I was planning to live with Camila in Bogotá, at least until she finished university. In addition to the compulsory demobilisation classes, I was completing my final year of high school in order to receive the graduation certificate.
Once Camila had finished her degree, if she wanted to look for work in Bogotá, I would apply for university. However, I’d apply for Agricultural Economics, a course that would be useful for my true calling – running our finca. I knew Papá had wanted me to study business, but I made my own decisions now.
‘You’re being selfish, Pedro,’ continued Palillo. ‘You mightn’t need money, but your mother does. She could buy that neighbouring property and retire.’
Personally, I’d have been happy simply to be able to afford a few cattle. Mamá was still living alone on our finca, but without my income she had to catch a colectivo each day to work part-time at Uncle’s hardware store.
‘My mother is fine,’ I insisted.
‘Then do it for your friends. You owe me, hermano. This will solve all our problems. You can pay your university tuition. Ñoño can buy his mother a house. Coca-Cola can hire the best surgeon for his shattered knee. I won’t even have to do acting school. I can buy a movie studio and star in my own production!’
‘What if we run into a patrol?’
Although Caraquemada had been sighted in the faraway province of Neiva, the Guerrilla still used those mountains and rivers as supply routes.
‘Exactly. That’s why we go as a team.’
Of course, Palillo eventually wore me down. Which is why, three months after our mission against Caraquemada, I found myself in the middle of the jungle, back at the former laboratory, which had been dismantled and burned by the army.
We’d trekked arduously all day through the humid, insect-infested jungle. I was soaked with sweat and my muscles ached from carrying a heavy, rain-drenched pack. Not surprisingly, we had encountered no guerrilleros.
Now, as Palillo whipped the ‘guaca map’ from his pocket, he buoyed my spirits by describing how our lives were about to change.
‘I’ll have an SUV with tinted windows. You can buy Camila a golf-ball-sized diamond ring to replace that plastic one. I’ll put one of my apartments in my sister’s name so my mother can receive money from the rent.’
From the starting coordinates, we followed the bearing for nine hundred metres towards the spot marked ‘X’ on the map, worrying all the while that we’d veer off course and end up digging in the wrong place.
‘There!’ Palillo pointed, laughing. We had indeed deviated, but the ‘Hug X’ was a literal symbol, unmistakable when we saw it. Two trees had fallen towards each other, coming to rest with their trunks crossing. They looked like they were hugging.
Using a tape measure, I paced exactly twenty-seven metres east of the trees. Then, sharing the tiny shovel, we took it in turns to break the earth, as we had on the day of Papá’s execution, until blisters appeared on our hands.
‘This is ridiculous!’ I said once our third hole was two metres deep. ‘I’m poor but happy. Let’s go home.’
Suddenly, there was a dull thud as Palillo’s shovel struck something plastic. We exchanged a look and dropped to our knees to scoop away the remaining dirt that covered the lid of a large blue crate.
GLOSSARY OF SPANISH TERMS AND SLANG
abrazo
hug
adelante
go! go ahead!
agallas
balls
aguardiente
aniseed-based liquor, literally ‘firewater’
águila
Colombian beer
ajustícialo
execute him
auxiliar
assistant/helper
avenida
avenue
berraco
tough, hard-working (slang)
bloque
unit
borracho
drunk
brigada fuerzas especiales
special forces brigade
buenas tardes
good afternoon
buñuelos
fried dough ball
busetero
bus worker
caldo
broth, soup
caletas
hidden compartment
caliente
hot
camaradas
comrades
campesinos
peasant farmers
canasta
basket or box
capo
drug boss
Caracol
TV/radio station in Colombia
cariño
dear (term of endearment)
cédula
national ID card
cerveza
beer
chapa
alias
chica
girl, chick
chivas
rural buses, literally ‘goats’
cojones
balls
colectivo
public mini-van
colegio
school
comandante
commander
compa
friend (abbreviation for compadre)
compañero
friend, colleague
contrabandistas
contraband traffickers
corazón
heart
culo
butt, bum, ass
cursos
fellow soldiers (slang)
dale
go! do it!
dios mío
my god!
farándula
celebrities
finca
farm, property
frente
guerrilla unit
gallina/gallinita
chicken/little chicken
garrapata
tick
gente de bien
good society
gracias a dios
thank god
guaca
buried treasure
guerrillera
female guerrilla soldier
guerrillero
male guerrilla soldier
hermano
brother
hermosa
pretty
hijo
son
hijo de puta/hijueputa
son of a whore, son of a bitch
jefe
boss, chief
joder
fuck!
jodido
fucked
joven
young man
motorised boat
lárguese
get out of here
lechona
stuffed pork dish
limpieza
cleaning, cleansing
loco
lunatic
loro
parrot
lotería
lottery
mala
bad
mierda
shit
mijito
my little son (abbreviation for mi hijito)
milicianos
militia member
mi querido
my dear
monte
mountain
mosqueteros
musketeers
muchacho
boy
mulata
brown-skinned woman
novias
girlfriends
oiga
listen! hey!
parqueadero
parking lot
pasteles
sweets
patrón
boss, chief
pelado
boy
pendejo
dickhead
perras
bitches
pillado
busted
planazos
strikes with flat side of machete
plata
money
políti
cos
politicians
pollo
chicken
por dios
for god’s sake
princesas intocables
untouchable princesses
punto
point guard/lookout
pura mierda
bullshit
puta
whore
fucking hell
puteadero
whorehouse
qué bueno
great!
quiebrapatas
landmines (slang)
ráfagas
burst of gunfire
rápido
quick
raspachín
coca leaf picker (slang)
reggaetón
rap music from Puerto Rico
sapo
toad (slang for ‘informant’)
señorito
(invented word)
socio/a
romantic partner (guerrilla slang)
soldado
soldier
suba
get in, get up
suegro
father-in-law
supermercado
supermarket
taxista
taxi driver
tinto
coffee
tiro de gracia
coup de grâce
traficante
trafficker
urbano
member of urban militia
vacuna
guerrilla tax, literally ‘vaccine’
vallenato
type of Colombian music
vámonos/vamos
let’s go
vereda
rural village, settlement
viejo
old man (slang)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Readers see one name on the front cover, but not the silent army of supporters, hidden (and often long-suffering) between the pages.
