The Devils Missed Her

By Nourie Parker

A group of journalists enters the vast South American rainforest in search of an ancient temple that is endangered by the country's ongoing guerrilla warfare. When a tragedy strikes, they quickly realize they are in for a life-or-death situation and not all of them will make it out alive. What follows is a series of events that will reveal the dark secrets one of the group members holds.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris NZ
• Release date: Apr 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781499099409

Nourie Parker

During his childhood, Nourie Parker moved constantly with his family to various countries, experiencing different cultures that propelled his imagination. Competitions were always part of his life, be it a television quiz show in South Korea, mathematics tournaments in Philippines, or winning awards from Young Enterprise Scheme. He is now located in New Zealand and is an aspiring film student.

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Copyright © 2017 by Nourie Parker.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2017901810

ISBN:      Hardcover         978-1-4990-9939-3

                Softcover           978-1-4990-9938-6

          eBook                  978-1-4990-9940-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 07/18/2018

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Contents

Part 1 The Clear Storm

Part 2 The Return

Part 3 Superior

Part 4 Tartarus

Part 5 Flight

Epilogue

Part 1

The Clear Storm

S HE THOUGHT THERE WAS NOTHING to fear. It was somewhat different to her usual assignments, but there was a clear purpose to it. Another day, another job.

Serene Havoc always liked airports. Its procedures might be a chore for others but not for her. She liked its hygienic environment and took pleasure from every minute of it, including the traffic, the waiting in lines, the occasional flight delays, and the complaints about them.

The truth was that the airports were the least physically demanding part of her job. Compared to what she’d be doing later on, it was a period where she could be lax. A calm before the storm.

There was a ticket in her jacket, scheduled to depart to a South American country, Palalu, at 8.40 a.m. It was still dark outside, and the airport was just getting ready for the day ahead. She had arrived much earlier than she needed to be. In her experience, the more time you had and with fewer people in the line behind you, the friendlier airports were.

Havoc felt a slender hand gently touching her shoulder. It was her companion Anderson Fisk. I got the coffees, said Fisk. Havoc turned her body slightly to reach for the hot paper cup in Fisk’s right hand.

Which one’s mine? she asked.

The one you took, Fisk replied, fixing his glasses with his free hand. He must have wanted to do that for a while now. He took a seat in front of Havoc and sipped his cup.

Closing her eyes, Havoc inhaled the warm aroma. The bitter scent of black coffee shot into her nose, and she smiled automatically. When she looked up to drink, her eyes met Fisk’s, who grinned at her with satisfaction.

This is good, she said. She rustled her short brown hair to divert his attention and drank some more.

Better than an average Starbucks, right? They just opened up like a week ago, Fisk said.

Havoc nodded in agreement. Fisk always showed enthusiasm with the shops he liked. Occupational habit, he liked to call it. He did used to work as a food columnist before becoming an editor in chief. That meant he was often eager to try out new things while comparing them to others. Some thought it was an annoying habit, but Havoc didn’t mind. She was used to it. You sure you don’t want something to eat? They had this toasted bagel sandwich too.

Havoc shook her head. Tell me more about this guy we’re supposed to meet, she said. She knew Fisk would know who she was talking about.

Who, Mr Grass? I gave you his background already. It’s in the yellow folder.

Come on, she said.

Well, from what I’ve heard, Mr Percy Grass is the go-to guy for expedition anywhere in this region. When I talked to him on the phone, he said he knew his way in jungles, speaks a bunch of languages, and I read a review on him saying that he’s very charming.

Havoc burst out laughing as Fisk chuckled at his own words. She had seen the photo of Percy Grass from the folder, and he did look handsome in a rugged way.

Who reviews a person? she asked, still laughing.

I don’t know. Someone did.

What else?

Thinking for a moment, Fisk said, Well, this isn’t in the review, but he’s probably an ex-military. Fisk was usually good at guessing people’s occupations.

Nothing to worry about then, Havoc said, finishing her coffee.

