Those who wore it, p.23
Those Who Wore It, page 23
After arriving at the spot on the beach where they had come ashore, Chat paused to examine the area. The rising morning tide had covered their first steps from the beach. He stooped to pick up the discarded life preservers he had overlooked. Stepping back to the drier sand, Chat began sweeping over the footprints with the branch. The painstaking effort took several minutes, and he was sweating profusely when he rejoined Christie. A silent nod was the only acknowledgment she gave of his return. She redirected her gaze toward the sea.
Chat was content to leave her alone with her thoughts. He mopped the sweat from his face with his shirt sleeve and then moved to take a seat in a shaded spot a few feet away from Christie. He needed a moment for a mental review of their predicament. He too was feeling the fatigue and strain. Leaning back on one elbow, Chat played through the collage of last night’s scenes that were racing through his brain. He had just closed his eyes when he heard her voice, softly contemplative and measured.
“Chat, I need to know the truth. Who are you, truthfully? And what is this all about? Please make some sense of all this for me. In fact, tell me it’s not really happening at all. Just shake me awake and tell me it’s not real.”
Christie was resting her head on her hands, which were placed on top of her propped-up knees. Her vision was not on him as her eyes had only an introspective stare about them.
Chat faltered as he grasped for some explanation to give her. The story defied any simple explanation, even he could not yet understand how things had so quickly spun out of his control.
Emerging from her contemplation, Christie turned her attention back on him. Her voice took on a distinctly harsher and more intense tone as she blurted out, “We almost died last night! And a man with a gun did die. And a plane possibly loaded with illegal drugs is at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.”
Chat tightened his lips in response to her plea for a plausible explanation. On the inside, he was hurting for both of them. She’s right. How could I have screwed this all up so fast, almost getting both of us killed in the process?
Continuing in a quieter tone, she said, “In addition to all this, back in Guatemala I heard rumors about why you had to leave the country so quickly, but Mitchell Dooley told me they weren’t true. Now I don’t know what the hell to believe. Chat, why are you working with these people? You scare me. You confuse me … you … I don’t know what’s happening. You … you ….” She stopped in mid-sentence. Her jaw tightened. She buried her face in her hands as if trying to shield herself from what she did not want to hear.
Chat moved and knelt beside her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she immediately pushed his hand away.
“Christie, I swear to you I don’t know exactly what’s going on with this whole business with Castillo, Ramon, the whole lot of them, but right now I just need you to believe in me.”
He paused to gauge her response, but no acknowledgment came. “And the Guatemala thing, what Dooley told you was the truth. I was framed by someone who, for some reason, didn’t want me there any longer.”
Chat was tiptoeing around the truth, feeling he needed to keep some things from her until he himself knew the whole story. “I’m trying to find out what is really going on and why these guys may have framed me for the drugs. Somehow, I’m going to prove all of this to you. I just need a little time to get the facts sorted out. That’s all.”
Christie remained silent for several more moments. Finally raising her head, she looked down the arroyo, refusing to face him just now. When she spoke, her tone was still deliberate, without emotion. “There’s this claim that you somehow knew my father. It’s too much to believe all this happened by accident, and that’s if I can even bring myself to believe anything you say anymore. Chat, I need something more substantial here. I know there are things you know that you’re not telling me. There are other rumors that Aero Sur is a cover operation for the CIA. Is this true? Do you work for those people? Is that part of all of this?”
Whop! Whop! Whop! The popping sounds of an approaching helicopter’s rotors grabbed their attention. Both of their heads turned in the direction of the aircraft noise. A second later, Chat jumped to his feet and reached to grab Christie. Pulling her up abruptly, he proceeded to push her toward a thicket of brush just behind them on the steep side of the arroyo, grabbing the flight jacket from the ground as he passed across the center of the arroyo.
While pulling her along, Chat pleaded, “Hurry. We have to stay out of sight.”
