The flight was long and Avery tried to catch some sleep. It was no use, his memories wouldn’t let him rest. He kept seeing the bleak faces of the men he should have saved. He could feel their despair. He knew their pain as they died. The guilt was still with him forty-two years after the fact. The twin-engine craft set down in the capitol city of Puerto Sangria.

     The harbor has been a haven for pirates and smugglers for nearly two hundred years. The city itself was dominated by architecture from the Spanish colonial period. Unfortunately, the beauty this place must have once had was gone. Puerto Sangria was a desperate city in a destitute country. Everything was decaying and in disrepair. It was the type of place where an elaborate plantation home could share the block with a corrugated metal barrio. The mostly unpaved streets were open to man and beast alike.

     Walking around town, Avery tried to get a feel for the place. People were nervous and suspicious. The citizens of the island nation would speak freely of social conditions, but clammed up when the conversation turned to drug trafficking. There was guerrilla activity in the countryside and talk of revolution on the street. El Presidente was a cruel dictator with no support from the masses. Avery spotted several Americans that he was certain were CIA. A coup d’etat was in the works.

     Avery had learned from his many overseas deployments that when you need information, the best person to ask is a prostitute. It didn’t take long for him to find Puerto Sangria’s red light district; it was practically the whole town. Avery spoke enough Spanish to get by. He spread a little money around and asked about Orosco. Most of the working girls were afraid to talk about the drug lord, but Avery finally found one who dared.

     The loose-lipped hooker told Avery about a social club frequented by Orosco’s clique. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Avery found the club easily—the street in front of the club was crowded with expensive European automobiles. Avery watched men dressed in flashy clothes come and go from the club. There was also a steady stream of young women, laden with jewels but not much else. Avery was disgusted by the reckless display of wealth in this poverty-stricken country, especially since he knew none of the club-goers earned their money honestly.

     Watching the social club didn’t yield any useful information. While walking the streets, trying to plan his next move, Avery became aware of a commotion down an alley. He saw four street punks strong-arming a defenseless man. As if by instinct, he snatched a decent-sized plank of wood and ran down the alley, swinging the board from side to side. He split heads and kicked asses until the thugs ran off.

     The man, who said his name was Raul, was grateful. Raul was in his early fifties and looked like a farmer or laborer. Avery asked him what he knew about Orosco. The man said that drug money owned the government and that Orosco was the real law of the land. Avery told Raul the story of how his son had been kidnapped and asked if he knew where Peter might have been taken.

     “The narcos are powerful and many men disappear. People think Orosco kills them, but I know better. The Matador takes them,” Raul whispered.

     “The Matador?” questioned Avery.

     Raul lowered his voice further. “Si, the Killer. He takes the people and does bad things to them. Unholy things.”

     Raul was too nervous to say any more, so Avery sent him on his way. At least Avery now had something to go on. He had to find The Matador.

     Avery checked into a hotel in what was considered the American section of the city. He thought about going to the police, but this was a place where money was king and corruption was commonplace. He also considered appealing to the U.S. consulate, but the political climate was tense and he doubted the embassy would consider his problem a priority. Avery was the only one that cared about Peter, and he would have to deal with this himself. He decided to keep poking around until he turned up something of pissed off the right guy.

     Avery had had a long day and was ready for sleep.  A knock at the door interrupted his preparations for bed. With the security chain in place, he opened it slightly. A medium-sized man stood there, dressed in green fatigues pants and a white tank top. His complexion was dark, but the light was too dim for Avery to determine whether he was black or Latino. The man had an expressionless face and vacant eyes that didn’t appear to blink. It didn’t feel right. Apparently Avery had already pissed off the right person.

     “Who are you?” asked Avery.

     The odd man said nothing.  He continued to stand at the door, starring blankly. All of a sudden he jerked to attention, as if he’d received an electric shock. He instantly trained his attention on Avery and tried to grab him through the cracked door. With his battle-trained quick reaction, Avery fought him off, slammed the door closed, and locked it. Avery didn’t have time for his next move; the man came crashing through the door. Avery seized a lamp and smashed it over the man’s head. The lamp shattered.  The man was unfazed.

     With incredible swiftness and strength, the man took hold of Avery and began to strangle him. Avery was unable to break his grip, so he battered the man’s face, to no effect. As the man forced Avery against the wall, Avery knew he was moments from death. He frantically reached out in all directions. His hand found a sharp piece of wood from the broken doorframe. In a last desperate move, Avery plunged the two-foot long splinter into the crazed man’s neck.

     The man released Avery and staggered back. He removed the wooden skewer from his neck and, in doing so, unleashed a stream of blood. As Avery tried to catch his breath, the man came at him again. Avery ducked under the attack and zipped into the bathroom. He closed the door, but knew it would only buy him a few seconds.

     Avery took down the shower rod, and quickly rid it of the curtain. As the man came through the door, Avery plunged the metal rod into his stomach. Mustering all of his strength, Avery drove the man back and impaled him to the wall. To Avery’s disbelief, the man didn’t die. He didn’t scream either. He struggled with the rod, trying to free himself.

