Page 27 of Fear No Evil
No way could nine FARC rebels, six of whom were kids, hold off a special forces battalion. When their ammunition ran out, the JUNGLA would swoop in and arrest the survivors—including the peacekeepers, and the mission to locate Barnes and Howitz would be over before it had scarcely begun.
An eerie silence descended over the forest. Maggie and Jake made eye contact. As suddenly as the gunfire had erupted, it stopped.
The cautious twitter of birds and the screeching of howler monkeys seemed to indicate that the interlopers had departed. Either that or the FARC were all dead.
“Espere,”Jake cautioned as she tried to move.Wait.
“I can’t breathe!” she protested in French.
He eased himself off her slightly while waving at the other team members to stay down.
One by one, FARC rebels began to creep out of the forest. Ten minutes later, Marquez called an order for everyone to rally up so he could assess the damage.
Asserting his leadership role, Boris began ushering the peacekeepers out of the ditch and back onto the trail. Jake clambered to his feet and pulled Maggie up after him, his blue eyes inspecting her from head to toe. “Tu vas bien?”He brushed leaves off her dirt-stained jacket.
Just then, Mondo Gallo slithered into view from higher ground and rushed at them with his pistol raised. “¡Traidores!They led the JUNGLA straight to us!” He lunged for Boris, gripping the front of his jacket and pressing the muzzle of his pistol into the German’s jaw.
While Boris blanched, both Jake and Charles widened their stances, preparing to keep Gallo from murdering their leader if they had to.
Marquez approached, scowling. “Is this the thanks we get for having you as our guests? The UN is in cahoots with the JUNGLA now?”
In his haste to reason with them, Boris stammered, “Claro que no. Our agenda is to find a peaceful resolution, so…so the hostages might be freed. We are not at war with you.”
Maggie took offense at Marquez’s accusation. “Why would we jeopardize our own lives,Comandante?We were shot at, too, if you hadn’t noticed.”
Her perfect Spanish, not to mention her defiance, rendered the FARC dumb. They all regarded her in amazement, especially the two young women.
Me and my temper.As Jake’s grip on her arm tightened, Maggie mentally kicked herself. Her pulse ticked upward as Gallo stepped closer to her while sparing Jake a wary glance.“Where are you from?” He had lost his hat in the firefight, making the reason for his name immediately evident. His black hair grew straight up at the top of his head like a rooster’s comb.
She held his stare. “I am French. My mother was Venezuelan.”
“Ah.” His suspicion cleared, giving way to an ugly smile. “Well, any Venezuelan is a friend of ours. Right,Comandante?”
Marquez agreed, telling Gallo to put his gun away.
Dizzy with relief, Maggie released the breath she was holding as the officers turned away to check on their troops.
It took ages to get moving again. The rebel in charge of the mules was fussing over the one that had been nicked by a bullet. As he staunched the animal’s torn flesh, the peacekeepers sat on the muddy trail and waited. Unaccustomed to such hostilities, Esme and Bellini remained dazed and silent while Boris consoled them with words of solidarity and encouragement.
“Things can only get easier from here out.”
Maggie raised a cynical gaze to Jake and Charles’s carefully blank expressions. They knew as well as she did, things would probably get much worse.
Once the mule was deemed well enough, the climb to the FARC’s secret outpost resumed. Within an hour, the Turkish woman started vomiting—altitude sickness, Maggie determined, as they’d done nothing but plod into steadily higher elevations.
Too weak to stay in her saddle, Esme was foisted off on Maggie since the men’s mules were already overburdened.
Peering straight up, Maggie marveled at the height of the spiraling wax palms, growing alongside trees she couldn’t name, many with enormous roots keeping them rooted on the sloped terrain. It had to be midafternoon, she guessed, since her stomach rumbled with hunger. Her skin chafed wherever her stiff jacket rubbed it. When they crossed another trail, she askedherself if they were being led in circles to confuse the UN team as to their destination.
The higher they climbed, the more exotic the terrain became. Vines, heavy with fragrant and unfamiliar flowers, coiled up trunks and draped from branches. Dozens of monkeys observed them from on high while brilliantly feathered birds winged through the branches, calling songs she had never heard before. Added to the noise was the croaking of tree frogs and the constant drone of insects. It wasn’t any wonder Maggie didn’t hear the rushing water until they were told to dismount from their rides.
They had come to a muddy creek that had carved a gorge in the middle of the path, making it impossible for the mules to cross.
As she helped Esme to dismount, the animals’ caretaker turned the beasts around and began leading them back downhill. Did that mean they were close to the FARC’s outpost?
Her gaze landed on the contraption that would take them across the creek. Glancing at Jake’s raised eyebrows, Maggie easily read his mind:Nách mór an diabhal thú.
It was a wooden box, large enough for three or four passengers, dangling from a cable and pulley system. Semi-hysterical laughter bubbled up her throat before she could stop it.