Chapter 38 The Siege
The Siege
Over the years, men far more hardened than Tristán Docampo had buckled under pressure from Osvaldo Salazar.
A terrified young man of twenty was no match for him.
The Colombian had little difficulty in getting him to talk, and he was shortly describing everything that had happened on the island over the previous days.
“Let me see if I understand,” said Osvaldo when the boy had finished filling them in. “Right now, your family is laying siege to the house of your sworn enemies, the Freires?”
“That’s right, sir,” Tristán said, gulping. “Please don’t hurt me . . .”
“So why aren’t you there with them?”
“I already said! Helena’s inside the Freire house! I refuse to take part in this madness, but I also don’t know how to stop them.”
“Oh right, your girlfriend.” Osvaldo again squeezed his temples. “What a sad tale. And would you like your sweet Helena to go on living?”
“Of course!” Tristán straightened up, summoning a shred of courage from somewhere. “I’d do anything for her!”
“Then be smart and tell me where the money is. That’s all I want to know.”
“The money was in the church, sir, like I said. That’s all I know.”
“We’ve been here already.” Osvaldo puffed out his cheeks. “Try harder, kiddo, or things will get very ugly, very quickly.”
“I’ve told you everything I know!” Tristán protested. “Maybe Roberto knows.”
“Ah, the journalist. And where’s he just now?”
“Beats me.” He shook his head. “I last saw him the day before yesterday, when he was taking Helena home.”
“So he might still be there?”
“I don’t know.” Tristán was trembling. “I’ve already told you everything I know, sir. Please let me go.”
“Not just yet. We’re going to hold on to you just a little bit longer.”
With Tristán between them, Osvaldo and his men set off once more. They soon arrived at the flat area of ground in front of El Cucorno, the Freire family home. Crouching in some bushes, they contemplated the scene.
The Docampos had created a barricade out front, with piled-up garbage containers, pieces of timber, and overturned boats. From there, a group of them were keeping the house under constant fire.
The facade of the old farmhouse was riddled with shot and bullets, and several windows had been smashed. From time to time, the muzzle of a rifle would appear at one of them, shooting blindly in the direction of the Docampos, who would instantly and wildly return fire.
The assault on El Cucorno, if it could be counted as such, had not succeeded. A kind of stalemate seemed to have set in, and neither side appeared to know how to end the game.
Very good, thought Osvaldo. They were total amateurs, just as he’d imagined.
“Joel, you stay here with the kid. Carlito, Python, with me. Nice and quiet, you two.”
Treading lightly, the three Colombians broke cover. Speed was of the essence because, although the Docampos’ backs were to them, the defenders inside the house might spot them, and there was no telling how they might react.
Osvaldo, with his two men alongside, felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins. In situations where he might have his head blown off, he felt strangely serene, almost happy.
Although he’d never stopped to think about it, Osvaldo Salazar was the kind of person who, in situations where people usually lost their cool, became singularly lucid.
Everything shone with a special light, every detail stood out sharply as time slowed down.
It was a magical sensation. You could almost say he enjoyed the challenge.
Creeping up behind Ramón Docampo, he thrust the barrel of his Beretta into the back of the old man’s head.
Ramón stiffened in surprise. Meanwhile, Carlito and Python had done the same with Luis Docampo and another of the men behind the barricade.
The surprise was total. The rest of the Docampos looked on, dumbfounded, with no idea who these new arrivals were or where they’d sprung from.
“Tell them to drop their weapons,” Osvaldo commanded. “Or the next thing they’ll see is your brains all over the floor.”
Ramón tried to turn his head, but Osvaldo thrust his gun harder against the old man’s neck. Osvaldo glanced across at his men, a strange electricity in his body. This was the key moment. If the Docampos realized that there were only three of them and reacted, a bloodbath would ensue.
“Tell them to drop them,” he insisted. “Now.”
“Fuck you,” growled the old man. “I’m not going to . . .”
“We’ve got your grandson, Tristán, back there, with a gun just like this one to his head.” Osvaldo pressed a little harder. “If you want his blood on your hands, that’s no problem . . .”
Ramón turned pale, seeming to visibly deflate. Then, in a broken voice, he said, “Drop them!”
“But, Father!” Luis exploded.
“They’ve got your boy, you idiot!” he retorted. “Do as I say!”
Osvaldo, keeping his eyes on the old man, heard rifles and hatchets clatter to the ground. The satisfaction was mixed with a touch of disappointment. It was a little too easy for his liking.
Carlito went along the barricade, grabbing the weapons and then making a pile of them at Osvaldo’s feet. Osvaldo finally allowed the old man to turn and face him.
“Who are you?” said Ramón, eyes blazing. “Where are you from? Do you work for the Freire family?”
Osvaldo shook his head.
“I’ve come to get something that belongs to me, Don Ramón.” He stroked his temples slowly, gun still raised. “You know what I’m talking about.”
He was pleased to see the old man turn ashen. Always an intriguing moment. Sometimes when it dawned on people whom they were dealing with, they actually pissed themselves.
“We . . . We don’t know where the money is, I swear.”
“But you knew it was ours, didn’t you?” Osvaldo clicked his tongue. “Your grandson told us everything. You should have been smarter and not gotten mixed up in this. You know how the business works.”
“They’ve got it!” Ramón pointed at the house, fury breaking through his fear. “Those traitorous sons of bitches—you should kill the lot of them!”
