Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Flora
Pablo and I bolt inside. He stands near the French doors as he dresses.
I move farther inside, hoping no one caught a clear view of what we were doing.
I doubt it would be difficult for anyone to guess, considering we’re both naked, and I was clearly straddling his lap.
He swore this place was a secret, so I wonder who this is.
“Pablo, are you expecting family?”
“Not this family member.”
“Humberto?”
Fear spikes through me as Pablo nods. He dresses faster than I do. I’m stunned into inaction for a moment, but as I watch him move to a coffee table and reach beneath it, I already know what he’s going to pull out. It spurs me back to getting dressed as fast as I can.
“Flora, I’m going to take you down to our panic room and seal you in. No matter what, you do not leave there. I don’t care if you think it’s me. If it’s safe for you to come out, I’ll let myself in.”
He takes my hand and guides me into the basement. He presses a button and moves aside a set of shelves like something out of a movie or Scooby-Doo cartoon. With biometrics, he unlocks a door that could fit a bank vault. I’ve never seen one so thick in real life.
Lights with motion sensors flicker on as we step inside.
It’s an entire apartment down here. He moves around, switching on what must be a generator.
There’s a bathroom with a shower off to the right, and on the other side of the living room is a small but full kitchen.
I notice two doors are open, and they reveal bedrooms with two sets of bunk beds in each.
He leads me into a pantry that’s well stocked.
“If someone breaches that door, there’s a tunnel that will get you out to the river. It’s a mile long and has motion-sensor lights too. There’s a small rubber motorboat with an outboard engine. Have you ever driven one before?”
“I’ve only driven one once, but it’s been years. Is it a pull cord to start?”
“Yes. You’ll have to push it off the bank to begin with before you lower it into the water.
There’s a lever on the right side of the engine.
Once you’re deep enough, you can do that and start the engine.
All you have to do is cross to the other side.
It’s wide and fast moving, but manageable.
We own the land on that side too. There’ll be guards who can take you to Bogotá.
If anything feels even remotely out of my control, I’ll trigger my tracker.
It sends an alert to Papá, my tíos, and my cousins.
They’ll turn on the feed for here and see what’s happening.
If there’s the opportunity, I’ll get inside and activate the alarm system. ”
Alarm system. That’s the only reassuring thing Pablo’s said so far.
“It makes this an impenetrable fortress. Metal barriers will slide down the windows and across all doorways. No one can get in until someone inside turns it off. They need biometrics to do that. Let me program you into this door.”
I offer my hand, and he places it on the screen, adding my fingerprints then my retinal scan to the system.
He wraps his arms around me and gives me a brief kiss before guiding me back to the living room.
He points to screens on the wall before he turns them on.
They look like multiple TVs in a sports bar, but they’re linked to security cameras around the property. We watch the helicopter land.
“I have to go, chiquita. Stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I know, Daddy.”
The word stuns us both for a heartbeat.
Then he’s kissing me deeply, but it’s over far too fast. I watch him leave, and the door seals with a whoosh behind him.
I turn my attention to the screens as Humberto approaches the wall.
Unlike when we arrived, there’s no one there to greet him warmly.
It forces him to walk around to the front of the estate.
I see Pablo dash out of the front door with a rifle slung across his chest and a pistol in his hand.
I wonder if I’ll be able to hear what happens. That curiosity is satisfied only a moment later as the pedestrian gate opens rather than the one for vehicles. Pablo shoots, hitting the wall beside Humberto as he passes by. I hear the bullet ricochet off the wall.
“You’re not welcome here.”
“This should have been my home, not your pedazo de mierda tío’s.”
“You believe you’re entitled to everything when you deserve nothing.
You were never the elder son. Everything passed to my abuelo the way it was supposed to then to my tío.
No one ever intended the inheritance go to you.
God and fate ensured you fucked yourself over by changing the path this family took.
You had your own brother killed, thinking you would take power from him and from Tío Enrique.
