Canto Karabali part 1

Canto Karabali – Part 1 of x

by Theoacme

“Oof!” Eva landed hard on a tree branch – fortunately, she had landed in a sitting position, which was the best position possible under the conditions. The full moon was setting, and thus useless to help Eva see. In the near pitch blackness, she reached for her flashlight. Pressing the switch, then pressing it again, she saw that she was about forty feet above the forest floor.

“Just how I wanted to start my morning,” she muttered. Humming a song she was listening to on the intercom before she jumped, by touch alone, Eva removed her parachute harness, and neatly folded the silken shrouds back into the pack. Finding her canteen, she took a small sip of water, then looked at her watch – just after midnight.

Twenty minutes (and as many curses) later, Eva’s feet touched the ground. Scanning the area as well as she could, she saw no threat of any kind, either natural or manmade. “Now where are the others?” she thought. “Did they make it out? They have to – I owe one a box of cigars and the other a deluxe vibrator…”

For ordinary mortals like you and me, this is not a usual question to ask at any time, much less somewhere in a South American jungle in the middle of the night. (At this point, a Greek chorus should exclaim, “You bet your ass!” Like Cleavon Little, I’m hip.) But, as we know, Miss Dynamite is no ordinary mortal. And few mortals get the opportunity to see Angel Falls by the light of a full moon, followed by a desperate jump into all but total darkness, in the same night – even Eva, who had seen it all before, had to take a few snapshots of the falls, illuminated in the moonlight, as they flew by.

Holding her breath, closing her eyes, and cupping her hands to her ears, Eva scanned her surroundings once more, this time concentrating on her hearing, listening for any hint of life. She did faintly smell something upwind from her, towards her far left. “Gasoline,” she thought, “Is there anything salvageable? And do I need anything else?”

Silently taking inventory, she found that she could manage okay without anything else from the plane, having a machine pistol and a pair of Glock 9mm pistols, with ammo for both, a machete, four throwing knives, some survival gear, miniature binoculars, and a few dehydrated rations. “Some grenades would have been nice, though…” she mused. “And damn that song – I can’t get that clarinet out of my mind…”

Suddenly, she heard a cricket device from her left. Translating the Morse, she heard, “V-O-L…”

…then another, further left, and a bit more distant, “D-E…”

…to which Eva clicked, “N-U-I-T…”

…and thus, Eva was reunited with her comrades, Blackie and Mélodie.

“Does anyone have any idea where we are?” Eva spoke quietly.

“At 2330,” Mélodie replied, “Rivière told me that we were 50 minutes from the final course change towards the drop zone. Given our flight plan, we should be from 30 to 50 miles short of the zone.”

“You mean you don’t know for sure?” Eva exclaimed.

“Three things made that difficult,” Mélodie replied with a barely enforced calm. “First, Rivière was flying on dead reckoning, as C-47’s just don’t have the electronic navigation capabilities that newer planes do, older style radio beacons aren’t in use in the area, and he wasn’t due to take a navigational fix until ten minutes before the final course change. Second, GPS signals have been severely degraded by the US Defense Department here, unless you have a high enough security clearance to get a secured GPS unit – and those are so secure, not even Dick Cheney can have one…”

“Who in the hell does, anyway?” Eva snarled.

“Six battalion commanders of the Colombian Army operating in the frontier here, a couple of high-ranking CIA operatives based in Bogotá, two DEA agents in Medellin, and the chief and exec of the US Military Mission at the US Embassy, also based in Bogotá – twelve of the twenty-four in all of South America,” Mélodie said.

“You said three things,” Blackie replied.

“I was listening to HCJB at 2330, and there was a jamming signal on that frequency for about twenty minutes – in other words, right up to when the missile hit,” Mélodie said.

“So what?” Eva growled.

“When I ran my frequency scanner, all frequencies, from the long wave to the aviation high frequency ranges, were also being jammed, simultaneously – and with just about every method invented to date, from the warbler, to random CW keying, to squelch capture,” Mélodie sighed. “When I saw that, that’s when I woke you two up.”

“Would that have affected navigation?” Eva realized that things were much worse than she had thought – before this, she thought that the missile that had struck their C-47’s cockpit ten minutes before midnight, forcing their early exit from the plane, was the only symptom they had to worry about.