Fisk changed his tone. Anyways, it’s not him I’m worried about. It’s still a dangerous place, he said. I’m sorry I can’t go with you this time.

Andy, we’ll be fine.

Yes, Andy, we will be fine, a loud voice came from behind. It was Alan Wepper. Good morning, Serene, he said.

Both of them stood up to greet him. Wepper was a freelance journalist who agreed to write the piece on Templo de Brujo, an obscure abandoned temple in Palaluan jungle. He was a friend of Fisk’s despite being 15 years his senior, and this would make it the third time Havoc worked with him.

Got your cameras ready? All set to go on an adventure? Wepper asked excitedly. Havoc smiled and nodded. Good, good.

Wepper was wearing clip-on sunglasses over his spectacles, which Havoc thought made him look ridiculous. Not that he cared much about his appearance. Whenever he was criticised about his fashion, Wepper always argued that he’s never in the photos anyway.

Where’s Mr Clere? Fisk asked.

He’ll be in a minute. Just calling his mom. Laughing at his own joke, Wepper took a seat next to Fisk. He detached the clip-ons and squeezed them in his backpack. Every time Havoc worked with Wepper, she saw him dragging around that old bag, always filled to its neck with stuff. It was funny how she never really knew what he carried in it. The things he used for actual work, such as his notepad and a pen, were noticeably placed in his pockets.

Wepper quickly scanned his companions and now felt like he needed a coffee as well. Except for basic survival, coffee was probably the only consumable product that has ever helped him work. It’s too late now, he thought, as he watched his colleague walking towards them.

Take a seat, Lenny. We were just talking about you, Wepper said cheerfully.

This was the first time Havoc met Leonard Clere. He was a man in his early twenties, well built, and tanned despite it being November. She knew him by reputation as a young man who liked traveling and only started outdoor photography recently. He was a rock climber and started to shoot photos to give himself an extra challenge. Apparently, he was also close friends with Wepper. There was an air of formality around him, which she wasn’t expecting based on how he was described by others. He greeted the group and took a seat next to her.

Alan, you mentioned a local guide in your email, Fisk said. Is he someone you know?

Yeah, his name is Chutu Alvarez, and I’ve known him for some time. Remember my piece on the guerrillas few years back? Wepper asked. To his disappointment, Fisk shook his head. "Well, I was in Palalu when I wrote that article, for the Economist actually, and this guy was my guide there. Didn’t exactly stay in touch after that, but hey, when I heard you ask me about Palalu, that guy just clicked to me."

I tried to look him up on the internet but couldn’t find any info on him, Clere said. This was likely a concern to him as much as it was a concern to Fisk. Anderson Fisk liked to handpick the crews himself for projects like this. He had voiced his concern to Havoc before and thought Percy Grass was enough company.

Yeah, well, I say that’s a good thing. He’s not exactly a professional. But that’s what makes him better for us, more authentic, Wepper argued. He was slightly annoyed that these guys were bringing this up now when everything had been arranged already. He’s an old friend. He speaks fluent English, knows his way around the jungle—come on, you’re making me sound like a salesman.

I like your pitch, Alan, but I just want to make sure he’s cool with the current situation in Palalu, Fisk said carefully. He didn’t want to offend Wepper especially half an hour before the flight.

Andy, he’s a local. Of course, he’s not cool with it. But it’s not like the guerrillas suddenly appeared a week ago. These people live there.

All right, if you say so. Fisk shrugged. He wondered if he’d feel better about the additional guide if he was going with them. Perhaps the fact that Havoc was going but not him made the whole thing seem more precarious. Then again, he knew Wepper for a long time and never had any problems with people around him.

Ms Havoc, is this your first time going to Palalu? Clere asked, trying to change the topic.

Yeah. Call me Serene, Havoc replied as she reached her right hand out to Clere. He shook it and smiled. I did visit South America multiple times, though, she added.

