The Soul that Perishes
Chapter 3
The light came late into the valley as the mountains on either side blocked the warmth of the sun from penetrating the thick jungle. The small fire was little more than graying embers. Humidity permeated everything, dripping from foliage, dampness clinging to clothing, matting hair. Even feet inside of soggy shoes were aching.
Esteban was crying again without consolation.
Danny rose from where he was huddled under a tree and walked over to where Esteban wriggled on Juan's lap. Juan had made no motion to care for the boy since his crying had started several minutes before. Williams squatted down before the man and touched the pale skin. It was cold. He picked up the baby, who quieted immediately, hopeful for attention. Danny placed his right hand over Juan's half-open eyes and gently closed the eyelids.
"Danny?" Pedro asked, noting the action.
"He's dead, Father," Danny commented, turning away from Juan.
Pedro blinked in shock. "It was just his legs."
"Shock. He died during the night from the shock," Danny said quietly, registering little emotion about the event. He handed the baby over to Pedro.
Still stunned, Pedro settled Esteban on his shoulder and patted the baby's back.
Danny, knowing he should find something kind to say, but uncertain of what it was, added softly, "He probably died in his sleep - maybe." He turned and walked over to McGarrett. "You okay this morning?"
McGarrett rose from the fire, stretching out his aching legs. "Wake up Catava. We'd better be moving."
Pedro spun towards him. "You are really going to try to hike out of the jungle?"
"Yes, we really are," Steve replied emphatically.
Danny crossed over towards Catava, noting the other survivors as he went. Raphael was already awake and Carlos sat at near attention, the small .38 still clutched in his hands, his sightless eyes seeking for alien sounds. Danny supposed the bodyguard had been awake all night. Phillippi, the man with internal injuries lay motionless next to the last survivor, Don, who had never yet regained consciousness. Catava lay curled on his side on the ground next to Carlos asleep. Danny bent down and touched his shoulder.
Catava startled awake immediately.
"McGarrett, you and I will hike out of here for help this morning if you are up to it," Danny declared.
Catava did not hesitate. "Of course."
Carlos also started to rise.
"At ease, Carlos," Danny remarked. "Not you."
Carlos' English was limited, but he understood enough to know he was to be parted from the man he had sworn to protect. He began to protest.
Both Catava and Pedro began to reason with him in Spanish, first addressing the obvious problem of Carlos' vision, then the importance of speed. When Carlos still did not yield, Catava declared loudly: "Usted no trabaja para mí más."
Stunned, Carlos blinked once, then said nothing.
"That was effective. What did he say?" Steve muttered.
"He fired him," Danny remarked.
Steve gave a single nod, deciding to keep that tactic for some future time. He glanced around. "Leave one weapon here." He pointed to the gun in Carlos' lap. "But you get it." He gestured to Raphael.
The man nodded and quickly took the weapon. Carlos offered no protest.
"Father, I'd recommend getting everyone out of the open - maybe into the plane. If the men who shot the plane down get here first, maybe they won't find you. If they do, try to convince them Catava's dead."
Pedro hesitated.
"I realize you have an oath about falsehoods," Steve hasted to add, "but if they think you are lying, they will start killing everyone alive trying to get someone to tell them where he is. So try to be convincing." He stuck his own pistol into his belt. "Danno?"
He nodded. "Let's go." He knew that this first step was crucial. To head off in the wrong direction was be certain death for them all, yet there was no way to determine beyond doubt which way to go. The best choice was to act like he knew, so he did.
Steve followed, placing Catava between them, strongly suspicious that Danny did not really know where they were going, but he admired the junior detective for not betraying that to them. At least we can maintain the façade of hope.
Chin Ho Kelley had been to the Far East several times. He'd seen San Francisco on a dozen or so occasions and even New York once. He had never seen South America. He wondered if the impressions provided by B rated movies would be of any help. If they were no more accurate than American movie depictions of Asians, played by made-up Caucasians with fake epicanthic eyelids. He suspected these renditions to be totally useless. The lighting aboard the flight was subdued, encouraging passengers to sleep. The Boeing 707 had left Honolulu just before 10PM and was now passing over Los Angeles after five hours - having picked up two hours by crossing time zones. He gazed out of the plexi-glass portal at the lights of Los Angeles in the distance. The dawn was just starting to pinken the sky beyond the low mountains to the east. Moments later, the black night and the ocean were left behind as the plane raced towards the rising sun and the Sierra Madres were visible briefly before cloud cover shielded the earth from view.
