Show No Fear - By Marliss Melton Page 0,60

Gus rolled out of his hammock and stealthily retrieved it. Casting a glance at Lucy, asleep in her own hammock, he slipped outside.

Yesterday’s rain had finally moved on, leaving droplets of moisture winking like diamonds on every leaf. The jungle was drenched in birdsong and monkey chatter, creating a joyous cacophony, through which Manuel and Estéban slept, wrapped in tarps, their hammocks slung between trees.

Gus moved stealthily past them up the path before veering into the woods. Positioning himself beneath an opening in the trees, he removed the battery from his right boot, inserted it into the phone, and held his breath.

As the logo jumped onto the black screen, he closed his eyes briefly. Thank God. He’d worried that his nightmare had been a premonition of awful things to come, like one of the Elite Guardsmen recognizing Lucy on the trail. He hadn’t been able to tell if any of them had or not. But at least he was getting a clear signal from the satellite now—a reassuring turn of events. Here was his chance to touch base with the JIC and inquire whether Whiteside had decided to pull Lucy off the mountain.

The phone rang once before it was snatched up. “That you, Ethel?” Vinny asked in a perfect imitation of Fred.

“I need to keep this short,” Gus murmured, peering cautiously around him. “Listen, I’m about one click away from Rebel Central, which means my coordinates should be close to one of those camps.”

“Roger that, Gus.” It was the OIC. “We suspected that yesterday when you approached the coordinates for Ki-kirr-zikiz. We thought maybe you’d try to call in. What’s going on over there? Over.”

“Sorry, sir. The sat phone’s been out of commission. To bring you up-to-date, the lead negotiator has cut a deal with the FARC and is currently off the mountain trying to work out the details. There may be an exchange taking place here, in the next couple of days.”

“We’ve heard rumblings to that effect, Gus. Do you think Fournier can pull it off?”

“He’s got the experience,” Gus reasoned. “Plus the FARC are eager to ship us out of here. Commander Rojas has the Venezuelans funneling him weapons faster than they can unload them.”

“The Predator has images of that,” the OIC corroborated.

“Any word from Whiteside on pulling Lucy out early?” Gus asked. “We crossed paths with the Elite Guard yesterday. I don’t know if any of them recognized her, sir, but I’m not sure we should take any chances.”

“Well,” Luther countered, sounding suddenly uncomfortable. “The negotiation is this close to resolution, Gus. It might throw a wrench into the process if Lucy were to disappear all of a sudden,” he reasoned.

Gus had to admit that was true. Still, recalling the conjecturing look on the Venezuelans’ faces, he couldn’t shake the nagging fear that Lucy’s encounter with them in the warehouse last year would bite them in the ass. “Yes, sir,” he murmured.

“So proceed as you are, Gus, and good luck. We’ll be monitoring things on this end. Anything else?”

“No, sir, that’s it.”

“Hope to see you soon, over.”

“Thank you, sir. Out.”

With another peek around the tree, Gus stowed the phone in his boot before turning to water the tree.

Still weighted with foreboding, he hurried back to camp, relieved to find Manuel and Estéban just stirring. Carlos and Bellini met him at the door as they headed for the trees. Inside the casita, S¸ukruye knelt by the fireplace, pouring rice into a tin bowl. But Lucy was still in her hammock, apparently lethargic after a restless night’s sleep. He crossed the room to gaze down at her. “Morning,” he said, noting with a touch of alarm that she seemed more pale than usual.

“Hi,” she said shortly, rubbing crust from the corners of her eyes.

“Tough night?”

She refused to answer, rolling stiffly to a sitting position. She’d pleased him by asking to share a hammock with him last night. They’d tried, only to end up hitting the dirtpacked floor when they both tumbled out. Lucy had then moved to her own hammock, where she obviously hadn’t fared much better. The thought that she might have missed him broke over him like a warm morning sunrise.

Just then S¸ukruye left the casita to fetch water for the rice. They had the place to themselves. He sought the courage to voice the question that had been building in him lately.

“Did you check the phone?” she asked before he had the chance to speak.

“Um, yeah. It works again. I just called in and brought the