Clere already knew some of the countries Havoc visited for her work: Honduras, Brazil, Mexico, and maybe more. For some of those places, she even went alone.

Ah yes, Leonard, I probably mentioned it before, but I’m bringing you along on this trip solely because Serene is going. You’ve got a lot to learn from her, Wepper said loudly.

The man sure liked to promote others. Havoc blushed at the praise out of nowhere. She did not realise Wepper regarded her as a role model and almost felt bad for not being able to come up with a praise for him in return.

For the past five years, Serene Havoc worked as an international photographer for Anderson Fisk’s magazine Global Now. The job gave her an opportunity to travel to various countries for exclusive views of the world.

The popular observation on her work for Global Now was that even when she was just starting out, she ended up with the most unpopular locations. Unpopular meant that the sites she worked on were avoided by her colleagues because they were highly dangerous. Whether it was a war zone, a raging volcano, or some place just plain difficult for people to live in, she completed her tasks with ease, which earned her respect among those who knew her personally and even attracted interest from those who didn’t.

She often said (to her acquaintances, whom there weren’t that many) that her choices weren’t deliberate, but it was a well-known rumour that she was quite a daredevil. That she actually chose to go to the places that she did. No one could say for sure, however, as she rarely had social interaction with anyone but Fisk, who usually went on the same trip as her. Their relationship fuelled this theory of her outgoing tendencies, if not outright confirmed it.

After discussing their schedule in detail, the group decided to head for the international terminal. The airport was starting to get crowded by the minute. Wepper and Clere took their bags, bid farewell, and started to walk away from the lobby area.

Watching them go, Havoc took her black jacket off and gave it to Fisk. He received it and handed her a bag in return.

You sure you don’t need this on the plane? he asked, waving the jacket slightly.

Havoc shook her head. I don’t want to carry it around once I get there, she said. The bag was heavy due to there being three different cameras, each in their cases for protection.

Have a safe trip, he said. Havoc smiled back and waved as she walked towards the direction where the other two had gone already.

See you soon, Andy.

Call me when you need anything. Fisk stayed in his spot and watched Havoc disappear through the gate to the terminal. Once she was out of his sight, he looked around the airport. I’ll try that bagel sandwich, he thought.

To their surprise, they weren’t the first to arrive to the boarding gate. Far from it. Although Palalu was selected as a country to avoid for travellers for several years now, there were still many people lined up to board the plane. Many of them looked like they were on their way back home.

For the general public, Palalu was a country with an unstable government, to put it lightly. Every time it was mentioned during an evening news, it was either about a failed coup or a successful one. There were numerous warring factions within the country, most of which, from an outsider’s point of view, had pretty much identical goals: the control of the country’s natural resources.

What the general public didn’t know was that compared to other South American nations, Palalu was a relatively small country and yet had a great deal of gold and silver mines. This attracted foreign mining companies to take over most of its land, and the result was nothing short of a chaos. It became a common occurrence for the government to sell an entire village only to have its villagers turn up with guns the next day. With increasing level of violence throughout the country, anyone who could afford the price left their homes for other nations even if it meant leaving their family members behind.

Most of the passengers were visiting Palalu for Thanksgiving. It was an opportunity to save flight costs before they went up towards the end of the year. This was their annual visit to home.

Alan Wepper understood these foreign circumstances. Or at least he tried his best to. Working as an international journalist for almost two decades, he was the most experienced member of the team. If there was one thing that changed in him over the course of his professional career, it was that he became more interested in the people than the objects of journalism. Always wondering how the people looked at things.

That was why he was no longer contracted to any fixed terms with a particular magazine. He was too vocal and opinionated. But as his work ethics did not diminish his social connections and journalistic skills, he continued to write and even had his own reader base.

This was why having a local guide as a companion for their trip was a must for him. Fisk just wanted an article on the pyramid-shaped temple and didn’t see the point of an extra person. But to Wepper, the topic was only an excuse for him to write about Palalu itself.

