The Soul that Perishes

Chapter 5

As soon as light permitted, Danny and Steve left the others and a foraged for anything they could eat for strength. They returned with a small collection of tubers, several very green plantains and some amaranth leaves. The banana was crushed into a mush that Pedro forced into Esteban's mouth. As the baby made some attempt to eat the fruit, Pedro gave a smile and nod.

"We make to the river today," Catava commented. "You see, there will be help there. People travel the river."

Steve shook his head slightly. "Let's hope the right people." He ran a hand through his dark wet hair that flopped back against his head. The headaches were not as severe, the soaking rain had washed most of the old blood away to where it now stained his once white shirt. The gash on his head was now surrounded by deep black bruising.

Danny helped Pedro lift Esteban back into the makeshift sling. "You want me to carry him for a while?" Danny offered.

"No, this I can do," Pedro replied. "I'm afraid that as we near the river, we will be a greater risk. You will need to keep your hands free."

Danny agreed. They started off again.

"Who's the lady with the money?" Frank Fletcher turned from the small plane, hands on hips, his grease rag still held in his left.

"That would be me," Clara declared bravely, stepping forward.

"US cash, right?" Frank demanded, taking no account of her age or stature.

She held out the fistful of bills. "You'd better get us in to Bogota."

Frank grinned and scratched his unshaven face. "At your disposal, my lady." He bowed and motioned towards the door of the plane. He found it comical that a housewife, grandmother, oriental and priest were traveling together. Quite an odd party to say the least. But their money was green and that was good. He had not had a good legal fare in several weeks. Drug and gun smuggling took its toll on a man's nerves after a while.

They got on board, Maryann glancing around nervously. "It seems like a very small plane," she murmured to Chin.

He gave a quiet smile. "It will get us there," he replied confidently, but inwardly cringed. It did seem very small.

Frank got into the pilot's seat and started the engine. He listened to it for a moment or two, played with some knobs, then gave a grin and a brave thumb-up. "And away we go."

The lift-off from the Mexico City airport was an adventure in itself. Compared to the relative quiet and smoothness of jetliners, the small plane seemed to bounce around like a ping-pong ball.

"Weather's a bit clouded over in Colombia," he called back to them as they traveled southeastward. Should be looking better by the time we arrive. Get comfortable, it will take a couple of hours."

Comfort did not seem to be something that would be easily found on the small plane, but Chin did what he could. Maryann and Clara had nestled against each other - Maryann dozing, Clara staring out of the window in anticipation. Father Romero was squeezed next to Chin in prayer.

Chin wasn't entirely certain of what they would do once they arrived in Bogota. He was fairly sure the Colombian authorities would not be happy about their presence, but even if their company only served to speed up the search it would be enough. He was completely aware that Clara Williams had put up more money for this little trip than he made in a year. Although he had known her for years, that also was intimidating.

"What do you mean telling me how to raise my nephew?" A bold and angry Clara had demanded, hands on hips on Chin's front step eight years earlier.

"I'm not trying to tell you how to raise him," Chin had managed to reply, barely lifting his eyes to meet her blazing ones. "I thought you would want to know."

"Why isn't Danny telling me this himself?" Considering her small stature, her fury was still formidable.

Chin tried to maintain his patience. Because he was afraid of the angry display she's showing me right now. "He thought you would object."

"Object! Of course I object! He doesn't belong off in the military somewhere. The military got his father killed. I can stop this, you know. I can march right down to that recruiting office-"

"No, Clara, you can't," Chin interrupted quietly. "He is eighteen, he has made his choice. He is doing this for good reasons."

"Well, I forbid it." Her fists were tight at her side.

Chin felt pity for her. She needs him more then he needs her. She sacrificed her career for him - he may be sacrificing his life for her and she will never know it. "He's already gone, Clara," he said gently.

She gave a little gasp. "That can't be. He would never leave without - without…" Sudden tears choked her throat. "Doesn't he love me?"

