Chapter 14 of Princessa

Things Fall Apart

It’s even colder now when they’re ready to leave, a strong wind blowing and getting dark as they board the boat back to the city. You can see all the lights coming on in the skyline as they head toward the city, blinking on like stars in the dusk. 

Starting to snow now too, big huge soft flakes falling out of the dark purple sky on the one side, and the sun setting through the orange-layered clouds on the other. “Oh Andy” says the girl “I wanna go to Central Park and watch the snow fall” she puts her arms around him and leans her head against his chest. “Sure” he says, then sees the startled look on her face.

Instantly he ducks down covering the girl, feeling his heart jump as a big man behind him swings the butt of his pistol at his head, just barely grazing his shoulder. Maria screams. Andy pushes her away before the big man swings again, down at him hard where he’s crouched over against the wooden siding of the boat. He ducks the blow and leaps up at the man throwing all his weight into him. With the rocking of the boat it knocks him off his feet, falling over, with Andy landing hard on top the big man.

Quickly he looks back for Maria, sees her being grabbed and held by two other men in dark suits. He strains to get up but the man behind him grabs and pins his arms, trying to stick his gun into the side of his face. Andy tries to force the gun away but it’s like pushing a granite wall, his eyes just inches from the barrel and seeing the man’s finger squeezing on the trigger and the hand and the gun coming closer and closer.

He slips his hand onto the barrel and leverages his elbow against the wooden deck straining to push it away, clenching his teeth and butting the man in the face with the back of his head again and again. Still trying to look up and find Maria.

Zoltep slams his can of coke into the cheek of one of the men and leaps onto the other man choking him around the neck with his hands. But the man pushes him back with his arm and then with his hand against the boy’s throat. The first man pulls his gun and hits the boy across the face with the barrel. Jori slumps down onto the deck in a crumpled heap.

The man grabs him by his clothes, lifts him up and flings him over the side of the boat. Finally the big man beneath Andy is out and lets go his grip. He jumps up and runs toward the girl. The man holding her smiles with a pistol stuck into her neck. “Get Jori!” she yells desperately “get him, oh please, do it!”

He looks at her then turns to the side of the boat and dives over, headfirst into the freezing water, knowing it’s wrong and stupid and hopeless, just following the desperation in the young girl’s voice.

He can hardly see through the cold choppy water the shape of the boy limply flailing with his arms, his head barely above the water. Andy reaches him and grabs the hood of his sweatshirt just before he goes under. “I failed” the boy says, then passes out. Andy looks back to see the lights of the ferry boat gently easing into the dock.

His heart sinks completely as he calmly swims against the frigid water trying to keep the boy’s head up out of the waves. We’ll never make it, he thinks to himself, feeling all his strength drained away by the near freezing water and all the exertion of struggling against the big man on the boat.

It’s not that far, not that far away, reachable it looks. But humans can’t swim for long in frigid water, whether you want to or not. Not that it matters much anyway, might as well die out here in the freezing water as to tell Smet or the king that Maria is gone. He chokes back the tears and continues, not for any reason, just it’s the thing to do. Slowly paddling sideways with one arm, the other firmly clasped on the boy’s sweatshirt.

Not much progress, swimming with one arm, holding Jori with the other, like you’re just standing still, getting nowhere. I suppose, he thinks, if I let go the boy, I could probably make it alone. But what’s the point, like killing this innocent kid, just so you could live; and how could you ever live with that. Or maybe sacrifice the boy to have a chance at trying to save the girl. That’s a battlefield decision, a tactical choice you make. But she wouldn’t want that either, would never forgive you for that; pinning that choice onto her. There’s just no way out, no options.

He can’t see anything around him through the darkness, the thickening snow and the rough water but there coming toward him is the figure of the boat hand, that tall black guy in the uniform that’d told him not to smoke. He’s holding onto a life preserver, one of those white rings that you see in all the passenger boats.

“You okay” the young man asks, all out of breath and shaking from the bitter cold. “My God” Andy says grabbing hold “thank you, thank you” and putting the boy’s arm through the top of the ring with his last little bit of strength “thanks.” There’s nothing he can think to say, blinking back the tears in his eyes; not even believing it’s real, that this man would just… come out of nowhere to keep him alive; like a miracle, or like people sometimes do to help other people.

