AGENT

 

It was dawn. A hot, humid dawn in the Bolivian forest.

"Get up. Get dressed. Let's go."

Those three short words and a sharp tug on my hand woke me from my already fairly alert sleep. It was Marcos. He only glanced to see if I'd opened my eyes and then left. I knew he'd be waiting outside. Still sleepy, I reached under the box next to the bed. There I kept my pistol. My trusty Makarov. It wasn't there. This made me feel as if I hadn't slept at all. Instantly, a thousand different thoughts swirled in my head.

Government troops had been fighting the guerrillas for years. And for years, despite local successes, they hadn't managed to completely eliminate them. I was the eleventh agent sent by the security service to infiltrate the guerrilla unit commanded by Julio Guarez himself—the leader of the rebellion. I was the eleventh agent, and the only one alive.

I thought about this as I dressed. I didn't know where we were going or why. I didn't know who had taken my gun or why. It haunted me. I'd been here for six months, and I thought I'd earned their trust. Especially after I'd cold-bloodedly killed two young policemen. And now… I don't know what to think. They'd tightened security for two months. Because of that, I couldn't communicate with headquarters. I had to be vigilant, too. Any suspicion of betrayal would have ended in my death. I was ready to leave.

As I suspected, Marcos was standing outside, waiting for me, smoking a cigarette. Juan and Esteban were with him. They were tough guys.

"Hold on and get in," Marcos handed me the AK-47 and nodded toward the car. It was an old off-roader with an open bed in the back.

I got in without a word, followed by Marcos and Esteban. Juan went ahead and got behind the wheel. We set off without a word.

We didn't go far. The road was winding and bumpy. After about 15 minutes, the car stopped in a small clearing. I knew there was a village about two kilometers away. The people living there were sympathetic to the guerrillas. I was increasingly dissatisfied with this situation. But I tried not to let on that I was worried. After all, I had a gun too; they'd given me one themselves. I tried to convince myself there was no reason to worry.

"OK. Get down," Marcos gently pushed my shoulder.

I jumped out of the car and looked around. At the edge of the clearing was a road, and beyond it, a wall of forest began. The forest was all around. I adjusted my shoe and looked up. Marcos, Esteban, and Juan were leaning against the car, watching me silently. The surprise on my face was probably all too obvious, because Marcos asked:

"What's the matter? Don't you understand what's going on?" Sam looked surprised, but his surprise was feigned. "Don't you understand, Carlito Martinez?" He emphasized the last words with exceptional clarity. Not without reason. It was my real name.

So they knew, my thoughts raced through my head. I waited for them to make a move. What would they do now? Knowing their penchant for cruelty, I couldn't expect anything good. They still stood motionless by the car, as if waiting for my reaction. I made a quick decision. Quick, and at the same time, the worst possible one. I quickly cocked and reloaded the automatic, pointed the barrel at Marcos, and… And nothing. The dull click of the bolt and the hollow click of the firing pin. The magazine was empty. How could I not check? They'd tricked me, wanted to test my reaction. So they weren't sure about me… But now they had…

I quickly assessed the situation. If I could reach the road and run into the woods, I'd have a chance. Negligible, but more so than if I stood there. They still held their weapons lowered; even if they were loaded, it would take them a moment to aim. You don't always hit with the first shot. I dropped my weapon to the ground, spun around, and started running. I didn't hear any thuds behind me, but I heard them reloading their rifles. I ran faster and faster as they started firing. I heard bullets whizzing past me. I was close, already having a glimmer of hope, when I felt a powerful blow to my back. I knew it was a bullet. I felt no pain, more like a numbness spreading across my back, a wave of heat… I kept running. At that moment, I felt two more blows to the back of my head. I didn't hear any more shots. It lasted a split second, but it felt like long minutes. I felt immense pressure inside my head, as if something were trying to burst it from the inside. For a moment, I lost my vision and felt my left eye shoot out with great force. I knew it was a bullet. Out of one eye, I only saw the ground rapidly approaching my face. I wanted to run, but I felt as if I had no legs; my whole body was numb, as if it weren't my own. I fell. I still felt no pain, just this strange numbness. I couldn't move anything, though I was still aware of what was happening. I lay motionless, face down on the ground. I felt the heat on my face and knew it was blood.