“In a modern plane, it would have hampered it somewhat,” Mélodie answered, “but there are systems, such as the dead reckoning auto plot system, that would not be affected. In the C-47 we had, what navigation and radio equipment was available used frequencies in the ranges affected – we couldn’t have even sent an SOS.”

“So why weren’t we annihilated when the missile hit?” Blackie asked quietly.

“If we had been flying a modern jet, we would have been,” Eva very quietly answered. “But the engines of the C-47 didn’t give off enough of a thermal target for the missile to lock on to, so the missile split the difference between the two engines…”

“…and the cockpit was hit, and Rivière was killed,” Blackie sighed.

“Again, having a C-47 in this situation was a good thing,” Eva continued, “because it was able to maintain autopilot control and level flight long enough for us to bale out…”

“…where a jet would have spun out at once, at a higher speed, making it impossible to escape,” Blackie finished. “It’s a good thing we slept with our chutes on, and our kit bags packed.”

“Where did the plane go down?” Eva asked.

“About two miles away,” Mélodie replied, “but there’s no point going back, as there’s nothing left there now…”

“…don’t tell me that you did salvage some things before coming here?” Eva grinned.

“A few things, like a sniper rifle with silencer, a 50-cal recoilless rifle, four cartons of grenades, a grenade launcher, a pair of AK-47’s, a certain katana, a case of throwing knives, rations, water, and ammo for everybody…” Mélodie grinned back.

“What about the mission documents?” Blackie asked.

“Those I packed in my pack, and took with me when I jumped,” Mélodie said. “I also have the best available topographical maps of the area, within 75 miles of the drop zone…”

“…but let me guess,” Eva grinned, “that’s like saying a child’s crayon map that you can find at any crèche accurately represents any particular area…”

“…but, if things were always easy,” Blackie smiled, polishing her katana gently, “they’d have hired Rumsfeld and Cheney, and we’d be working in a brothel…”

“…now just a minute, bitch!” Eva cried, grabbing Blackie by her blouse with her hand, pulling their faces inches apart, shocking her by yelling into her gaping mouth. “We’d be running the brothel, not merely working in it!”

“Go ahead and kiss and make up, you two,” Mélodie smiled, “or kiss and make out, because I’d like to get a bit of sleep before dawn, so we can find out where we are, and adjust our plans.”

“You do want the good cigars, right?” Eva replied. (Of course Eva was going to give her the cigars – that’s the standard reward to the person who packed a parachute for a successful jump.)

“I napped more on the flight from Colon, so you two can catch a few winks,” Blackie replied, gently stroking Eva’s cheek with her hand, “as soon as we set up a perimeter…”

<SLAP!> Just enough force to remind Blackie exactly what Eva could do to her, but not so much as to really hurt her – or encourage her any further...

While Blackie is standing watch, and Eva and Mélodie rest, I shall now reveal their mission, as originally planned (said mission now requiring some revisions):

Type of mission:         Hostage extraction

Hostage:                     Ingrid Betancourt, dual citizen of Colombia and France, former Colombian presidential candidate.

Captors:                      FARC (a left-wing Colombian rebel group)

Location:                     Somewhere in a tract of land of about 100,000 square miles, in Colombia, bordering Ecuador.

Client:                          Nicolas Sarkozy, President of France (in a confidential, official, denial-if-caught capacity)

Goals:

   1. Extract Betancourt from FARC control
   2. Deliver Betancourt to France or one of its possessions
   3. Extract any other hostages possible and deliver them to France, one of its possessions, or a neutral country
   4. Obtain evidence against person(s) responsible for maltreatment of Betancourt (if possible, deliver person(s) responsible to France for trial and imprisonment - if capture and delivery of person(s) is not possible, his/their termination with extreme prejudice is approved – delivery of evidence against them is still required.)

Unnecessary violence against anyone who interferes with this mission has been approved.

Forces opposed (in the target area):

    * FARC regular forces: estimated to be 2,000 men. They are estimated to have four Stinger surface-to-air missiles available.

    * FARC irregulars: an estimated 4,000 men (not capable of normal military offensive operations – think Viet Cong-style insurgency tactics).

