the count of three, she told herself, clenching her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.
One.
Two.
Three!
CHAPTER 18
Throwing her weight into the metal door, Lucy crashed into a room lit by the buttons from a soundboard display. “Freeze! No one move!” she barked as a lone silhouette lurched from blankets on the floor. “Put your hands in the air.”
Spying a switch near the door, Lucy flipped it, flooding the cave with light, illumining a wide-eyed female, who quaked with terror as she held her arms high above her head. A quick glance around assured her there were no more rebels. Lucy’s luck was running high tonight.
Keeping her pistol trained on the girl, she kicked the door shut and bolted it. Searching the cave for weapons, she came up empty-handed. “One false move and I’ll shoot,” she warned, not putting it past the female rebel to try something. “I’ve killed one rebel tonight, and I don’t mind killing another,” she added fiercely.
“I am not with the FARC,” insisted the young woman.
“Stand up,” Lucy ordered, “Keep your hands where I can see them!” she added as the girl reached beneath the blanket.
“I need my crutch,” the girl explained, showing the hand-carved stick to Lucy.
As the girl struggled to stand, Lucy realized one of her feet had been blown off, presumably by a landmine. “Have a seat,” she offered, tempering her hostility with pity and waving her toward the only chair, positioned before the soundboard. “My name,” she added, “is Luna de Aguiler. I’m with the United Nations.”
“I am Maria,” countered the young woman, her fear fading. “I was abducted by the FARC when they raided my village four years ago.”
Lucy sent her a steady look. “Would you like to leave La Montaña, Maria?”
“Oh, yes!” she cried, suddenly luminous.
“Then I need to make an announcement on your radio.”
The hope in Maria’s face turned to fright. “Rebels will hear what you say. They will send soldiers to kill us!”
“How long will it take them to get here?” Lucy wanted to know.
The woman shrugged. “I don’t know. An hour, maybe two?”
“We’ll be gone by then,” Lucy assured her with more certainty than she felt. “Please. Put me on the air. A helicopter will come for us in half an hour, I promise.”
“But only the rebels listen to this station,” the woman argued.
Despite herself, Lucy had to laugh. “Trust me,” she said, stepping closer. “Others are listening.” Like the National Security Agency, the eyes and ears of the CIA.
With reluctance, Maria nodded and reached for a knob, twisting it to silence the music. “You may speak into the mike,” she whispered, handing it to Lucy. “Push the button.”
Lucy depressed the button on the mike. “Mayday, mayday,” she announced with crisp American consonants. Picked up by an orbiting AWAC, it would take time for her message to be forwarded to the NSA, then put through filters to confirm her identity. “This is Luna de Aguiler with the United Nations. Six-nine-seven-two-three-six,” she added, throwing in her CIA identification number for good measure. “Request immediate extraction from the summit of La Montaña, Colombia. Hostiles closing in. I repeat…” She stated it a second time, intending to replicate the process every five minutes.
Straightening, she nodded at Maria, who eyed her with mixed terror and idolatry. “It’ll be all right,” she added, bracing herself on the desk as sudden fatigue swept through her.
But then the doorknob gave a jiggle. With a gasp and an inner cry of despair, Lucy whirled to face it.
“¡Abre la puerta!” commanded a gruff voice on the other side. Open the door!
“Don’t say anything,” Lucy cautioned, her heart thudding with terror and dismay.
How could the rebels have arrived so quickly? There had to be an outpost nearby. Oh, God. Oh, no. This couldn’t be happening, not when she’d come so far, endured so much.
Boom! The imprint of a boot put an indentation in the metal door. Maria whimpered.
“Quick, hide under here,” Lucy instructed, pushing the girl under the protection of the soundboard. “They won’t harm you,” she added reassuringly.
As the door shuddered on its hinges, she darted across the room to stand behind it, gripping the pistol fiercely.
Great. Just fucking great. Here she was, headed into a fight for her life, and she had only three bullets left.
With a sob of regret, she thought of Gus, who’d had to live with his father’s death and would now blame himself for hers.
I’m sorry, she cried silently, pressing her back to the rough wall. The intruders continued to pound on