satellite image, Lucy realized there were actually two snowy, jagged peaks on La Montaña, separated by a clear, pristine pool of water.
“The FARC have a radio station up here,” he added, pointing out a structure built into a cave on the side of the mountain. “This is where they broadcast ‘La Voz de la Resistencia.’ Intel suggests it’s minimally protected, so if you had to, you could subdue the unfriendlies and announce a mayday on their frequency. The NSA monitors every word they broadcast and would alert us immediately. In theory, we can land a helo up there and pull you out.”
“It’s not going to come to that,” asserted the station chief with confidence. “Just play your part as UN peacekeepers and nothing’s going to happen to you. This Fournier fellow is a damn good negotiator. Who knows, he might get the FARC to let the hostages go and save us the trouble of extracting them.”
Right, and then we’ll all go home to Kansas and live happily ever after. Lately, Lucy didn’t have much faith in best-case scenarios.
“Anything else?” Luther asked.
The reality of their impending departure cut into her consciousness like a razor. She concealed her sudden anxiety behind a cool shrug and glanced at Gus, who shook his head.
“In that case,” said Whiteside, who seemed eager to wrap things up, “we’ll call it a night. When does the UN team get under way?”
“First thing in the morning, sir,” Gus told him as he and Lucy stood up. Eight more SEALs sprang politely to their feet.
Whiteside turned to the OIC. “I want your night shift in the embassy by midnight, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll be there.”
With the branch chief breathing down their necks and the SEALs calling farewells and well-wishes, Gus and Lucy left the safe house, stepped through the pedestrian gate, and realized it was nearly dark. “Wow, what time is it?” she asked, aware that Gus was touching her again.
He glanced at his watch. “Five-thirty. I think we’d better catch a taxi.” It had stopped raining, but the mountain chain flung its shadow over the city, making it feel later than it was.
Back on Jiménez de Quezada, they waited for a taxi to come along. One finally slowed before them. A cathedral bell tolled quarter till as they slipped into the back, giving directions to the hotel.
As Lucy settled on the plastic-wrapped seat, Gus pulled her against him, and her hand landed on his thigh. Whoa. His legs hadn’t felt like that back in college, like they were hewn out of oak trees. Awareness tingled up her fingers, inspiring her imagination as she envisioned herself seated in his lap, her arms coiled around his shoulders, kissing him the way they’d kissed on the airplane…
“Hotel Hacienda Royal,” he said to the driver, who took off with a squeal of his tires.
Jarred from her fantasies, Lucy brought her thoughts back to the present. Knowing Gus’s teammates would be monitoring their every move from the JIC was oddly reassuring. “I think I see what you meant about having someone watch your back. It must be nice,” she murmured.
Gus glanced at her sidelong. “Any one of those guys would give his life for you. Me included,” he added, tightening his embrace.
Lucy’s heart thudded unevenly. There was something highly disturbing about the thought of Gus giving up his life for her. “Don’t say that,” she muttered. “Nothing’s going to happen to me—to us.”
His answering silence reminded Lucy of his deep reluctance to partner with her on this assignment. She’d just have to prove to him that she was made of tougher stuff than he thought she was.
As the taxi gave a sudden turn, she glanced sharply out the window. The driver had just put them on a narrow, unlit side road. Maybe he was taking a short cut, she reasoned, meeting his darting gaze in the mirror. She elbowed Gus, who looked at the street they were shooting down and said to the driver, “This isn’t the way to Hacienda Royal.”
“My mistake,” said the man. He slowed down, swinging the nose of the taxi into a dark alleyway as if to turn around. But then, twisting suddenly in his seat, he pointed a pistol at them. “Hand me your wallets!” he demanded fiercely, a desperate glitter in his dark eyes.
Lucy froze. Gus’s warning squeeze told her he would handle it, which was well and good, because she felt paralyzed.
“Easy, easy, señor,” he said, holding both hands up. “We don’t carry much cash, but you