be freed.”
“We will not discuss any terms until we are certain the hostages are alive,” Fournier quietly reminded him.
Álvarez ducked his head. “I understand,” he answered.
“Then we’re done for now,” said Fournier, dismissing everyone. With heavy hearts, they pushed back their chairs, resigned to the soul-numbing task of waiting.
As they exited the building, the scent of simmering beans drew them toward the fire pit. Álvarez shared a word with Marquez, who gestured to the cauldron hanging over the pit. “First we eat,” he declared.
Thanks to the mysterious delivery that morning, Lucy would get a decent meal, at last.
She had scarcely finished eating when Buitre shouted unexpectedly, “Get up! You’re leaving.”
The team members regarded each other in alarmed confusion.
“Where are we going?” Fournier dared to inquire.
“No questions. Follow the squad commander,” the deputy replied, pointing to David and his three sidekicks, Estéban, Julian, and Manuel, all of whom clutched their AK-47s.
With the beans sitting heavily in her stomach, Lucy rose, suspicious of the FARC’s intent. The rebels were notorious for relocating their hostages. Why would they treat the UN team any differently? She sent Gus a worried look. His alert expression only increased her apprehension. Were they being marched to a different camp? How long or arduous would the hike be?
“You,” Buitre called to Bellini. “Carry the bucket.”
Looking mystified, Bellini did as he was told. With a cautious peek inside the pail of hammered tin, he sent the others a sheepish grin. “Soap and towels,” he explained.
Lucy sagged with relief. Hallelujah! They weren’t being sent on another long march. They were being led somewhere to bathe!
As they entered a second path on the north side of the clearing, a watery sun slid from behind the clouds, further lifting their spirits. It sent feeble rays through the canopy, enhancing every pigment of green around them. The sound of rushing water grew from a hiss into a gushing enticement to hurry.
They burst upon a clearing with a chorus of appreciation. A twenty-foot cataract spilled with dizzy abandon over a cliff, thundered into a basin the size of a back-yard pool, then tumbled onward over a series of smaller rapids to disappear into the lush forest.
The waterfall drawn upon the map? Lucy wondered, catching Gus’s eye.
Bellini dropped the bucket as he and Carlos raced to see who could undress the fastest. Shucking her boots, Lucy watched Gus to see what he would do. He had hidden the little dagger in the bungalow near their mat, but he still carried the map in his trousers, the phone in his boot. Surely he’d be nervous about parting with either.
Deciding her clothing needed a bath as much as she did, Lucy removed just her boots and socks before wading into the shallows. Shocked by the cold temperature, she hesitated a split second, then dove into the pool headfirst.
Bone-chilling water closed over her, numbing the itchy welts on her neck. Thunder roared in her ear, muffling the exclamations of Bellini and Carlos as they waded in the shallows. A current of frigid water threatened to wash her downstream. Fighting her way through it, she anchored herself on a large rock at the bottom and, ignoring her air-starved lungs, reveled in her momentary isolation.
A sudden disturbance had her looking around. A shadow flashed before her eyes. A powerful arm coiled abruptly around her midsection, and she was hauled to the surface with breathtaking speed.
“You all right?” Gus rasped, water spiking his eyes as he searched her with real concern.
Embarrassed that she’d alarmed him for no reason, Lucy felt her face heat. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She’d forgotten that she was supposed to clear decisions with her partner first. “Sorry,” she added.
His mouth firmed with disapproval. “You shouldn’t dive into unfamiliar waters,” he chastised, his kicks powerful enough to keep them both afloat. “I thought you hit your head on a rock.”
“No, I just wanted some time to myself. Sorry,” she repeated. Glancing self-consciously toward shore, she caught sight of Manuel picking up one of Gus’s boots. At her soft gasp, Gus turned his head and frowned.
“Estéban,” Manuel called, holding up the boot for his friend to see. “Look at the size of Gustavo’s feet!” He tossed it at Estéban, who held it up and hooted.
They had the left boot, the one with the phone in it. “Put it down,” said Gus, managing to keep his tone mild. Releasing Lucy, he headed toward the shallows and was pushing himself out of the water to get his point across.
“Hey, señora,” Estéban called,