Chin stepped forward and placed a comforting arm around Clara's shoulders that suddenly sagged in sorrow. "More than you can imagine. You will just have to trust him in this."

Chin glanced up, Clara's eyes met his. He looked away.

"What are you thinking about, Chin?" she asked softly, just barely over the noise of the propeller.

He shook his head.

"They are going to be all right, Chin. I just know it. You'll see."

She always did have a way of making reality as she wished it to be. He noticed Maryann hug herself more tightly. And Maryann sees reality for what it is. I can tell she believes her brother is dead. Which reality is more painful?

MaryAnn McGarrett had not always enjoyed her childhood. Her father died when she was only eight, her mother had fallen apart never to totally recover and Steve as older brother had assumed the role of parent for her until he left for the Naval Academy when she was 14. She recalled hating him for abandoning her. It is hard to imagine a world without my older brother.

"Maryann?" his voice had echoed over the hollow phone line. "Are you there?"

"Yes," the young teen had sobbed into the phone.

"I told you I wouldn't forget you. Happy Birthday."

"Um-hum," she replied, trying to halt the tears.

"What did you get for your birthday?"

"Mama bought me a new dress," she replied.

"Did you get the book I sent?"

"Yes," she replied enthusiastically. It was a book about horses. She had always loved horses.

"I love you, Honey. I will always be there for you."

He has always called on birthdays and holidays. But he wasn't there for my wedding. He couldn't help it, but it was awful not to have him there to give me away. He was so upset about being gone. He has always been so protective of me. Now it's my turn to protect him - even if it is only what is left of him.

As they traveled lower, the air got heavier, hotter and the mosquitoes unbearable. There were welts covering every inch of skin showing on each man. They were so exhausted that they could only walk about ten minutes without resting. Esteban rarely fussed anymore as he was carried along by Pedro, his small arms dropping out of the sling limply from time to time.

They stopped again to rest, swatting bugs off their sweaty skin.

"I don't hear monkeys anymore," Catava murmured cautiously.

Almost as he spoke, they were suddenly surrounded by automatic gunfire. They all dropped and dodged for cover as shots shattered branches and slammed into tree trunks around them.

Steve spun under the cover of shrubs, firing several careful and well-timed rounds, but unable to determine if they were effective.

Danny had rolled the opposite way, Catava another ten yards from him. "Give me the rifle!" Danny yelled to Catava, knowing the man with a broken arm could not fire the AK 47 with any accuracy.

Catava, gripped the weapon tighter, then suddenly rolled out of sight beneath greenery.

"Catava!" Danny attempted to dodge after him.

There was a shout - and a booted foot stepped heavily down on Danny's outstretched arm, pinning him on his back. "No mueva." The man spun around, keeping his foot on Danny's arm shouting that he had caught one. Nine other armed men came from the shadows and trees yelling and jeering.

Steve could see Danny from his hiding place. Their eyes met and Steve could read the fear beneath the resolution in Danny's look. Steve glanced around, looking for Pedro and Catava, but did not seem them right away. Then he spotted Pedro huddled over the baby in the brush. Where is Catava? He has the other weapon.

One of the men came close and Danny recognized him from the shootout at the plane. The man launched into a long explanation of how Danny was an American who had been one of the ones who killed his brother and friend. He wanted them to kill him on the spot.

Several of the others disagreed - wanting their commander to make the decision; believing an American could be worth something; authorities were looking for them and that could mean money. The argument persisted several minutes before the one on Danny's arm waved his rifle at the troop of men who backed away.

Danny used the time they argued to try to develop a strategy. He knew he could get a swift leg up and kick the genitalia of the man on his arm. The man would stumble, Danny could get his gun and probably shoot him and one other before they responded. By that time Steve would be able to take out at least two more. But that was only four. During that five seconds of action, one of the remaining six was bound to target him, and once Steve fired they would find him as well. There are too many of them.

The man stepped off Danny's arm. "¡Arriba!" he ordered, jabbing a rifle barrel against Danny's shoulder. He slowly started to get up, but the man pushed him roughly to his knees. He turned and shouted into the air. "¡Arriba ahora!"