    * Right wing paramilitary personnel from Colombia: approximately 1,000 men, operating in loose coordination with the Colombian Army.

    * Colombian Army: 6,000 men are known to be in the general area, with helicopter mobility assets to hand. They do have an estimated 40 Stinger surface-to-air missiles available in the area.

    * Colombian Air Force: 20 Embraer EMB 314 Super Tucanos are stationed in the area. Their emphasis is defence against incursions from Ecuadorian air forces. Another 20 Super Tucanos are patrolling the border areas bordering Venezuela and Panama. The remaining air assets throughout Colombia are on second level alert, on runway stand-by (five minutes notice to launch).

    * Venezuelan Army: Approximately 600 men are in the border region between Colombia and Ecuador, assisting FARC forces: attached is a Cuban Army force, 100 men. Helicopter mobility assets are not available in the area at this time. Surface-to-air missiles are not yet in the area, but approximately 100 Soviet-era shoulder-fired missiles are in transit from Cuba, along with Cuban trainers and technicians.

    * Venezuelan Air Force: Approximately 2 regular flights of cargo planes (IFF disguised as ordinary commercial aircraft) overfly the area overnights, dropping supplies into the area; also attached are some Cuban Air Force technical crews (signals, engineers). Approximately 20 Sukhoi Su-30MKV Flanker-C fighters are patrolling the border areas with Colombia and Panama. Other air force units are on runway alert.

    * Ecuadorian Army: Currently, approximately 4,000 men in the border region with Colombia. Ecuador is mobilizing reserve forces (exact amount of mobilization not yet known); intelligence indicates that, with full mobilization, they will enlarge their forces in this area to 8,000 men, with an additional 16,000 men in reserve near Quito. Helicopter mobility assets are available. No surface-to-air missile capabilities are in the area.

    * Ecuadorian Air Force: 12 BAC Strikemasters are actively patrolling the area. An additional 20 Cessna A-37 Dragonflies are available on standby in Quito.

    * US Army: 10 Green Beret A-teams in Colombia (each consisting of 12 men); unknown how many are in area.

    * US Navy: 6 SEAL teams in Colombia (each consisting of 12 men); unknown how many are in area.

    * US Air Force: Assisting the Colombian Air Force - Two KC-135 refueling aircraft, 20 A-10 ground attack planes, and several portable radars (with USAF technical/training personnel) in country; probably four portable radars only in area, but planes can be redeployed to area within 12 hours.

    * CIA: Perhaps 20 agents in the area, with perhaps 100 free-lance operatives.

    * Mercenaries: Perhaps several hundred, from any/all of: People’s Republic of China, Russia, South Africa, Israel, Iran, Pakistan, Peru, United States, Sri Lanka, Brazil.

Other factors:

    * There has been no overflight permission granted by Colombia, Venezuela, or Ecuador – there is a significant risk of being shot down.

    * A temporary airstrip has been secretly constructed near the target zone – due to its small size, the largest plane usable is a DC-3 / C-47 (no jets allowed).

    * It is rumoured that arms and defence systems from the People’s Republic of China, Russia, South Africa, Israel, the United States, various European conglomerates, and Iran are being marketed in the region (think multiple clones of Nicolas Cage from the film, “Lords of War”).

    * Presume that there are no friendlies anywhere in the region, with the exception of certain named contacts in Bogotá, Caracas, Medellin, Cali, and Quito (they also secretly transmit scheduled one way coded messages using a one-time use “number pad” system). Also presume that any weapons system, including those you don’t have any knowledge of, may be employed.

Conclusions:

Although no one is aiming their attentions or weapons directly at our three fearless mercenaries, they’re all so trigger-happy due to recent events, that doesn’t matter – if Eva, Blackie, and Mélodie are seen, they’ll be very lucky not to be shot down…and, given the particular brand of machismo and misogyny inherent in South American culture, if they’re unlucky enough to be captured alive, they’ll soon wish they were dead.

In other words, Eva, Blackie, and Mélodie almost had their tickets for the River Styx Ferry punched – now, after a moment of silence for the premature death of one of the best airplanes of all time, the DC-3 / C-47, and their pilot Rivière, it’s their deal…

…but who fired the missile that shot down their C-47? Until they find out where they are, and where they were, no one is eliminated…

…so revenge will have to wait, as they have a job to do first – and everyone knows that revenge, like vichyssoise, is best served cold.

