did not want to give him away. None of the guards looked at them, or spoke to them again. They simply exited the room, dragging Miguel's body with them, leaving the four prisoners to stare at the blood spatters on the wall, and the brains on the ceiling.
It was two days before they were fed again. Then they were all bound, gagged, and blindfolded, and taken one-at-a-time down the stairwell to a waiting cargo van. The guard taking Charlie pushed him frequently from behind. Eventually, Charlie felt himself miss at least one step, and lose his balance. Automatically, his bound hands came up before him. When he finally came to a halt, crashing into the cement floor of a landing, he broke his wrist for the second time. Charlie tried to curl around his wrist, screaming into his gag. The guard only swore at him in Spanish and jerked him to his feet. Tears of pain and frustration soaked the blindfold, and he was pushed foward again -- down more stairs, toward the waiting van.
The hostages did not know it, but they were on their way to their final stop: The compound deep in the jungle.