ALFA 1 CLAIMED he was a scapegoat in the government’s campaign of public appearances – designed to appease the Guerrilla and prevent negotiations stalling. Of course, the Autodefensas still had considerable power to protect Alfa 1. The investigation against him could be sidetracked. Evidence could be made to disappear. Judges could be bribed and witnesses coerced.
However, his potential arrest warrant changed the atmosphere at La 50 as well as our operational focus. New orders came from Trigeño. We were to assume every radio exchange was recorded; we were never to mention our location or the commanders by name, especially not Alfa 1, who’d be confined to base. The training course for new recruits, which was due to commence in June, was postponed indefinitely. Worse still, the junior commanders’ phones were confiscated. Not only could I not call Camila or Mamá, I couldn’t even phone to tell them why.
My squad’s next assignment in north-west Casanare was cancelled – instead, we were ordered to patrol the countryside surrounding La 50 in a clockwise direction at a radius of five kilometres. Six other squads were also recalled, two to circle at ten kilometres and another four at a radius of twenty kilometres. The Autodefensas were no longer defending the outer regions of Los Llanos; we were defending ourselves.
When the army battalion at Puerto Bontón stopped taking Alfa 1’s calls, he instructed Beta to give a new class to the junior commanders: what to do if caught by government forces.
‘If captured, don’t say anything!’ Beta instructed. ‘Just sit tight. We’ll find you and get you out.’
Culebra added his agreement. ‘We’re in this together. And remember that this,’ he said, slapping two fingers against the anaconda tattoo encircling his neck, ‘is forever.’
That night I turned my back to the mirror and looked over my shoulder at my own tattoo. Although it was permanent I didn’t want my life in the Autodefensas to be forever. If the government’s plan succeeded and the Guerrilla demobilised, it might be safe for Mamá and me to return to the finca. The problem was that I didn’t think the plan would succeed. And in the meantime, we were all stuck protecting our senior commanders rather than fighting the Guerrilla like we were supposed to.
Over the next week, whenever I returned to base, I read newspapers, watched television and listened to radio reports, hoping to see or hear Santiago again. The country was awash with the news of the potential peace talks. The international community was showing interest in brokering the deal.
According to Alfa 1, in thirty years of fighting, this was the Guerrilla’s smartest play yet. They’d convinced everyone that they were ready for peace and eventual participation in the democratic process. But we knew better. The communists’ power was growing, and if the President granted them their demilitarised zone – a land area the size of Switzerland – he might as well hand them Colombia on a plate.
I cut out a photo of Santiago from the newspaper, enlarged it several times on the office photocopier and stapled it to a plywood target on the pistol range. Alfa 1 found me shooting at dusk. Rather than scolding me for wasting La Empresa’s resources, he’d brought his own rifle and box of ammunition.
‘Good idea,’ he said, taking aim at Santiago. ‘Make me a hundred more copies.’
We stood side by side, taking it in turns to shoot until it was dark.
‘You’ve come a long way, Pedro,’ he said to me as we gathered our empty shells and headed back. ‘And you hate the Guerrilla almost as much as I do.’
‘If we catch Santiago,’ I said. ‘Let me kill him myself.’
‘Fine.’ Alfa 1 sounded amused. ‘He’s yours.’
‘Is that a promise?’
We’d reached the container, and in the overhead light he saw that I was serious.
He nodded. ‘As a reward for your loyalty.’
But I wasn’t as loyal as he thought. Inside the armoury, I now identified various spare parts from decommissioned Galils and readied them for assembly into a complete, functioning rifle – exactly as I had with the Taurus.
This time it was easy. I knew my way around the container and spare parts box better than anyone. I outranked the new recruit assigned to the container – he had no right to question me.
In fact, the next time I was sent on an errand to Puerto Bontón I walked out of the container carrying the assembled Galil in plain view of the commanders and placed it openly in the back of the Blazer next to mine. Culebra waved to me. I smiled back. The gate guards didn’t comment on the second rifle.
But as I wrapped the Galil in plastic and buried it in the garbage pit, I realised why I didn’t feel as happy as I had when I’d succeeded in stealing the Taurus.
This time I wasn’t breaking the commanders’ rules; I was breaking their trust.
While the commanders fretted about being raided and arrested, my own greatest fear concerned Palillo and Piolín. At La 50 they were careful, but when we were patrolling they now did everything together. Veneno, in particular, paid close attention, perhaps looking for an opportunity to undermine my authority.
One night Piolín had a headache and Palillo promised to do her guard duty for her without first requesting my permission. To make a point and not show favouritism, I refused to allow it. Around midnight, however, I was woken by her giggling. Palillo was sitting with her at the guard post, whispering. I took him aside.
‘I specifically said no.’
‘There’s no rule against doing voluntary guard duty. Two sets of eyes are better than one.’
‘Not if both sets of eyes are distracted.’ With Palillo completely unrepentant, I could no longer turn a blind eye. I needed to find out how far their relationship had progressed. ‘Palillo, have you slept with her?’
‘Not yet.’
I felt relieved – maybe he would listen to reason. But his next comment made my jaw drop.
‘Adriana isn’t easy like other girls.’
‘Adriana? Her name is Piolín. You need to call her Piolín.’
‘She doesn’t like being named after Tweetie. She’s not a cartoon character.’
‘I’m sorry, Palillo. You’re losing focus and it’s jeopardising everyone’s safety. I’m going to have to tell Alfa 1 about this.’
‘You can’t be serious! I’ve done nothing wrong.’
Then Piolín arrived from her guard post. She placed a hand on Palillo’s shoulder. ‘I’m free to choose who I want. And I’ve chosen Palillo.’
Seeing the two of them standing there together, backing each other up, I couldn’t do it – I couldn’t risk Alfa 1 splitting them up simply because they were making my job difficult.
‘Okay, but this is your final warning. If either of you disobey me again, I’ll ask Alfa 1 what he thinks of your relationship.’
‘Fine!’ said Palillo. ‘We’ll be more careful.’
However, four days later, still patrolling the perimeter of La 50, Palillo fell and landed hard on his back. Piolín rushed to offer him her hand.
‘Are you okay, mi amor?’
At least six people heard those words – my love. Immediately realising her error, Piolín gasped and flushed. Palillo tried to cover for her by making a joke.
‘Do you mean the love of your life or the love of your week?’
But the damage was done. Those two words had given Veneno all the evidence he needed.