“You must find her, Luis. Mother Narcisa is quite distraught.”
“I should have told Pitón to return her and shot him myself.”
“But you didn’t, and now you have lost her.” Father Alberto’s disapproval was clear. “When is the next shipment arriving? We need more food here at the Mission.”
Luis needed the money. “I’ll call Sergio and tell him we’re ready for more.”
“He cannot delay. We are feeding hundreds each day.”
Luis didn’t give a damn about feeding people. “If the nun shows up there—”
“I’ll welcome her home—and question her.” Father Alberto paused for a moment. “If you find her, do nothing hasty. She is likely an innocent in this.”
“Why would I hurt a nun?” Stung by this insult, Luis ended the call.
He thought for a moment about what he wanted to say to Sergio. The bastard was as arrogant as Luis’ brother-in-law, but he took Luis seriously.
Then it hit Luis.
If the gringo was on his way toward Colombia, perhaps it was time to bring Sergio and his Andes Cartel into the search. They controlled that border. Against them, not even the United States had a chance.
15
It was an eleven-hour drive from San Antonio de Los Altos to San Cristóbal, but between roadblocks, toll booths, and bathroom breaks, it seemed to drag on forever, boredom interspersed with bursts of adrenaline. Every time they had to stop for Sander to show his SEBIN pass, Gabriela’s pulse picked up.
But so far, so good.
Sander, it turned out, had led an interesting life, working as an accountant for Petróleos de Venezuela, S.A., the state-owned petroleum company, before the industry fell into ruin. After that, he’d taken a job with SEBIN, managing their payroll, a position that enabled him to see and hear much and which made him an ideal Agency asset.
“If they find the two of you, I know what they’ll do.” He shared this as if Gabriela and Dylan had no idea they’d be interrogated and tortured. “There’s an area in the basement where they take prisoners for interrogation. People go in, but they don’t come out. That place is impenetrable. No one has ever escaped. They use torture and sensory deprivation to break—”
“Why do you say things like that in front of Sister María? Are you trying to scare her, man? It’s your job to make sure wedon’tget captured.”
“Sí.Sorry, Sister.”
“God will see us through.” And if God chose not to get involved, Gabriela had Dylan—and her Glock.
They were on the outskirts of San Cristóbal when she noticed a change in Sander. He was speaking faster now and laughing more, his laughter louder and almost manic, sweat trickling down his temples despite the AC.
He was nervous, panicking about something.
From the top of a hill, Gabriela saw through the windshield into the valley below. Not far ahead was another roadblock, traffic backed up for a quarter-mile.
She slipped out of her seatbelt, drew the Glock from the waistband of her jeans, and pressed it to the side of Sander’s throat. “Pull off the highway. Now!”
Dylan’s gaze jerked to hers, then he drew his pistol, too. “Do it!”
Sander tried to laugh it off, drove faster. “Why are you doing this? I’m your friend. Didn’t I get you out of San Antonio? The Agency paid me to—”
“You’re about to betray us.”
Dylan’s gaze was fixed on Sander. “Did you not hear the good Sister,amigo? Pull over.Now!”
His shout made Sander jump.
Sander flipped on the turn signal and pulled to the side of the highway. “You two are crazy. Haven’t I proved myself to you? I brought you safely all this way, and now you point guns at me?”
Gabriela could hear the guilt in his voice. “You’re a liar, Sander.”