“I’m Jacob McClavish and I’ve been sent by God to help.”
Some of the group took their hands off their faces long enough to look up at me. I gave my best smile; a mix of hope, empathy, and concern. I could hear Mervyn and Roger whispering behind me as I addressed the rest of the group. The cast from a Hollywood film was somehow jailed with our little trio and looked petrified.
“I believe we’ve been put in this prison for a reason. God works in mysterious ways.”
One of the men appeared more agitated than the others. He was bouncing up and down on the bench and held that wide-eyed stare I’d seen with the junkies back in Glasgow. His bleached-blonde hair bobbed as he waved at me.
“Hey, padre. You think you can chain the great Rodriguez? No god can keep me locked up.”
The accent was a ridiculous attempt to capture the gravelly dialect of a Colombian warlord. The man’s face was familiar. Something about his chiselled jaw which was beginning to sag twigged a memory. It was Roger who got it first.
“You’re Jack Stiller Junior. Cyber Cop 1, 2 and 4. You’re a movie star. What are you doing here?”
The actor looked around as if a secret had slipped. He nodded to the security camera over the door.
“We’re still rolling,” he hissed.
Roger didn’t seem to notice the odd behaviour. He was star struck.
“I always wanted to know about Cyber Cop 3. Was it a scheduling conflict? Pay not high enough?”
One of Jack’s crew members pushed his finger to his nose and snorted.
“Too fond of the old coke, eh? Weren’t you going through your fourth divorce then?”
My friend’s questions were inappropriate. Jack Stiller blinked in five long flashes. I could see he was close to the edge. Whatever method acting he was into couldn’t quite connect with reality. The thought of someone having a psychological breakdown in this confined space of twenty bodies was not appealing. So I did the only thing I could.
“This isn’t Jack Stiller. This is the drug baron Rodriguez, feared by all the cartels in Bogota.”
Roger gave me a look but it was the cue Jack was waiting for.
“Gringo, you can pray to your God for help but I’m the only god in this country.”
He struggled to stand. There was dried blood on the side of his cheek. The Jack Stiller of Cyber Cop fame was lost within this shell of a bedraggled man. Everyone stared at him.
“You work in this pigsty, padre?”
“I’m just visiting.”
“Then you’re going to get us out.”
I saw a blur as Jack struck. He grabbed my arm and spun me around, pushing his forearm into my throat. My friends ran forward to help.
“Don’t come any closer or I break his neck.”
“Jack, that’s just in the movies. Let him go, man.”
One of the crew stood to face us, preventing Roger and Mervyn from knocking Jack’s head off. Jack was more solid than I assumed. Years of training meant the muscles were real, unlike the place his mind was in.
“Rodriguez says knock on the door. When they see the padre needs out we jump the guards.”
“You’re losing it, man. This guy’s gonna pass out.”
Although the grip was strong, I could still breathe. I could have stamped his foot or clocked him with an elbow but I had to see this through.
“Knock the door or I swear I’ll twist his head off.”
The crew member stepped alongside us, wary not to get too close. Jack dragged me back on my heels which scraped away some grime from the floor. The door was hammered with the ball of a fist.
It took a minute but we all heard the sound of jangling keys approach. Jack relaxed his grip and pushed his mouth to my ear.
“Tell them you want to leave. No funny business, comprende?”
I tried to nod but he gripped my hair. The panel on the door slid aside and a pair of unflinching brown eyes peered in.
“I’d like to leave now,” I said, knowing full well what the answer would be.
The guard laughed and threw back the hatch. Jack seemed confused. He reached out himself and banged hard. The hatch jerked open.
“The padre says he needs to go so open up before I kill him.”
The hatch slammed shut. Jack’s breath steamed the hairs on my neck. He threw out a kick that rocked the doorframe.
“I’m going to twist his head off and use it as a football,” he yelled.
The noise reverberated around the room and into the core of my skull. Through the ringing, I could still hear the rattle of keys. The door pushed outwards to be replaced by a black baton.
“Put him down.”
The guard stepped into our movie. He had to duck to get under the door. His beard ran thick and travelled down his body to sprout out of his uniform. Jack made sure the camera on the ceiling could capture the action by drawing him inside. His arm was wrapped around my throat again.
“Why don’t you make me, grande oso?”
The insult made the guard pause. My Spanish wasn’t great but did he just call him a big bear? The guard pointed his baton at Jack’s face. The dents on all sides testified to its past abuses.
“Put him down.”
I wasn’t sure where this would go. Was Jack so into character he would try to fight this giant of a man? Where did that leave me? My thoughts turned to my own plight. Stuck in a Colombian prison, not for my faith but something I wasn’t guilty of? If this was jail I dreaded to think what prison was like. It was then I noticed the open door. The gap was only a few inches but could easily be forced open. All the others were glued to the scene of guard versus con but I visualized something else.
“Take that big stick and shove it up your bungholio.”
Jack was really into his part, not realizing his teeth would soon be knocked down his throat. The guard had enough. As he stepped forwards to end the siege, I decided to act. No matter the size of the man a swift kick to the gonads always has the same effect. The guard collapsed with a groan. His hands were squeezed between his legs as he curled into the foetal position. The goolie shot also made Jack drop his grip in surprise. I used the distraction to enact my plan.
“Men, God has spoken, and he says we need to get the hell out of here.”
I took the guard’s keys and tossed them to Roger then lifted the baton and stood to face Jack.
“Rodriguez, the Columbian Liberation Army salutes you. We need you to take us to your base in the jungle. You think you can fight through the rest of the guards?”
I bit my tongue hoping he would take the bait. Ever the professional, Jack saw the next imaginary scene unfold in his mind. He stood straight and saluted.
“Lead the way, Padre.”
Not wanting to stay and rot here any longer, I waved at the others to follow me. They stepped over the fallen body writhing on the floor to aide me in our search for the exit. Rodriguez would come in useful, if he made it out alive, but I was the Padre and not even God could stop me now.
