The two friends had known each other since their university days, the UIS, in Bucaramanga, Colombia. They belonged to one of the movements that fought against privatization and several National Development Plans. Although they had followed different paths, they still kept in touch and were once again united by issues related to the defense of their community's rights.
Ivan failed to finish his law degree, and at a time in his life when he did not feel comfortable with anything in this country, he took out a work visa for a year and went to the United States. Paradoxically, it was from there that he spoke so badly during his time at the University. The first year in that country provided him with the opportunity to learn about and appreciate points of view very opposite to the ones he had, and since Uncle Sam doesn't mind receiving immigrants when it comes to exposing his skin in conflicts that have been sought for decades, Ivan ended up fighting in the Middle East, on behalf of the country he hated so much. He did it for the money and, above all, to learn combat tactics and methods, with the uncertain hunch that someday he would need them. He was so good with weapons that he became an outstanding sniper, accumulating in his military curriculum more than 40 casualties in less than two years.
Otherwise, he had returned to Colombia with a decent pension for life, with a post-traumatic stress disorder that he refused to accept but that never allowed him to sleep well a single night and with an aim that he thought he would never lose. -That's like riding a bicycle-, he would say when asked if that skill could be forgotten. He was usually seen as serious, and thoughtful, with few words and sometimes using sarcastic humor, which confused his interlocutors, because he had the habit of making jokes without even smiling. Dark, tall, with black hair and eyes, he was still single, although it could be said that he was still an interesting specimen for women.
Jesus (Chucho) had graduated as a geologist and was now working for Mincosan, Mining Company of Santander. Of smaller stature than his friend, with white, freckled skin and reddish hair, he had the appearance of those men who were presumably very restless during their childhood. He was very sociable and talkative, therefore, on the whole, he could be recognized as the antithesis of his friend. But as opposites attract, their differences seemed to be what generated between them that immense empathy. He was also single, although he had a girlfriend.
When the Arabs, the real owners of Mincosan, began to come to hold meetings with the local directors, Jesus began to confirm what was popularly commented regarding the merely economic interests of the owners, and their little concern for the eventual contamination of the water sources from which Bucaramanga is mostly supplied. But certainty arrived the day the Arabs gave each of the Mincosan executives a suitcase, with a mystery that excited Jesus' curiosity, to the point of taking an enormous risk to find out what it was. Each executive hurriedly left with his suitcase to the parking lot, and from there to who knows where, at great speed; once the Arabs left for their hotel, Jesus entered the meeting room, obtaining a single clue, which consisted of a document that had fallen to the floor and was under the table. It could not be read at the time because it was written in another language. The disappointment that seized the good Jesus at first was quickly overcome by hope, as it occurred to him that Ivan, his companion in the struggle, having lived two years in the Middle East, might be able to decipher the document.
That night it took them a while to translate, as Ivan was not fluent in the language; But, little by little, to the surprise of the two, the waters began to clear for the friends, who almost with horror found some instructions that a Saudi Arabian prince was giving to the visiting emissaries, with a clear message of hiding a truth from the locals about the inevitable and progressive poisoning of the water that supplied the Suratá river, product of the extraction of the precious metal, which would fill even more the pockets of foreigners and a handful of local and national rulers, as well as the directors who had left with their suitcases (in which it was suspected the existence of a sufficient amount of euros to guarantee from their positions, the beginning of the exploitation of gold and then make a comfortable, healthy life somewhere away from the poisoned water).
From that night on, Jesus considered himself more of an infiltrator than an employee at Mincosan. Laborally he survived, so that he would not be expelled. At the same time, his real efforts were concentrated on obtaining as much information as possible to achieve something that, in short, could save the lives of the inhabitants of Bucaramanga and its surroundings. With time they became convinced of an inescapable reality: if they were serious about achieving their goals, a great result was required, or better said: for a heroic result a reckless action was required. Their former nocturnal activities were turning into organized conspiratorial plans. His former friendly chats into coded languages. Their low optimism of days gone by into permanent fear.
And finally, as happens with those who know how to wait, the day came when Jesus obtained information that immediately turned into a long-awaited opportunity. Prince Mohamed Bin Zoyad, owner of the company, which in turn owned Mincosan, would visit the field, the place where the explorations were to begin. That same day Ivan would be informed.
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After thinking about it and discussing it for nights, they understood that to take advantage of the opportunity, they would have to go the de facto way. No matter how much risk it involved, the prince should be eliminated: it was his life or that of an entire city.