"English," Danny muttered to him.

He spun and slammed the butt of the rifle into Danny's left eye, knocking him off his knees flat on his back. The left side of his face and eye swelled instantly. Blood ran down from a cut opened above his left eyebrow.

The man shouted again. "¡Venga ahora o yo lo mato!" Some of his partners began shouting angrily at him. In spite or perhaps because of their objections, he rammed Danny in the stomach with the rifle butt. Danny gasped in pain, curling doubled on the ground, memories of the beating Carlos took springing to mind. Attempting to recover, he looked at Steve, less than twelve feet away under the cover of foliage.

Failing to gain a translation, Steve was still pretty sure the man was threatening to kill Danny. He fingered his weapon torn in fury. So close, but too far. Am I going to sit here and let them beat Danny to death the way Carlos was stomped? Danny did not leave me before. I will not abandon him now. He knew from Danny's glare that his junior officer was not expecting heroism.

The guerrilla kicked Danny twice in the chest, then issued a sneer, stepped over him and using the rifle as a club, slammed the butt into his victim's left kidney. Danny issued a grunt, gritting his teeth against the pain. When his eyes opened, they were still focused on Steve's, the same determined message in them. Go, Steve. Take them and go.

Steve glanced over at Pedro through the thick ground cover, but the young priest had not moved. This is a replay of yesterday morning, the roles switched. McGarrett glanced around at the odds, coming to the same conclusion about the numbers that Danny had. No way to take them all. Where is Catava? He must have the other weapon. He could make the difference. But Steve could not see Catava; he wondered if the Colombian dignitary had had his fill of his American protectors and fled. Danny wants me to leave him. How can I do that? It is sure death.

The new round of argument had died down. A different man shouted in English. "Americans! You here! Come now! We have food! We take you to Americans for money!" He gave a nod and a grin, expecting a response.

The empty jungle answered him.

One of the men cursed in Spanish. Another man came over and tied Danny's hands tightly together with clothesline, then motioned him to his feet.

Danny got up slowly, testing the bonds and finding them tight. As he rose, he lost eye contact with McGarrett and prayed his superior would not attempt to rescue him. I took that chance last time, but it was different. There were fewer enemies that time. Steve isn't going to take this kind of a risk with so many of them.

"Vayamos," the one in charge ordered his men. One grabbed hold of the rope that tied Danny's hands and they slipped off into the jungle nearly as quickly as they had appeared.

Steve resisted the urge to follow them immediately, waiting in hiding for several minutes. I have to follow them, but they may have left a spotter behind. I can let Catava and Pedro head to the river. I need to follow Danny. At last, he slowly slipped out of hiding, not having seen or heard Catava. Pedro was still huddled under the bush. "Pedro," Steve whispered to him then crept under the shrub and touched the priest's shoulder.

Pedro issued a sound of pain. "Steve," he whispered.

Steve rolled him over, noting how he had managed to lie protecting the baby beneath him. Esteban gave a little cawing sound. Pedro's white shirt was saturated in blood. McGarrett quickly pulled away the sling, laying the infant to the side.

Pedro's skin was pallid, his breathing gasping. "I've been shot. I am dying, McGarrett," he whispered.

Steve frowned, knowing the assessment to be true. I have no way to treat him, no way to help him. No way to get him out. All I can do is comfort him. He half cradled the dying man on his lap, knowing that he was going to have to spend the time helping a man through death instead of helping another man live.

Pedro was already only half-conscious. "Miserére mei, Deus: secúndum magnam misericordiam tuam…"

Steve recognized the request for Last Rites instantly; his mouth went dry.

"Miserére mei, Deus…," Pedro whispered in prayer again, trying to reach into his pocket unsuccessfully.

Steve was awash in the religion of his youth - the memories of a dead faith. Can I possibly administer last rites to a dying priest? Even if I believed…it has been so long. He pulled the rosary from Pedro's pocket and placed it in the young man's hand that was already growing cold.