Actually, Mélodie could have begun her location finding exercise at any time – but to pick up radio signals reliably, it helps to have an antenna as high as possible; for this, she would need to climb a tree; and at night, whilst the trees are just as plentiful as during the day, the light needed to see wasn’t. An hour after dawn, one hundred feet above the ground, she fiddled with her antenna and her favourite radio, the ICF-2010 (except for its merely adequate FM signal reception, the best radio in the world under $400, and better than the radios used by the CIA and its opposing intel organizations costing ten times the price). Fifteen minutes was all she needed in the canopy, twenty more to climb up the tree – and sixty seconds to descend to the ground.

“So, where in the hell are we?” Eva snorted, passing Mélodie a breakfast of some Spam slices and crackers, washed down with Tang.

“The bad news is that Rivière was way off course…” Mélodie began to reply.

“How much off course – I think trenchfoot is something I’d rather avoid,” Blackie remarked, “as well as piranhas…”

“The good news is that the error is in our favor – we’re just three miles from our target, past the strip,” Mélodie replied. “And we’re also about two miles from Ecuador – and the other FARC camp that was raided last week.”

“You mean, we don’t have to walk as far?” Eva smiled.

“We do have to ford a river that we didn’t plan to, but we’ll save about 10 miles’ walking,” Mélodie said.

“Did you say piranhas?” Eva sighed.

“I wouldn’t worry about them – it’s a bit too far north for them…” Mélodie smiled. “Reticulated pythons, however…”

“Here, Eva,” Blackie sighed, “use my sharpening stone – I’m done with it…”

Casually swinging her machete at a two inch thick branch above her head, Eva cleanly sliced it in two. “I already did, while you were napping....”

They made very quick time – as it turned out, almost too quick, for they reached the suspected FARC camp, just inside the Ecuadorian border, at noon. There was no visible human movement anywhere in the camp; a couple of vultures were slowly tearing apart a FARC fighter’s carcass (what was left of it, that is), and enough billowing of smoke to evoke memories of a conflagration at an Iranian refinery complex (unlike this case, a disaster that they caused).

“What the…” Blackie started.

Eva whistled. “I’m jealous – someone beat us to the punch – and did a better job than I would have...”

“…at least we don’t have to start a fire to cook our lunch,” Mélodie sighed, looking at the very fresh devastation.

Looking across the clearing, Eva saw a small dilapidated building – all the other structures, twenty in all, were quick-erect Quonset-type huts – all were damaged, but somehow still erect. “Mélodie, my guess is that the HQ is over there – you’d better investigate that,” she said. “Blackie, you take that side, and I’ll take this one.”

An hour later, Eva walked to the building to ask Mélodie a question. Walking in, she got the shock of her life. Walking out, shaking her head she muttered repeatedly, “Now I’ve seen everything…”

Blackie saw Eva’s face, as white as a sheet, as she walked out of one of the huts. She began to ask Eva what was wrong, but Eva merely pointed to the building. Blackie walked into the building, and came out speechless, her mouth hanging open.

Thirty minutes later, Eva and Blackie walked back into the headquarters building. Mélodie was gently washing a nude body on a table draped with a white sheet, as clean as possible in field conditions. Mélodie’s face was quite pale, streaked with tears, but she was not crying any longer.

“What the hell?” Eva asked.

<<Ingrid Betancourt est vraiment mort peu de temps après elle a été enlevé - mais son corps et esprit parvenus pour se tenir dessus jusqu'il y a à dix minutes.>> (“Ingrid Betancourt really died shortly after she was kidnapped – but her body and mind managed to hold on until ten minutes ago…”) Mélodie replied in a soft monotone, eyes not seeing them, but something far away from there – as she now retreated to the language of her birth, French. <<Veuillez m'aider…>> (“Please help me…”)

Eva and Blackie’s eyes were drawn to the mottled masses of bruising all over Ingrid’s body, some fresh, some jaundiced, some fading, the rope burns on her wrists and ankles, the scars from electric burns on her breasts, the cigar burns on her belly, the evidence of broken bones in her hands and feet, the latter as if she had been hobbled in the Chinese manner. Blackie ran to the sink and violently threw up; Eva barely held down her lunch. Mélodie gently held Blackie as she shuddered. Eva put her canteen to Blackie’s lips, and she drank a little water.

