Page 70 of Fear No Evil

“Oh, afternoon. We’ll have to travel to the valley first.”

Stunned silence followed Boris’s announcement.

Esme broke it. “Oh, you have done well, Boris!”

Cynicism kept Maggie from offering her congratulations. What about the red tape Boris had mentioned earlier? A whole host of things could go wrong, causing the entire plan to unravel.

Boris shrugged off Esme’s praise while looking pleased. “Not I. All of us have done well.”

“Then, you must celebrate.” Gallo’s declaration shattered the bonding moment as he swaggered toward the group with his jug extended. He thrust it at the team lead. “A gift from General Rojas.”

Maggie pictured Rojas, Gallo, and Marquez all chumming in the camouflaged tower‍—saying what, exactly?

“Thank you.” Ever polite, the German came to his feet and took the jug, though his tone was far from enthusiastic. “What is this exactly?”

“Chicha.”Gallo’s broad smile shimmered in the twilight gloom.

Maggie had heard of it, but only Charles knew what it was. “It’s fermented cassava.”

Gallo gestured for Boris to take a swig. “Try it. It’s better thanagua panela.”

Never one to offend a host and likely still thirsty from his travels, Boris removed the cork and took an obliging sip. He swallowed, wheezed, and cleared his throat. “Not bad. A little like English cider. Thank you, Mondo Gallo.”

Gallo gestured for Boris to pass the jug around. “Everyone must try it.”

Maggie considered the offer with suspicion. After being poisoned by Gallo the other day, she didn’t trust him not to kill them all, especially if arrangements for payment and the release of the five FARC soldiers were a done deal.

To her astonishment, Jake accepted the jug from Boris and took a hearty swig. How could he be so certain it wasn’t laced with something toxic? He wiped his mouth with alacrity before passing it to her.

With all eyes on her, Maggie took a wary sip. Liquor seared her throat and left a sour-sweet taste on her tongue.Chichawasn’t half bad, though. Maybe it would numb the constant ache in her hip?

The others followed her example, all but Esme who declined. “No, no, I don’t touch liquor.”

“Drink,” themondoinsisted.

With a sniff of disapproval, Esme left the group and went to lie in her hammock.

Bellini took the jug from Charles and held it up. “A toast to Señor Arias.” Tipping it back, he swallowed down enough for him and Esme both.

All at once, the room seemed to shift. Maggie swayed against Jake, who cut her a sharp glance. Wow, chicha had to be a hundred proof, at least.

Bellini passed the jug back to Boris, who repeated the toast. “To Señor Arias.” His eyes reflected the embers in the fireplace.

Jake took the jug next, taking another long draught.

In the belief that her hip pain was subsiding, Maggie did the same. She passed it on to Charles, who returned it to Bellini. That man spilled some on his face and giggled.

Without warning, Jake staggered. His grip on Maggie tightened, and they both fell against the cinder-block column that helped support the roof.

Gallo roared with laughter. The room’s shadows turned his face into a grotesque mask.

“Sorry.” Jake’s speech slurred as he apologized to her, but Maggie wasn’t even remotely hurt, as he’d kept his weight from crushing her.

“Jacques has no tolerance,” she explained. Yet not once had he behaved like this in France when they’d drunk their fair share of wine, which meant he was faking it. Escorting him to his hammock, she held it still for him to climb into it. Even so, he rolled off the other side, falling onto the floor.

Gallo roared with laughter. Setting her teeth, Maggie helped Jake up.

“We should all retire.”