“Just go easy” the young man says “we’re not gonna get there any faster… than we can, but we’ll make it; don’t worry.” Both men cling to the life preserver and slowly paddle toward the shore, all easy and relaxed now, not even bothered by the terrible numbing cold.

The girl is in the back seat of a big quiet car. She has a black cloth bag over her head and her arms pinned by the big men on either side of her. The man on the right is smiling, toying with her leg with his other hand. “Cute little bitch, isn’t she” he says “I’ll bet she’s pretty wild in the sack, even for such a scrawny little thing.”

The other man, his face battered from the fight on the boat, is trying to wipe the drying blood from his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, seeing with disgust the red stains on his clean white shirt. He ignores the other man, hoping they’ll get there soon and that the bruises on his face won’t be so obvious to his superiors.

The man on the right relaxes his grip slightly and puts his free hand on the girl’s chest, looking down at her to see. She swings her hand up sharply and catches him in the face with her fist. “Goddamn it” he says as the other man breaks out laughing.  “Hey” he says to the driver “the little bitch just punched Hollinger in the nose; goddamn. He’s try’n t’feel her up… and she punched him.” The driver looks in the mirror and smiles while the other man, who isn’t much hurt, laughs at it too “ornery little bitch, isn’t she.”

Andy and the other man finally make it to the dock and up the slippery moss covered stone steps that have been here forever half-in and half-out of the water. “Help me… get him to that bench” he says, trying to breathe and get this one last thing done, with no strength at all left in his aching legs, now that they’re out of the buoyancy of the water and weighted down with their sopping wet clothes.

They struggle to carry the boy through the darkness, across the snowy grass and finally dropping down and collapsing on the hard wooden bench. “Where’s…everybody” Andy asks the young man, exhausted and gasping for air. “A guy with a gun comes into the cabin” he explains “says something to the pilot. He’s on the radio, reporting… some kind of fight going on; man overboard, whatever. Then he looks at the guy; changes his mind, I guess. Says something else and puts the radio back down. I’m outside the door, watching this… figure I gotta do something; so...”

“I’da never made it” says Andy “I owe you my life.” “No problem” says the guy. “We need to get out of here” he says to the young man “get to a phone; can you help me.” “Sure, about… half a block over, that way, over there, there’s a pay phone. But… hey, I gotta go tell the pilot… tell ‘im, we’re okay, or they’ll be all out looking for me too, y’know.”

He starts to leave, then turns back to Andy and the boy “who were those guys, anyway?” Andy takes a deep breath and looks up at the young man who just saved his life “huh, oh, CIA I think… they just, kidnapped my… prime minister’s daughter.” “Lotta shit going down… in the world today” the young man says “well, get her back, man, she sure is a good looking girl.” “I will” says Andy “thanks.”

The young man leaves. Andy carries the boy through the shadows of the park, across the street and then down the block. He sees a lit-up blue phone booth at the end of the street, glowing like a beacon in the dark. He manages to get the boy there and set him down. Then struggling to push his numbing fingers into his soggy wet pants pocket that just wants to stick together and even with icy cold water still in the bottom of the pocket.

He locates a credit card and dials the number. “Smet… the girl’s been taken.” “Are you okay” asks the old man. “Yeah.” “Where are you?” asks Smet. “Meet us… at the parking ramp… by the diner” says Andy. He hangs up and carries the boy down the street, then holds him upright and hails a cab. All dark out now, snowing hard, and the cabbie can’t see that both young men are dripping wet.

When they reach the parking ramp and the car, Andy gets the bags of clothing they’d bought; uses some of them to dry off with, then changes his clothes. “Wake up Jori” he says to the boy, and repeats that louder into his ear “wake up!” “What” says the kid “where’s Maria?” “We gotta get her” says Andy quietly “change your clothes.” The boy tries to stand, but slumps down again

“I can’t. I’m no good… I failed… didn’t…” “That’s over” says Andy “forget that; we got a new mission now. Gotta get her back, gotta do it right this time.” He leans the boy against the side of the car and helps him undress and put dry clothing on. Then helps him into the front seat and drives down to street level.