Confused by his sudden actions, Christie protested. “What are you doing? Don’t we want to be rescued? Chat, wait. Stop!”
He did not respond to her entreaty. Cautiously picking his way into the thorny brush and using the flight jacket wrapped around his right arm for protection, he began to carefully push the branches aside in order to allow the two of them to move in behind the denser, more protective cover, stopping only when they were against the earthen bank of the arroyo.
“Okay, this should be a good spot—for now, anyway.”
As they crouched, Chat looked directly into Christie’s eyes. Holding one finger up to his lips, he let out a short breath to indicate he needed her silence. “I’m sorry, but we don’t know who these people are, and I know Castillo has one of the few helicopters in this area, the one we were in yesterday.”
Chat’s abrupt actions and his all-too-brief explanation only served to confuse Christie all the more. Defiantly, she attempted to stand, but Chat restrained her arm.
Struggling against his grip, she pleaded, “But you can’t be sure it is that helicopter, can you? Maybe other people are coming to rescue us. Why are you acting like this?” Her rising tone contained a mix of frustration and fear.
“Nobody else knows about our flight last night or where we are. Ramon did not allow me to file any kind of a flight plan with the Mexican authorities.”
Resignedly she sat back against the dirt bank, crossing her arms and placing her hands on her shoulders.
For a few seconds, the helicopter sound seemed to be coming closer, but it passed overhead and continued beyond their hidden position and on to the north. As the rotor noise began to fade, Chat slowly raised himself up. He caught a fading glimpse of the helicopter as it passed. Hard to be sure, but color appears to be a match with Castillo’s helicopter. It had to be Carlos and at least one or two of Ramon’s men.
Christie started to move again, but Chat pushed her back down. His order was firm. “Best for you to stay put. Give me a minute to see what that was all about. They could circle back. Turning to the side of the arroyo, Chat began to crawl slowly upward. As he reached the top, he raised his head slightly over the embankment, and looking to the north, he confirmed that the helicopter was maintaining a northerly heading along the beach. The aircraft was flying only a few hundred feet above the ground.
Easing himself back down beside Christie, Chat said, “I’m sorry to be this way, but Castillo and his band are a bad lot, and they just lost some very valuable cargo. In addition to that, Ramon was one of his top lieutenants. They will be aggressively looking for any sign of the cargo and the airplane.”
She responded, “Again, I’m asking why you are here, and apparently working for these men.”
Exhaling in frustration while shaking his head slowly, Chat answered, “I’m so sorry, but it’s best you don’t know some things right now. I’m asking you to please trust me a little longer. I will get us out of here. My priority is to get you to a safe place.”
Biting her bottom lip, Christie could only stare back at him.
As they exited the thicket, Chat stooped to allow Christie to position herself on his back and then stood holding her legs under his arms. He also had Christie carry the flight jacket and the two life preservers.
“We’ll move up the arroyo as far as we can. The coast road shouldn’t be far, and we might flag down a lift back to civilization.”
By keeping to the shadowed sides of the wash and using the natural cover as much as possible, Chat was hoping, they could remain invisible to any additional Castillo search parties. He also knew all too well that Castillo would be the only one concerned about the missing plane. Radio communications were still primitive in Baja, and private airplane flights were, for the most part, untracked with no flight plans filed with the government authorities except those officially filed by commercial airline operators.
The morning air had begun to warm rapidly. Chat was becoming acutely aware of his dehydrated condition as he labored over and around the natural obstacles along the bed of the arroyo. He knew Christie was most likely suffering the same effects. The lingering shock and fatigue effects were exacerbated by Chat’s hurried pace.
Finally stopping in a partially shaded area beneath some larger cactus plants, Chat stooped down to allow Christie to slide off of his back. “We’ll rest here a few minutes.”
Both of them had cuts on their arms, hands, and faces resulting from the quickened pace through the well-armed Baja vegetation. Chat pulled on the bottom portion of his shirt and tore off a piece of the material.