Pulling a sealed plastic bag from her pack, Mélodie pulled out a floral print dress, a compact, some glossy lipstick, and some fingernail polish. <<Sa mère m'a envoyé ceci, au cas où elle mourait avant que nous pourrions retourner sans risque. C'était son favori.>> (“Her mother sent this to me, in the event that she died before we could return safely. It was her favorite.”)

After slipping the silk dress onto Ingrid’s body, and draping Ingrid’s personal rosary around Ingrid’s neck as a necklace, Mélodie began applying polish to her toenails. Blackie started applying polish to Ingrid’s fingernails, and Eva made up her face. With a final flourish, Blackie applied some blush to Ingrid’s décolletage. Despite their efforts, many of the injuries Ingrid suffered were still visible.

<< Cendres aux cendres, la poussière à épousseter - soutenu de la terre, est revenu à la terre…>> (“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust – born from the earth, returned to the earth…”), Mélodie intoned softly, crossing herself, eyes unseeing, head bowed, almost surrendering to her tears once more. << Recevez cette femme honorable dans le ciel, mon Dieu...>> (“Receive this honourable woman into heaven, my God…”) Then, after covering Ingrid’s body with another sheet, they stepped outside into the late afternoon air. Eva wondered if she, too, had crossed herself.

“You did,” Blackie told her, knowing her thoughts, “but you were paying Ingrid the respect she merits – as did I…”

Eva lit a cigarette, and proffered one to Blackie, who greedily inhaled. Eva also offered one to Mélodie, who surprisingly declined, even though it was obvious that she needed something more than the others.

Mélodie took a sip of water from her canteen, and began, in the same soft monotone, “Do you remember, in our briefing, about Clara Rojas’ experiences in FARC captivity?”

Eva replied, “Yeah – something about how she was raped into pregnancy, gave birth to a son, who was taken from her, and is still in FARC control – just because she was Ingrid’s aide?”

“And how she was basically a concubine, before and after her pregnancy?” Blackie added.

Mélodie continued, “Well, Ingrid managed to keep a diary – and she was treated even worse -worse than any woman I’ve ever heard about. Even the Korean comfort women during World War II, or the victims of the Rape of Nanjing, or the Jewish women at Dachau, or women in Muslim countries today, were treated far better than she was.”

“How bad?” Eva shuddered.

“Imagine being deliberately raped and tortured daily, forced into pregnancy seven times, then forced into an abortion or miscarriage each time with no pain relief – in fact, deliberately inflicted pain - and all the while never, ever, ever being allowed any pleasure,” Mélodie replied, her face pale at the thought of what she was saying. “Plus, they gave her hepatitis B during her torture, did not give her any medical care for that, or anything else, and fed her basically the minimum rations she needed to survive – no more than that, and nothing really edible or enjoyable.”

“Sounds like Adolf Eichmann or our jailers at Guantanamo could have learned a few things from them,” Blackie sighed, trying to hold back her tears.

“So, what were you doing earlier with her?” Eva asked, barely able to stop herself from crying herself.

“Ingrid knew she didn’t have long to live, and knew that there was no hope that she would live long enough to die at home,” Mélodie replied, “so she asked me to honor a last request.”

“And that was her last request?” Blackie asked, “for you to make love to her?”

“Yes,” Mélodie shuddered, almost sobbing, “part of it - and how could I refuse her? She received nothing but intense pain and torture – even the FARC women were involved in torturing her – they even brought their children along to help torture her. She said that FARC had no intention of ever releasing her, but wanted to destroy her completely, body, mind, and soul – and if you read her diary, I think you’ll find that they did everything they could to do just that.”

Eva reached into her kit bag, pulled out a flask, and poured some rum into Mélodie’s mouth. She swallowed, barely avoiding choking as the rum (not the mere 80 proof you can buy in the shops, but the good, 150 proof liqueur you can only procure at the source) warmed her belly, and took a deep breath, then another, then another. Eva took a sip from the flask as well, and passed it to Blackie, who also drank.

