Show No Fear - By Marliss Melton Page 0,56
to leave behind those who couldn’t keep up. As with their earlier trek into the jungle, Bellini, Fournier, and S¸ukruye floundered. It was up to Gus, Carlos, and Lucy to keep them on their feet as they slipped and slid down the tortuous, often near-vertical path. Distracted by Bellini’s clumsiness, Gus fought to keep his eyes on Lucy, his instinct for danger twitching.
This was the path he’d stumbled along the other night. It led straight to the camp of the Elite Guard. Surely Buitre wouldn’t flaunt the FARC’s secret weapon in front of the UN team members. Surely the Elite Guard had packed up and moved on, and the team wouldn’t just walk up on them.
If they hadn’t, and one of them recognized Lucy, the shit was going to hit the fan.
“Luna!” He wanted to warn her that they were getting close, only she was several yards ahead of him, fighting to keep S¸ukruye upright. Rain drowned out the sound of his voice. In the next instant, he spotted the camp, a little ways off the path, half-concealed by the vegetation. To his dismay, several soldiers were visible, hunkered under tarps strung between the trees.
Keep your head down, he willed Lucy.
Maybe they’d just march right past and his concern would be unwarranted.
“Chamo!” called a voice from higher ground.
The greeting cut through the pounding rain, startling the other team members, who hadn’t noticed a platoon of men hiding in the trees.
Buitre hollered back, and two men detached themselves from the group to approach him.
Oh, fuck, thought Gus.
LUCY KICKED HERSELF for being caught off guard. If the Turkish woman hadn’t needed so much help hiking, she’d have seen the soldiers hiding just off the trail. A flash of pea green alerted her immediately to who they were. Now all she could do was to turn her back on them, affecting concern for her companion, who was battling a cramp.
“You’re okay,” she said to S¸ukruye, who doubled over, pressing a hand against her side.
Lucy’s heart galloped. Over the Turkish woman’s gasping complaints, she strained to hear what Buitre was telling the Venezuelans. Something about shelter being available for the officers, up at Cecaot-Jicobo.
That was the camp they’d just vacated.
Buitre was offering their bungalow to the Elite Guard. A vision of them sleeping in the corner cubby she had shared with Gus put a bitter taste in her mouth.
“¡Vámanos!” Buitre shouted, and she was forced to turn around. She kept her face averted, kept her eyes on S¸ukruye’s unsteady, mudstained boots.
The two Elite Guards were still standing to one side of the path, watching them file by. Damn it! Didn’t they have anything better to do?
As she squeezed past them, shrinking inward to make herself invisible, a cold wave of panic washed over, shortening her breath, causing her to squeeze S¸ukruye’s arm with too much strength.
The Turkish woman glanced at her sharply. “What’s wrong?” she demanded.
Lucy gave an infinitesimal shake of her head and compelled her forward. “Keep moving,” she urged through lips that felt bloodless. Her scalp tingled as she felt curious eyes slide over her.
Her heart didn’t cease to thud until they’d floundered another mile or more without a hue and cry raised. In her soaked jacket and pants, Lucy shivered with belated relief. Her weak knees trembled to support them both as S¸ukruye leaned on her heavily.
Once the path gave a sharp turn, she cut a look back at Gus, who all but pushed Bellini from behind up a slick incline. Across the distance between them, he sent her a faint, encouraging smile, one that meant, All is well. I’m right behind you.
His eyes, however, still reflected turbulence.
With that unexpected encounter behind them, little else could go wrong, she assured herself. The exchange was cut-and-dried. Fournier seemed confident of fulfilling the team’s promises within the seventy-two-hour time limit. All the rebels had to do was bring Jay and Mike’s body down from Arriba, force Jay to write his insurance company requesting the ransom money, and hand the note over to Fournier, who would take it from there.
In seventy-two hours they’d be back in Bogotá, and Lucy would be soaking her aching hip and her bug-bitten body in a hot tub in a five-star hotel.
Of course, that was if everything went as planned, and when was the last time that had happened?
BUITRE’S RADIO CRACKLED. “Deputy Buitre?” Recognizing the voice of the Elite Guard leader, Buitre groped under his soaked poncho and put the radio to his ear.
“Sí, capitán?” he inquired smartly. Now,