All you did ensured we became the most powerful men in all the Western and Southern hemispheres. Thank you for that.”
I can see Pablo’s smirk. If I were Humberto, it would make me want to slap it off his face. It’s the most patronizing expression I’ve ever seen. I wonder how much practice it took for him to do it so well. Or does it come naturally when you’re second-in-command of the Diaz Cartel?
“You and your tío believe you’ve kept me locked away for decades. All you did was remove distractions. I’ve had plenty of time to plan this. I’ve bought the people I need, and they are loyal to me.”
Pablo laughs as Humberto takes another step forward.
The guards he didn’t arrive with surround him.
There are others on the outside of the wall who must have traveled with him.
I watch as each of those men outside the wall collapse.
I scan the screens, trying to find the sniper.
I realize he’s crouched on a platform to the left of the gate, allowing him to see over the wall.
It was shoot now, don’t bother asking questions later.
The men who surround Humberto press him to move forward.
Pablo doesn’t lower his gun. He continues to aim directly at Humberto.
The guards position themselves, so there’s an easy line of sight for Pablo, but not enough room for Humberto to break free.
It’s not like he could. He’s not in horrible shape for a man in his mid-eighties.
He looks better than most men his age, but he’s certainly no match for the men in their twenties and early thirties who surround him.
He may act like the king of his castle, but he looks like nothing more than a peon here.
“What do you want, Humberto?”
“Florencia.”
“And you came all the way here?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Pablo. I know she’s with you.”
“And what makes you think that?”
“Because you didn’t kill all the men watching her place. I know you carried her out and took her to the airfield. Now you’re here.”
“Do you see her with me?”
“You’ve got her hidden somewhere inside.”
“Who says?”
“I saw you fucking the bitch on the lawn chair.”
Mortified doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel. Not only did he see us, it means all the men who were on the helicopter saw us too. They may be dead, but the guards here had it confirmed. If anyone doubted it or hadn’t heard, they know now.
That pisses me off, but there’s nothing I can do. Pablo shoots the ground between Humberto’s feet, making him jump back. The guards behind him move enough so that he falls, landing hard on his ass and back.
Pablo strolls forward as though he has all the time in the world to continue their conversation.
He says something far too quiet for the microphones on the security cameras to pick up.
He kicks Humberto in the belly before he gestures for men to help the old man onto his feet.
As Humberto stands, he’s bent over. Pablo’s fist shoots out and lands an uppercut that snaps Humberto’s head back.
It looks like he would’ve fallen over if not for the guards already holding him up.
Pablo spins on his heels and gestures over his shoulder for them to come.
Blood covers Humberto’s face. I suspect Pablo recalls I can see everything and perhaps there’ll be a recording of all of this.
He doesn’t need Humberto’s assassination caught on film to be used against him later.
He heads toward what I believe are the guards’ barracks.
They go inside, disappearing from the cameras for a moment.
Then I see them move past rooms that have two beds in each.
There’s a kitchen similar to the one here in the panic room.
Then there’s a doorway that opens to a basement.
Once the door closes behind all the men, there’s little left for me to observe except for the other men patrolling the property.
I watch men gather the bodies of the executed guards who betrayed the Diaz family.
I don’t want to know what will become of them. My guess is they’re destined for an incinerator, most likely. I’m sure any ash will soon be silt on a riverbed, but I don’t need that confirmed. I’m left with nothing to do but wait as I look around.
My stomach growls. The sun’s already setting, and I don’t remember the last time I ate.
I open cupboards and find various canned and packaged goods.
There’s a wide variety, all of which look surprisingly good.
I settle for a cup of instant soup. It’s hardly a delicacy, but it’s quick and only requires water.
As it heats, I wonder what kind of person it makes me that I will happily have a meal while I know a man’s being tortured near me.
I have no qualms with what Pablo’s likely doing, despite how I’ve always felt knowing my abuelo has done the same things.