The stewardess passed quietly down the isle gently offering travelers a light breakfast. People began moving sleepily through the cabin, most of them used to the exhaustion of time change in flight. It seemed just a short time later the stewardess again made her trip down the isle, this time advising passengers that they would be arriving in Houston shortly and they needed to go to their seats. As she passed Chin, the seatbelt line blinked melodically on. "Your seatbelt, Sir, we are preparing to land," she said out of habit, but his was already in place.
Chin exited the jet ramp into the terminal, glancing at his watch and took a moment to adjust the time from 6:00AM to 10:00AM. He had seven hours before his flight on to Mexico City. He was stiff and anxious. Aside from a brief nap of exhaustion, he had not slept. He stepped into a small coffee shop, ordered a large hot tea that the service person seemed to have trouble providing, and a Danish. I need to be strong. I know Clara Williams and she is a tough old cookie, but this is her child. It will be different. I have never met Steve's sister. I know she is a newly-wed and her husband's name is Tom Whalen. If she's of the stuff her older brother is, she'll also be pretty tough. But these are both women - it is my duty to protect and support them. And is there a chance Steve and Danny survived? I suppose there is always a chance. There's no one I'd more expect to get out of an inescapable situation than either one of them and together - if it can be done, they'll do it.
No words had passed amongst the three men as they made their way single file, Danny first, then Catava and Steve last. The sun was up and as cool as the night before had been, the jungle was now a sauna. The humid moisture and sweat caused the fabric of their clothing to stick to their skin and perspiration dripped from their faces and arms. Hunger and the unspoken nagging suspicion that they might be headed in the wrong direction dampened their spirits just as much. After three hours, they paused to rest.
Steve's head hurt more than he wished. With each throbbing beat of his heart, the pain created spots before his eyes and the sweat had caused the deep gash to begin to weep serous fluid down his cheek. Catava's broken arm was severely swollen and they unwrapped, and rewrapped the splint to provide better circulation.
As they sat down to rest McGarrett gazed upward towards the thick canopy of leaves. "Can't get a bearing on the sun," he remarked. "Too dense."
Danny turned his attention upwards and nodded. "Hard to know."
"If this is the valley I think, we between mountains and if we go down we come to river," Catava murmured. "Maybe come to Magdajeno Rio. Grande- big river. Hard to miss. Or maybe Guania."
"Hard to miss, huh?" Steve muttered exchanging looks with Williams. And he isn't even sure which river?
"A lot of damned rivers in Colombia. But rivers mean people," Danny commented. He wiped sweat from his forehead onto his sleeve.
Steve watched a small bright green lizard scamper up the tree and disappear above them. "We need to find the sun." He got to his feet. "I'll climb up there and see what I can find. If I can get above the canopy we can get a bearing."
"I'll do it," Danny offered. "Your head-"
McGarrett cut him off. "I said I'd do it." I should let him do it. Maybe that's why I want to do this. He's been acting like I need protecting. I am in charge here. I need to do this to remind Catava if not Danny. He handed Danny his pistol.
Danny wrinkled his brow. "Are you sure?"
Ego mildly bruised, Steve turned his back. His height was helpful as he could easily grasp the lowest branches and pull himself up into the tree. He began the slow ascent. The climb was harder and more exhausting that he had anticipated, but he was determined to give no sign of his exhaustion. The foliage was thick and in just a matter of moments, the tree's leaves and branches had blocked Steve from view.
Danny turned towards Catava, about speak, but there was the sudden sound of squealing monkeys in the treetops and footsteps approaching. Catava needed no prompting to duck into the heavy underbrush with Danny. As the sounds of people escalated, Danny gripped Steve's pistol, hoping they would not need it, anxiously hoping it would be a search party.
A noisy group of crudely dressed Colombian men appeared through the brush laughing and joking amongst themselves. This small clearing that had been inviting to Steve and his group was also attractive to them. The eight men paused, milled around together and shared a drink from a canteen between them. They chatted noisily in Spanish, poking and jostling each other.
Danny glanced at Catava who frowned and shook his head, fear in his eyes.
Danny knew these guys were not good news. Are they looking for us? For the plane? Did they just happen to wander in here? This is a pretty big jungle, could anything just happen by accident?
Several of the men plopped down on the ground, again sharing the canteen. The one in charge, obvious by his spread legged stance, hand on hip, and automatic rifle shouted angrily at them.
One gave a weary wave of the hand, refusing to move.