Once the passengers started to board the plane, it didn’t take long before everyone was on board. Despite the queue, the seats were only half full, leaving free seats for those who took them.

Instead of trying to find a better seat, Havoc went to her assigned seat and opened the luggage cabinet above her. She put her bag in the cabinet, which she left open for her companions to use, and sat by the window.

Clere followed and placed his bag next to hers. As he was about to sit on the aisle beside Havoc, Wepper tapped his shoulder. He was signalling that they take the seats behind her.

Clere was hoping to chat more with Havoc. He knew her only through her reputation and wanted to know her properly before they got to work together. As she didn’t have any social networking service accounts, Clere didn’t even know her face until now. At her age and profession, this was extremely uncommon. So when he finally got to see her in person, he was eager to learn more about her.

We’ll take the seats behind you, Serene, Wepper announced to Clere’s disappointment. She nodded at them in response. You want the aisle or the window? Wepper asked.

Might as well stare at the sky, Clere thought. He shrugged and took the window seat. Just before sitting, Wepper observed Havoc pulling out her earphones and putting them to her ears. We’re giving the lady some space, Lenny, Wepper said in a low voice.

Alan, I hope we aren’t isolating her. Maybe she wants to talk, Clere said.

You’d be even more disappointed at me if I didn’t stop you from sitting next to her. Trust me, you guys will eventually get along. Just not right now. Wepper took out a magazine from the seat pocket. Besides, she’s with Anderson anyways, he added.

Clere wanted to argue what that’s got to do with anything, but he didn’t. He knew that Wepper was a considerate person. Sometimes he went overboard, but he always had good intentions. It was his idea to take Clere to Palalu, after all.

The eight-hour flight to Palalu was a brisk one. The men were able to get some shut-eye while Havoc spent her time watching western films, among other things.

The plane landed with no difficulty, and the passengers started to disembark. Wepper handed out the luggage to others, and the three headed for the boarding bridge.

As soon as she took a step into the boarding bridge, Havoc felt the sticky heat of South America shrouding her body. It was a good choice to leave the jacket. She looked around and saw smiles on other passengers’ faces. The hot and humid temperature was an immediate welcome for the returning locals. Although there was air-conditioning within the airport once they got off the bridge, the feel of being home was already there.

Growing up in Minnesota, Havoc was accustomed to colder climates. Which didn’t necessarily mean she liked it. On the contrary, she actually preferred the tropical climate.

She felt her body warm up and sweat after mere seconds into the bridge. As she reached the main building of the airport, the automatic door opened, sending cool air to the approaching passengers. The temperature difference was high, and she could see the people shivering because of it.

Clere felt the similar chill while entering the arrival zone. Looking out the glass walls, he saw the large open space for the airport and the city beyond it. It certainly better than what he thought he’d see. There were several apartments in the distance while the majority of the land was occupied by smaller buildings and trees. It was already close to four o’clock in the afternoon, and he could see that the other passengers were hurrying to get out of the airport.

Going through the duty-free, he saw a wood doll shop and approached it. The dolls looked like they were made in a traditional style but in high quality. They probably went through intensive polish work to attract the tourists. Before he could get near it to take a closer look, Clere felt a familiar tap on his shoulders.

Come on, Lenny. You’ll get time later, Wepper said. He then turned to Havoc and shrugged. He’s just a kid, ain’t he?

I don’t mind, Havoc said. I think we’re early.

By then Clere had already taken his mind off the dolls. Just looking at Havoc, he felt the need to act more serious. A need to impress the professional he barely knew. Yeah, I bet Mr Grass is waiting for us, he said.

Walking out of the arrival gate, the passengers were met by the crowd of people waiting for their acquaintances to come out. The team was supposed to meet with Percy Grass here, although they were half hour earlier than scheduled.

With a quick scan, Havoc was able to pick out the man. Grass had short blonde hair, looked like he didn’t shave for a few days and wore mirrored aviators. He was standing still like a statue among the people, and when she looked at him, he beamed in recognition.

