“Guerrilla Filmmaking – a True Story” Part VII

By Alex Ceppi

September 19th, 2017

Taking Diab Fattah’s picture could change everything – it would raise all kinds of red flags regarding Hugo Chavez’s associations with international terrorists and it would shed a light on the threat Venezuela now posed to America’s national security.

 

*          *          *

 

The camera was pointed straight at Fattah – the anticipation… the fear… all of it made my heart pound so loud I thought everybody in the car could hear it.

 

Once I looked at him, I could not keep my eyes off him.

 

I stared right at him and he right at me, but the reflective nature of the protective film on the SUV windows made it hard for us to see each other clearly, let alone nail the perfect shot. There was a very small opening here… a specific angle that in combination with the right sunlight, could give us just what we needed – enough definition… a recognizable face. But the traffic light went green and the moment was gone just as quickly as it came.

 

We followed Fattah’s SUV for a while and all the way to his shop, “La Gran Dama”. We tried to blend in and slowed down enough to watch him exit the SUV and disappear inside the store. With a rush hour in full swing, we drove around the block a few times looking for the perfect parking spot – one that would offer the best, unobstructed views of Fattah’s retail front.

 

The clock was ticking and tensions ran high amongst all members of the team – the likelihood of us being made by his security detail grew with every passing minute; after all, we were sitting inside an SUV covered in bullet holes; the same SUV Fattah’s team chased down and shot at just a few hours earlier.

 

“How much longer before we are made?” – asked Chucho. He was growing impatient.

 

“We don’t have much time left” – responded Anton – “DISIP is looking for us as we speak”

 

“What if we get caught?” – continued Chucho – “What then? Gringos aren’t gonna help us out of this”

 

“What if I just walk in and take the shot?” – I asked – “What if they did not recognize us back there? They would’ve kept us away from here if they did…”

 

“He stared right at you…” – quipped Chucho – “You get caught, we all get caught”

 

“Not if you stay in the car. I go in, you guys take the shot. Use the telephoto lens from across the street… leave the engine running… I get caught you take off”

 

Everyone just stared at me in silence…

 

“Fuck it, let’s do it!”

 

And just like that, I got out of the car…

 

“We don’t need you in there… we can take the pic from here…” – snapped a nervous Anton – “Don’t do this…”

 

“The bodyguards will be distracted with me in the store. It’ll buy you time. Let’s just do this thing. It’s now or never”

 

And just like that, I walked across the street and into “La Gran Dama”. Adrenaline started to rush through my veins and the world around me began to slowly morph. My hearing, my vision… everything was slightly altered. I walked deep into the store without making eye contact with anyone and perused through merchandise without even knowing what I was looking at – all I knew was that there were at least three well trained and heavily armed bodyguards with their eyes pinned on my back. In fact, I could feel them… like pin needles poking at me, taunting me to turn around. But I did not. I did my bit trusting that somebody at the other side of the street was doing his.

 

And just like I went in I went back out of the joint – I had no idea whether the move had been successful; whether a photograph had finally been taken… all I knew was that I had only a few seconds before anyone became suspicious.

 

Shortly after I jumped in the van I locked eyes with one of Fattah’s bodyguards; he knew something wasn’t right; He felt like he knew me from somewhere… he just needed time to put two and two together. But that’s just the way the human brain works; it requires more than a fleeting moment to make these types of connections. A second longer and a more direct look at my face is all it would have taken for him to fully recognize me.

 

There was nothing but silence inside the van as we sped down the road. We all turned nervously around and toward our cameraman for a final verdict…

 

“So…?!?” – Chucho asked – “ Did you get it?”

 

A small smile it’s all it took. We had a single but good shot of Diab Fattah standing behind the counter. The mission was a success! And so it was with a loud “yay”, that we sped away from Diab Fattah and toward the airport – it was time to leave the island.

 

But what if the airport was crawling with Military police and DISIP agents? We were now wanted men. What then? This was, after all, an island… one way in, one way out… Right?

 

For more on “Guerrilla Filmmaking – A True Story”, and the hunt for DIAB FATTAH, come back to storyrocket.com next week.

 

See you then,