Page 22 of Fear No Evil
Gosh, I hope she’s tougher than she looks.
“And this is our Italian volunteer, Leo Bellini.”
Bellini boasted a five-o’clock shadow already—or perhaps he hadn’t shaved that morning. In his early thirties like Maggie and Jake, he divided a puzzled gaze between them.
“I was just at the Secretariat last week. I thought I’d met everyone in the Department of Peace Operations.”
Uh-oh. Caught in a lie already.
Charles intervened. “Nearly everyone. These two were on vacation—a wedding anniversary.”
“Oh.” Bellini lit up at the news, making him quite a handsome man. “Congratulations. How many years?”
Maggie waited for Jake to answer.
“Twelve.” He said it with gentle affection while taking in Maggie’s response. “More than a decade now.”
Her heartbeat stammered. He’d given her the promise ring twelve years ago. Forcing a loving smile while tears pricked her eyes, she replied,“¡Cómo pasa el tiempo!”How time flies!
Would this day never end?
Maggie caught Jake sneaking a peek at his watch.“Quelle heure est-il?” What time is it?
“Almost three.”
They’d been sitting in the back of this stuffy little van for over an hour, going nowhere. The journey to La Esmereldawas supposed to take only four hours in total, the first two of which took them northeast away from Bogotá and along the ridge of increasingly rugged mountains toward La Cordillera de los Cobardes. Maggie inwardly sneered. How apt that the FARC would hide themselves in a wilderness area called “The Cowards.”
When their rented van slowed to a stop behind a line of cars, Boris Mayer muttered something in German, then got up to query the driver in Spanish. “What’s happening?”
Maggie overheard the driver tell him there’d been a rockslide at the mouth of the tunnel.
Peering past the cars in front of them, she spotted Colombia’s equivalent of the National Guard working to clear large chunks of granite that had tumbled onto the road from the promontory looming up ahead. The tunnel beyond the pile of granite was the only way to get to La Esmerelda.
Huffing out a frustrated breath, she sat back in her seat.“Je dois aller aux toilettes.”I have to use the bathroom. They’d kept strictly to French between the two of them, a language none of the participants spoke fluently, though they doubtless understood quite a bit, especially Bellini.
“I told you not to drink that whole carton.”
Jake was referring to the carton of coconut milk she’d bought at the hotel before their departure. Maggie had figured it was just a two-hour ride from Bogotá to Barbosa, the town on the other side of the tunnel, where Boris had said they would stop for lunch.
“Not to mention it’s alaxatif.”
“Hush.” He was teasing her now, reminding her of all the times he’d made her laugh back in Paris.
“I saw a paper cup rolling around up front. You could pee in that.”
“Stop!” But she couldn’t keep from giggling.
Jake produced a little notepad and a pen taken from their hotel room. “Let’s play Kill the Man by His Neck.”
It took her a second to realize he meant Hangman. Not evensheknew that word in French. “Sure.” She shrugged, eager for a distraction.
For the next twenty minutes, she tried to guess what the thirteen-letter word could be. All she had so far were vowels, and her man was about to hang. “I need a clue.”
“It’s a place we’ve been together.”
She shot him a warning look. Did he have to bring up the past? But her mind was already sifting through the place names: Versailles, Montmartre, Chantilly…“It’s Fontainebleau, where Charles is from.” A loud blare cut into her momentary victory, causing her to jump like a startled deer.
Jake put a hand on her knee. Peering out the front of the van, Maggie spotted the cause of the noise. “The road’s been cleared,Dieu merci.”Thank God.