The girl is in a small room, seated at a heavy bare table facing an opaque glass wall. A heavy-set pleasant looking man with glasses comes in and sits across from her. “Hi” he says “how you doing?” “Speak French” she says “I don’t speak English good.” “Okay” the man replies speaking French now “I just have a few questions for you, then you can go.”

“You killed my friend” she says “kill me.” “Just relax” he tells her “nobody’s gonna do that... you, want some coffee?” “You know who that was? My cousin Jori; his father’s deputy defense minister, head of special forces.” “Nobody killed your friend” says the man “the boy’s fine; really, he’s okay. You can, go see him… when we’re done here” “When his father finds out” she continues “he’ll come here, and he’ll kill you; and your wife and your children and your parents and brothers and sisters.”

“What, brings you to America?” he asks. “Are you married” she asks him “you gonna go home, tell your wife you killed a young boy and a girl, so you could pump more oil, make more money, get a promotion. Is that what you gonna tell her?” “You’re… in our country illegally” he says “why.” “Check my passport. It’s stamped.”

“Who… are you here with” he asks “and what...” “And when you kill me” she tells him “none of you will ever, ever be safe again. My people… will come here; they’ll blow up your nuclear plants, your bridges, your railways, your houses” she says, looking at the man’s face “and it’ll never end.” “We’re not… concerned with all that now” he tells her, soothingly “just, wondering, what you’re doing here, is all.”

“You have a son?” she asks. “Why should your boy live, and Jori die; why not the other way around.” “If you don’t… want to talk to me” he says flatly “there’re other people who… have some questions for you… maybe not so nice, though.” “I’m talking to a dead man” she says “call your wife, tell her she’s a widow; and that she’s gonna be next; tell her that, and your kids too.”

The rodent-faced man in the expensive suit is Culver Hayden, the undersecretary. He’s watching the girl from the other side of the glass window, and he’s had enough. “Oh Jesus, get in there Patterson. We’re not running some fucking debate society here; go get some answers.” The door opens to the little room and a great large young man with short hair walks in. His face is all red and beat up from the fight on the ferry boat. He motions with his head and the other man leaves.

“So” says the girl “you gonna rape me now, or what?” The big man comes over and spins her chair around to face him, then he grabs the neck of her sweat shirt and tee shirt and rips them open from top to bottom with his huge hands. She kicks at him hard as she can, catching him in the throat. He drops back and sits on the floor, clutching at his neck.

The force of the kick throws her off the chair onto her back. She looks at the man and then quickly crawls under the table. The big man grabs ahold of the heavy table and throws it again the opposite wall, his face all red from trying to get his breath back. Then Hayden walks in. “Patterson! out, now.” “I’ll kill that little bitch” says the big man, wheezing as he leaves. “Yeah, if you still have a job.” He turns to leave and then looks at the girl, huddled into a corner, clutching at her torn clothing and shaking. Good, he says to himself, not bad for an initial interview.

This is his op, and his alone; and a pretty goddamn smooth one too, he thinks, snatch and grab a little Malvian princess. Shit, don’t need a half-dozen commandos all geared-up with high-tech equipment up the ass, stomping around like elephants in a china shop. Just a couple a three good men, tough guys, who know what to do; how to react and handle… a situation. It was so slick he wouldn’t even need to brag about it, no build-up or anything. Just let the facts speak for themselves when he briefs the vice-president, or maybe the president even, over breakfast, he thinks with a smile, a couple of days from now maybe.

And they won’t be thinking of him as just a planner anymore, some little guy with big ideas, or a mouthpiece full of tough talk around the briefing table. No sir… ops is where he belongs, get in there and get things done, as the veep likes to say, rattle their cage and see what shakes out. Too bad the veep was out of pocket, over in Arabia, discreetly working on that end of things.

He could call him, should maybe; get to a secure phone at CIA or FBI. But this kinda stuff would sound so much better in person. And besides, once the Malvian king makes contact, all begging and pleading for any word on the whereabouts of the girl; they got deniability, until they contact him, that is. Culver Hayden, gonna be director some day. CIA maybe, maybe even FBI. Could be a running mate in the next election. Not a bad choice, he thinks to himself, man of action, anyway, and people like that.