He shouted again, more angrily. When the tired men again refused, he fired the rifle sending twenty-five rounds up into the trees.
Steve had also heard the approach and now as bullets and whizzing up around him, he crouched against the tree, hoping to avoid being hit.
Danny winced in alarm, aware there was nothing he could do and hoping Steve would find a way to stay hidden.
The leader of the group shouted again, firing a second stream of ammunition upward and cursing at his men.
Steve cursed as well, grabbing hold of the tree trunk. The bullet-riddled, weakened branch beneath his feet suddenly snapped without warning. As he dropped, he made a valiant effort to catch himself, managed to grab hold of a second branch which broke his fall slightly before breaking as well and he landed with a loud thud in the center of the Colombian group.
Suddenly all eight of the men were on their feet shouting angrily, waving weapons in a general scene of pandemonium.
Steve, the air knocked out of him made only one attempt to escape during the panic to find the muzzle of the leader's weapon square in his face. He glanced up and the man gave a broad, controlling smile through his cigarette.
Danny gripped the gun, fear and anger plan.
Catava winced. "Bad thing," he whispered.
The rebel leader quickly regained control of his men and motioned two of them forward. They grabbed McGarrett and dropped him unceremoniously in sitting position against the tree.
Steve was quickly trying to determine his own status - he seemed uninjured except for a few scrapes and the roaring headache the fall had not improved. What do they want? What do they already know? If Danny and Catava and smart they are already making tracks out of here.
The insurgents were yelling and shouting at each other, gesturing towards him, pointing around.
Catava motioned Danny. "They going to know he's from the plane. We need to go."
Danny studied the expression on the leader's face. Of course he knows Steve's from the plane where else would he be from? "We're getting him back, Catava," he muttered hotly, "I won't leave him."
"This our chance. They will start looking for us any minute," Catava whispered hotly.
The leader poked Steve's shoulder with the barrel of the gun and asked him a question in Spanish.
Steve looked at him blankly and did not reply.
He restated the question more angrily, jamming the gun a bit harder against Steve's chest.
"English," the Five-0 chief muttered. "I don't understand you."
That started new murmurings amongst the group. The leader gave a grin and tossed away his cigarette butt. He asked another question in Spanish.
Catava glanced at Danny. "They want to know where the plane is. He buying us time with his life, we go," Catava whispered urgently.
Danny glared at him. "I won't leave him," he replied hotly.
"You have six shots - there are eight men - with automatic rifles!" Catava whispered hotly.
Danny tried to shut out Catava's argument. He remembered how he'd been screamed at in boot camp. A young naïve eighteen year old he had attempted to rescue his partner in a training exercise.
"You think this is the fucking Marines, soldier?! You wanna be a Marine, boy?! You a good man? We don't want good men here. We want survivors! The man down knows he will pay for your freedom with his life! You let him!"
Steve was trying to play stupid while assessing the strengths and hopefully weaknesses of his captors. The weaknesses seemed few. "American," he said quietly.
They all turned to him. "Americano?" one asked.
"Yes," Steve said more enthusiastically, "Americano. I am an American. Big government. Lots of money."
They murmured amongst themselves, glancing once again to their leader.
"Americano," the irritated leader muttered, less impressed. "Nada."
"Lots of money," Steve repeated emphatically. "You take me to the Americans. They will give you lots of money. Buy - buy a car. New gun. Lots of guns."
One of the men made a remark and a few of them giggled. The group began gesturing and arguing with their leader again.
"They want the money," Catava whispered. "He wants the plane."
Danny fingered his gun, wondering if he were to take out the one closest to Steve, could Steve grab the rifle and even the odds. He knew he needed to wait a little longer.
The leader raised a hand slightly and called for silence. The rag-tag group of men fell back in fear. He spoke to Steve. "Americano? You plane?" He raised his arms in a charade of the plane flying.
Steve gave no response.
The leader's expression deepened into frustrated rage. "¿Donde? Huh?" He pointed one direction, then another and another. "¿Donde?"
Steve lifted his eyebrows and gave a shrug. "I don't know. They all died. I'm lost."
The leader's smile faded to a snarl. "Plane!" he shouted more angrily waving the rifle towards his captive.
Steve shrugged helplessly.
The leader disgustedly turned his back on McGarrett and muttered. "Mátelo." He pointed to two of his men and motioned the others to follow. He called back orders to bury the body so searchers looking for the plane would not find him and headed away, the other five men behind him.
