I climb out of bed and rummage through the case until I have what I need. I look out the window and see the snowcapped mountains below us. If we’re landing soon, we should be over one of Switzerland’s cities. It’s not a large country, so there aren’t that many. I shift my gaze, but I see nothing that resembles a city or even a town.
“Where are we?”
“There’s a private airfield where we’ll land near Lugano. We have to transfer to a helicopter that’ll take us near Graubünden. From there, we have another ride.”
I don’t know where these places are, and I don’t know what he means by “another ride.” If he wanted to give me more details, he would. I think the less I know the better right now.
We return to our seats and fasten our belts for landing. I don’t know what to expect when the flight attendant opens the door and lowers the steps. The icy blast of air isn’t surprising, but the armed guards are. Dolos Diazhave private security firms on speed dial around the world? Or do they have their own security details awaiting them wherever they go?
“Chica, these men got here a little before us.Papásent them from Bogotá.They took my cousin Alejandro’s plane.”
He points to a jet similar to the one we’re disembarking. I look over my shoulder.
“Is this jet yours?”
“No, it’s the family one. Alejandro travels the most, so he bought one for convenience. He doesn’t have to wait for the family one to return if someone else is traveling when he needs to. It doesn’t keep the rest of us from traveling when we need to.”
Both sides of my family are affluent, but they aren’t multiple-private-jets kind of rich. I sweep my gaze over the tiny airport and see two helicopters waiting with a woman standing beside each.
“Those aren’t ours, but the pilots are.”
We walk toward them with the armed guards surrounding us. The flight attendant trails behind us with our luggage. It’s apparently a team effort to transfer us from one mode of transportation to the other. I could’ve wheeled my case.
From the way Pablo wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pressing my head down, I can tell he wants me to rush. He doesn’t want me encumbered by anything. He has his handgun resting against his right thigh as we hurry.
The pilot of the helicopter we approach flashes a thumbs up before climbing inside. Pablo helps me and then follows me. Three guards join us as Pablo hands me headphones and then fastens my belt. He secures his own while I watch the rest of the men take seats in the other helicopter. I don’t know where our luggage wound up since it disappeared. I hear Pablo’s voice through the headphones.
“We have about an hour before we arrive at our next stop. We can have something to eat after the last leg of the trip.”
I nod. I’m starving, but I didn’t want to complain. I watch as we take off, but my attention shifts when Pablo takes my hand. He laces our fingers together. I look up at him and smile. He pecks my lips, and it shocks me. I didn’t expect the public display of affection in such close quarters to his men. He squeezes my hand and brings it to rest on his thigh. He looks past me to see what shrinks beneath us as we take off. His thumb strokes over mine absentmindedly.
If it weren’t for the armed guards and the ever-present danger, we’d be a normal couple on a romantic getaway. It’s a shame there are people trying to kill me. It dampens the mood.
When I glance up at Pablo again, his gaze meets mine, and I know he feels the same way. There’s nothing either of us wants to talk about since the others aboard will hear us through the radio. We both enjoy the view until we’re landing again. The time flew for lack of a better pun.
I don’t know what to make of our newest destination. I don’t know that we can even call what we landed on a helipad. It’s so small that the second helicopter can’t land until the one we’re in takes off again. We’re basically perched on a ledge on a mountainside. We hurry to get off, and Pablo pulls my hood up since the wind is ferocious when we get out. He shuffles me to the edge of the concrete slab closest to the mountain. He waves to our pilot who offers us another thumbs up. She never spoke.
I observe the second helicopter doing the same thing: touch down, people climb out and rush away while carrying our luggage and things I can’t make out, then take off again. I sweep my gaze over our surroundings. There’s no road and no vehicles waiting for us.
Are we rappelling down the mountain?
“Hold my hand, Flora. It’s icy.”
I follow his lead as we appear to be walking to another part of the mountainside, but I realize there’s something like a white industrial garage door. As we approach, it opens.
What in the James Bond–evil-villain’s-lair kind of shit is this?
I don’t know what the fuck kind of vehicle I’m looking at, but it’s somewhere among a train, tank, and an SUV. I can see what looks like train tracks leading into the mountain. It’s not like one of those old-fashioned Western cartoons with the two miners on a wooden platform pushing a seesaw-looking thing up and down. But that’s what comes to mind. It must be the altitude.
I follow Pablo as he follows two guards. There are three men behind me and two standing watch on the helipad. The vehicle has tires like a tank, but they’re on the railway tracks. The body looks more like an SUV with four doors and comfortable seats. We climb in, and Pablo helps me with my belt because the light is so dim. He takes my hand like he did in the helicopter, and we all ride in silence.
It’s eerie as fuck.
Lights turn on as we move forward and turn off once we’re past them. We’re headed deeper into the mountain, and I’m questioning what I got myself into.
Salir de Guatemala para entrar en Guatepeor.
It’s a play on words meaning from Guate-bad to Guate-worse. It’s a common phrase that changesmala—bad—topeor—worse. It loses something in translation, but it’s a common phrase in Colombia.
