FALLEN | The Devil of Caracas

Chapter 3 | Los Bastardos Invisibles

Near Torgua, Venezuela | 08:56 hours

Three men kneel in a line. They wrestle against the zip-ties, strapping their hands behind their backs. Miguel anxiously shifts his weight, digging his boney knees into the dirt, as he struggles to find a comfortable balance. He looks to his left at Gonzalo, who sobs quietly to himself. He wishes he could offer encouraging words with the young man, but knows they would just be lies. Only seventeen years old, Gonzalo is far too young for this fate.

Glancing to his right, he studies Pedro's angry expression. The hot-headed gangster twists his hands against the zip-tie, subtly fighting to squirm free.

Surrounding these prisoners, are the four corpses of their fallen comrades. In the small jungle clearing, lie four tents and an improvised wall-less shelter for cooking the cocaine. Masked commandos scavenge the campsite for evidence and contraband. Three of these men stack the blocks of narcotics and discuss how they want to move it out, while another examines the campsite for additional evidence. Meanwhile, Miguel, Pedro, and Gonzalo face down the barrel of an AK-103 assault rifle, wielded by another masked man.

The commandos wear civilian clothing - jeans and T-shirts - with bulletproof vests, and thin black balaclavas covering their faces. These men are neither handled by local police nor military; therefore they are bound by no laws. Their employer is wealthy, well informed, and ruthless.

Nicolás, the leader of these dangerous men, steps toward the three prisoners. He relaxes his own AK-103 to his side, as it dangles from the strap. Pausing, he stares down the captives. "Who handles your distribution?" he asks. The prisoners remain quiet. "Answer my question."

He eyes Gonzalo, clearly distraught and still sobbing. Nicolás strides over and examines him, carefully. He then takes his time, stepping in front of each prisoner, studying them one by one.

He finally stops in front of Pedro, who holds his gaze. Nicolás cocks his head to the side as he stares down at him. The prisoner glares back, defiantly.

"Who handles your distribution?" he asks Pedro.

Pedro grimaces. "When they find you, they will cut you to pieces," he says. "Then they will stuff you in a box, and ship it to your family."

"Hm," says Nicolás, unphased by the threat. "Let me rephrase - tell me who handles your distribution and I just might spare your life," he replies, calmly. Gonzalo mutters a silent prayer, as he begins to quiver.

"You really think you can run from us?" replies Pedro. "You'll never be safe, hombre. You hide behind your mask like you're invincible, but trust me, they will find you... and they will kill you. And then they'll kill your family." He scoffs. "We're untouchable, hombre; you kill us and they'll come for you."

Nicolás studies Pedro. 'This one will do,' he thinks to himself. He reaches up and peels the Balaclava from his face. His men halt their tasks and observe their commander carefully. These warriors take the secrecy of their identity seriously and are stunned by this move.

He crouches down, setting his rifle in the dirt, next to him. His shark-like eyes stare into Pedro's face. Nicolás' long hair, drenched in sweat, hangs down just over his collar, and his face adorns a well-trimmed goatee. His features are sharp and his cheekbones pronounced.

"You know what they call us?" Nicolás asks Pedro. "All the other boys in your little, uh- organization... They call us The Invisible Bastards." He searches the prisoner's face. "Because they can't find us... They've never seen us and lived to tell the others."

He leans in closer. The prisoner shows no fear, nor sign of yielding, as they both glare at one another. "Perhaps you'll be the first to tell the tale... So, are you telling me, there's nothing I can do to you, to convince you to tell me what I want?" he asks.