It’s always revolted me to know he’s a man who depends upon violence to get his way.
I have spent a lifetime feeling morally superior to him, even though I’ve known I could and would kill if I needed to.
But I choose not to. I get my abuelo does these things to survive and to provide for the family.
But there was the opportunity to leave the cartel life when he arranged for my father to marry Luciana.
Yes, obviously that didn’t work out, but I know los Diaz gave him another opportunity to get out.
I suspect I wasn’t told the full truth about why he didn’t.
My family always told me los Diaz threatened our family with extinction if Abuelo submitted to them—which never made sense to me.
He always fought to keep that from happening.
He always made it sound like my father’s family were rivals to los Diaz.
I think it was machismo that refused to allow him to give in and made him decide to continue with a vendetta rather than make peace.
I don’t know.
The microwave dings for the hot water, and it pulls me out of my musings. I pour it over the soup concentrate and stir before wandering to a rocker recliner. They set this place up for comfort, not just necessity.
How long do they expect someone to remain down here? Days? Weeks?
That’s both terrifying and reassuring at the same time. It makes my stomach cramp.
I don’t have my phone, so there’s no doom scrolling the news or social media.
There are books on the shelves, but I don’t believe I can concentrate.
I spy the remote for a TV mounted on a different wall from the security screens.
If this room’s powered by a generator, then perhaps they have satellite reception down here too.
Success!
I flip through the channels, having to choose between telenovelas, game shows, and football—soccer.
I don’t need the fabricated angst that goes along with the novelas when I feel enough in real life.
If I watch a game show, the noise, flashing lights, and fake excitement will wear on my nerves.
I settle for the football match. This I can handle.
Argentina versus Brazil. The Cain and Abel of the football world, except they’ve taken turns winning and losing for decades. It’s the OG sibling—neighbor—rivalry in international sports.
I don’t pay attention to the time as the first quarter moves into the first half, which ends with halftime. Then it’s the third quarter, and the fourth quarter winds up pushing the second half into overtime. The final score is zero-zero. A perfect match.
I’ll never understand sports in the States where someone can score two, or three, or even seven points, and games can wind up with scores over a hundred.
One touchdown or one basket, one point. Either the ball crosses the line or goes in the basket one at a time, or it doesn’t.
Real football doesn’t need to give extra points just because the shot comes from a distance.
Though male football players are little bitches.
They cry if someone taps their ankle. They’d never survive playing with their period.
My mind wanders now the game is over, and there’s no sign of Pablo.
I know Humberto’s no threat and never really was.
I know Pablo is the master of this domain.
But I’m still worried that somehow something went wrong, and I can’t see it.
It makes me anxious as I switch to a game show I don’t need to listen to, to know what’s happening as the letters turn.
It’s less noisy than the other choices, but I still mute it.
Trying to solve the puzzle keeps me occupied until the episode’s done.
Movement on the security screens catches my attention.
Pablo emerges from the basement alone. I doubt he wants me to see him as he is now, but I can’t look away.
There’s blood splattered across him. It’s on his hands, forearms, and chest. It soaks his shirt.
It sprayed across his pants. He appears to be sweating as he ducks into a bathroom.
A guy knocks and hands a stack of clothes to Pablo through the partially opened door.
When Pablo returns to the screen, he appears refreshed.
Just as put together as he always does. He’s in a suit now, and I assume the man who brought his clothes found it in a bedroom here in the house.
From what I’ve heard, the men are all roughly the same size—huge.
I never looked in Pablo’s closet, but I bet the men in the family leave clothes here for this reason.
He hands a bag to a different guard, and I’m certain it’s his original clothes that’ll get burned to leave no evidence.
I watch his movements across the yard and into the house shift across each screen until he’s outside the door to the panic room. I hear it unseal. Then he’s there. He walks in and opens his arms. I don’t hesitate to rise and rush to him.