The nightly plans extended into the wee hours of the morning, they had to consider everything: although the visit would be kept secret from the press, the army and the police had been informed for the respective security deployment. While Jesus was still in charge of obtaining information on a daily basis, Ivan was making a gamble by contacting acquaintances of his in the military forces, to whom he had rendered special services and collaborations, other fellow countrymen or relatives, or perhaps some of those old friends who one blessed day were left owing a favor; patiently evaluating their position, to once, sure that they could be totally trusted, inform them of the raw and terrifying truth, and thus turn them into his allies. This selection was difficult, because in addition to requiring all the patience in the world, Ivan felt that each military man who was informed was a loose end that was being left behind, thus putting not only the plan at risk, but also his own freedom and even that of his friend. Finally, only two passed the filters, but they had positions of power, and with military expertise they were included in the security operations. They were a captain of one of the local battalions in charge of guarding the mine area, and an Air Force pilot on commission. Due to the fact that the contacts were related to the army, in charge of security in the mine area, and not the police, in charge of security in the city, it was decided that the coup de grace would be in rural California, the site of the visit's destination. To the perplexity of Jesus, worried about the “how”, Ivan offered to get the sniper rifle.
-Don't worry, I'll take care of it-, he said with an assurance that left no room for insistence on form.
And as the ranchera says, “there is no deadline that does not expire”, the day of the action arrived, after having studied and reviewed the details over and over again. The communication was done in code, by means of cell phones purchased with false documents. The rifle had been carried in parts, in several trips that Ivan had made disguised as a peasant, days before the checkpoints began, in his old Suzuki SJ-10 camper, and had been protected against humidity and rigorously hidden. As an additional precaution, he had been staying eventually in Suratá, with relatives, where he would arrive after the coup. From the chosen hill, totally solitary, he could see the parking point of the visiting cars, on an artificial plateau, near the exploration tunnel. Their escape would be on foot, having abandoned the rifle in parts of ravines, previously dug holes and abandoned artisan mines. His escape would be covered by his friend's Black Hawk, and by the captain’s men, some of whom were already converted to his cause, and the rest would be told that the peasant was to be protected at all costs, as he was an undercover military intelligence officer.
The wait was endless, Ivan protected himself from the sun with a hat and a ruana, not very appropriate clothing for a professional sniper. The rifle was waiting armed but hidden, the cell phone was fully charged and its signal had been tested on site. Impatient and sweaty, the only thing he could do was wait for the signal, which would give him only five minutes to take position, camouflage himself with some branches and act. In contrast to the long wait, from the signal on, everything happened in a flash. Set up the branches, aim the rifle, make the wind correction, control the breathing, adjust the sight, locate the head of the target and follow it until the right moment, hold your breath, pull the trigger. The single projectile, after traveling almost five hundred meters, went through the prince's head in fractions of seconds before the shot was heard by his companions. The rest, given the unexpectedness of the event, was only chaos and confusion.
Ivan made it to California, out of breath, but for the captain’s people, he would have been captured, at least on suspicion. With the help of the captain himself, he was transported in a military camper to Suratá, where he stayed until the winds died down.
It could be said that the operation should have been more complicated for Ivan, but in reality, few in the area regretted the death of the prince. The deep mess concerning international diplomacy was handled at the level of the Presidency of the Republic, who blamed the guerrillas, without further ado, and calmed the mood by arguing that “they would not rest until they captured the intellectual and material actors of such a regrettable event”, condemning it categorically.
For Ivan, nightmares raged at night, but during the day the thirst of his conscience was quenched with fresh and crystalline water, like that of the streams that would continue to flow down from the Páramo de Santurbán, as he repeated to himself that this death was necessary to save the lives of thousands.
As expected, Mincosan was liquidated and the Arabs withdrew never to return. Weeks later, when everything had regained a premature calm, the friends met in Bucaramanga.
-How did you do it-, asked Jesus-, one shot, after all this time?
-You never forget that, it's like riding a bicycle.
-How are you?” asked Jesus again, interested in his friend's mental health.
-Well...- he replied, with his characteristic seriousness and as if trying to hide the martyrdom coming from one more corpse adding weight to his soul.
-Now they know who those motherfucking Arabs wanted to mess with.
-Yes, I guess it was made clear to them that we Santander people don't mess around.
-Ha ha, yes. Come on, and finally, how did you get the rifle? Who did you buy it from?
Ivan, moving half his mouth and revealing what to his friend could be read as a smile, as he looked at him from his deep black eyes, replied: -To an Arab sheik-.