“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” Mélodie continued, her face slowly regaining its normal color, and her voice recovering its normal tone, “but how could I refuse her that last request? She wanted to pleasure me – but I did not allow her to do that, for she needed the release far more than I did. She came twice, then she said, <<Merci mille fois, mon ange de Dieu – maintenant je peux me reposer dans la paix>> (A thousand thanks, my angel of God – now I can rest in peace), then she closed her eyes, and died quietly, with a smile on her face – probably the only smile she had had in the last six years.”

Blackie said, “I never knew you were a priest, Mélodie…”

“I’m not,” she replied, “but, when I was in the army, I learned how to honour my comrades as they would want, if and when their lives were taken – no matter what they believed in. Ingrid asked for a very brief ceremony before she was buried – and I could show her no less than I would one who died beside me.”

“You were a padre?!” Eva gaped.

“An emergency, in case of shortage, one-size-fits-all, chaplain, yes,” Mélodie replied, “but the way the military around the world have cut their budgets for all except the latest high-tech weaponry, there were constant chaplain shortages, and funeral transport shortages, but no shortage of funerals – so I got far more practice doing funerals than I wanted – and always field burials, with nothing but a plastic marker to remember them by…”

Eva whistled. “It was even worse for Ingrid than you think.”

“How could it have been any worse?” Blackie asked.

“Looking at the evidence we found, the Colombian Army, as well as the CIA, were the ones responsible for the attack on this camp,” Eva replied, “and, to top that off, they knew where Ingrid was for at least two years, and deliberately did nothing to rescue her. In fact, they deliberately killed everyone except Ingrid, but left her bound, so she would die a very painful death of dehydration.”

Looking at Mélodie’s face reddening in anger, Eva continued, “It seems one of the CIA agents dropped his Blackberry, with this information on it.”

“Sloppy, sloppy!” Blackie grinned. “How far up did it go?”

“All the way up to the executive suites at Halliburton, the White House, Parliament Hill in Ottawa, and the Colombian Presidency,” Eva replied. “The memos didn’t say why, but I can guess…”

“They don’t like strong women in Latin America…” Blackie replied.

“…or anywhere else, it seems,” Mélodie finished the thought.

“There’s one other thing,” Blackie said. “I found evidence of some Cubans in this camp.”

“Anyone we know?” Eva asked.

“Elian,” Mélodie replied. “Ingrid described him as one of those who raped her.”

Blackie nodded. “That doesn’t surprise me. And that means the Chavezistas were here, too.”

Eva looked at the sun beginning its inevitable descent towards the western horizon – it was three o’clock. “We had better clear out of here.”

Blackie asked, “Why?”

“I smell a rat,” Eva replied. “This attack was too close to when we were scheduled to arrive, and they left Ingrid here.”

“A setup,” Mélodie replied, “but we have to do one thing first – bury Ingrid.”

“We don’t have the time to do that,” Eva said.

“We must,” Mélodie replied, “because, if there is a setup, Ingrid has to be the raison d’être for whomever planned this to attack us – there’s nothing else that would account for all of this…”

“…you promised her that, right?” Eva looked into Mélodie’s eyes, which gave her the answer that she would also have given to Ingrid. “Okay, then – let’s find a spot outside of this camp to bury her, a spot where we can easily camouflage her grave,” Eva said, “then clear everything out of here…”

“…you’d better copy the Blackberry info to mine,” Blackie replied, “because, if this is a setup, we had better not have it with us…”

“…right – they could trace us with it,” Eva agreed. “We had better shut off all electronic devices when we leave – any pictures that need to be taken, do it now.”

“And back up all the data three ways, so if only one of us gets back, all the data is available,” Blackie replied.

“I’m all set,” Mélodie replied, pulling out her digital camera. “I’ve also taken images of Ingrid’s diary, as well as packed away the original – plus I have video of her dying declaration.”

“Me, too,” Blackie added, pulling out her digital camera. “Too bad these aren’t pictures of Chiasa Aonuma, but maybe next time…”

“I noticed a good spot about 400 yards from here, on our way in,” Mélodie said, trying not to laugh at Blackie’s all too obvious appetites. “Let’s start digging…”

The men entered the camp about 7 o’clock, and searched it inch by inch. They found the Blackberry they had left behind, and did not find Ingrid. They then methodically blew up every structure in the camp, using several tons of high explosives – then fired into the wreckage using their automatic rifles. Searching for a trail, they found the route that Eva had followed into the camp, and followed it through the jungle…

“…phew!” Blackie whispered. “That was close!”