     Avery decided it was time to cut his loses. He headed for the exit, but the inhuman man freed himself in time to tackle Avery at the door. He climbed onto Avery’s back, thrust his arm under Avery’s chin, and locked him in a chokehold. Avery reached for the broken lamp at his feet.  He was able to grasp the inner shaft from the broken lamp and used it to stab wildly over his shoulder, finally managing to wedge the broken bulb into the psychotic man’s eye. His attacker didn’t even loosen his hold on Avery.  Slipping toward unconsciousness, Avery saw that the lamp was still plugged into the wall socket. With a last gasp of effort, Avery reached out and clicked the switch on the lamp cord.

     There was a short shock, which Avery himself felt, and then the power went out. The man released Avery and stood up. Avery rolled over and saw the man convulsing. Avery seized the opportunity. He staggered to his feet, lowered his head, and rammed him in the midsection. The force of the blow sent the man crashing through the window.

     Avery went to the broken opening. He looked down three stories and saw his would-be killer lying on the ground, still shaking. A black sedan glided to a stop in front of the man. Two tacky men got out, lifted the twitching man, and hoisted him into the vehicle’s trunk. The driver of the sedan, who stepped out of the car to supervise this activity, didn’t seem to fit in with his companions. He wore thick glasses, had a badly pockmarked face, and sported extremely curly hair that he had unsuccessfully tried to part on the side. He did not appear to be a Latino.

     The two henchmen closed the trunk and got back in the car. The driver looked up at Avery. They held eye contact for a long uneasy moment. The driver looked angry as he got back in the car. The sedan sped off.

     The hotel manager was unsympathetic about the attack. He explained that in this poor country it was common for bandits to prey on American tourists. Avery was given a new room and a certificate for a free continental breakfast.

     It was obvious to Avery that his cover was blown. He’d been asking too many questions and Orosco’s people were on to him. He hadn’t gathered enough intelligence to formulate a plan, and now it was too late. He could cut and run, but that wasn’t his way. He had fought for his country, put his life on the line for the flag; he certainly could die for his son. A covert operation was out of the question. It was time for a direct assault.

     Avery knew men like Orosco only understood one thing: money. If Peter had ripped him off, Avery would offer to pay him back. By selling his house and cashing in his bonds, he could come up with a hundred thousand dollars.

     The next day, Avery went back to the social club. He cornered the first well-dressed lackey he saw. Without a hint of uncertainty in his voice, he told the kingpin’s underling that he had Orosco’s money and wanted to make a deal. Avery said they knew where to find him and left.

     On his way back to the hotel, Avery was approached by an American “tourist.” He’d seen plenty of tourists like this in Vietnam. He knew they were CIA. The man identified himself only as Mr. Jones. He wanted to know why Avery was poking around Castigo Roca. Avery said he was on vacation, taking in the sights.

     “This place is a pressure-cooker. The last thing we need is some gung-ho ex-warrior looking to relive past glory,” Jones said.

     Avery drew himself up to a ramrod position.  “What do you know about me?”

     “Everything. I know your combat record and I know you had enchiladas for lunch,” smirked the agent.

     Avery never had been fond of intelligence operatives, and this guy was a weasel. He started to walk away, when Jones grabbed his arm.

     “Whatever you have planned, cancel it. This is my operation. If you think you can pull a Lausong here, think again,” Jones warned.

     Avery pulled away and moved off. Why did he have to mention Lausong, thought Avery. It’s hard enough for me to get that place out of my head without people reminding me.

     Lausong was a Japanese prison camp that he’d help liberate in World War II. While the atrocities committed by the Nazis are well known, fewer people were aware of the war crimes committed by the Japanese. American POWs had been tortured and killed at Lausong. The Japanese had conducted ghastly medical experiments on captured soldiers. The truth about Lausong twisted Avery into sickening knots.

     Avery went back to his room. He didn’t have to wait long. The knock on his door told him his plan was working. He went to the window and saw several black luxury sedans on the street below. There were a dozen men armed with assault rifles next to the column of cars.

     Avery opened the door. He knew he was face to face with Paulo Orosco. Unlike his staff, Orosco was dressed in a tasteful designer suit. He had slicked-back hair and a cruel, serious face. He was flanked by two lieutenants who carried submachine guns. The party invited themselves into the hotel room.

     “You are either the stupidest or the bravest man I’ve ever met. To me, they are the same thing. I don’t like people asking questions,” said Orosco.  He spoke with a heavy Spanish accent.

     Avery ignored the taunt.  “I know you’re a business man. I want to give you back the hundred thousand dollars.”

     “What is this hundred thousand dollars? I wipe my ass with more,” Orosco said, clearly annoyed.

     Avery took a photograph of Peter out of his wallet and handed it to the drug lord.

     “Word is, my son stole from you. I want to pay you back in exchange for his release,” bargained Avery.

     Orosco looked at the picture. He showed it to one of his lieutenants. They whispered to one another. Orosco turned back to Avery. He laughed as he returned the photo. Without another word, Orosco turned and exited the room. His armed sidekicks took hold of Avery and escorted him out.