Steve did not need a translation to know what was happening, but the odds were changing. In just a moment there would be only two rebels left, each armed with an AK 47. Steve glanced at the two left behind knowing he had to get them to come close. "You take me to the Americans for money?" he asked hopefully, feigning simplicity.
One gave an apologetic semi-smile and shrugged. He raised his rifle.
"Hey!" Steve pulled the watch off his wrist and waved it. "Look. Swiss watch. Let me go and I'll give you the watch." Maybe they are too dumb to realize they can kill me and take the watch.
The second one stepped timidly closer, glanced at his partner, then lowered his weapon and reached to snatch the watch. In the same instant he reached, Steve kicked his leg out, knocking the man's feet from beneath him. The insurgent dropped his gun, landed on the ground where Steve yanked him back as a shield.
The other rebel, swung his weapon up then suddenly crumbled as a single shot exploded through his right shoulder. He lost his weapon, collapsing to the ground. Steve gasped in surprise.
Danny and Catava burst into view. Steve released the unarmed rebel who staggered to his knees, begging for mercy, the watch still dangling from one hand. Catava picked up the rifle of the wounded man, shot him in the head, turned and shot the pleading one who collapsed lifeless before the other two could issue a word.
"We wanted them alive!" Danny shouted angrily.
"What, you going to take captives?" Catava snarled and handed the smoking rifle over to Steve.
"We could have made them show us the way out of here!" He declared. "That was the idea, remember? To get out of here?"
Catava waved a have. "No matter. They better off dead."
Danny turned speechlessly towards Steve who shook his head and handed one rifle to him. "He wanted us to leave you," Danny muttered.
"Not surprised," Steve replied and placed a hand on Danny's shoulder. "Thank you." Steve started to turn away, then remembered: "I want my damned watch back." He walked to the dead man and grabbed the watch from the limp fingers. "We need to go back to the plane."
"What?" Catava said in frustration.
"They'll be looking for the plane. They will find it," Steve answered.
"We need to get to help," Catava said stubbornly.
"And when their two partners don't show up, what then?" Steve added. "They will know I am still alive - and perhaps had help. Their leader wasn't stupid. The only chance we have right now is the element of some surprise - they don't know we are here quite yet."
Catava bit his lip uncomfortably. "And do you think they are alone? Huh? That those six dogs are all there are? Do you think we can fight the entire ELN with these?" He pointed to the pistol and rifle. "We out run them, we no follow them!"
Steve squared his jaw. "Our responsibility is to get the survivors out alive, not just YOU out alive. We need to go back for them." Catava knows who these guys are. He did not tell us that. What else does he know about them? Now is not the time to ask.
Danny refastened the safety on the rifle. "We're better armed than before. If we get lucky we can perhaps intercept those guys before they ever get to the plane. Let's go."
The three of them headed off into the jungle at a pace about twice as fast as they had followed earlier hoping to retrace their path to the plane. They had left markers before for leading a search party back and hoped they would be enough to help them, but not clear enough to guide the enemy.
It took about an hour for them to cover most of the trail back through the jungle, but it was clear the rebels were traveling nearly as fast as they were and Steve feared that the trail was being read. They came within earshot of the plane and could hear voices raised and shouting.
"They beat us here," Catava whispered, panting from his exertion.
Steve motioned to Danny and they separated to opposite sides of the area.
The leader was standing over Carlos who lay sprawled on the ground insisting Catava was dead and that the body had burned. The man did not believe him.
Raphael was lying in a pool of blood, Danny's pistol in the hands of one of the commandos who along with the other four members of his band were spread out across the small site as their leader strutted before the survivors.
The commander focused on Pedro and fired off a series of threatening questions, waving the rifle around. "You want me to kill them? You are a priest; you do not lie. Where is Catava?"
Pedro fearfully spread his hands. "He is not here. These people are weak and injured. Do you think Carlos would ever have left the side of Catava? Most of the passengers from our flight burned in that plane." He pointed to the blackened hulk. "May God rest their souls. Perhaps you can look for this Catava in there."
The leader gave him a slow side-wise glare, trying to decide if he should believe him. "Catava has no use for you," he muttered to Carlos in Spanish. "Now you like the others of our people - useless to him and abandoned. Where is he? Huh?" He kicked Carlos backward to the ground and continued to stomp on him over and over as the man cried out in pain.
