shoreline was, in which direction to swim.
Minute by minute, he made his way toward the dark mud and bowed branches at the river’s edge.
After what seemed like hours but may have been as little as fifteen minutes, Gus crawled onto shore, gasping and weary. He pulled himself onto the embankment and staggered to his feet to survey his surroundings. Swiping a hand over his eyes, he couldn’t believe what he saw.
On the other side of the river, La Montaña rose skyward in a precipitous tangle of vegetation. But on this side, the terrain was as flat as a prairie, dotted with banana and papaya trees, as far as the eye could see.
Knocking water from his ears, Gus turned full circle to get his bearings. Pebbles and sticks gouged his feet. Looking down, he saw that one of his feet was encased in a muddy sock; the other was bare.
Great. Perfect. He was miles from Lucy and shoeless.
If Buitre had acted under orders, then the FARC had come to suspect him and Lucy, enough to try to dispatch them. And that meant Lucy was next. Oh, fuck no. He had to get back to her and save her before it was too late.
A shudder of disbelief racked his body. He hugged himself to ease his shock. Why am I even surprised? he asked himself. His nightmare had been a warning that he’d foolishly overlooked. He’d sworn to Lucy that he would protect her. Goddamn him for being an idiot! How was he supposed to do that when they were miles apart?
* * *
“WHAT THE HELL?” said VINNY, who was looking forward to his watch ending in eight minutes. Pulling his limbs in from a full-bodied stretch, he sat forward, eyeballing the red dot that was Lieutenant Atwater as it moved with amazing speed away from Lucy. “Sir, you need to see this!” he exclaimed.
Within a second, Lieutenant Lindstrom loomed over him. Harley and Haiku abandoned what they were doing to gawk over his other shoulder.
“What’s he doing?” Harley demanded.
“He’s on a river,” Vinny realized. “Maybe he’s in a boat.”
“Not unless he’s whitewater rafting,” countered the lieutenant. “How fast is he moving?”
Vinny drew a line on the monitor and hit two buttons. “Like twenty miles an hour.”
With silent concern, the SEALs watched the red dot travel farther and farther from the blue dot. Not one of them voiced the possibility that Lieutenant Atwater might be dead. Moving through water at that speed without a helmet or life vest was asking for trouble.
“Haiku, call the station chief,” commanded the OIC, suddenly decisive.
“Sir, he’s slowing down,” Vinny alerted him.
Lieutenant Lindstrom leaned in. Chief Harlan did the same. Haiku crossed the room to make a phone call.
“Can you zoom in any closer?” asked the LT.
“A little,” said Vinny, tapping the appropriate key.
“Come on, sir,” muttered Harley as they waited on pins and needles for any indication that Lieutenant Atwater was still alive.
The red dot moved, no more than a millimeter, but it definitely moved. “He’s good,” Vinny declared.
“Sir, I’ve got the station chief on the line,” Haiku announced.
“Just a second,” the lieutenant murmured, keeping his eyes glued to the red dot.
It moved again.
“He’s got to be walking. He just covered five yards,” said Vinny, having drawn a line to determine the distance.
With a nod, the OIC moved to the phone to update Whiteside. He hung up a minute later, looking thoughtful.
“What’d he say, sir?” Vinny asked, too impatient to wait.
The lieutenant’s jaw flexed. His dark blue eyes looked troubled. “He says we wait an hour for Gus to contact us. If we don’t hear anything by then, we go in for an extract.”
“Uh…” Harley was the first to point out Whiteside’s idiocy. “Sir, if the sat phone went down the river with the lieutenant, he won’t be using it to call anybody.”
“Right,” said the OIC, sliding his hands into his pockets. He deliberated for a split second longer. “Haiku, get the rest of our guys in here, ASAP. We need to move on this.”
THE SHRIEK THAT HAD ERUPTED from Lucy’s throat when Gus plummeted toward the water had been the last utterance she’d made. Even when they’d spent hours searching for him, putting off the exchange at the airfield to scour the shoreline, she had retreated deeper and deeper into her thoughts, keeping silent.
The team members—all but Fournier—had rallied around her, embracing her, offering words of reassurance to which she was incapable of replying. She knew she was in shock. For the first time in