Sander walked ahead of Dylan into the forest.
Gabriela squeezed her eyes shut but heard nothing.
A few minutes later, Dylan reappeared, pistol pointed at the ground.
He climbed into the car. “He didn’t see it coming.”
Gabriela nodded and swallowed—hard.
“I don’t like to kill.”
She fought to keep her voice steady. “Of course, you don’t.”
They drove on, the silence interrupted by Dylan’s directions.
“A right here should take us into the city.”
Achigüire—or capybara—ran in front of the car. Gabriela gasped and slammed on the brakes. The animal scurried across the road and into the trees.
Dylan rested a hand over hers. “It’s okay.”
She met his gaze, doing her best to put her emotions aside. There was no room for compassion in a survival scenario. “Thank you for doing what had to be done. You’re risking everything to rescue me.”
“I’ll get you home, Gabriela.”
They passed San Cristóbal at nine in the evening, taking back roads toward San Antonio del Táchira, which sat right next to the Rio Táchira and the border.
“Park in that stand of trees.” Dylan studied the satellite image on his phone. “We’ll set out on foot from here, head north for a while before crossing.”
“We should search the car, see if there’s anything we can use.” Gabriela looked through the glove box and trunk, found a flashlight but nothing else that might be useful. “What about Sander’s phone. We shouldn’t take it with us.”
“I left it with his body so they can find him.”
They set out, Dylan with rifle raised, pack on his back. The night was dark, but Dylan used his NVGs to guide them—and watch for the presence of guerillas lurking among the trees. Compared to her, he moved almost soundlessly, each step deliberate, controlled. Then again, he could see much better than she could.
She tripped on a tree root.
A strong arm shot out to steady her. “Careful.”
They’d gone for about ten minutes when he motioned for her to get down.
She dropped to the ground, taking cover beside him, Glock in her hand, heart thrumming. She’d begun to wonder if Dylan was seeing things when she heard it—men’s voices. Distant at first, they grew nearer.
Then six armed men in black appeared among the trees, headlamps lighting what Gabriela saw was a footpath.
Guachimanes.
Sánchez’s men were patrolling the forest, watching the river, searching for them.
“She’s a nun, so maybe God is watching over her. Did you think of that?”
“You’re a fucking idiot.”
“They’re probably hiding somewhere in the city, waiting for morning.”
“Quiet! Do you want them to hear you coming?”
“What does the boss need us for anyway? He’s got drones. They can see in the dark. They’ll find them.”