An older man, in his early fifties, stood in front of them. He wore civilian clothes, a white linen shirt open at the neck, tan slacks, and Italian loafers. He was perfectly bald. It looked like he shaved his head for effect. He was a large man, nearly as tall as me, and solid with muscle.
He was carrying a white lab coat over his arm. He was speaking quickly in Spanish. I understood most of it. I slowly eased back as he said, “… we must find the man and the woman. They are dangerous American agents here to destroy us. If you see them, you must not kill them. That is forbidden.”
I whispered to Laura, “A dozen soldiers ahead. The man who called the others off us, was he really big, muscular, and bald?”
“No, it was another man.”
“This one seems to be the boss. He’s giving them orders about us. He doesn’t want us killed. I suppose that’s good news. Oh yeah, he’s a sharp dresser.”
“Let’s get out of here.” We came quickly to the other end of the long corridor, to a big double door. I tried the shiny brass doorknob.
It turned easily and silently. I went in low and swung around, fanning the room with my weapon. It was a very fancy office at first sight, with lots of gold-trimmed antique furnishings and several incredible Persian carpets. It wasn’t much of an office. There wasn’t a telephone or a fax or a computer, nothing to use to get help.
We eased inside and closed the door. I turned the lock. “Eljefe’s office,” I said. “The boss of this place. Probably it’s the bald guy out there with the soldiers. I wonder who the hell he is. Damn, I don’t even see a phone. They must communicate by radio.”
Laura was already behind the huge Louis XIV desk, going through the papers. Behind her was a large glass window looking out over a small walled-in, English-type garden filled with tropical flowers and plants. “Damn, it’s all in Spanish and I can’t read it,” she said. “Quick, come here, Mac.”
Someone tried to turn the handle on the door.
I heard shouts. More pounding. A gun butt smashed against one of the doors, then another. The expensive wood splintered.
No time. I prayed and grabbed Laura’s left hand. We took a running start, crossed our arms in front of our faces, and crashed through the huge glass window behind the Louis XIV desk.
We thankfully landed on grass, rolled, and came up instantly into a run. We were in a private flower garden, perfectly manicured and maintained, and I, who loved flowers, didn’t give a shit.
Ain’t nothing easy, I thought, as I smashed the butt of my weapon against a small gate in the far corner of the garden. The aging wood splintered and fell outward. We were out of the compound, only to stop cold. There was absolutely nothing in front of us except jungle and a three- or four-foot-wide moat of sorts, probably to keep the jungle from encroaching into the compound every few days. It was filled with brackish water that looked like it could kill anything that even got close to it.
I took her hand again, and we jumped the moat. We heard shouting behind us. Guns were fired over our heads. Good, they hadn’t forgotten el jefe had told them to keep us alive.
We ran into a dense green wall of vegetation that blocked out the sun within a couple of minutes. It was going to be a race, us against a dozen men native to this place.
I’d never been in a jungle before. The floor wasn’t a thicket of plants and trees and bushes as I’d expected. We didn’t need a machete like the movies I’d seen had portrayed. It was nearly bare, only a single layer of leaves covering the ground. But even that single layer was rotten. Everything around us was alive and green or rotting.
It got darker as we ran, the green over our heads forming an opaque canopy. Only the thinnest slivers of sunlight managed to get through. No wonder everything rotted so quickly-there was no sunlight to dry anything out. People would rot too, I thought, and there were a lot of creatures to help them. This was not a good place to be.