Authors: Arthur Hailey
Bogotd, Colombia, was their next destination and the
culmination of this charter. Once airborne, it would be a short and easy
flight
.
Something else Underhill knew was that this area of jungle was a
no-man's-land, regularly fought over by Sendero Luminoso, the Peruvian
Army, and sometimes the government's anti-terrorism police. With all
three groups noted for extreme brutality, it was not a place to linger
.
But the Learjet's passengers would be disembarking here, so Underhill
motioned to Faulkner who reached behind him and opened the door between
the flight deck and the main cabin.
Miguel, Socorro, Rafael and Baudelio were relieved to be on the ground
after the descent through darkness. But with relief came an awareness
that a new part of their enterprise was be 310ginning. In particular, Baudelio, who had been monitoring the caskets with external instruments, began to diminish the sedation, knowing that very soon the caskets would be opened and his patients-as he continued to think of them-removed
.
Moments later the Learj
et stopped, the engines fell silent and Faulkner left
his seat to open the clamshell door. In sudden contrast to the controlled
temperature inside, the outside air was suffocatingly hot and humid
.
As the airplane's occupants filed out it was evident that the attention and
respect of those waiting on the ground were focused on Miguel and Socorro
.
Obviously, Miguel's reception was due to his role as leader and Socorro's
because of her affiliation with Sendero Luminoso
.
The waiting force comprised eight men. Even in the darkness, reflected
light made it possible to see their light brown, weathered faces and that
all were sturdy peasant types, stockily built. The youngest-looking of the
eight stepped forward and quickly identified himself as Gustavo. To Miguel
he said, "Tenemos ordenes de ayudarle cuando lo necesite, sefior
.”
Having acknowledged his willingness to accept orders, Gustavo turned to
Socorro with a bow, "Sefiora, la destinacion de sus prisioneros serd Nueva
Esperanza. El viaje serd noventa kilometros, la mayor parte par el rib. El
barco este
listo
.”
Underhill emerged in time to hear the last exchange. He asked sharply
,
"What prisoners are to be taken ninety kilometers by boat
?
”
Miguel had not wanted Underhill to hear the name of their final
destination, Nueva Esperanza. But in any case he had had more than enough
of this imperious pilot, remembering the greeting at Teterboro, "Goddamn
,
you're late
!”
and other times during the journey when the pilot's hostility
had been thinly veiled. Now that Miguel was on ground where the other man
had no authority, he said contemptuously, "This is not your business
.”
Underhill snapped back, "Everything that happens in this airplane is my
business
.”
He glanced toward the caskets. Originally he had insisted that
the less he knew about them, the
better. Now, more from instinct than reason, he decided for his own protection later he had better know
.”
What is in those
?
”
Ignoring the pilot, Miguel told Gustavo, "Digale a los hornbres que
descarguen los ataudes cuidadosamente sin moverlos dernasiado, y que los
11even adentro de la choza
.”
“
No
!”
It was
Underhill. He blocked the clam
shell doorway
.”
You will not
unload those caskets until you have answered me
!”
Already, responding to
the heat, sweat was streaming down his face and balding head
.
Miguel caught Gustavo's eye and nodded. Instantly there was a flurry of
movement, a series of sharp metallic clicks and Underhill found himself
looking into the barrels of six Kalashnikov rifles, all held steady by
the ground-force men, safeties off, their fingers curled around the
triggers
.
With sudden nervousness the pilot called out, "For chrissakes, all
right
!”
His eyes swung from the weapons to Miguel
.”
You've made your
point. Just let us take on fuel and get out of here
.”
Ignoring the request, Miguel snarled, "Move your ass away from that
door
!”
When Underhill had done so, Miguel nodded again, the rifles were
lowered and four of the ground men entered the airplane, going to the
caskets. The copilot accompanied them, releasing the cargo straps, then
one by one the caskets were unloaded and carried into the small hut
.
Baudelio and Socorro followed.
An hour and a half had passed since the Learjet's landing and now, a few
minutes before sunrise, the landing strip and its surroundings were
becoming clearer. During the intervening time the Learjet had been
refueled for the flight to Bogot
a
, the fuel taken from the drums and
transferred through a portable pump. Underhill was now looking for Miguel
to inform him of their imminent departure
.
Miguel and the others were in the makeshift hut, Gustavo indicated
.
Underhill walked toward it
.
The hut door was partially closed and, hearing voices inside, the pilot
pushed it open. The next instant he stopped
,
shocked and horrified at what
he saw.
Seated on the dirt floor of the hut were three figures, their backs to the
wall, heads lolling, mouths open, comatose but certainly alive. Two of the
caskets taken from the Learj
et-now open and empty-had been placed on either
side of the trio to help prop them up. A single oil lantern illuminated the
scene
.
Underhill knew immediately who the three were. It was impossible not to
know. He listened daily to U.S. radio news and read American newspapers
,
available at foreign airports and hotels. Colombian news media, too, had
carried reports about the kidnapped family of a famous U.S. anchorman
.
Fear, icy fear, crept over Denis Underhill. He had skirted the borderlines
of crime before-anyone flying Latin American charters inevitably did. But
he had never, ever before, been involved in anything as utterly felonious
as this. He knew, without having to think about it, that if his role in
conveying these people became known in the U.S., he could go to jail for
life
.
