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El Salvador, 1932
As soon as I landed, two military trucks flanked the plane. Slowing to a stop, I turned to my client. "Twelve hours," we said together. I
wished him luck and he jumped out the hatch to my left. He ran, but the soldiers caught him. I looked to my right and smiled to the man with
the rifle.
I was driven to the capital city, relieved of my wallet, watch, and
folding knife, and placed in a holding cell. A beefy guard watched me. In my head, I called him Gordo.
About an hour later, a taller, wiry man entered. His uniform showed
officer's markings. I snapped to attention though he wasn't much scarier than Gordo.
In Spanish he asked why I'd ignored repeated orders not to land. I
shrugged as if I didn't know the language. He stood close enough that I could see his pupils narrow.
In English he asked, "Who was the man with you?"
"You haven't asked him?"
He didn't flinch. "Tell me what he told you."
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