Page 25 of Fear No Evil

“Quíteselo.”Take it off. “If you want to come with us, you will give it to my leader.”

Jake feigned dismay. “But this was my father’s,” he protested in hesitant Spanish.

Gallo went to pull the wicked-looking pistol from his side holster, and Jake threw his hands up.“Vale, vale.”Okay, okay.

As he surrendered the watch, Maggie marveled at how quickly it had been appropriated. They could only hope it would end up in the hands of General Rojas. Even as Marquez strapped the watch to his own sturdy wrist, he continued to stare at Jake, whose stature clearly made him nervous. He said to hismondo, “Tell him to take off his glasses.”

Gallo approached Jake a second time and made a grab for them.

Jake clapped the glasses to his face.

“Por favor.”He appealed to Boris. “Please, I can’t see without them.”

Boris looked uncomfortable. “Best to do as they say, I think.”

Compelled to defend Jake, Maggie spoke up‍—not in French-accented Spanish like Jake’s, but as she’d grown up hearing it. “He can’t see without them.”

Mondo Gallo stared at her a moment, then snatched Jake’s glasses off his face anyway. To Maggie’s dismay, he tossed them down on the muddy ground and stomped on them.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the two sides.

Boris cut his team an anguished look, clearly loath to protest.

“Basta,”Marquez said to hismondo.Enough.Circling the air with a raised finger, he bellowed,“¡Regresemos!”and the troop of armed teens swung around to retrace their footsteps.

Mondo Gallo gestured brusquely for the UN team to follow.

Here we go.

Jake gave Maggie’s hand a reassuring squeeze as they began their march into the wilderness. Within just a few steps, it became apparent that they would struggle to keep up. The FARC might be diminutive, but they were used to marching in the mud.

Mondo Gallo railed at them to hurry up.“Apúrense. ¡Rápido!”

The mud sucked at Maggie’s boots, and the drizzle dampened her ponytail, but she refused to pull her hood up as that would compromise her hearing. Cutting a sidelong glance at Jake, she found him staring intently at their environment, pretending it was all a blur. She marveled at his acting ability while thanking God that she wasn’t doing this without him.

The vegetation thickened as the terrain rose, creating a tangled wall on either side of the footpath that became an erratic corridor, surrounded by hedges too lush to penetrate. Then,finally, it closed over their heads, swallowing them in a green gloom with no sign of the sky when Maggie glanced up.

The trail grew steeper and narrower the higher they climbed. Rainwater had carved out the middle of the trail, turning it into a V-shaped gulley, murder on Maggie’s ankles, even in her new sturdy boots. She pushed herself, wondering how the others on the team, those who didn’t exercise regularly like her and Jake, would fare.

On the heels of that thought, Bellini and Esme began to fall behind. Boris and then Jake went back for them, forcing Maggie to do likewise. She took the Turkish woman off Boris’s hands while Jake took over Bellini.

Gripping Esme’s elbow, Maggie hauled her to ever higher elevations, with Jake and Bellini struggling behind them. Boris made his way to the front of the pack to ask Marquez if they could slow down, but Maggie could see by the commander’s frown they wouldn’t be offered any preferential treatment.

At last, they burst onto a hacked-out clearing where Maggie breathed a sigh of relief to see six mules dozing in a circle around a mound of cloth sacks, hides quivering to keep the insects off. A ninth rebel stood waiting with them.

Gallo rounded on them. “Come. Stand in a circle and throw your backpacks into the center.”

Oh no.Maggie’s fears were manifesting. The last to toss her pack onto the pile, she lamented the likely loss of her anxiety meds, not to mention the first-aid kits. Jake didn’t look any happier than she was. Without the antibiotic ointment, the incision he’d stitched less than forty-eight hours ago might get infected. Worse still, she might have a nervous breakdown.

Boris spoke up for them, his tone respectful. “Comandante, may we at least keep our antimalaria tablets and our bug spray?”

“No.” With that single word, Marquez dashed Maggie’s hopes. “Losmedicamentosare for all people, not justcapitalistaswho can afford them.”

“But you promised the UN we could each keep our passports. We can’t continue if you take those.”

The question appeared to offend Marquez. “Of course, you can keep your passports.”

At least their intel that they got to keep their boots was right, probably since the FARC couldn’t afford to shoe them all, especially not the men. Keeping their pants was a boon, since Maggie’s were water-resistant and covered the Band-Aid on her hip. Jake carried their passports in his side pocket.

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