Page 23 of Fear No Evil

Jake put away his pen and paper. They started moving, only to stop after a short distance. Maggie whimpered.

Jake articulated what she was seeing. “Looks like they’re checking IDs.”

Maggie groaned. The cup Jake had mentioned earlier was becoming a viable option.

Boris stood with a tight-lipped expression. “Everyone, hand me your passports.” The FARC had assured them they were safe to bring along and wouldn’t be confiscated.

As Jake surrendered both their passports‍—he’d insisted on carrying hers‍—Maggie shared a grim look with Charles. A group of UN peacekeepers, regardless of how small, was going to be noticed. How long before word of their travels reached the JUNGLA, who chafed to discover where the FARC hid themselves?

Ten minutes later, a national guardsman stood at the van’s door reviewing their passports. Maggie watched Boris gnaw the inside of his lip. She overheard the guardsman ask, “You’re all with the UN?”

“Yes.”

“Where are you headed?”

“To Puerto Limón,” Boris lied. “We’re a medical team. There’s been an outbreak of diphtheria.”

Nice one, Boris, but this isn’t the way to Puerto Limón.

It wasn’t until Boris returned their passports to them and the van started moving again that Maggie realized every muscle in her body had tensed up. She forced herself to relax as the van lurched forward, eager to make up for lost time.

But then they surged into a narrow, unlit tunnel, and she went rigid again. Deepening her discomfort, Jake pinned her against the seat with an arm across her shoulders, as there weren’t any seat belts. Dying in a head-on collision inside a dark tunnel wasn’t how Maggie saw her life ending.

But they didn’t die. The tunnel spit them out on the north side of the mountain. Almost immediately, they turned off onto a tight ramp that swung them down into a valley. Gazing out the window, Maggie’s eyes widened.

All there was to see in any direction was lush, lumpy greenery, no civilization in sight, except for a sign stating Barbosa was just two kilometers away. She heaved a sigh, relieved she’d soon get to use a bathroom. A short time later, the brakes on their van squealed, and they stopped for lunch.

Seated at an outdoor eatery under a thatched roof in the small roadside town, the team enjoyed a meal of chicken, rice, and fried plantains.

“Eat well,” Boris urged. “We have no way of knowing whether the FARC can afford to feed us.”

While Jake slipped into the small restroom to place a call to the JIC, Maggie caught sight of a military Jeep wending its way down the only main street. As the occupants of the vehicle stared at the group in white jackets, Maggie’s antenna for trouble twitched. Was the National Guard checking out their story? They’d better not inform the JUNGLA.

Yet, by the time the team piled back into the van to continue their journey, the Jeep had vanished.

The van slogged on, taking them back to the highway at the top of the Eastern Cordillera and pressing north. An hour later, they took an exit that put them on a steep, winding road that narrowed every hundred meters until branches and fronds brushed the windows. The road’s surface went from asphalt to gravel to a muddy trail riddled with potholes that filled with water as the leaden clouds overhead buckled suddenly.

Windshield wipers beat a frenzied tempo but never succeeded in clearing the fogged glass up front. The music on the radio crackled and faded into static before the driver turned it off.

A somber silence descended over the peacekeepers. Maggie dragged air into her tight lungs. Were the others thinking what she was thinking: They’d come this far; now there was no going back?

Staring out the fogged window next to her, all she could see were lush hills covered with coca fields and banana groves. A swollen brown river ran parallel to the road for a while, then veered away. With every hundred meters, their isolation deepened, and Maggie’s anxiety rose.

Jake nudged her suddenly, then pointed out the opposite window. “Look.”

Following his cue, she recognized the distinct shape ofEl Castillofrom Commander Strong’s briefing. Seeing it in person,she swallowed down a surge of fear. Lushly green at its lower elevations, it stood with its twin peaks buried in rain clouds.

Somewhere on its massive surface, Mike and Jay were chained up, miserable and despairing of rescue. If they were ever going to make it home to their families, Maggie and Jake needed to find out exactly where they were so the SEALs could rescue them.

It was dusk by the time they arrived at La Esmerelda, their four-hour drive having turned into eight. The little pueblo consisted of just three main buildings, one of which was a single-story, clapboardranchitaadvertised as an inn. Isolation wrapped around Maggie as she watched their van drive away. But the indigenous hosts greeted the team warmly, fed them bread and goat cheese for supper, and then led them to private bedrooms that were little more than closets with straw mattresses on bed frames.

“Sleep well,” Boris instructed the group. “We awaken at dawn tomorrow.” The FARC were supposed to come fetch them.

Lying on the crackling double bed, Maggie found herself shivering in the oversized T-shirt she had brought to sleep in despite the warmth of the wool blanket covering her. No way was she letting Jake sleep upside down so they’d fit in the bed. She needed him to hold her‍—just to keep her warm, of course.

The door groaned inward, and Jake ducked under the lintel, his head still damp from rinsing in the communal shower. At the sight of her huddled in the bed with the blanket drawn to her chin, his mouth firmed. He whipped off his glasses, set them by the bed, and bent low, murmuring in French, “You can’t fight fire with fire, Lena.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”