White Death (19 page)

“How long?” I said.

“Probably four more days here, two weeks of rest at home, and you’ll be fine.”

Miami and Washington, November 1969

According to Jamie, Ray asked few questions as she recounted events. The oblique reference made by Sterling at the airport about Alvaro “never touching my pilots again” had escaped me, like much of that day. Ray and Jamie both concluded Alvaro was dead, and they now had a new production manager. Ray said he would approach the U.S. Attorney regarding the need for jury appeal from baggage carts full of dope in the courtroom. Also, Ray was concerned about the danger to my cover posed by things I might say to the hospital psychiatrist. Jamie mentioned Jake had looked directly at her after the flight and called her Karen. Despite the concerns, Ray decided to keep the cover with no changes, including the delivery of parts to a Miami company. The kidnapping and torture occurred because of mistaken identity during a feud between drug traffickers who used the same airfield.

Jamie told me she would call Karen and give her a sanitized version of recent events.

“Jamie, you gave me a bad look in the airport.”

“You looked at me and said Karen pretty loudly, a name they don’t know. Marcus noticed and turned partially toward you.”

“I did?”

“Yes. I hope they believe that you were confused. The morphine was talking about some woman somewhere. However, the incident concerns me.”

Dr. Wilson discharged me three days later. He stipulated that I return to visit the psychiatrist three times a week. Jamie drove us home and seemed subdued. I was in pain and didn’t feel like
talking.

We hadn’t been in the house long when Jamie announced, “You still stink, Sixkiller.”

“Screw you, Jamie.”

“You wish! The nurses gave you sponge baths, but they couldn’t get rid of the stench from your hair, and other bodily crevices. Rest if you need to, then I’ll bathe you in the shower.”

“I like the stink.”

“Seriously, the psychiatrist at the hospital told me to remove any sensory inputs from you that might trigger recollections. The smell from your hair is intense. Also, I bought you a new pair of boots, almost identical to your old ones.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome, I guess.”

“You’re going to get in the shower with me?”

“What do you want! That I put on a bathing suit?”

“No. Just strip and let’s do it.”

“Be careful what you ask for, Sixkiller.”

The wisecrack produced a slight smile, but no laughter followed. I wondered if I would ever laugh again. What a strange thought. I’m okay. I’m home and safe. Jamie’s taking care of me. The nightmares were becoming worse, however, as I used less pain medication.

“Don’t make the water too hot.”

“Right, thanks.”

I sat in the tub with my feet over the side, and outside of the curtain. I looked and felt ridiculous. Jamie had put a couple of towels over the bandaged ankles to ensure they stayed dry. To make sure the water was tepid, Jamie stood in front of the showerhead so water was hitting her back squarely. She reached around to make small adjustments. A little spray touched my arms; I began to get nervous.

“Here comes the shampoo.”

The water hit the top of my head and ran down my face.
“Stop it!” I screamed. Although confused, Jamie closed the faucet. I sat and shook as she put her arms around me.

“I understand now,” she said. “I’m going to get more towels for your forehead and a bucket. I’ll wash you from behind so the water won’t touch your face. Will you be all right with that?”

“Yes,” I said, without confidence. As she scrubbed my hair from behind, her breasts danced gently in front of me. Abstractly, it was a beautiful sight for any man. Right now, however, it aroused me the same as two empty tin cans on strings. I really did need a shrink. Using bath water and the bucket, she washed the rest of me. The soap and shampoo smelled good. It felt pleasant to be clean.

“Hi, Karen. It’s Jamie. Jake and I are sharing a house on his project. I’m using what’s called a secure phone so just ignore any strange noises. Um, I need to tell you something which is Jake has been hurt, but he’s been released from the hospital and will make a full recovery.”

“Who is treating him? Who says he’ll make a full recovery”? Where is he, Jamie?” The panic in Karen’s voice sounded barely under control.

“He was admitted to one of the best hospitals in the country, and has been evaluated and treated by several excellent doctors. We spared no expense on his care.”

“Jamie, how did this happen? Could it happen again?”

“Karen, please don’t push me so hard on details. I do want to tell you everything, but I can’t. And no, it won’t happen again.

“If I give you more information about his physical condition, you must swear on the blood of your ancestors not to say anything to
anyone
. Karen, the FBI will fire me if this leaks and comes back to me, which it will. More importantly, it puts Jake in danger. Do you understand and agree.”

“I swear to say nothing.”

“Jake was kidnapped and tortured for two days. He was
rescued; it’s complicated. His tongue, lips, and testicles are swollen with first-degree burns. The doctors told me to keep cold compresses on them all day. They beat him around the body, damaging one of his kidneys, but it seems to be clearing up. His ankles suffered bad rope burns because he was strung upside down. A surgeon repaired the damage to his ankles. Right now, he says most of the pain is from his ankles and burned testicles. I put burn ointment on them three times a day in addition to the cold compresses.”

“My God, Jamie. How much pain is he in?”

