Anticipating something was about to happen, Cardoza put a fresh flash drive into the camera and aimed the lens toward the ceremony. The sight filled his view screen. As he began to photograph the event, the group got more active. Obviously the figure in the headdress on the ground was stirring the crowd up. On occasion, the people began to cheer and jump as the figure spoke. Then from out of one of the buildings, several painted figures in loin cloths dragged an old man in a ruffled white shirt and dark pants toward a decorated wooden post set up in front of the obelisk. The man looked almost as pale as his white hair. By the look on his face he was in some pain. He was having difficulty keeping up with his tormenters. The crowd was dancing again now and the old man was tied to the post using what appeared to be a gold colored rope. He was facing sideways to Cardoza, who now realized what was happening. The drums started getting faster and more intense. Now the figure in the headdress on the ground walked up to the old man. Clasping his hands together, he raised them over his head. Cardoza saw what looked like some kind of knife.
The old man looked up at the figure and then the knife raised high. There was terror on his face. It was as if he could not take his eyes from what was about to happen to him. Cardoza could see some sort of additional pain seem to engulf the old man as his head jerked to his left.
The knife plunged. It penetrated the old man’s chest and the man in the headdress appeared to carve a long gash into him. Blood poured from the old man and his head slumped to one side. The man in the headdress then reached into the old man’s chest and seemed to pull something from him. When he turned to the crowd, he held the old man’s heart high above his head. It appeared to still be moving.
The cheer from the crowd actually reached Cardoza’s ears. He continued to take photos of the scene until the old man was cut down and taken away. By then, he had used up two more memory cards. Without realizing it, found he had been reciting the last rites for the old man in the courtyard. He caught himself, put the camera away, then got on his knees on the little platform. Pulling out his rosary, he went deeply into prayer for the old man who he had just seen murdered. Although nearly a mile away, he felt he should offer God’s salvation to the persecuted man. To Cardoza, the distance didn’t matter. It was after midnight when a very tired and emotionally torn man of God finally looked up from his prayers. The mountain was dark except for the compound at the bottom of the hill.
Father Cardoza let out an audible sigh. He had thought such things were a distant past since the church had arrived. Now he realized different. He asked himself who could do such a thing. Why that man? What had he done to lose his life like that? Why were people doing things like this in the modern age? No answers came from the darkened mountaintop. Only the sounds of the nature surrounding him met his ears.
Cardoza remained quiet, listening carefully for God’s answers. At first there was nothing. Yet, after a while he sensed something tell him he must let others know. He must go back and let people know such things were happening. He looked at his camera. It was dark against the night sky, yet brightly outlined by the stars in the heavens. Satisfied he had his answer, the good Father drifted to sleep. In the morning he would cut his vacation short and get back to the city.
Chapter 8
The Word Gets Out
It was after midnight when Rojas was awakened by a call from Colonel Messina. He had barely gotten out of bed and put on some clothes when he heard the knock at the door. Messina was still dressed in his uniform.
“Carl, what is so important?” asked Rojas as he ushered Messina to a chair. Messina held up his hand. He was carrying a briefcase which he opened and took out a device. Aiming it around the room he studied the display. After a few moments he sighed and placed the device on the table. He took out another device, plugged it in, and turned it on.
“I had to make sure we were not being listened to,” Messina said softly.
Rojas suddenly got very tense. Something was wrong and Messina was taking no chances. Worse yet, it must involve him. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I would probably be shot telling you this, but I can’t let things go on as they are,” Messina said. “Today Parente and his Secret Police Chief went to the compound. The intercom was broken. About half way there, I started hearing their conversation.” He took a deep breath. “It seems our Presidente is the one who kidnapped the Americans.”
Rojas took in a breath. He wasn’t sure how to play this. It could be a trap. “What did you hear?”
“They were going over the plans and what would happen to them. They are being held at that compound in the mountains near his little retreat,” Messina said referring to where Parente held his rituals. “But that’s not why I came.” He said as he took Rojas’ arm. “Juan, they are planning on blaming this all on you.”
“Me?” exclaimed Rojas, his eyes bulging at the prospect.
“Yes, my friend. They have evidently faked documentation where you gave all the orders and were doing this to start some sort of coup. When the Americans come looking, all they will find are those documents and a bunch of dead hostages. Parente plans to shoot you and turn it all over to the Americans. I overheard them anticipating that the Americans would then look at Parente as some sort of savior, giving him support,” Messina said. He smiled weakly and looked at his friend. “I knew right away there was no way you could be involved like this.” The he straightened up. “Of course, if you are, then I am ready to be arrested.”
Rojas looked down at his hands. They were trembling. It seemed the nightmare only got worse. He looked up at his friend and smiled. “No arrest for you. If I have to endure this, I guess, it’s better not to be alone,” he said. “Parente told me the morning he took me with him to the compound. His main goal is to gain power, one way or another. It looks like he’s made plans to have it go his way no matter what. Ever since then, I have been pounding my brain to try and find a solution to this. Our Presidente is clearly on the knife edge of insanity and it could bring our nation to ruin,” he said mournfully. “I’m not sure what to do.”
Messina was feeling better now. He knew his friend was innocent and he was now sure he was doing the right thing. He sat back in his chair. “Then we work on this together. Somehow we have to let the Americans know about this without getting shot. I must confess, I have been thinking about this all afternoon and haven’t come up with a solution either,” he said, “at least not a solution that didn’t end up with me in a grave. I thought about just going to their embassy, but it is constantly watched, and the way he was talking, it seemed like the American ambassador was in on it. It at least sounded like he was working with other Americans.”
Rojas thought a moment. “That means we can’t just hand the information over. We have to be careful who we give this to. The Secret Police are very efficient in watching most places.” He glanced over at the devices on the table. “I see you aren’t taking any chances. What are those?” he asked pointing to the equipment.
Messina smiled. “We have to debug aircraft and sometimes places where El Presidente wants to meet with people. The first one will let me know if there is an eavesdropping device. The second is putting out some sort of electronic noise that will prevent us being heard. We keep them stowed in the aircraft just in case.”