That’s him, Havoc told Wepper. He looked at the direction she was staring and raised his hand.

Mr Grass! Nice to meet you, Wepper said as the team approached Grass. He signalled that they move to the side, away from the crowd. The team followed his lead.

As the crew got close, Grass took his aviators off, revealing his brown eyes.

Percy Grass, nice to meet you. Grass beamed as he shook hands with Wepper. Mr Wepper, am I right? he asked.

Yes, call me Alan. This is Leonard Clere, our assistant photographer. Grass moved on to shake Clere’s hands. Just by shaking hands, Clere could feel the muscles in Grass’s palm. Clere considered himself to be quite athletic, but this man was on a different level. And this is Ms Havoc, Wepper added.

Serene Havoc, she said as she quickly shook Grass’s hands.

Nice shirt, Grass said. Havoc automatically looked down on her light-blue shirt that had a French quote on it. Alain Delon, right? Havoc nodded and was impressed that someone actually recognised a quote from the old French actor. Wepper knew who they were talking about but had no idea Havoc would have one of his quotes in her shirt.

Welcome to Palalu. It’s kinda getting late, so let’s all go get dinner first, and then I’ll take you to your hotel. How ’bout it? Grass asked.

Sounds like a plan to me. Uh, we also have an extra companion. A local. I’m sure Anderson contacted you about him? Wepper asked.

Yes, Mr Fisk did call me about Mr Chutu Alvarez. Do you have a meeting point with him?

We arranged to meet at seven in a restaurant, Besos Latinos, Iglesia Street.

Good choice. We’ll get there in no time. Shall we get moving? The others agreed, and the group moved out of the airport. Grass became the leader of the team in no time. And it wasn’t just because he had the local knowledge. He had that air of authority while being sociable. His decision making was fast, simple, and logical.

Outside the airport, the group saw a long queue made by people waiting to get on the buses. It was a familiar sight for Havoc, and she walked towards the back of the line. Grass took a glance at the group and noticed her moving away.

Wait, Ms Havoc, Grass said loudly. I brought my own ride, he explained.

The wave of humid heat agitated Clere. The outdoor environment was even hotter than what he expected from walking through the boarding bridge. Air felt sticky; and while he had no problems with sweat, he wanted some breezes to cool him off, which, at the moment, he wasn’t getting any. Combined with a large number of people around the area, the atmosphere made him feel uncomfortable.

It was a relief for him that Grass had brought his own car. The buses were crammed and looked like they were as old as he was. The group walked through a large parking lot, and Grass beeped his white Land Rover. Its exteriors weren’t exactly fancy, but the van was at least large enough for seven people.

When he opened the door, Clere grimaced. He was annoyed that the inside of the van was even hotter than just standing under the sun. Grass must’ve been at the airport for a while.

Won’t we be a bit early if we’re going straight to the restaurant? Wepper asked as he took the passenger seat. He had scheduled the meeting with Chutu Alvarez expecting to take a bus ride there.

I’ll take the scenic route. If we’re still early, we’ll just chat around once we get there. Maybe have some beer, Grass replied. He twisted the keys, and the engine rumbled to life.

Wepper glanced at Grass’s key bundle and noticed he only had two keys. Attached on them were countless accessories, which seemed a little excessive. Some of them looked like random pieces of metal. Wepper wondered where he got all those weird shaped items.

Tell me when the car gets too cold, guys. I don’t mind heat, I don’t mind cold. Anything that comforts you is fine by me, Grass said. The air conditioner instantly changed the temperature inside.

Finally feeling comfortable, Clere relaxed himself in the backseat. I’m sorry for asking, but will we ride for long? he asked.

You guys can sleep if you want. There will be traffic at this hour. Grass knew what the young man wanted. When he saw Clere at the airport gate, he instantly knew that it was his first visit to South America. It was pretty obvious especially when compared to his two companions. Clere smiled and leaned against his side of the window.