“The pain is better, now. It was very bad for a few days. He is my friend, Karen, but you’re the luckiest woman in the world because he loves you dearly. I get to be with him for a while, take care of him, and send him back to you at the end. So, I’ll cry, but be happy when he comes home to you.”

“Have you ever been lovers?” asked Karen.

“No, we are close friends, working together in a hostile environment. I have too much respect for him and your marriage to go down that one-way street. I love and admire him as a partner, and we depend upon each other every day. Perhaps I can explain this better the next time we talk.

“Karen, I understand the jealousy, and appreciate your trust in me. You seem like such a gracious person. I hope to meet you someday. Jake said to say hi to Wuffe.”

Jamie had changed the sheets and slept beside me for several nights. When the demons came, she quickly found my hand and whispered something in my ear. Maybe I had turned a small corner.

Dr. Wilson referred me to a shrink for sessions three times a week. The psychiatrist also gave me valium and a tricyclic for depression and sleep. He made me relive everything: the terror, the smells, the pain, the dread, the despair, the loathing, the hopelessness, and more. He kept pulling it out of me. After a few
weeks, I felt better. My body had healed, except for soreness in my ribs and ankles. For the first time since the rescue, I noticed Jamie as a woman again.

For reasons beyond my reach, however, I remained restless and irritable. Ray and Roy considered closing down the operation after the U.S. Attorney relented on his show featuring piles of drugs. Yet, he still wanted them if possible. They could nab Ortiz coming into Valkaria one night, but I didn’t like the plan for some reason. I had been confronting my demons in the quiet safety of a shrink’s office. Although this approach had been helpful, it wasn’t my style. I needed more direct confrontation. I was waiting for Jamie to return home after work.

She had hardly put down her purse, then screwed up her face and said, “What’s wrong?”

“Why does anything have to be wrong?” I asked defensively.

“With the exception of Karen, I know you better than anybody in the world. Something is eating you up.”

“Obvious, huh? Sit down, and let’s talk. I need your advice.”

Jamie sat down on the sofa at an angle to me and folded her hands in her lap, her face expectant, but unreadable.

“I want to make a final flight to Barranquilla, to bring the show drugs for the trial. I’ll ask Sterling and Ortiz to meet me in Valkaria with one or two No Names for security, like a low-key celebration saying, ‘I’m back to work for you again.’ We can get Marcus, a couple of his professional killers, the two drivers from D.C., and the load of drugs. Every cop and fed in Florida could be waiting for the end of the party.”

“We can close down the operation with Ortiz flying,” responded Jamie slowly, “and pick up Marcus at the same time. Tell me what this is really about?”

“You’re so matter-of-fact, brutally blunt.”

“You asked me for advice, and I think it’s a terrible idea. Speaking for both Karen and me, I…”

“Since when did you become her spokesperson?”

“I appointed myself because I know what she would say. Your physical well-being and emotional health concern both of us. I will ask, again. What’s this really about? There is nothing to prove. This case is effectively over.”

I felt cornered. Despite loving and respecting Jamie, laying bare my feelings of vulnerability and anxiousness was beyond hard. I wanted to deal with the problems my way. Of course, I realized she already understood this. Why was she so determined to make me justify my plan to her?

“Remind me never to play poker with you. Making the trip, seeing the welcome-to-Barranquilla sign, and flying back with a planeload of drugs – all of this terrifies me. I need to be
me
again. All the shrinks and their pills aren’t going to do that for me. I need to walk into the mouth of the cannon and return. Any cop who says he’s never been afraid is a liar. This was far worse. I had my dignity and manhood stripped from me. ‘Despair’ doesn’t come close to depicting what happened to me. I prayed for death.”

Jamie had not moved, tears now flowed down her cheeks. I stopped.

She sat on me with her arms around my neck, and said, “Damn you, James. You’re a stubborn son-of-a-bitch. You need to let go. There is nothing to prove.”

She climbed off and seemed to study me. Finally, she said, “Ask your shrink what he thinks of the idea, but first ask him if I can come for the session.”

I was taken aback by the proposal. On the one hand, it wasn’t, “No, and hell no.” On the other hand, what was I thinking? She wasn’t my mother. Why would I need her approval? Perhaps I didn’t trust my judgment any more, and Jamie was so well-grounded. It should have been simple. Jamie had been talking to Karen, after all.

“James, are you still here?” inquired Jamie.

For a second, I looked at her. “I’ll ask him. I’m sure he’ll say
yes.”

He did say yes and remained subdued during the session. Jamie emphasized her no-compelling-need argument. Despite the improvement, I still had nightmares and became startled by innocent noises or events. Given my fragility such a trip would be inherently dangerous. What if I freaked out at the airport or while flying alone. She should have been a lawyer. Allowing her to come was a mistake.

“I agree with everything your sister says,” began the psychiatrist, “but at this point, you are well enough to balance the obvious and substantial risks of your proposal against additional months on my couch. If all goes well, you may achieve a rapid breakthrough from your self-doubts and depression. Mind you. I am not endorsing this venture because of the risks. Another possibility is survival of the experience in a day’s work, followed by an abrupt return to the symptoms you seek to overcome. You are still quite raw, but also quite resilient. That has come through in our sessions.”