“I’m sure you’d love that, but I’m the only one deciding who lives or dies today.”
“It’s like a castle, that house. You won’t get them out of there unless you’ve brought a cannon.”
“Oh, I won’t need one.” Osvaldo looked up at the house. “I’ve got a much better idea. Joel! Bring me the boy!”
Joel appeared from up the bank with Tristán by the collar, manhandling him as they moved down to the barricade.
“Are you crazy? They’re going to kill us!”
“Maybe.” The sweet sensation of risk, that drug more potent and delicious than anything the cartel ever sold on the streets, flooded Osvaldo’s chest. “But something tells me they won’t.”
The Colombian led his hostage out in front of the barricade. He forced Tristán to kneel. Noisily cocking his gun, he pointed it at his head, while Luis cursed loudly from the barricade.
“Helena!” cried Osvaldo. “Helena Freire! There’s someone here who wants to talk to you!”
He was met with a resounding silence.
“I’m going to put a bullet in this guy’s head”—he looked at his wristwatch—“in exactly one minute if you don’t come out here. Clock’s ticking, Helena.”
There came the sound of startled, angry voices from inside, followed by a muffled female scream.
Osvaldo felt his pulse quicken. If she didn’t come out, Ramón Docampo was right: He had no way of forcibly removing the Freires from the house, other than by setting fire to it. But if he did that, he risked the money burning too.
Just as he was preparing to pull the trigger, there was the sound of bolts sliding open and locks turning. Osvaldo watched with satisfaction as the girl ran out, despite someone’s apparent efforts to restrain her.
She dashed over to them, breathless and disheveled. Osvaldo noticed that one of the sleeves of her dress was torn, presumably from her struggle to get out of the house. Helena dropped to her knees beside Tristán, and the two of them embraced tearfully.
Osvaldo let out the breath he had been holding in and allowed himself another of his rare smiles. Once again, the coin had landed just as he’d called it.
Osvaldo let the lovers enjoy their reunion, wanting to be sure that all present saw and understood what was going on between them.
“Nothing sweeter than two young people in love,” he said at the top of his voice, to no one in particular. “Right?”
He looked around, radiating calm, completely in control.
“Two young lovers, their whole future ahead of them, a house on the hill, maybe even the pitter-patter of tiny feet . . .” He stroked Helena’s hair absently and clicked his tongue again. “It’d be a shame if that were all cut short. A real shame.”
Helena and Tristán looked up at him, roused from their embrace by the threatening edge to his voice.
“Everyone in the house, you’ve got thirty seconds to lay down your weapons and come out!” He hauled Helena to her feet, and she let out a screech as she felt the cold metal of his gun thrust against her chin. “My name is Osvaldo Salazar, and I’ve come for what’s mine!”
Five interminable seconds of silence ensued.
“If you do anything to my daughter, you’re a dead man!” Rosalía Freire’s voice rang out from one of the windows. “You’ve got four guns on you right now!”
“Maybe,” Osvaldo said, feeling another burst of adrenaline, every last pore of his skin electrified. “Everybody dies, sooner or later. But if I go down, I promise you, my men’ll leave this little bitch so full of holes, you’ll be able to use her as a sieve. Twenty seconds!”
His heart was pounding, and he felt more alive than ever.
He could almost feel the sights of the rifles on him. He lifted Helena’s chin with the barrel of his gun until she cried out in pain.
“Ten seconds!”
“Don’t shoot!” Another voice, this time Antía Freire’s, came from one of the windows. “We’ll come.”
Just as the count was about to reach zero, a dozen Freires emerged, unarmed and dejected. Python went over and frisked them one by one, before herding them together with the Docampos. The rival family members, all prisoners now, looked at each other in dismay.
“See?” Osvaldo said, letting go of Helena, who took refuge in Tristán’s arms. “If everyone’s reasonable, no one has to get hurt. But hold on, where’s the journalist, that Roberto?”
“We don’t know,” said Antía firmly. She seemed the calmest of everyone. “He was here, but he left hours ago. I’m certain he’s already notified the police and they’re on their way. Get out of here and leave us alone, while you still can.”
“Ooh.” Osvaldo whistled. “You’re a wild one. Don’t you worry, we’ll be long gone before anyone gets here. So, once again: Where’s our money?”
“We don’t have it,” Antía replied. “Search the house if you want.”
Just at that moment, Python was coming out of the house, with the old MP 40 slung over his shoulder as booty.
“No one else in there, chief,” he said. “I didn’t see the money, but it could be anywhere.”
Osvaldo took a deep breath and massaged his temples pensively. Time was not on his side. The sun would soon be up, and the storm was almost over. He turned to Helena and Tristán, who were once again in each other’s arms.
“Come on, enough fooling around,” he said, placing himself between them.
“Okay, someone is going to tell me exactly where our money is, right now, or these lovebirds are going to get it. And the rest of you will be next. We’ll take you out one by one until there’s nothing but a pile of corpses left on this mangy island. Do I make myself clear?”
“We don’t know where the money is!” wailed Rosalía Freire.
“And neither do we!” cried Ramón Docampo. “I swear!”
“Why is it that I just don’t believe you?” Osvaldo shook his head. “Don’t you see how easy this all could be? Right, who’s first?”
Swinging the Beretta slowly back and forth between Helena and Tristán, he sang softly, “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe . . .”
The gun ended on Helena, and she gasped in terror. Osvaldo shrugged and pulled the trigger.