I woke at eight the next morning. Well, that's what my watch said anyway. The sun shone through the small square window of the dingy room. I didn't realise just how dingy it was. Paint peeling from the walls. The furnitue shoddy and worn. It definitely wasn't meant for permanent residence. Just a place for a lazy or hungover cop to stay.
I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I checked my bag to make sure nothing had been taken. Whether the police were my friends or not, Colombia wasn't a very wealthy country. And it didn't take ten seconds to sneak in, take something and sneak out. Luckily everything was there. I didn't really want to raise hell in the middle of the police station. Especially after they had been so kind.
I stood and stretched out, loosening my muscles. I walked to the door and opened it. The creaking of the door making me jump slightly. I was knackered. Only having a couple of hours sleep last night took a toll on me.
Walking into the main room I realised something was different. All the desks were in place, all the papers were to. There was no blood stains on the floor, no bodies either. In fact, there was no one in the room. I took a deep breathe in. The smell of bleach and air freshner was thick.
"Chief?" I called out. No answer. I turned on my heel and went back to my room to get my gear. Grabbing my bags and putting them on and I drew my gun. I had no idea where the chief and the other officers were. They may have just been out, but they could have been taken or something. I turned and walked down the hall towards the main entrance with caution.
I went back into the main room and looked around. Nothing. I searched for a pen and paper. It wasn't as hard as I thought it would've been. I wrote a quick note saying thanks for the hospitality, and walked out. As I was walking out of the doors something caught my eye. Backtracking I saw a notice board. It had two leaflets on it, one was about a church or something and the other was about a kayaking station on the river Caquata with a map to where it was. There was a red line that pointed to a building and a single word that said 'here'. I presumed that the building was the police station. Located in a town called Mocoa.
Walking out of the doors I saw the Jeep from last night. Next to that was a red Kawasaki Ninja. Not one that I recognised. It wasn't there last night. I walked up to it and picked up the note that was on the seat. It read: Dear Mr. Jericho, I remember you say you like motorbike. So I got you one as thanks for helping us. We surely would have died. We burying our friends and enemies. We see you for lunch. How kind of the chief. Shame I won't be there to say thanks.
I swung my leg over the bike and rested my foot on the peddle. The keys were already in the ignition. Turning the keys I twisted my right hand and started up the engine. It sounded healthy. It sounded new actually. I pulled the opened up the kayak leaflet and looked at the map. So I'm in Mocoa, that's what the map said and the officers were talking about it last night, and the kayak station is in Peurto Guzman. I had no idea how long a drive it was, or how long it would take me. I guessed there weren't any roads leading to La Pedrera.
"Screw it" I muttered out loud. Pulling out my phone, I clicked onto my GPS. I was in Mocoa as it turned out. Unfortunately, the more time I spend on the GPS the higher chance of someone finding me. And considering I was nearly shot down yesterday, I didn't really want that to happen I looked at the address on the leaflet and typed it in. Well that's just dandy. I sighed, a two and a half hour drive, without traffic. I tried something else. I searched how long it would take me to get from Mocoa to Curillo. Now that my helicopter was downed I needed another. Or a plane. Shame that the airport in Mocoa was shut down several years ago. It's abandoned and derelict. Nothing left.
"A nine hour journey!" I said outloud with an exasperated sigh. "Damn it." At least with a kayak I can sit back and let the river take me to Curillo.
I revved the engine and memorised the route. Turning off the GPS, I put my phone in my bag - the only pocket I had in this combat suit was the gun holster, and it's not exactly a pocket. Putting the bike in first, I took it off the stand and twisted the throttle, the bike lurched forward and I brought my left foot onto the peddle. Turning the handle bars on bike, I made it do a slow circle and rode it out of the car park, onto the road. It was all open road from here to Puerto Guzman.
It took me about two hours to reach Santa Lucia. My first stop since leaving Mocoa. I pulled into a garage which had a small cafe attached to it. I filled the tank up, paid and pulled the bike over to the car park outside the cafe. I leant against the bike and rummaged through my bag. I found a food bar thing, it's meant to replace a meal. But personally I think they taste like shit. I binned the bar and went into the cafe. It wasn't overly crowded. Not surprising though, it was a dingy little establishment. I briefly looked over the menu and ordered a peppered steak pie and a root beer. They took their time making it. It wasn't worth the wait either. Although I ate quickly the cafe had become significantly busier.
I looked around studying the locals. They were acting nervous and fidgety. They stayed away from me and stopped speaking as they walked past. My instincts told me something was wrong in the town. Either that or my stomach really didn't appreciate the pie. It could have very possibly been the latter. I paid and got back on the road as quickly as possible. I couldn't be bothered waiting around for something to happen if I was right. Maybe the Ecuadorians had taken hold of the town. I doubt it, but, after what the Ecuadorian said last night, anything could be happening.
It didn't take long to get out of Santa Lucia, down a quaint country road with trees lining either side. You could see monkeys swinging from tree to tree, the views were astonishing. Shortly the trees on the left thinned and eventually showed the majestic river Caquata. Especially in the mid-morning sun, with the sunrise reflecting off of it, the river was breathe taking. No wonder it is considered one of the most beautiful rivers in the world. If you can't appreciate moments like these, what can you appreciate?
The drive to Peurto Guzman was easy. Well, it would have been if I hadn't of had some unwelcome visitors. Ten minutes down the road I heard a car coming up from behind. Coming up very fast. I had a quick glance behind. It was a black army jeep. Ecuadorian. They pulled up along side me and signalled for me to slow down and stop. I obliged. I braked hard and stop shortly but kept the engine running. They stopped around fifty metres in front of me. As the jeep turned off, I twisted the throttle and started down the road again. They were armed, no surprise. I kept low and kept speeding up. There was shouts as they realised what I was doing. They were a blur as I passed them. They shouted and I heard gunshots. A searing pain ripped through my side, just above my hip. My vision blurred and I lost control. The bike veered but I wrenched the handlebars instincively. I gritted my teeth and concentrated on the road. My focus came back almost immediately and I got the bike back under control. I gritted harder and kept riding down the road. There was a ringing in my ears and a blurriness in the corner of my eyes. I needed to stop. Soon.