     Avery was roughly shoved in the back of a black van. His captors kept their weapons pointed at him as the van drove off. Avery knew he had made a mistake in trying to deal honestly with a dishonest man. He made several unsuccessful attempts to extract information from his abductors. They were not talking.

     They rode in the vehicle for several hours. Avery couldn’t see outside of the van, but he knew they were traveling on an unpaved surface. Finally the van came to a halt. The gun-toting goons removed Avery from the van. Night had taken over the sky. They were standing at the entrance of what appeared to be a turn-of-the century prison.

     A wrought iron sign over the gate read: El Lugar de la Vida Muerta. Avery knew where he was. This was an infamous Spanish colony prison. It had a reputation rivaled only by Devil’s Island for brutality and inhumanity. It had been abandoned fifty years earlier when Spain had granted Castigo Roca its independence. Apparently Orosco had recommissioned it.

     The prison complex consisted of several buildings and courtyards encased by a fifteen-foot high wall topped with metal spikes. The main building was three stories tall. It had a crumbling stucco façade and rusted iron works. The jungle vegetation had begun to reclaim the grounds. There was an eerie aura that could be felt by even the staunchest nonbeliever. The prison held the memories of all who had suffered within its walls. This was a place of pain and punishment.

     Avery was hustled into the main building. He knew he was being led to his execution. If he didn’t act now, all would be lost. He hammered his elbow into the nose of one of his captors, dropping him. Before the second man could react, Avery had swept out his legs, depositing him on his back. He incapacitated both men with swift blows to the throat. They might live, he didn’t care. He grabbed a submachine gun from one, and the ammo clip from the other.

     The van was just outside. Avery knew he could overpower the driver and make his escape, but he wanted to investigate whether Peter was somewhere in the prison. He crept around, gun in hand, looking for signs of life. He searched the dark halls and vacant cells. There was a stench in the prison that was really more like a vibe that could be sensed through the nostrils. It was rather unsettling that Avery could smell the death and horror of this cursed place.

     The silence in the air was too fragile. Too easily shattered. Avery trode lightly, but his every movement echoed throughout the halls. It was unnerving and positively spooky. There was a sense of impending doom like that which he experienced right before his company walked into an ambush. The centuries old prison was launching a psy-ops attack with it’s weapons of choice being fear and confusion. Avery couldn’t let his mind play tricks. He had to stay focused on his search. He came upon a cellblock full of men. Some were sitting, some stood, but they were all catatonic.

     Avery tried to open the rusted bar door, but it was locked. An 1800’s lock was no match for a twentieth-century warrior. Avery took out his pen knife and quickly picked the lock. He entered the block and walked among the human statues. They seemed alive, but not a one paid Avery any attention. He noticed that some of the prisoners had shaved heads and fresh scars on the back of their skulls. One thing they shared was a wild, vacant stare—just like the man who had attacked Avery at the hotel.

     With a resounding clang, the rusted metal door slammed shut. Avery saw a shadowy figure just beyond the bars. The prisoners sprang to life and came at Avery. He unloaded with the submachine gun. Every shot was a hit, but it didn’t stop the advancing mob. Avery pushed his way through to the other side of the contained area. As the prisoners turned, Avery reloaded his gun. He sprayed a short burst at the crowd. The tail end of the flurry struck one of the prisoners in the head. He fell and stopped moving.

     That’s it, he thought. Headshots can take out whatever the hell these things are. Avery switched the gun from full auto to semi. Carefully, but swiftly, he started popping the prisoners in the head. One by one they fell. Blood and brains splashed onto the stone floor. The slick surface slowed the advance of the rabid prisoner attack. Avery picked them off as they slipped and fell in the gore of their fallen comrades. After knocking out twenty of them, he ran out of ammunition. The automatons were still after him. He tried whacking one in the head with the gun, but it didn’t have much of an effect.

     They soon overpowered Avery.  Grabbing and clawing at him, they brought Avery to the ground. One of the prisoners looked like he was preparing to bite him. Avery struggled to break free. It was no use. There were too many of them and they all possessed unnatural strength. He said the Lords Prayer in his head and clenched his jaw in anticipation an excruciating death. Then, just as suddenly as they animated, they returned to their waking slumber.

     Avery pushed the stuporous prisoners away from him, stood up, and finally got a good look at the man beyond the bars. It was the driver of the black sedan with the thick glasses and pockmarked face. He was holding a wireless remote control device in his hand. Avery realized this must be the person Raul had described. The Matador. The Killer.

     “Your skill as a warrior is quite impressive. It would be such a waste to kill you,” said the bespectacled man.

     The man identified himself as Ceasare Malvado as if that was supposed to impress. To Avery, he looked more like a pervert than a killer. All that was missing was the dirty raincoat. Avery surveyed the situation. The only thing that stood between him and freedom was the kook with the glasses. There was only fifteen feet between him and the man.

     Holding up the remote control, the man warned, “Before you can take a step, my subjects will rip you to shreds.”

     Avery was getting on in years, but he couldn’t have misunderstood. Was this crazy guy trying to say he could command men to kill with a hand-held radio? Before he could ponder the thought further, two guards entered. One pacified Avery with the barrel of a handgun while the other shackled his hands behind his back. He was led from the carnage he created in the cellblock.