"Glora Patri,… et Filii, et Spiritui …..Sancti…." Pedro gasped, his fingers trying to play over the beads.

"Per sacrosáncta humánae reparatiónis mystéria remittat tibi omnipotens…" Steve murmured, surprised at how easily he could recall what he would rather forget. "Deus omnes praeséntis et futúrae vitae paenas, Paradísi portas apériat, et ad gáudia sempitérna perdúcat."

Pedro pressed the rosary back into Steve's hand and tried to fold Steve's finger's over it. "Keep," he managed to whisper.

"Father, this is yours," Steve started to protest.

Pedro just gave a quiet smile. His features grew calm, peaceful. He very slowly relaxed and gradually went limp. There was a heartbeat for a minute or two longer although the lungs filled with blood no longer attempted to breathe, then the young heart dedicated to God stopped.

McGarrett reverently lay the empty body down, barely able to breathe himself. I have seen the innocent die before this is nothing new. But he was a priest…Steve looked at the rosary in his hand. He had severed his ties with religion years before; he saw no need to dabble in what he considered to be superstition and ritual for the faint-hearted. Pedro was not faint-hearted. He died protecting a dying infant to whom he owed nothing. A child whose mother is dead, who will without a doubt end up as an abandoned life in some nameless orphanage to grow up as a nameless peasant and live out a meaningless life - if he survives at all. Pedro might have made a difference in hundreds of lives and he is dead. Did he waste his life? I hope not. Steve struggled to pull his mind back to the issues at present. I have to care for this baby, I have to find Danno and rescue him.

Esteban made little cawing sounds, more alert than earlier, attempting to get Steve's attention. As Steve picked him up, he gave a weak, fussy cry. Steve wrapped the make-shift now blood-soaked sling about himself and secured Esteban inside. Steve carefully slipped the rosary into the fold of the sling. The baby continued to fuss. He glanced around. Catava is not here. He ran, taking one rifle with him.

Steve picked up the remaining rifle, knowing it contained only seven rounds and started in the direction Danny's captors had gone.

As Chin had suspected, the Colombian officials were not happy with their arrival. They first cursed the pilot, threatening to impound his plane, but he shrugged and told them it was a paying fare, he was just a business man.

The senior official then confronted the small group. "Bad thing for you to come here," he announced. "We spend all our time searching, now we have to spend time caring for you."

"We don't need any care," Clara snapped.

He hesitated, his upbringing called for him to give respect to women and the elderly - Clara was both, but he felt little respect. "Mother," he said, trying to be calm, "it is not safe for you here."

"Poppycock," she answered with a wave of her hand.

He flexed his jaw and glanced at Chin. He had never met an Asian before. "You speak English?" he asked of him.

Chin gave a tolerant grin. "All my life." He extended a hand. "Chin Ho Kelley, Five-0, State Police, Hawaii."

"Aha. Commander Alejandro Hura," the officer replied accepting the handshake. "You must make these civilians leave."

Good, I am not viewed as a civilian, Chin thought with inward satisfaction. "Give me a moment," he replied and drew the priest and two women to one side. "Father, perhaps it would be more comfortable if you all waited at the church in town. I assume you would be welcome there."

Father Ramone hesitated.

"If there is anything that is needed for any survivors right now, it's prayer," Chin added before the priest could make a comment.

"We did not come this far to be pushed away!" MaryAnn protested.

"MaryAnn," Chin murmured close to her. "You did not expect to take off into the jungle, did you? Certainly the church just a few blocks away will be close enough. And perhaps these men will let me go with them if I can show I have some authority with you."

Clara snorted. "Chin, really."

He frowned, trying not to show his feelings. "Clara, you know I am right." His eye met hers.

Slowly she lowered her gaze and looked away. "You will tell us right away."

"Immediately," he assured her.

MaryAnn, overruled, gave a nod.

Father Ramone gave a nod and allowed an officer to direct him towards the phone to call the church.

Squaring his shoulders, Chin turned back to Hura. "Okay, they go with the priest. I go with you."