It was midnight, and the echoes of a second round of explosions had just split the silent summer jungle night. “Cruise missiles – Tomahawks, probably,” Eva replied. “The explosions came both from the direction of the camp, and the wreck site. They must really want us dead.”

“Everyone wants us dead this time of year,” Mélodie mused. “They have to have something to keep them occupied before the back-to-school shopping season.”

“Now, we have a problem,” Eva said. “Where do we go now?”

All knew that the “how” wasn’t the real problem, although it was a problem that had to be solved – just not yet.

“I don’t think it’s safe to return to France,” Blackie replied, “if they tipped them off.”

“I can’t think of why they would,” Mélodie replied, “but it’s well within the realm of possibility that they did.”

“One of us must return to France,” Blackie said, “and at least tell her mother what happened.”

Eva grimaced – sitting ninety feet in the air, in a tree, wasn’t where she was used to making a plan. “We’re going to have to try something desperate,” she replied, “because, if the CIA and the Cubans are both looking for us, who knows who else is involved, too…”

“…with our luck, the Hamaya Corporation will be after us too,” Blackie remarked, “since they have a super-regional office in Lima.”

“And there’s the matter of whether we leave sleeping dogs lie,” Mélodie added, “or else kill them…”

“Too many dogs to kill right now,” Eva replied, “what with the Colombians, the Venezuelans, the FARC, the CIA, the White House, Halliburton, and Elian all involved…”

“…they won’t expect well delayed, well chilled revenge,” Mélodie agreed.

“Then again,” Blackie replied, “why would they expect revenge right now – after all, they think they have us cornered…”

“…hmmm – but we can’t do anything from here,” Eva said.

“How about getting a boat, and sailing down to Manaus?” Mélodie replied. “The Caqueta River flows into the Amazon, and they won’t expect us to go that way – they’ll think it’s too far…”

“Hmmm – it probably is too far,” Eva mused, “but, they’ll more likely expect us to march to Cali or Quito.”

“Let’s sleep on it, and plan in the morning,” Blackie replied.

“Wake me at 0400, if you get up before I do,” Mélodie asked, “as the broadcasts are scheduled to begin at 0430.”

“Fine,” Eva replied, fondling a grenade, “are there any fish in the river to catch for breakfast?

“Some pirarucu,” Mélodie replied, “about two meters long - one should feed us for about a week.”

Another boom of thunder – this time, atmospheric. Then, the rains began…

“…what was that song that was playing before we were hit, with that wonderful clarinet solo?” Eva asked. “I still can’t get that out of my head…”

“’Canto Karabali’, by Artie Shaw,” Mélodie replied. “The translation is ‘Jungle Drums.’ Peter Togni loved playing it on ‘That Time of the Night.’”

“I don’t think what happened today was what he had in mind,” Blackie chuckled.

“It wasn’t what I had in mind, either,” Eva growled.

To the readers:

Will there be a Part II?

To a certain extent, it’s up to you – I stopped the story where I did because I’m not sure how it should continue – or if it should continue at all.

I do have a few ideas about where the story should go, but I’m not certain about any of them. I have some problems to resolve within the characterizations of the characters as well, to ensure that anything that I do will complement, not contradict, what already has been built, or planned for the future, by Sirkowski (imho, I’ve managed this so far – but not knowing if Sirkowski has a huge planned arc for Miss Dynamite or not, I’d like to avoid problems if he has planned a story outline far in advance).

I do know that you, the reader, might have an idea or two about where our fearless trio should go, as well as what they should do, next.

This isn’t a “choose your own adventure” survey – I am looking for broad brush strokes of inspiration to guide my future perspiration – and I don’t know in what form it will come. But, if I do not ask you for your ideas, I will have to depend on fickle randomizations of fate. You, the readers, are neither fickle nor random.

And any help you provide will be most appreciated.

Veuillez m'aider! Merci mille fois!

Theoacme