My first debt of gratitude is to the dozens of child soldiers and members of the FARC, AUC and ELN who opened up and trusted me, often at great risk to themselves. Special thanks to ‘Alias Pedro’, ‘Alias MacGyver’, Jader, ‘Alias Tarzan’, Lenis, Abel, Andrea, Yineth, Diana and Leidy. To the many others – you know who you are and the reasons you can’t be named.
To my friends and colleagues in the anti-kidnapping program, particularly JJ, Jorge Matallana and Tim Bulot, as well as the members of the Colombian National Police and Army whose bravery and patriotism helped their country turn the corner after a dark period in history, but who also wished to remain ‘off the record’.
The biggest thanks by far, and my eternal gratitude, go to Simone Camilleri, who has been my literary agent, editor, story consultant, honest critic, believer in my ability and, dare I admit, sometimes co-author of this book, but above all else a caring friend. Her creativity, imagination, grasp of story and pace, as well as her assistance with plotting and deepening of the characters, made this book what it is.
To my beautiful sister, Rani, and wonderful parents, Marie and Peter, for their love, belief in me, patience as well as practical and financial support. Muchas gracias for helping your adolescent son, with pretensions of one day being a writer, become a middle-aged struggling artist, once more living back at home!
Huge love goes to Bradley Fraser, treasured friend and Tuesday-night confidant, who loaned me his ironing board as a desk, as well as a copy of his house key, and who provided open-ended, unconditional support. To my bestest of best friends, Scooter McGregor, sage advisor and critical reader, for his undying loyalty, open writer’s house in Mumbai, and for keeping me on an even mental keel.
To the Fosters, whose ‘Writer’s Shed’ and hospitality were given generously for many years. To Daniel Toomey, friend since childhood, for helping me visualise this project, for his beach house refuge and incredible website support.
I would also like to extend my warmest gratitude to everyone who read and commented on the manuscript over the years. Particular thanks go to Brian Camilleri, Sergio Barbosa and Ralph Glenny, who spent countless hours giving discerning and insightful feedback, and also to Enzo Congiu, Lucy Hughes, Mireille and Gary Hennessey, Orlando Savage, Carlo Giacco, Aiying Law, Cobie Dellicastelli and Isolde Martyn. Your detailed comments were greatly appreciated and helped polish the novel. Thanks also to John Purcell for sharing his wealth of knowledge about the publishing industry. Simone would also like to thank the members of the Turramurra Writers Group for their support.
To Rebecca Reed, personal cheerleader, amazing friend, and deliverer of soup, who always lent a sympathetic ear and provided a constant fount of laughter. To my gorgeous friend Belinda Pratten, for believing in me, reading many terrible drafts, and for her incredible humanitarian work in Colombia that inspired me to make a difference. To Toby Loneragan for planting seeds and playing with ideas. To Stella Duque, Steve Fisher and Greg Preuss for their dedication to helping child soldiers.
To Beverley Cousins, editor extraordinaire, for her talented, professional judgment, for shaping and cutting the story, and for gently removing my overwritten metaphors! Almost as importantly, for her unerring support, diplomacy and patience with an erratic writer who missed several deadlines and tended to disappear overseas to work on ‘unrelated projects’ at a moment’s notice. To Nikki Christer, who championed the book and took a chance on me. To Brandon VanOver, my copy-editor, for his hard work, incredible attention to detail, and his eagle eye that spotted my many errors. To Jem Butcher – what an amazing cover design! To Jess Malpass for her dedicated campaigning and promotion, and to the wonderful team at Penguin Random House, whose passion and enthusiasm helped this book make its way into readers’ hands. My apologies for giving you all grey hairs, but glad you’re still smiling (I think).
Finally, to mis parceros colombianos: Don R. Escritor, Thomas McFadden, Vampiro Niels, Heals, Yency, Martha, Dan, Houses, Boyzy, German, Ali, AJ & Carrie, Giles, Carolina, Clare, Andre, Astrid, Consuelo, Sole, Matt, Maria, Rich & Diana, Pinky, Tom, Jordan, Jules, Carrie, Nando, and the crazy Bogotá combo.
And to the Sydney crew – John Pease, Alina, Mez, Rom, Bunk, Pen, Colonel D. Rothwell, Jules & Megs, Gui & Edwina, Bally, Damo & Poss, Dean, Simona, Rhys, Llewellyn, Marcus, Kath, Burge, Chris, Piers & Nirmal, Sam, Ed & Jules and Caz – as well as the many other friends and fans who believed in me, read my shitty drafts and kept asking, ‘When will it be finished?’ while never doubting it would be.
Simone Camilleri would like to extend her warmest thanks to her parents, Brian and Adrienne Camilleri, who inspired her love of reading, nurtured her creativity and who always encouraged her to dream. And, most importantly, she would like to thank her husband, Sergio Barbosa, for the unwavering love and the joy he brings into her life, his practical support and the countless hours he spent reading and providing insightful comments on the manuscript, and his extraordinary patience during the many years devoted to this project.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
RUSTY YOUNG is the author of the international bestseller Marching Powder, the story of a British drug-smuggler who was incarcerated in Bolivia’s notorious San Pedro prison.