Read Online Even Silence Has an End by Ingrid Betancourt - Free Book Online

three helicopters depart, and it still wasn’t our turn. I didn’t want to appear impatient, especially since the offer seemed very generous. Finally I went to see what was happening.
    The colonel was outside talking to my security officers. When he saw me, he cut short his conversation.
    “I’m very sorry, madam, but I have just received instructions not to take you by helicopter. It’s an order from the top, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
    “Well, in that case, we must revert to Plan A. Gentlemen, can we leave right away?”
    The silence of my escort team was palpable. Then the colonel stepped forward with the suggestion that I should appeal to his general, who was on the tarmac. “If anyone can give you authorization, it’s him.”
    I spotted a large, surly guy issuing orders from the landing strip. Before I had a chance to ask, the colonel nodded; he was indeed the general.
    The general’s aggressive tone was disconcerting. “There’s nothing I can do for you. Please leave the runway!” For a moment I thought he had not recognized me, and I tried to explain why I was there. But he knew very well who I was and what I wanted. He was irritated; he kept talking to his subordinates, handing out orders, ignoring me, letting me talk to myself. He surely was prejudiced against me, probably because of the debates in Congress during which I had exposed incidents of corruption among some high-ranking officials. Without realizing it, I had raised the tone of my voice. Cameras appeared out of nowhere, and suddenly we were surrounded by a group of journalists.
    The general put an arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the terminal to get me off the runway and away from the cameras. He explained that he was acting on an order, that the president would be arriving shortly, that he had a hundred journalists with him, and that they needed the helicopters to transport them to San Vicente. He added, “If you want to wait here, he’ll walk past. You will be able to speak to him. It’s the best I can do.” I stood there, my arms dangling, wondering if I really ought to go along with this whole charade. A pack of journalists rushed over to film the landing of the presidential plane. Leaving was no longer an option. It would be interpreted as discourteous.
    The situation was all the more embarrassing because the previous day we had asked to travel with the group of journalists going to San Vicente, and the president himself had refused. For the last twenty-four hours, the television news had been repeating incessantly that the region had been liberated and that the FARC had completely withdrawn. The president’s trip to San Vicente was planned to prove it. The government had to show the world that the peace process had not been a huge mistake, that it had not led to the loss of control of a sizable portion of national territory to the guerrillas. From what I could see, the zone was under military control; helicopters of the armed forces had not stopped taking off for San Vicente since our arrival. If Pastrana refused again, we simply needed to go by road as originally planned and not waste any more time.
    The president’s plane landed, a red carpet was unfurled on the tarmac, and the staircase was placed at the aircraft door. But the door remained closed. Faces appeared at the windows, then quickly withdrew. I stood there, stuck between the row of soldiers on guard and the horde of journalists behind me. I had only one desire: to slip away.
    Relations hadn’t always been easy with President Pastrana. I had supported him during his campaign on the condition that he implement major reforms against political corruption, in particular by amending the electoral system. But he’d broken his word, and I had crossed over to the opposition. He turned against my team and managed to fracture it by luring away two of my senators.
    Nevertheless, I always supported him in his peace process. We met up again earlier that