The rest of the journey was quiet. I kept the speed steady and not too high until I hit Puerto Guzman. I only slowed then. To be fair, there wasn't anyone on the road anyway. Puerto Guzman isn't majorly popular. A measly twenty mph seemed strange and alien to waht I had been riding at. It wasn't hard to find the kayak station, but then again, it wasn't exactly a metropolis.
As I pulled up a tanned man came out. He wasn't Colombian. He was tall and well built. Clearly he had spent many days on the river.I stopped the bike and took my helmet off. Pain suddenly flared through my body from my hip. I put my hand over the wound. It was wet. Very wet. I looked down at my hand and it was completely covered in dark red blood. I tried to get off the bike but ended up nearly falling onto the floor. The man caught me before I did and he helped me inside. I had struck lucky. The man turned out to be the village doctor. He lay me face down on a table and cut the material away from the bullet wound. He poored something on it and it stung like a bitch. Fortunately I blacked out.
*********
I woke in the same posistion as I had fainted in. My back was stiff and aching. I reached round and felt where the wound had been. It was now covered and it felt as though the skin had healed. With the addition of a jagged line of scar tissue. The man walked in and he was wearing a pair of pyjama shorts and a dressing gown. Definitely American. He looked at me and tilted his head slightly with a smile.
"G'day mate." He said with a thick australian accent. I did not see that coming. "The names Mick." He said extending his hand. I was wrong. He was Australian.
"Jericho." I replied wincing as I sat up to shake his hand.
"What brings you all this way?" He asked raising an eyebrow.
"I could ask you the same thing." I replied and he laughed lightly. "I'm just headed down river. To curillo. I thought it best to travel by river."
"Fair enough. I take it not for leisure." He said nodding towards my hip. "So tell me Jericho. What brings you to Colombia. And more importantly. Why were you shot?"
"I guess I owe you that much." I replied heavily breathing out. A spasm of pain shot up my back. Nothing compared to yesterday however. I presumed it was yesterday anyway. "I'm American secret intelligence. I'm looking for someone. A drug lord." I winced and paused momentarily. "The people who shot me could have been anyone. Ecuadorians. Mercenaries. Assassins. You name it they are probably after me. Although, I've not encountered assassins yet so fingers crossed. There is something going on and I seem to have an international bounty on my head."
"Ah." He chuckled. "You know you could have just lied." He smiled. "Honesty is good. It suits you well. Lead an exciting life I see." When he laughed, his face looked vaguely familiar except older with more age lines. He probably just resembled some one off the internet or a movie star or something. "In all my years I've never had someone as perculiar as you turn up on my doorstep." He continued.
"What are you doing here then? It's a long way from home." I asked politely.
"I've been here thirty years or so. I thought it a nicer, quieter place to retire." He replied. His pupils unfocused as if he was remembering a memory. "I retired at the age of fourty. I was like you. I was secret intelligence. Only for the australians of course." He said leaning back and remembering something from a long time ago. And that's when it hit me. I knew why I recognised him.
"Holy shit." I said and my jaw dropped. "You're The Meticulous Mick aren't you?"
"Bloody hell mate." He exclaimed laughing. "How'd you know that?"
"We were taught about you. At the academy I was trained at." I laughed. "You're the stuff of legend. You're meant to be dead."
"I really left that much of an image on the world, eh?" He said laughing. "Yes. Strictly speaking I am dead. I faked my death and came to live here. I didn't think anyone would find me."
"Don't worry, you're secret is safe with me. Plus, after thirty years I doubt people are still looking for you." I said turning serious once more.
"Anyway. That life is behind me. I'm just an old man who farms, hires canoes and plays doctor for the local people residents."
"You'll always be an assassin Mick. It's your nature. Your life." I said, studying him. He stayed silent. "Anyway, I need a kayak to get down to curillo."
"Sure." He said standing up. "I'll show you the ones I have." I followed him out into the next room. Where he kept the kayaks. "I only have two man kayaks in stock at the moment. It should be alright."
"Okay." I said breathing out. "Got any tips for the river?"
"Stay in the middle. And make sure you don't go down Devil's Staircase." He said informatively. "It's quicker but it's almost impossible to make it out alive."
"Okay. Thanks." I said looking at the kayaks. One stuck out to me. I wanted it. "That one." I said to him, pointing. "You can take the bike for it. I have no need of it anymore." He simply nodded and got the kayak down. We carried it down to the river and place it on the bank.
The river was flowing fast, very fast. I'd have to keep alert. Luckily enough I had missed most of the rapids, but, if I didn't stay in the middle of the river I could end up on the banks and then the caimans would get me. Mick held my kayak for me while I got in.
"Thanks for everything Mick. You are a literal lifesaver." I said pushing off. "Contact me if you ever want to get back into the business."
"On the other hand, you contact me if you need any help." He said waving. "Farewell friend. I'm sure I'll see you another time."
The kayak station was situated on a side river which ran into the main river. It was slower fortunately. As I was reaching the main river Mick shouted out to me. "Row hard now! Or you'll go onto the bank!" I followed his instructions and attacked the water with my oar, propelling myself onto the main river. The current grew faster and stronger immediately. Luckily I had made it into the center of river, all I had to do now was stay there. The current took me and a felt the raw power. Immediately I could tell it wasn't going to be easy.