Extending the rag to Christie, with a weak smile he said, “This is all I can offer for a towel. And we’re fresh out of band aides and antiseptic too.”
She took his offering in silence, without expression, and began to gently dab at the cuts on her forearm and her ankles. After that, she laid the flight jacket on the ground next to her and leaned back with one elbow resting on the jacket. The soft leather somehow felt comforting, almost reassuring.
They had been moving generally to the east following the meandering wash. The only sounds that surrounded them now were natural ones from the few birds and other indigenous insects that inhabited this section of Baja. Chat breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and Castillo’s boys will report to their boss that this run up Baja revealed nothing, and their missing plane must be somewhere else.
Chat leaned toward Christie. “I’m going to reconnoiter a few yards further up the arroyo. We must be close to the road. Why don’t you wait here and rest? I’ll be right back.”
Christie glanced over at Chat. She didn’t speak, but her wide-eyed look was imploring him not to leave her.
Chat attempted to reassure her. “Don’t worry. I’m only going to check a short distance up the wash to the east. I’ll only be a minute or two.”
As he stood, Chat looked back down the arroyo toward the coast to reassure himself no one was coming. Stepping out into the open portion of the wash, he proceeded cautiously in the opposite direction. He knew from his previous flights up the coast that they had to be very near Highway 1, the 1,000-mile corridor for vehicle traffic between Tijuana on the US border and Cabo San Lucas on the southern tip of Baja. The term highway was way overrated since in many areas along the route the paved portions suddenly stopped, and the road became a rougher dirt path.
A few minutes after beginning his reconnaissance, Chat stepped into the ruts of the dirt road. Okay. Finally getting a break here. Now if we can just find someone who isn’t a bad guy to give us a ride out of here.
Moving along the road as it led up and out of the north side of the arroyo, Chat walked up to a point just below the rim of the wash and high enough to afford him a view up the road some distance beyond the arroyo without completely exposing himself. Looking down the road to the north as far as he was able from that vantage point, he could see only dry rolling hills and desert brush. As he was about to turn in the other direction, the heavy grinding sounds of a vehicle’s gears froze him in his tracks. The sounds had come from the south road to his rear. A second later, he was running toward the far side of the wash, again stopping just below the rim. Crouching and easing his head up far enough to allow him a view of the road as it snaked away to the south, he easily spotted the rising dust of an approaching vehicle. Was it Castillo’s men or a local farmer on an errand? How could he be sure? Moving to his right, he was able to gain a better view as he stood upright behind the tall Palo Brazil bushes that bordered a portion of the top of the arroyo.
As the vehicle approached, Chat saw it was a pickup truck. He was not yet able to see the driver clearly, but he did spot the tails of two surfboards extending out of the rear bed of the older vintage and very road-weary-looking truck. The windshield on the passenger side was cracked diagonally, and the front bumper was bent out on one side, pointing forward like a ramming spike.
Taking only a second to consider his options, Chat decided on his course of action and stepped from his concealed position to stand near the edge of the road just before it descended into the arroyo. As he was about to hail the truck with his arms, out of the corner of his eye, he detected movement to his right. Turning his head, he saw Christie was some yards farther south, closer to the truck, and waving her arms as she ran toward the truck. So much for stealth and caution. What the hell!
Logbook Entry: 25
“Surfers Rule, Dude”
Baja California
February 6, 1969, 1036 Hours
The two shaggy-haired surfers sitting in the white rusted-out 1950s vintage Ford truck weren’t exactly what Chat was hoping for in a rescue party, but he quickly deduced his options were limited to nonexistent. As Chat approached the truck, the shirtless driver, sporting a rag mop of dirty blond hair, leaned out the open window. His head began bobbing up and down, seemingly in response to Christie’s waving arms and frantic rant as she ran toward the cab of the truck. She stopped just a few yards short of the truck as she caught sight of the driver. A second later, Chat stepped up next to her.