Havoc wasn’t tired. She was excited to be in a foreign country and wouldn’t have minded taking that bus. The air-conditioning from the car quickly cooled her sweat and was starting to give her chills. She looked out the window and absorbed every scenery on display. Judging by what she saw at the moment, the country was beautiful. Anywhere she looked, there were buildings, people, and trees. Intentionally or not, there was no doubt that nature has blended well with the urban environment.

So how long have you been living here? Wepper asked. The info Fisk gave him had nothing useful except for Grass’s name and age.

Here as in Palalu? Or South America? Grass asked back.

Wepper shrugged. Both if you don’t mind.

Palalu, for about 2 years, not consecutively. South America, I guess it’s been about 30 years now.

So you move around a lot?

Yep, I’ve been to every country in South America. If I get bored with one place, I go to another. Sometimes I come back. Repeat. Grass chuckled. I like to think, in a classic arrogant American tradition, that this continent is one giant country composed of multiple states, like America.

Wow.

It’s not cultural insensitivity. It’s me being American.

You ever been to Templo de Brujo before?

Grass thought for a bit. He didn’t want to make his clients worried. No, I haven’t. he said. To tell you the truth, it didn’t make it into my list of places to visit. But I’m looking forward to it, nonetheless.

Wepper was actually glad to hear this. More proof that he made the right call, hiring an extra guide. He knew for certain that Chutu Alvarez had been to the temple. The last time they met, Alvarez wanted to take him there but their schedule had no room for it.

In fact, I’ve only heard of that place once in my life. From you guys. May I ask why you wanna go there?

"National Geographic selected it as one of the ancient structures that won’t last another decade. So we thought we might as well visit it before the inevitable destruction," Wepper replied.

Havoc had read the article as well. Templo de Brujo was listed as number ten in the list of ten ancient structures. Although it was included in the feature, the lack of information and photos of the actual temple made its piece a minor one, to say the least. It was Anderson Fisk’s idea to go and capture what possibly could be its last official look.

Well, judging by the location in the map, yeah, I’m not surprised. That temple’s been in the firing range for a long time now. Can’t say for sure if people are gonna miss it, but this country really can’t afford to lose another piece of its history, Grass said. Wepper nodded in agreement.

As he stopped for the traffic light, Grass glanced through his rear-view mirror and saw Clere slouched in his seat while Havoc was looking out the window.

"So Ms Havoc, the shirt is from Le Samourai, right?" he asked, trying to involve her in the discussion. Havoc looked at the mirror and met eyes with him.

It is. I didn’t think anyone would know it, Havoc replied.

Oh, it’s hard to not know who Delon is when you’re my age. Grass laughed.

Did you like the film? she asked.

Oh yeah. Delon’s one cool guy. Saw it long, long time ago though. He lowered the air-con temperature level. So you guys make a team? I mean, do you work together like this all the time?

No, not all the time, Havoc answered.

Serene and I have worked together before but not often. I’m a freelance, and Lenny, our sleeping beauty, is new to the business, Wepper said.

I see. Do the jobs normally go like this for you guys then?

There was a pause, and Wepper turned to look at Havoc. She shrugged.

More or less, Wepper said.

Besos Latinos was the first restaurant Alan Wepper had his meal the last time he was in Palalu. Located in Iglesia Street, the restaurant was once famous for its cricket quesadillas.

Although Wepper did not necessarily enjoy the cricket part of it, he did love its open-space atmosphere where seats and tables went out of the restaurant to be a part of the street. The breaded chicken dish he had from the place was one of the many things he fell in love with in this country.

What he didn’t know was that the business has been declining for Besos Latinos during the past few years. Once its owner, and incidentally its chef, saved up enough money to leave the country to be with his daughter’s family in California, he did so without hesitation, selling the place to a businessman.

As the Land Rover passed by the restaurant, Wepper noticed that it wasn’t as packed as he remembered it to be. In fact, it wasn’t just the restaurant. The whole street seemed curiously empty.

There were plenty of parking space,