quietly. No one will even know we’re on the mountain.”
Gus’s heart thudded painfully as he awaited Whiteside’s reply.
“Son,” the older man countered condescendingly, “that mountain covers more square miles than New York City. We had surveillance on it for ten months and never found Howitz and Barnes. How the hell do you think you’re going to find Miss Donovan?”
“It could take a while,” Luther conceded, “but we’ll find her.”
“We don’t even know if she’s alive,” Whiteside shot back, snatching the air from Gus’s lungs. “Her microchip stopped working when we hit the mountain. For all we know, she’s dead already.”
Gus found himself on his feet with his face on fire and his heart in his throat. “Lucy is not dead!” he insisted hoarsely. “She’s up on that goddamn mountain with her hip cut open, subject to infection and God-knows-what-else. Do you want her to die like Mike Howitz, or are you going to let us do our fucking jobs?” he railed, his temple throbbing.
Luther put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him down into his chair.
Whiteside just looked at him. Hitching his trousers, he regarded the expectant SEALs with a thoughtful frown. “All right,” he agreed irritably. “All right. I’ll permit you to do a high-altitude low open, under the cover of night-fall. But no one, and I mean no one needs to know where you are. If you need to question a rebel, you kill ’em. And stay the hell away from the Venezuelans this time. I don’t want this coming back to me in any way, shape, or form. You will be invisible. Is that understood?”
“Hooyah, sir!” chorused several Navy SEALs.
Gus sank weakly back into his seat. Hang in there, Luce, he thought. I’m coming back to get you.
* * *
THE HINGES AT THE GATE SQUEAKED, signaling another hour had passed. Roused from a fitful slumber, Lucy cracked an eye as Goliath, one of the two jefes who guarded Arriba, lumbered across the enclosure. The frosty vapor of his breath bespoke the chill that held Lucy in its cruel grip.
She had been warming herself with visions of a tropical beach, Gus’s legs dusted with sand and tangled with hers as they lay on their towels soaking up the sun.
As Goliath’s silhouette loomed over her, she braced herself for the glare of his flashlight. This was a nightly occurrence. Every hour on the hour, one of the jefes shone light into their captives’ eyes. The action was purely psychological, a reminder that even in sleep, they were not free.
“You.” He startled her by nudging her with his toe.
With a spiking of adrenaline, Lucy scrambled to a wary crouch. The wound on her hip protested. Steel links bit into her neck as she cringed against the plywood wall.
“Come,” he commanded, unlocking her from the center beam. Fisting her chain, he gave it a jerk. “Hurry,” he added.
“Where are we going?” she demanded. The other hostages, soldiers of the Colombian army who’d been held for many years, had awakened to watch with apathy.
This was an aberration. For the past three nights she’d been left in a feverish stupor. What if Goliath meant to drag her into the woods and rape her? If that happened, she might lose her will to live.
“No questions. Walk or I’ll drag you,” he said gruffly.
In a stiff-jointed walk, she trailed him to the gate.
Arriba was little more than a three-sided shed in a muddy pen encircled by barbed wire. A second guard, whom she’d dubbed Igor, opened the gate and locked it behind them.
Fear of the unknown kept her frigid. The scent of freedom tormented her. If she could just pull her chain from Goliath’s grasp, perhaps she could make a run for it. But Igor would think nothing of shooting her in the back as she fled.
They tugged her, resisting, down a dark and twisting path. Her mind spawned visions of defilement. This is it, she thought. All at once, Goliath stopped and swung her before him. “Stand here,” he instructed, his flashlight illumining the lip of a trench. “Don’t move.”
As the tip of his weapon gouged her ribs, her heart slammed against her breastbone. “What—what are you doing?” she breathed, glancing back. Suddenly, it was all too clear the trench was meant to be a shallow grave. Oh, no. Oh, God.
When is it going to end, Luce?
Not here, not now!
“I’ve told you,” Goliath answered on a strangely gleeful note, “you have no value to us. Your country refuses negotiations. You are worthless.” He released