Page 86 of Fear No Evil

He dared ask one more question. “What if she can’t make the climb,Mondo?”

Gallo sneered. “If she can’t make it, you will carry her.”

Rain drummed the broad leaves that sheltered Jake as he stood within the tree line, studying thecasitawhere the UN team had spent their last few nights together. No smoke curled out of the crude chimney. No smell of food hung in the wet air. From his current vantage, he couldn’t see through any of the screened-in windows, but he sensed thecasitawas deserted.

“Home sweet home.” The memory of Lena bending down to kiss him while he lay in his hammock wafted through him, wrenching his heart.

It was almost evening. It had rained relentlessly since his teammates’ departure, drenching the jungle fatigues Jake wore beneath his tactical vest and heavy pack. While carrying enough supplies to ensure his survival for days, his feet throbbed as he hiked downhill, finding his way using the GPS device Lobo left with him to Lena’s last known location. In the dismal rain, the brickcasitalooked downright cozy, and Jake hadn’t slept for more than thirty-six hours.

On the off chance someonewasinside, he double-checked his weapons. Thanks to his teammates’ generosity, he now carried an M4, Harm’s KA-BAR knife, strapped to his right thigh, and Bambino’s pistol in his belt holster. The mosquitos swarming his head couldn’t get to his flesh through the grease paint covering his exposed skin.

Go.Jake darted across the open space, put his back to the wall, then reached out and pulled the door open. It swung outward with a groan, emitting a stillness that encouraged Jake to pivot around the wall and clear the building.

With mixed feelings, he discovered it empty. His gaze fell on the single hammock suspended right where Lena’s had hungbefore their departure. Curiosity drew him toward it, and a stain resembling blood had him bending down for a closer look. He touched the damp stain, then smelled his fingers. The iron scent of blood, left right where Lena’s hip might have come into contact with the woven fibers, made him fear the worst.

Not only had she been here, but she was injured. Her captors must have cut the tracking device from her hip.

His heart pounding and his stomach queasy, Jake searched the unlit space for more clues. Encountering a wooden bowl left in the soapy dishwater, he pulled it out and gave it a whiff. The faint smell of something herbal‍—garlic?‍—mystified him since the rebels never seasoned their food.

He dropped the bowl back in the bucket, then crossed to the screen that offered a view of the rain-soaked coca field. Disappointment cleaved his chest. Resting his forehead against the wall, he stared outside, drawing deep breaths until his unwieldy emotions subsided.

Had she been taken toArribafrom here or to one of the other camps? Rebel Central was the closest, located just four kilometers from thecasita, where he would spend the night. Maybe Rojas wanted to question her in person. Jake could pop over there in the morning and hunt for any sign of her. If it didn’t look like she was there, he would head next toCecaot-Jicobo.

If she wasn’t there either, he would capture the first rebel to cross his tracks and question that man until he learned of Lena’s whereabouts. Regardless of how long it took, he would find her and free her.

I’m still here, Beautiful. I’m coming for you. I won’t let you die alone on this godforsaken mountain.

Arriba.What an awful place to die. It did, in fact, lie beyond the waterfall, another mile or two of hiking that had nearly killed her. The place was unworthy of a grander name, as just two stone hovels and a couple of outhouses were all that was here, all built from the rocks that comprised the landscape at this ridiculous altitude. The lower hovel stood at the upper edge of the forest, while the second had been erected on the bare rock currently quilted in snow.

A chain-link fence topped by barbed wire hemmed in the second building and an outhouse. Nothing but wild grasses and stunted shrubs poked through the snow. A steady wind stripped all the warmth from Maggie’s body. And even though the mountain’s twin peaks loomed nearby, she couldn’t see them for the clouds that capped the mountain, limiting visibility to maybe fifty yards.

Upon their arrival, Gallo had passed her chain off to a stoop-backed jailer, and for a brief moment, Maggie’s optimism had risen, especially when Gallo sliced off the bindings at her wrists, freeing her to use her hands. The jailer looked like someone she could overcome with a well-placed kick.

But then a hulking, scar-faced brute stepped out of the jailer’s hovel, and all hope of escaping withered. As the second jailer’s soulless eyes slid over her, Maggie wondered if he was even human. One of Jake’s favorite classic movies came to mind, causing her lips to twitch as she dubbed the pair Igor and Frankenstein.

Gallo had given the jailers specific directions. “Rojas wants her to remain in good health, so chain her well away from the others.”

Her ears had pricked at the word.The others? Were the JUNGLA still here?

“As she is wounded, this soldier named David may check on her from time to time and bring her herbs for her recovery.”

Meeting David’s apologetic gaze, Maggie could see he regretted not being able to shoot the padlock back at thecasitaand escape while they’d had the chance.

Igor had tugged Lena into the stark enclosure, followed by Frankenstein, who locked the gate behind them. When Lena glanced back at David, the horrified look on his face confirmed what Maggie was thinking:

I really might die here.

Shoved into the hovel from behind, she could see nothing at first, for the dwelling had no windows. Chains rattled as the other prisoners took stock of her. The foul stench that made her hold her breath suggested they had been here for weeks, if not months. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, the familiar camouflage pattern of their uniforms informed her these were, indeed, the three JUNGLA who were supposed to be freed per the UN’s agreement with Rojas.

Assessing their condition, Maggie was pleased to see the fire of resistance still smoldering in their eyes. Through some clever and cooperative effort, they stood a good chance of escaping, she assured herself. Enduring their fascinated stares for the moment, she waited for Frankenstein and Igor to withdraw before addressing them.

“My name is Madeleine Cotillard. I am a French citizen, born in Venezuela. I came here with the UN peacekeeping team to negotiate the release of Jay Barnes and Mike Howitz. You must have known Jay, at least, if not both men.”

Her words were treated with skeptical silence. Perhaps she was too calm, behaving like the operator she was, not some traumatized UN representative. “Did you know we arranged foryour release, but the FARC cheated us at the last minute, saying you had escaped from them?”

Her words got the response she was looking for. They spoke to her at last, introducing themselves, then peppering her with questions, which she answered as best a UN peacekeeper whose hip was throbbing and whose heart was shattered could.

When exhaustion claimed her, Maggie lapsed into silence, resting her head on the rock wall. Wrapped in a tattered and filthy woolen blanket, possibly used by her American predecessors, and seated on a cold dirt floor, Maggie shivered violently, unable to warm herself, even though her cheeks burned, suggesting her fever was climbing.

---