McEwen Scott - Camp Valor

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This is dedicated to our kids. We have left you a difficult world but can only hope we have given you the skills within it to survive and thrive.

April 14, 1984, Night
Private Mooring off the Island of Eleuthera, Bahamas

It was day nine of a ten-day cruise aboard the Honduran mega-yacht La Crema, a dream vacation for most families. Not a drop of rain, seas glassy, humidity low, and yet the boys, both high-school freshmen, had hardly left their rooms. The culprit: video games. Donkey Kong, to be exact. And Colonel Victor Marvioso Madrugal Degas had had enough.

The Colonel yearned to barge into his sons stateroom, rip the Nintendo from the wall, and hurl the console through a porthole, right into the Caribbean, where the boys should have been swimming and snorkeling all along. But his son, Wilberforce, or Wil, as he had started calling himself in boarding school in the United States, seemingly had no interest in any activities outside of electronic games. And the Colonels wife, Claudia, would probably have dove in after the video game, lest, god forbid, they deprive their son of the mighty Kong.

So, with a measure of self-control highly unusual for a man who cut his teeth running death squads, the Colonel patiently sipped rum, smoked thin little cigars, and cheated at poker until 10 p.m., when he rose from the card table and told his guests he would be returning shortly. He jerked his chin to signal Claudia and two bodyguards to follow. Vmonos. Time to put women and nios to bed.

The boys didnt hear the door open but the scent of rum and cigarillos flooded the room. Neither moved, both hunkered down in front of the pixilated screen, listening to Princes Purple Rain on Wils jam box. The Colonel cringed. That music was for weirdos.

Wils mother entered first, swaying more than usual. She accidentally stepped on the back of Wils leg, spiking his calf with her high-heeled shoe.

Jeez, Mom, watch where youre going! Wil said.

Claudia planted a slobbery kiss on her sons cheek, muttering an apology about Dramamine and wine. She staggered out into the hallway, long nails clawing at the walls for support, and bumped her way down to the master stateroom.

Nios, said the Colonel, clapping his hands. It is ten oclock. Time for bed.

No, Daddy. Please, no. Just one more game. Please, said Wil. Im up against my personal best.

But Wils friend rose. Wil, the boy said, we promised wed stop at ten. Its time. He yawned. Plus, I think youll do better in the morning.

Good call. Wil snapped off the game and then the radio.

Thank you, Wil, said the Colonel, patting his sons head, but secretly irritated that Wil had been far quicker to obey his friends request than his own. Okay, you should brush your teeth, put on your PJs. And you the Colonel said, pointing to his sons friend, Manuelito will escort you to your room. Goodnight.

As soon as the boy was out of earshot, Wil asked, Why cant Chris stay in my room? Why does he have to sleep in the back of the ship with the servants?

Because you are almost fifteen. Too old for sleepovers and He motioned to the Nintendo. Video games and that make-believe game you play with wizards and strange things.

You mean Dungeons and Dragons?

Yes, said the Colonel. All of that childishness will end. As soon as it is safe for you to return to your own country, Ill send you to live with Abuela, the Colonel said with a smile, fondly recalling his youth. You will be raised in the village where I grew up. You will attend military academy during the day, and your abuela will take care of you, whip you into shape, and make you strong. Like she did with me. The Colonel drew in a breath, puffed out his chest, and struck a proud pose.

But Wils abuela scared him. She wore a nightgown all day, had a thick mustache, and smelled like a wet diaper. Then I hope it is never safe to return home! Wil said.

The Colonels fist moved faster than his mind. The boys head snapped backa good right crossand Wil collapsed at the Colonels Gucci slippers, blood seeping from the gash on his chin, courtesy of the Colonels pinky ringa hunk of gold and a large pink diamond. Wil began to moan a slow, loud wail that reminded the Colonel of old-fashioned fire alarms. The Colonel was disgusted. Cry like a man, he wanted to say, and then he tried to imagine a context in which it was acceptable for a man to cryan Olympic podium, perhaps? Instead, the Colonel said what fathers always say, Well discuss this in the morning. He stepped over his bawling son and left the room.

Lock him in, the Colonel said to the guard waiting in the hallway. Same with his friend in the back of the boat. And make sure neither leaves their room tonight.

The Colonel turned on his heels, enjoying the silky feeling of his slippers on the plush coral carpet, and headed back to the Game Room. He was eager to return to his beloved gambling, but an unpleasant thought nagged at him. It wasnt that he didnt like Wils friend, whose name he could never remember. Ken, Carl, Chris? Something boring like that. Chris Gibbs. Yes, that was his name.

No, Chris was okay by the Colonel. In fact, the Colonel thought the Gibbs boy was a decent kidhealthy, tall, thick head of hair, good teeth. He was athletic in that wiry kind of way, which makes for good baseball pitchers and ftbol goalies. Chris was the kind of boy the Colonel wished his son would emulate. What bothered the Colonel about Wils friend was that he couldnt figure out why he was friends with his son. Wilberforce was different. Strange. He was a Latino teenager with no fire, pale and gloomy. He had yellow, crooked teeth, absentmindedly pulled out his own hair, and smelled funny. Why would this normal upstanding American boy spend time with his weird little son? Was the boy using Wil for access to money and power? Perhaps. The Colonel himself had exploited and ultimately betrayed every friend hed ever had. Even that would be understandable. But even more troubling, what if the boy wasnt using his son for gain? What if the friendship was the result of something else? Something unnatural? Their friendship did not feel natural. The Colonel couldnt quite place what it was that bothered him about the boy, but he was absolutely certain something wasnt right. As helpful and friendly and polite as the boy seemed, the Colonel sensed a threat, and the Colonel had excellent instincts in such things.

*

The Colonel was right to worry. The boy, whose real name and identity were classified Top Secret and known only to the highest levels of the U.S. military, climbed into his bed and waited until the guard locked the door from the outside, effectively trapping him in his room.

The boy rose, crept to the door, and pressed his ear to it, listening for the guards retreating footsteps, but he heard nothing. The Colonel must have ordered the guard to stay outside, and the boy was fine with that. The team that had prepared him for this mission had planned for every conceivable eventuality, including this one.