Hura blinked, then gave a reluctant nod.

"What is the status of the search?" Chin demanded. I have a little power, might as well maximize it.

"Our teams continue to search for the plane by air and on foot. A helicopter located part of the wing this morning. He pointed to a spot on the map. We are concentrating in the area near the valley."

There came a shout from outside Hura's command post as a young officer ran in announcing in a rush of Spanish that the plane had been found.

"You bring us good luck," Hura commented to Chin. "Let's go." Hura pointed towards a chinook helicopter that had just been started, it's two rotors slowly beginning to turn in unison. They climbed aboard as the engines began to rev and in moments, the spin of the blades intensified. Even before they had fastened their seatbelts, the craft was lifting off as the chopper headed towards the crash site.

Chin felt his heart racing even faster than the chopper blades. What will we find? I have been to a plane crash site once before - not a pretty sight and it was just a small four seater Piper. This is a DC4 - it held over forty souls. Forty. And it has been two days. Can I bear to encounter Steve and Danny's bodies and the condition they may be in? Can I bear to not find them? Is there any chance at all that they survived?

The plane was not visible from the air due to the heavy jungle growth; it was a team on foot that had reported the finding. They had not reported survivors. Even as the chopper descended to land, the plane was not evident until the last few moments, then disappeared from view again as the helicopter set down about a quarter mile away in a small clear spot.

Each step towards the wreck increased both anticipation and dread. Chin, still in a suit, was not dressed for jungle hiking, but made no complaints. Even before they reached the site, the smell of rotting death greeted them. They all pulled handkerchiefs to cover their noses and mouths, but it did not help much. Chin looked anxiously around the scene, torn between hoping to find his friends and not wishing to find them amongst the corpses.

"Anyone alive?" Hura asked through his cloth of one of the soldiers.

The man pointed inside the aircraft. "Two."

The guerrilla unit kept a quick pace through the jungle and Danny struggled to keep up. Exhausted, starved, thirsty and hands tied, he stumbled several times, each time to be beaten with rifle butts as he staggered back to his feet. After close to an hour at nearly a jog, they came to a small village that had obviously been built to support their group.

There were several small woven roofed and thin plywood sided dwellings where small children and women stood in the doorways peering out at the group as they arrived.

A woman came out and embraced one of the men, who returned the affection in somewhat embarrassed fashion.

A second woman stood, hands to her lips, as the men walked past. It was evident she was looking for someone - someone who was not there. "¿Dónde está Alberto?" she called out pleadingly. The men ignored her. She began to wail the loss of her husband as several women and children gathered around her.

Danny was surprised that this seemed like a village of families more than a revolutionary camp. He could smell food cooking over a fire and his stomach rolled. The man who had led the group took hold of the rope leash and led Danny into an open covered pavilion area where another man huddled over papers on a table.

"Emmel, tenemos a un preso.," the man reported glancing at Danny.

Emmel looked away from his paperwork. "Well." He straightened in the chair. "Prisoner, huh?" he remarked gazing at Danny, then frowned. "Geraldo, you always beat your prisoners?"

Geraldo seemed not to have a good understanding of the English and Danny knew the question was for him. Of course Geraldo always beat his prisoners.

Emmel pointed Danny to a metal chair. "Alimento."

Geraldo nodded and left. Moments later a young girl appeared and timidly handed a plate of beans and rice to Emmel. She paused, making eye contact with Danny and gave a timid curious half smile.

Danny returned the quiet smile.

Emmel gruffly waved the child away, glanced at Danny, then pushed the plate into his still bound hands.

Resisting the urge to gulp down the food even though tied, Danny remarked. "I cannot eat with my hands tied."

Emmel gave a broad smile. "I guess not." He untied the rope. "There. You eat now." He shoved his cup of weak tea towards Danny as well. "How you come to be in the jungle?"

Danny ate two bites before replying. "I was part of an adventure team, I got lost."

Emmel chuckled. "Adventure team? Were you having a good adventure?"