He knew others in the hut were watching him-the three men and the woman who
had been his passengers from Teterboro through Opa Locka to Sion. They too
appeared to have been startled by his entry
.
It was at that moment that the semiconscious woman on the ground stirred
.
She raised her head weakly. Looking directly at Underhill, her eyes came
into focus and she moved her lips though no sound emerged. Then she managed
to gasp, "Help . . . please help . . . tell someone . .
.”
Abruptly her
eyes lost their focus, her head slumped forward
.
From the far side of the hut a figure moved quickly toward Underhill. It
was Miguel. With a Makarov nine-millimeter pistol in his hand, he motioned
.”
Out
!”
Underhill moved ahead of Miguel and his gun to the jungle outside. There
,
Miguel said matter-of-factly, "I can kill you now. No one will care
.”
A sense of numbness overwhelmed Underhill. He shrugged
.”
You've done me in
anyway, you bastard. You've made me part of kidnapping those people, so
whatever comes next won't make a helluva lot of difference
.”
His eyes
dropped to the Makarov; the safety catch was off. Well, it figured, he
thought. He had been in tight situations before and this looked like one
he wouldn't get out of. He had known others like this thug Palacios--or whatever his real name was. A human life meant nothing to them, snuffing one out no more than spitting in the dust. He just hoped the guy would shoot straight. That way it should be quick and painless . . . Why hadn't he done it yet? . . . Suddenly, despite his reasoning, desperate fear seized Underhill. Though sweat still poured from him, he was shivering. He opened his mouth to plead, but saliva filled it and words failed him
.
For some reason, he perceived, the man facing him with the gun was
hesitating
.
In fact, Miguel was calculating. If he killed one pilot, he would have
to kill both, which meant the Learjet could not be flown out for the time
being-a complication he could do without. He knew also that the
airplane's Colombian owner had friends in the Medellin cartel. The owner
could make trouble . .
.
Miguel thumbed the safety on. He said menacingly, "Maybe you just thought
you saw something. Maybe you didn't after all. Maybe, this whole journey
,
you saw nothing
.”
Underhill's mind flashed a message: For a reason he didn't understand
,
he was being given a chance. He responded hastily, breathlessly, "That's
right. Didn't see a goddamn thing
.”
"Get the fucking airplane out of here
,”
Miguel snarled, "and afterward
keep your mouth shut. If you don't, I promise wherever you are you'll be
found and killed. Is that clear
?
”
Trembling with relief, knowing he had been closer to death than ever
before in his life, and also that the closing threat was real, Underhill
nodded
.”
It's clear
.”
Then he turned and walked back to the airstrip.
Morning mist and broken cloud hung over the jungle. The Learjet passed
through it as they climbed. The ascending sun was blurry amid haze, the
sign of a scorching, steamy day ahead for those left on the ground
.
But Underhill, going through piloting motions automatically, was thinking
only of what lay ahead
.
He reasoned that Faulkner, seated beside him, hadn't seen
the Sloane family captives and knew nothing of Underhill's involvement or what had happened just a few minutes ago. And they would keep it that way. Not only was there no need for Faulkner to be told now that there had been live, kidnapped people in those caskets they had carried, but if he weren't told, the copilot could swear later on that Underhill didn't know either
.
That was the essential thing for Underhill to insist on whenever inquiry
was made, as he was certain it would be: He didn't know. From beginning
to end, he didn't know about the Sloanes
.
Would he be believed? Perhaps not, but it didn't matter, he thought with
growing confidence. It made no difference as long as there was no one who
could prove the contrary
.
He was reminded of the woman who had spoken to him. Her name was Jessica
,
he recalled from the reports. Would she remember seeing him? Could she
identify him later? Considering her state, it was highly unlikely. It was
also unlikely, the more he thought about it, that she would ever leave
Peru alive
.
He signaled for Faulkner to take over the flying. Leaning back in his
seat, the hint of a smile crossed the senior pilot's face
.
At no point did Underhill give any thought to a possible rescue of the
Sloane family captives. Nor did he consider reporting to authorities who
was holding them and where.
After less than three full days of investigation an important success had been achieved by the CBA News special task force
.
In Larchmont, New York, an infamous Colombian terrorist, Ulises
Rodriguez, had been positively identified as one of the kidnappers of the
Sloane family trio and, perhaps, the leader of the kidnap gang.
On Sunday morning-as had been promised the preceding day-a copy of a
charcoal sketch of Rodriguez, drawn twenty years earlier by a fellow
student at the University of California at Berkeley, arrived at CBA News
headquarters. Producer Karl Owens, who had uncovered Rodriguez's name
through contacts in Bogota
and U.S. Immigration, personally received the
sketch and later took it to Larchmont. A camera crew and a hastily
summoned New York correspondent accompanied him
.
As the camera rolled, Owens had the correspondent show six photos to
Priscilla Rhea, the retired schoolteacher who had witnessed the kidnap
on the Grand Union parking lot. One photo was of the Rodriguez sketch
,
the other five had been taken from files and were of men of similar
appearance. Miss Rhea pointed instantly to the Rodriguez picture
.”
That's him. That's the one who shouted that they were making a movie
.
He's younger in the picture, but it's the same man. I'd know him
anywhere
.”