“Guerrilla Filmmaking – a True Story”Part VI
By Alex Ceppi
August 28th, 2017
We were on the run – I could hear gunshots popping in the distance and the sound of bullets hitting the side of our vehicle. I could feel the engine rev up and down as we swerved around and jumped a few curbs before getting off the road, across a muddy field and onto a narrow highway. We blew through town really fast and my heart started to pound so hard it felt like it was going to blow right out of my chest. I still remember feeling the bitterness of adrenaline as it flooded my mouth and the loud ringing in my ears… all sounds suddenly muffled as my body slowly slipped into a terminal state of numbness.
My head was down so I don’t remember the exact time we lost our tail; all I do remember is how for a short instant all I could really see were the street lights as they sped in and out of sight right outside my window.
We charged through Porlamar for what seemed like an eternity… all of us hoping for the best.
* * *
Everyone remained quiet as we rolled slowly toward the hotel to verify it was ok to go inside, but it wasn’t. The streets across it were painted by red and blue flashing lights and flooded by heavy Police presence…
“I thought you said they’d never find us here” – quipped a shaky Chucho.
“Thank God we never unloaded the equipment…” – cried our camera-man as his biggest concern was the wellbeing of his expensive and sadly uninsured video equipment.
Anton broke into a smirk as he pulled out a small piece of paper and held it up for all of us to see…
“And what the fuck is that?” – snapped a visibly upset Chucho – “What the fuck’s that piece of paper gonna do for us now?”
The crappy handwriting on it spelled the home address of one of the club dancers Anton was planning to hook up with later that night. The set up wasn’t ideal, but then again we were not shooting a finance documentary; we were chasing terrorists… ideal was never going to be in the cards.
* * *
Felicia was expecting a sex-filled night with a sweaty wad of cash as a reward; instead, she got to spend the night with fugitives she ended up babysitting the very next day. She wasn’t happy, but she was helpful – not only did she know the characters we were running away from, but she could help us get what we wanted: “Diab Fattah”
But not everyone thought staying a bit longer to catch a shot of the terrorist was a good idea; in fact, the only two fully in on it was Anton and me. The risks were almost too high and the reward uncertain. Even if we got lucky and got Fattah on camera, there were no assurances our documentary would ever get fully funded and/or picked up by a major network. All valid points; however, we had come too far to turn around now. Anton tried hard to convince them that leaving now would be a mistake; but it wasn’t this that convinced the team that quitting was a bad idea – it was the realization that we were no longer shooting a documentary, but rather producing evidence of Fattah’s whereabouts and of Hugo Chavez’ efforts to protect terrorists set in hurting the U.S.
Staying to get the shot simply was the right thing to do.
* * *
We were fugitives… at least that’s the way two local newspaper articles described us the very next day – “U.S. agents on a mission to destabilize the government”. They of course described the encounter from the night before to a tee but purposely omitted the fact that all gunfire came from a black SUV loaded with fully armed Arabs probably on somebody’s terrorist list. Chucho wasn’t happy; he read the article and became increasingly impatient; and so did my filmmaking team members. It was clear time was running out on our chances of getting Fattah on film; a feat now relying solely on Felicia. Yes, you heard that right; Felicia the exotic dancer!
Waiting for Felicia to call while sitting at an open café deck was nerve-wracking, but one thing you learn quickly in this business is that hiding in plain sight is usually the way to go. Fattah’s goons were never going to look for us in open public places; they might eventually end up here, yes, but by then we’d all be gone!
Felicia’s call finally came in – I listened to her quietly before hanging up the phone and locking eyes with everyone around the table. It was clear what had to be done; so without saying a word, we all got up, got in the car, and drove away.
* * *
We parked our car half a block down from the local Islamic center – a small building Fattah frequented and Felicia got word he’d be at that day. We knew her friendship to Fattah’s girlfriend and her disdain for the man was paying off the moment we spotted him coming out of the place – we looked at each other in shock and, after seeing Fattah board his bullet-proof black SUV and drive off with his bodyguards, began to tail them as carefully as we could.
Traffic was heavy. We tailed them slowly, inching our way forward until we hit a red light and the vehicle next to the black SUV moved out of the way. We all knew this was the chance we had been looking for all along, so we pulled over by their vehicle and pointed the camera right at him. Fattah turned our way just as my cameraman was getting ready to take the shot.
That moment, a split second in real-time, felt like an eternity…
For more on “Guerrilla Filmmaking – A True Story”, and the hunt for DIAB FATTAH, come back to storyrocket.com next week.
See you then,