“Guess you must have gotten tired of waiting, huh?” Chat asked her while keeping his vision focused on the driver of the truck.
“When I heard the noise of the truck, I thought it was a chance I had to take.” She replied.
The driver of the truck pulled his head back as if surprised by the pair’s sudden appearance.
Looking over to Christie, he exclaimed, “Whoa! Very fine-lookin’ mama! What it be? You dudes must be lost.” After posing his question, the driver along with his buddy in the other seat broke into a laughing fit.
Chat started to move closer to the pickup but pulled up as the heavy smell of burning weed mixed with fairly pungent body odor assaulted his nostrils. The reason for the surfers’ nonsensical laughing was suddenly clear. He returned their senseless laughter with a half wave of his hand and a friendly smile.
“No, man, not lost. We just had a little problem with our jeep back down the arroyo. My lady and I were camping on the beach. Any chance you two could give us a ride as far as the next village?”
This time the heads of both men in the truck began to bob up and down in unison. The driver lifted a smoking stogie to his lips. After taking a long toke, he answered, “Oh, yeah. Right on, man! We always help those in need, especially ‘cause you got one righteous babe hanging with you.”
Christie started to speak, but Chat just squeezed her arm as a signal to stay silent. Keeping a friendly smile focused on the driver, he replied, “Hey, you dudes are all right. I really appreciate it.” Leaning down to afford himself a better view of the passenger, Chat quickly surmised both surfers were as high as a kite.
“We haven’t had anything to drink in quite some time. You surfer dudes got any drinking water you could share with us?”
This time the passenger chimed in. “Right on, man. There’s some jugs in the back. And we got mucho Dos Equis on ice up here in front. Maybe a little righteous weed too, man. We can fix you and your momma up, dude.” Again, his comments were followed with nonsensical laughter from both surfers.
Given the present situation and his condition, the thought of a cold beer very much appealed to Chat, but just now he had more pressing priorities. He needed to get Christie to a safe haven as soon as possible. Then maybe he would contemplate his next move over a cold bottle of one of Mexico’s finest brews.
The surfer on the passenger side exited the cab and moved to the rear bed of the truck, bracing himself on the side of the truck as he moved along. Rummaging around in the haphazard collection of empty bottles, cartons of food, and other paraphernalia, he lifted the two-liter plastic jug from somewhere under the surfboards.
“We just boiled this up this morning, man. But I can tell you water ain’t the best thing to be drinkin’ down here in Baja, man.”
Releasing his hold on Christie, Chat stepped toward the rear of the truck. The surfer smiled as he handed the water jug to Chat. He was wearing a dirty blue bandana tied around his head and his faded surfer jams were the only other article of clothing he had on his body. His sunburned face was set off with a pair of dark green sunglasses with small square-shaped lenses.
“Thanks, y’all are too kind.” Chat accepted the water and passed the jug to Christie.
“One righteous babe! Check it out, man,” The surfer sounded off as he pointed a finger over Chat’s shoulder toward Christie.
Christie readily accepted the water jug. Removing the cap quickly, she proceeded to gulp the slightly warm contents. Holding the jug up above her head, she let some of the water spill out across her face. The clear water cascaded down her cheeks. Some of it spilled onto the front of the thin cotton tank top, revealing her well-defined nipples through the dampened shirt.
As she handed the jug to Chat, Christie noticed the young surfer had not taken his eyes off her. In an effort to distract him from his fantasy, she said, “How are the breaks in this part of the coast? I would think the waves were probably runnin’ two or three heads before that storm yesterday.”
Upon hearing Christie’s observations on the waves, the driver, who had stayed seated in the cab, opened the truck door, and stepped out. “Dude! One righteous surfer babe we got here. Right on, mama!”
“Yeah, mama. The waves off of Magdalena Point were bitchin’ good.”
“So, what’s up, mama? You wanna catch a few waves with us this morning?”
