We stopped outside Santa Barbara. The nun has to pee again, you stupid cocksucker.
He chuckled as the next message arrived—nothing but profanity.
“I don’t like this.” Gabriela glanced over at him, worry on her face. “How do we know the guerillas won’t betray us like Sander did? They have close ties to the cartels and no love of the US. An Agency officer and a Navy SEAL are a valuable prize. They could take us prisoner and try to sell us back or kill us and turn our bodies over to Sánchez to exhibit on the news.”
Dylan didn’t like it either. “We ought to find a way into Colombia ourselves.”
She shook her head. “That would be hard. The guerillas and cartels control all of this—the border, the jungle, the river. They use these mountain roads to smuggle. They know where the Rio Táchira is safe to cross, and they watch those areas.”
“Then we cross where it’s not safe. Can you swim?”
She nodded. “In a swimming pool, yes, but I’m not a SEAL. In some places, the banks are steeper, and the river is faster and much deeper.”
He reached over, rested a hand on her shoulder. “I can get you across, Gabriela. I’ve made my way through territory much more hostile than this and come ashore through pounding surf far more dangerous than anything the river can throw at us.”
A small wooden bridge loomed ahead of them.
“That’s the bridge?”
“Stop here. Let me check it out.”
The moment the vehicle stopped, Sander began screaming and shouting, perhaps believing that there were others around, someone who might hear.
Rifle in hand, Dylan got out of the Aveo, lowered his night-vision goggles into place, the landscape around him taking on a green glow.
No movement, no sign of human beings.
He walked to the bridge, looked down to find a rocky ravine perhaps twenty feet deep. He walked across, tested the bridge’s strength. The wooden beams creaked, but they seemed free of rot and sturdy. But would they hold the weight of a car?
There was only one way to find out.
He motioned Gabriela forward, gestured for her to steer a little to her left, gave her a thumbs-up. Wood groaned as the front tires moved onto the bridge, riding on the very edge of the structure. Dylan walked backward, signaling her to keep moving forward, his gaze on the front tires.
If she moved even an inch to one side or another…
Slow and steady.
His feet hit dirt, and a moment later, the car’s front tires did the same. He stepped aside, making room for the vehicle to pass.
Gabriela stopped, spoke in a silky voice. “Hey, stranger. Need a lift?”
Dylan climbed in, lifted the goggles. “Teamwork.”
Then he noticed the digital display.¡Coño!“Let’s pull into that clump of trees and turn off the lights. I’m late checking in with Tower.”
Tower answered on the first ring. “You’re late. What’s your situation?”
“The Agency asset betrayed us, but Ms. Marquez was onto him and saved our asses.” Dylan quickly explained. “The bastard is locked in the trunk.”
“He’s a liability. You might have to dispose of him.”
“I know.” Dylan wasn’t sure what Gabriela would think about killing an unarmed prisoner. He didn’t like it himself, but he couldn’t let Sander give them away.
“Sánchez’s men are probably searching for that vehicle.”
“We’re hoping to ditch it once we get into San Cristóbal.” He decided to come right out with it. “After what happened today, neither of us wants to risk putting our lives in the hands of guerillas or smugglers. They’re too closely tied to the Venezuelan government and the cartels. I’d rather figure it out from here on our own.”
“The Agency isn’t going to like that. They’ve cut some arms deal with the guerillas—a certain amount of military hardware in exchange—”