Jamie seemed to pale at this qualified endorsement, a change he noticed.

“Your brother seeks life on the edge. Eventually, age may diminish this need. Forcing him to move prematurely to a comfort zone that seems normal for us – well, this could lock him into a sense he has been defeated. Defeat is an alien concept to him, and now a terrifying one after what he has endured. He says he wants to be himself again. He is the James before
Barranquilla
, impetuous, tough, self-confident, yet thoughtful for such a man. This must be his choice. It’s too important for us to attempt to interfere.”

We walked out without talking. Inside the car, Jamie began, “As you know, the FBI, in consultation with the Intelligence Division, has devoted significant resources to this case because of its multi-state and international dimensions. Out of courtesy and their link to the U.S. Attorney, the Intelligence Division retains
the nominal lead. Therefore, I’ll make all the arrangements with the Florida Department of Law Enforcement
¹¹
and the BNDD to be present at the take down. You call Roy or Ray and, of course, Sterling. He’ll be delighted you’re back on the job.”

Her voice was flat. She never looked at me.

“Jamie, I need to do this. Please don’t make it harder with your anger. I don’t handle anger from you or Karen very well.”

“It sounds like I’m your Miami wife.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. We have a wonderful relationship that defies any label. I know you love me and fear for me, but I ask you to support me on this. I prefer not to leave knowing you’re angry. I can handle you thinking I’m stupid or macho.”

She pulled the car over, put her arms around me and kissed me on the lips. “Yes. It’s stupid and macho, but I will support you. The shrink made a compelling argument at the end.”

Was that a goodbye kiss? Don’t overanalyze it, I thought. Besides, the combination of excitement and fear was beginning to build. And I liked it.

Miami and Barranquilla, November 1969

Roy signed off on the plan, and I phoned Marcus. He did seem delighted at my return to work and called me his best pilot. The compliment bothered me, but I had already concluded lots of things were going to bother me, so I brushed it off. I was set to fly down with No Name Two, a.k.a.
Napalm Josey
because of his penchant to firebomb houses. We assumed Alvaro’s men had killed Number Four. Nobody had seen him since my last trip. Marcus was arranging my trip to Barranquilla for the day after tomorrow. Thus, I had time on my hands, and time with Jamie, neither of which I wanted now.

Jamie returned home upbeat, or at least pretending to be upbeat. She had made the Florida and federal arrangements. Only the most senior agency officials were briefed on takedown details; one leak and Marcus would flee the country.

She flung her purse down in its usual chair, apparently bought for that purpose, and plopped down on the sofa. “I don’t like admitting I’m wrong, but I think your plan is the best one for you. I’m still scared, James. You’re so important to me. But, I also want the old James back. I’m not in the mood to talk more about this. Let’s watch TV.” We selected
Laugh-in
for a comfortable evening after all.

I didn’t like any of Sterling’s goons, particularly this psycho. But we nodded to each other in the boarding line. After nestling into my seat, I turned to a book as usual. I noticed, however, my ability to remember the previous page deteriorated. Near the end of the flight, I was simply gazing at some page. As we taxied past
the welcome sign, my stomach did a flip-flop. Somehow, I needed to prepare for worse.

After exiting the jet way, three people stood together, one with the familiar Sixkiller sign. Number Two and I walked up to them.

“I wanted to welcome you personally,” began one in nearly flawless English. “I am Pedro Sandoval, the interim production manager here in Barranquilla. Mr. Sterling has said only good things about you. Only a brave man would return, and so soon. This will be a smooth and businesslike transaction.”

“Your English is perfect. It’s my turn to be impressed.”

He continued. “I graduated from the University of Texas with an MBA. I’ve never seen this airstrip or the planes, and would like to be familiar with all aspects of the operation. You and Marcus may be interested in knowing the room you spent two terrible days in no longer exists as such. We partitioned the space into normal offices. Those who worked in there before have been…well, terminated.”

The loading was routine. Oddly, having Sandoval at the airfield, asking a mix of good and stupid questions helped me relax. For him, this was more information for his job. I did the usual preflight of the airplane, said goodbye to Sandoval and his two assistants, and departed Barranquilla for the last time. My knees had been a little weak on the ride out with three strangers, but now I felt fine. With clear weather, the normally forbidding expanse of open sea welcomed me.

I avoided Papa Doc in Haiti and the Mig jets in Cuba. Matthew Town lay straight ahead. At least one of the two line boys, with nothing else to do most of the time, listens on the radio for the standard incoming traffic calls by aircraft. If they hear the word
Comanche
, it’s an easy hundred dollars. I chatted with Rupert for a few minutes and told him I found a position with better hours. I paid the tab, got my usual free soda, and said goodbye. The line boy helped me into my seat. He appeared
crushed after I explained about my new job.

“The others sometimes forget,” he said.

I fumbled for advice, especially since there would be no more tips. “Did you keep most of the money?”

“Yes.”

“Save as much as possible, be frugal, and work hard. Good things often come to an end.”

He gave me a sad smile and waved goodbye.