He did not reply as he ate. The food hitting his empty stomach was like heaven. He paused to wonder about Steve and the others. They are still hungry. If I get away I must take them some food. How will I know where to find them? The river?

"Did you hear the news? Bad plane crash. You know anything about this?" Emmel asked enjoying the one-sided conversation. "Hum. There some Americans on that plane. You American wandering in jungle." He leaned close to Danny. "I think you on that plane, yes?"

Danny took a drink of the tea, grateful he had not been offered water. At least he knew the tea water had been boiled. He belched. "Thank you for the meal."

"Ah, a most gracious prisoner," Emmel said with a smile. "And I will be the gracious host. Tell me, who else survive that crash? I lose several men lots of shooting they tell me. You did not do all that shooting, eh? If you did, you killed four of my friends at the plane and two in the jungle." Emmel toyed with a nine-inch combat knife, digging the tip into the tabletop. "Tell me, American, you kill six of my men by yourself?"

Danny looked down at the dirt floor, knowing there was no acceptable answer.

Emmel nodded. "You see? Now, you have others with you. I know you travel with Romero Catava. Americans do not understand except what they get told. Catava promises big money to American business men. Our money. The people's money."

"I don't make policy for the Americans," Danny commented. "I'm just a tourist going home."

Emmel played with his knife again, this time fingering the edge. "Do I look like a fool to you?" He suddenly lunged forward placing the blade at Danny's neck.

He gasped, trying to look unmoved, the cold steel sharp against his hot neck.

"All the news is about Americans on that plane. One priest, two policemen. You do not look like a priest." He removed the knife and rested placidly back in the chair once again, fingering the blade with his thumb. "What shall I do with you, huh?"

Danny did not reply right away. There was silence except for clucking chickens and buzzing flies. Finally, wanting to look as though he had given this great thought Danny suggested: "You want money. You give me to the Americans they will be very happy. You will be a hero. They will give you money. Kill me and they will send the army and kill you."

Emmel gave a half-smile. "Americans send army to Asia. They will not come here over one man."

"America has many armies. Some travel like you." He kept a steady gaze eye to eye with Emmel.

That got his attention. He scowled, taking a moment to glance at the jungle around him.

"Much better to be the rich hero." Danny was hopeful that his reasoning was making sense to Emmel.

Emmel rose from his seat and walked out into the open common area shouting for his men. As they rapidly assembled he demanded where the rest of the Americans were. He wanted them found and brought to him immediately. The men began talking and arguing, but Emmel was without question in charge. He turned back and motioned Danny to join them.

He cautiously walked down to the group, aware of every person's move.

"You tell them where your group is. I bring them here - feed them, care for them - we take all of them to the Americans."

Danny hesitated.Do I know where they are? What of Catava? Then he thought of Esteban, not likely to live another day. His gaze drifted to one of the women seated in a doorway nursing a small infant. "What of Catava?" he asked.

Emmel frowned. "He is Colombian, not your matter."

"I won't turn someone over to you to kill," he replied.

Emmel chewed the inside of his cheek. "I think," he said quietly in Danny's ear, "you are not in position to bargain, eh? What if I tell my men you are C - I - A?"

Danny did not move.

"They kill you - slowly. They cut off your fingers, toes, ears. If you do not die from that, they cut off more valuable pieces of you. You live only if I decide it, comprenda?"

Danny gazed steadily at Emmel, trying to look fearless."iluna o kou hoki," he murmured.

Emmel squinted. "Eh?"

Danny did not repeat 'up your ass' in Hawaiian, Spanish or English. He had accomplished the break in the mood and stolen control for just that moment. He stood in emotionless silence.

Emmel broke the stare first. "Aye," he waved a hand to bush away the importance, then in a remarkably friendly fashion placed a hand on Danny's shoulder and said quietly. "I will be generous to your friends - but Catava is mine."

Danny stood silent.

"Now," Emmel murmured. "You take us to them. If you fail, you will not feel the remorse for long, but long enough." He scooped up an AK-47.