Rainy translated for me. “He says in one minute, they’ll seal our tomb.”
I tried to think, to come up with a rational plan. We could move farther into the mine, where the explosive might not harm us, but that might simply end in us dying slowly in a sealed-up tomb. We could make a dash for it outside, splitting up so that they might not get us all. But they’d get some of us.
The seconds were ticking away, and nothing reasonable came to mind. The only real concern I had was for Rainy. Whatever else, I wanted Rainy safe.
I said to Mondragón, “When I sprint out there, you cover me. I’ll make for that first big rock on the right.”
“No,” Rainy said.
“There’s no time to argue. When I get set there, I’ll cover you both.”
“I’ll go,” Mondragón said. “You cover me.”
I was about to argue, but he pushed himself away from the wall to make his run.
He didn’t go any farther, because outside the mine it suddenly became the Fourth of July. We could hear the pop and rattle of gunfire, but no rounds came into the drift.
“What’s going on?” Rainy called out.
“The cavalry has arrived,” Mondragón said.
I remembered the calls he’d made on his satellite phone and understood why, when the attack first came, he’d advised us to just sit tight. He knew help was on the way. If it hadn’t been for the RPG, he’d have been content to do nothing.
The gunfire died out. Mondragón waited. Rainy and I waited.
“Amigo” came the call from outside. Then more in Spanish.
“It’s safe now,” Mondragón said. He took Rainy’s hand and led her into the light.
*
There were a half dozen of them, men dressed all in camouflage, looking very military. The one who’d called to Mondragón saluted him when we emerged. They spoke to each other in that language I was beginning to wish to God I’d studied in high school.
“What are they saying?” I asked Rainy.
“He’s explaining to Berto what happened. They killed four men in the rocks.”
“Who are these guys?”
Rainy shrugged. “He keeps calling Berto ‘Jefe.’?”
One of the few words I knew. It meant “boss.”
Two men in camouflage came from the rocks shoving before them another man, who wore jeans, scuffed boots, and a western shirt with snaps. They forced him to his knees at Mondragón’s feet.
“Mírame,” Mondragón said.
The man looked up. Man? He was just a kid, not even twenty. Fear whitened his eyes, shortened his breath, poured off him as if a foul scent. He bled from a nasty cut where the skin lay open on his cheek, the result, I could imagine, of a blow from a rifle butt.
Mondragón barked at him. The kid shook his head. One of the men who’d dragged him from the rocks kicked him in the spine. Mondragón spoke again, even more harshly.
The kid began to babble, his words mixed with saliva and tears. He shook his head again and again, and although I couldn’t understand a word, he was plainly pleading for his life.
Mondragón knelt, took the kid’s chin roughly in his hand, and forced him to look directly into Jefe’s eyes. Mondragón said something low and quiet. The kid began to cry in earnest, deep sobs.
“What did he say?” I asked Rainy.
“Berto says he’s going to gut the kid and leave him for the vultures to feed on.”
Mondragón stood up and nodded toward a camouflaged man, who reached to his belt and pulled out a long military blade.
“No,” Rainy said.
She stepped between Mondragón and the kid. She addressed her ex-husband, her words, whatever they were, spoken fiercely. Mondragón snapped at her, and she gave it right back at him. They stood eyeing each other, Rainy smaller, her face upturned and as hard as any rock in those mountains. I saw Mondragón’s eyes shift from her to the men who surrounded us. This wasn’t just about Rainy and him. This was also about El Jefe now.
I said, my voice as reasonable as I could make it, “If you value your relationship with Rainy and you want to work with us to find Peter, you’ll do what she asks. Otherwise she will shut you out completely. You know this. Peter is what’s important here.”
Mondragón considered my words. Finally he said to Rainy, “Sí.”
She turned and knelt before the kid. His head was down, his eyes on the ground where his tears were turning the dust to little spots of mud. She took his face in her hands and lifted it, so that he could see her. She spoke to him gently.
“Cómo se llama?”
“Pedro,” he replied.
She talked to him quietly for a while. The only word I heard and understood was madre. Mother. The kid listened and nodded and then began to respond to her. They conversed for some time. Mondragón listened, and it was clear from his face that he was learning much from the conversation.
At last, Rainy stood.
Mondragón spoke in English, probably for my benefit. “We have everything we need.” He nodded to the man who’d kicked the kid in the spine. “Shoot him.”
Rainy said, “You will release him.”
“He tried to kill us.”
“Because those were his orders. He’s barely more than a child, Berto. And his name is Pedro. Peter. He goes free.”
“Then he goes back to Rodriguez, and we face him again someday.”
“He’s from a small village. He swears he will return home.”
“He’s lying.”
“Maybe. I want to give him the chance I promised him. Do this thing, Berto. For me, for Peter, for the good of your own soul.”
The sun was above the mountains, and Mondragón’s shadow fell across the young man and Rainy. At his nod, Pedro would be dead. But I knew what Mondragón was weighing. On one side of the balance was this present moment, and on the other the rest of his life and quite possibly the deep-seated hope that somehow, someday he might win Rainy back. Because the one thing I understood absolutely in all of this was that he still loved her.
“All right, querida,” he said. “But he goes with nothing and he goes barefoot.”
“Berto, that’s so cruel.”
“If he’s truly a man, he has a chance. It’s the same chance those people Peter helps are willing to take.”
He spoke to Pedro, who said not a word but began removing his boots and socks. When he’d bared his feet, he stood. He said to Rainy, “Gracias, se?ora.”
Rainy took his hands in hers. “Vaya con Dios, Pedro.”
He looked at me, and I saw what Rainy saw, a kid way over his head in something that he regretted now because of the present consequences but that, if he survived and grew wise, he might regret later for all the right reasons.
“You understand English?” I asked.
He gave a nod.
“An old friend once told me the place we walk, wherever we lay our feet, each step of the journey is one we have always been meant to take. From the moment you were born, Pedro, this is a journey that has always been before you. Do you believe in God?”
“Yes, se?or.”
“Put yourself in those hands. And keep your feet pointed south.”
“Gracias, se?or.”
“Desaparece,” Mondragón commanded.
Pedro turned and walked away, disappearing among the rocks. Mondragón gave a gesture to one of his men, who followed.