Page 24 of Fear No Evil

“It means you’re trying to scare off your fear. It doesn’t work that way.”

“I amnotafraid.” Yet she’d taken a whole antianxiety pill instead of a half to make sure she slept.

Jake muttered something in Gaelic as he reached for the string dangling from the naked lightbulb. “Make room.”

Her senses clambered for his presence. Once he squeezed in next to her, she would be okay. His shoulders took up an inordinate amount of space, forcing her up against the wall. But then, wordlessly, he slipped an arm around her and pulled her against him. His chest became her pillow. Her stiff body seemed to melt with relief against his solid frame, causing a memory to float up of that warm spring day in Paris when they’d napped like this in the Tuileries Garden.

“Comfortable enough?”

“Mmm.” She clung to the memory while absorbing his warmth the way she’d soaked up the sun that day. If only they were still in Paris, still young and in love. Instead, they were heading into the wilderness to deal with hardened guerrillas who justified kidnapping and murder to further their ideals. A fresh wave of fear made her stiffen.

“Relax, Lena. I’m right here. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

She snorted at the macho assertion while, at the same time, hoping it was true.

Not twenty minutes later, he had lapsed into sleep, given his breathing. Eventually, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulled her into doing likewise.

CHAPTER 6

The FARC dissidents made them wait, choosing not to show up at La Esmerelda until ten the next morning. The UN team had been up since dawn, waiting tensely under theranchita’s covered porch, listening to the rain drum the tin roof. For hours now, they had stared up at the muddy track that led into the dense vegetation of El Castillo.

The landmass rose straight up, a wild tangle of thick vegetation. Rain clouds had stalled over it despite the wet breeze.

Nothing happened quickly in Colombia, Maggie recollected. Being in the wilderness, smelling it, she could imagine how Barnes and Howitz had to feel, cut off from the world, chained like dogs, starved and humiliated. Four months had to seem like a lifetime. Thank God she was only here for two weeks!

Jake’s last communication with the JIC that morning had taken place behind a family-run supply shop down the street. While keeping an eye out for observers, Maggie had overheard him tell his teammates, “Don’t lose us out there, guys.”

Whatever was said to him in return made him frown. “When was this?” He muttered one of his grandfather’s Irish invectives. “Well, you’d better call them off.”

“What’d they say?” she’d demanded as he put his phone away.

“The JUNGLA might be headed this way.”

Her thoughts had flashed back to the Jeep that had driven past them at Barbosa. “What do we do?”

“Nothing. The admiral of Southern Command is reaching out to them personally.”

Hours had passed since Jake’s call. Maggie was considering the possibility that the FARC were standing them up when she spotted them. “Oh, here they come.”

“Where?” Jake and the others strained to see.

Dressed from head to toe in jungle fatigues, the troop of rebels remained virtually invisible against the jungle-like backdrop until they were less than a football field feet away.

“Oh, hello.” Jake finally spotted them. “I count six‍—no, eight.”

Boris stood. “We should greet them. Come on, everyone out into the open. Hold your arms away from your bodies and show them your hands are empty.”

Maggie was grateful for her rain jacket as she stepped into the drizzle to wait. Her heart thudded erratically as she inventoried the rebels’ weapons. Two carried pistols on their hips, while the other six had AK-47s that looked decades old, probably supplied by the Russians to Cuba in the eighties. Those rifles probably jammed on a regular basis, if they worked at all. But all the banana-shaped clips bulging in the pockets of their artillery vests gave the impression they were armed to the teeth.

We come in peace. Maggie sought to relay that message in her deportment while battling the urge to assume a fighting stance. A cold sweat breached her pores. Her anxiety only worsened when she noticed the six with AK-47s all looked like teenagers.

The older two were clearly in charge, given the insignia on their camouflage jackets and floppy hats. They marched ahead of the group to greet Boris, who stepped forward, approaching with cautious courtesy and greeting them in excellent Spanish. The three exchanged words, and then Boris waved the team closer.

Maggie suffered the scrutiny of every rebel present but most especially its two leaders, neither one of whom was Salvador Rojas. The elder had a gray handlebar mustache and a barrel chest. His face was like cracked, old leather. Boris introduced him as Comandante Marquez.

His deputy ormondowas calledGallo, meaning “rooster.” Skinny with a face inherited from Incan ancestors, Gallo’s dark, suspicious gaze reminded Maggie of Farid’s. Here was the one to watch out for.

Jake put a reassuring arm around her, drawingel comandante’s attention to the watch he was wearing. Marquez nudged his deputy, who stepped up to Jake five seconds later and pointed to the watch.

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