Chapter Four
On the flight to Miami, Barbara wanted to read, but she couldn't keep Carlos Costa from invading her consciousness. She'd seen him only once, in El Salvador in 1987. Her mission should have been easy. Costa's guerillas had taken a group of international tourists, including five Americans, hostage and demanded a large ransom. Although they never admitted it publicly the government had complied, with the backing of the US and, of course, the Company. She had been the lead of a group of three operatives assigned to take the money to the designated meeting spot, hand it off to Costa, and transport the hostages back to the capital. All sides had agreed. It was a simple mission: exchange the money for the hostages.
They'd convoyed to the meeting place in three Land Rovers. The road into the village was narrow, so they parked the vehicles in a line, one after the other. They got out, guns ready but not drawn, and Costa came out of one of the houses, backed by three guerillas with guns of their own.
"Hello, and welcome to my home," he had said. "I am so happy to be doing business with you." This he said with a smile on his face and a sneer in his voice.
Gesturing to his men to bring the hostages out of the house behind him, he said: "As you can see, your friends are safe and sound." Indeed the hostages looked scared but unhurt.
"Mr. Costa, please move the hostages this way," Barbara said, pointing toward the Rovers.
"Let me see the money first," he replied. Now he was all business.
The money was in a duffel bag in the last Rover, the one she had been driving.
"I'll get the money, you move the hostages this way," she said firmly.
"Certainly, my dear lady." He signaled his men to move the hostages to a position between them and her team, while she went to the last Rover, retrieved the duffel, and walked back toward the others. She stopped when she was near the first Rover.
"Open it," Costa demanded.
Barbara opened it, showed him that it was full of dollars, and zipped it again.
"I trust my friends from the United States so I am sure it is the correct amount," he said, mocking them.
Carrying the heavy bag, she started toward him. All eyes were on her.
Costa's men opened fire. Her people had no chance; if they fired at Costa's men, they would hit the hostages standing between them. Costa's men had no such compunctions and fired indiscriminately.
Barbara was still close to the first Rover when the bullets started. Not even able to take out her gun because of the heavy duffle in her hands, she did the only thing she could. She dropped the bag and dove under the SUV. Rolling to the far side of the Rover, she moved into a crouch while drawing her gun, but it was already too late. All of the hostages were wounded or dead; all of the people in her group were wounded or dead. There was nothing she could do. Committing suicide would not help them, for they were beyond help.
Apparently Costa and his men had not kept track of her. Their eyes were on the money on the other side of the Rover, which they found quickly. Crawling around the far side of the vehicles, she managed to get into the third one. The fact that the other two SUVs blocked the road between her vehicle and Costa's men bought her time. She started the engine, threw it in reverse, and roared away.
As Barbara drove back to San Salvador, she tried to make sense of the mess that had been her mission. No matter how she turned it around in her mind, it DIDN'T make sense. Why had Costa started the shooting, she asked herself again and again? He had absolutely nothing to gain by killing the hostages, or her group, for that matter. It was either a sign of insanity, or Costa had an agenda she knew nothing about. Whatever his reason, he had killed fifteen hostages, and two of her colleagues, her friends.
After a long drive, she finally arrived at headquarters in San Salvador, where she faced a tough debriefing. The mission was her responsibility. Those people were her responsibility. She was asked the same questions she had asked herself.
Then there was the more difficult question: why had she alone returned? Had she made a deal with Costa? She defended herself by asking why she would return if she was in it with Costa? The words rang hollow in her ears.
Back in the US, Control had questioned her repeatedly, and Barbara believed that the deterioration in her relationship with him started with this incident. Eventually her answers were accepted, but the disaster remained black mark on her record and a piece of unfinished business in her own mind.
Much later Barbara discovered that Costa and the three other men had pocketed the money, making clear that he had never believed in the guerilla cause. Indeed, after that incident he had gone from guerilla "freedom fighter" to terrorist, a man willing to kill anyone, anywhere, for the right price. Ideology played no role.
Now Costa was within reach. This was her chance to finish the business he had started seven years before. In his years of terrorism, nobody had come close enough to see him, let alone get him. She had looked him in the eyes; she knew him. And she was very good at what she did.
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