Steve glanced over at Catava who held Steve's gun. Catava glanced back, fury burning in his eyes. Steve looked across the clearing, unable to see Danny. There are four automatic rifles and Danny's revolver amongst the six rebels. We have two rifles and a revolver with just five bullets. Steve wrestled with the strategy of shooting or waiting longer. He wished he could see Danny.
The leader had stopped kicking Carlos mostly because he was tired. He leveled his rifle on Carlos to fire, but when the shot sounded it was from the gun in Catava's hand and the leader suddenly pitched over. The insurrectionists began screaming and shouting, firing their weapons randomly as Pedro tried to scramble away. Montalvo and a rebel both reached the fallen leader's rifle at the same instant, Montalvo losing the race. The man shot him. Steve and Danny stepped out from opposite sides taking controlled single shots. Two more of the attackers fell. Catava charged into the chaotic scene, screaming in fury as he came firing the pistol until it clicked repeatedly, out of bullets, but he had managed to shoot and wound the man who had just shot Montalvo. Danny stepped forward into view as one of the rebels leveled his weapon on Pedro who was diving for Esteban. Danny aimed at the militant, squeezed the trigger and the gun jammed. His target, accurately assessing Danny as a greater threat than the priest, swung his weapon towards him, already firing. Steve jumped forward and dropped the man with a single shot. The two remaining would-be assassins fled into the jungle.
An eerie noisy-quiet settled over the group. Catava's victim lay on the ground moaning; the baby was crying; but the sounds seemed muffled compared to the gun blasts before. And the shots had frightened away any birds and creatures for the moment.
Catava bent over the wounded insurrectionist shouting at him and demanding where his friends were hiding and who they were.
The man murmured some kind of response that did not satisfy the ambassador who waved the empty gun threateningly in the man's face.
"Catava," Steve snapped. "Let him be. See to your friend Carlos."
Catava gave a nod and stepped back, recognizing that for the moment he needed Steve's good graces. He moved over to Carlos. Pedro scooped up the crying baby. Steve checked both Montalvo and the rebel he'd shot. They were both dead. As he rolled over the fighter he noticed a machete in the man's belt. Recalling Danny's words earlier, he took the sheathed weapon.
Danny paused to inspect the jammed rifle - it was hopeless. He emptied the few rounds of ammunition from it, tossed it aside and picked up the one that had nearly killed him moments before. He turned as Steve extended the large knife and, with a small grin, gave a nod. The machete could be more useful than two rifles.
"You came back," Pedro said in surprise to Steve.
"You all must come with us right now," Steve told him. "These men will be back with reinforcements and they'll be ready for us."
"How can we travel?" Pedro asked. "Look at us." He waved a hand across the scene. It was a valid point.
Steve doubted Carlos could travel. Don, had never regained consciousness. Should we just leave him? There was a baby they would have to carry - and it would cry. He hesitated.
Danny had heard the conversation. "We can fortify ourselves here, but then what? They will just keep coming back. We no longer have enough people to send a few and still protect everyone. We killed two of their men the first time, three here. You think they will forget that?"
"Four," Steve remarked, as he stooped to check on Catava's victim who had become ominously silent. "If we're caught on the trail we won't stand a chance."
Danny wiped the dirty sweat from his forehead. "Search team?"
Steve glanced at Catava who was still crouched next to Carlos. How desperately will his people search for him? Have they already written him off and moved their loyalty to the next most powerful figure? And he recalled that Catava had called their pursuers the ELN earlier. "Catava, who are these people hunting you?"
Catava glanced up at him. "They are a group of hoodlums, terrorists, that are trying to overthrow our system of government."
That response was well rehearsed, Steve thought. "Who are they?"
"ELN - Ejército de Liberación Nacional or maybe FARC. Las Fuerzas armadas revolucionarios de Colombia." Catava shrugged. :"They all the same. Terrorists."
Steve did not think he needed a translation but glanced at Danny. "Paramilitary groups," Danny muttered. "We don't know how long before they return with reinforcements, but they will come. The better organized they are, the greater threat. Would not want to mess with either of these groups."
"Communists," Catava declared as though that said it all, then added. "You Americans, they are your enemy, too."
Color rose in Danny's neck and he suddenly blurted angrily. "I don't give a flying shit about their politics or yours! We're not part of this game, Catava! These wounded people, that little baby are not part of your game. The innocent shouldn't have to pay while you fight over real estate." He stormed angrily away.
There was a moment of stunned silence. Steve had not seen Williams upset often and in this kind of explosive rage never.
Catava, the only one who seemed unflustered by the action gave a quizzical look. "What is this real estate?"