I heard them approaching me. They stopped above me and stood there for a moment in silence. Suddenly, I heard the sound of several gunshots, two bullets powerfully hitting my back. I felt them pass through my body, ripping through my chest, exiting from the front. Now I felt distinct pain. But I couldn't even moan. I could do literally nothing. The pain was increasing.

"Enough." He's gone, he was already dead when he fell - I heard Marcos's voice.

I felt a hand grab my arm and turn me onto my back. I was now lying face down, facing the sky, and I could see my executioners. They stood over me, watching what they had done. With obvious satisfaction. They didn't know I was still alive. I guess they didn't.

Suddenly, Esteban drew a powerful bayonet.

"You will not stare at me," he said, as if to me, and leaned over my face. I saw him bring the blade to my eye. I was terrified and wanted to scream, but I couldn't. I couldn't do anything. Not even move my eye. I was paralyzed.

"Leave me," Marcos said. "Marcom can't see you like that anymore. He's dead. I have another gift for him," he added, smiling slightly. "

How can I not be alive? I can see," I thought. I can feel…." Suddenly, I realized I wasn't breathing. The terror gripped me even more than before. I panicked. I was truly dead. My heart was no longer beating in my torn chest. In my shattered, bullet-crushed head, my brain no longer functions. So I'm dead... But I'm still aware of what's happening... I still feel the pain, I hear what they're saying. I just can't move.

They grabbed my legs and dragged me toward the road. The pain grew, became more intense, and now permeated my entire body. I felt every pebble and twig they dragged me along. Juan ran to the car for a moment and then returned with a large piece of rope. I didn't know what they were thinking.

"It'll be fine here," Marcos said, "on that branch."

They tied the rope to my legs and threw me over the branch. They pulled me up, head down. I was now hanging with my arms down, about two feet above the ground.

"We'll leave him like this. Let them have a warning," Marcos said.

"One more thing," Juan added.

He pulled out a piece of paper and picked up a stick. He inserted the stick into the wound on my chest. I felt a terrible pain. He wrote something on the paper with my blood on the stick. Then he pierced it with the stick and plunged it into my wound. Again the pain… Incredible. All the sensations were intensified; I was strangely sensitive to every touch.

"Traitor, I like it," Esteban said and smiled.

They looked at me for a moment, turned, and began walking away toward the car.

I hung there, upside down, by the road. I couldn't think. The pain grew. I felt blood flowing down my body and flooding my face. I could only see with one remaining eye. I heard the car engine. Slowly, the sounds faded away. I was left alone. Alive? Dead?

I didn't know. Silence fell… I had no sense of time. The pain continued. Is this what death feels like? Do we retain consciousness after death? What if the body rots away? What if nothing remains but bones? I felt a great fear. I had never been so afraid.

Suddenly, in the silence that had lasted until then, I heard a strange sound. Quiet, distant... But growing... My terror reached its peak when I realized what it was. They were dogs. A pack of stray, feral, and constantly hungry dogs. There were plenty of them here. I could already hear them barking clearly. How they were approaching me. I knew what that meant... I was the perfect, fresh meal... I almost went mad with fear and terror when I saw them running towards me. There were five, maybe seven of them. All large. With open mouths, lolling tongues. They were racing towards me. Who would get there first and tear out the best piece of meat. The best piece of me... Suddenly, I felt a row of sharp fangs on my face. I felt them pierce my cheeks and burrow deep. Terrifying pain coursed through my entire body like an electric current. Another man was already tugging at my arm… I wanted to scream, to defend myself… I couldn't do anything… I didn't even pray…

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- Get up. Get dressed. Let's go.

Those three short words and a hard tug on my arm woke me from my already fairly alert sleep. It was Marcos. He only glanced to see if I'd opened my eyes and then left. I knew he'd be waiting outside. Still sleepy, I reached under the box next to the bed. There I held a pistol. My trusty Makarov.

So it was a dream? The pistol was still there. I sat for a moment, wondering what to do. I fiddled with the pistol, switching it from hand to hand. Suddenly, I released the safety, reloaded, and… put the barrel to my temple.

"They must know," I thought. I remembered them shooting at me, hanging upside down from a tree. I remembered the dogs and everything I felt. It was a dream, but it felt like no dream. It was so clear…

I pulled the trigger… I didn't even hear the gunshot…