He watched for her, saw her surface a few meters away, her feet pointed downstream, her arms paddling desperately.
He let the current take him, too, but he had much more experience in the water. Using his arms to propel himself toward her, he managed to get in front of her.
She crashed into him, coughed, her arms wrapping around his neck.
“I’ve got you.” He kicked hard and paddled with one arm, bringing them both to the other side. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, shivering. “J-just c-cold.”
There wasn’t anything he could do about that now. They were visible to anyone with eyes on the river—and that included fucking drones. They’d lost time, and they’d gone a good two hundred meters downstream from their original position.
“We need to move.” He drained the water out of his M4, looked up the bank, unable to see over it to what might lie beyond. “Do you still have the Glock?”
She nodded, drew it from her waistband, shook out the water, then slipped it back into her jeans, and covered it with her T-shirt.
“Let’s go.”
The two of them scrambled up the riverbank.
He reached the top first and knelt, searching the forest with his NVGs for any sign of people, but the landscape was hilly, making it impossible for him to see what lay beyond the rise. He was certain the bad guys were on their way. The drone had gotten a good look at them before he’d shot it down. It would have sent their GPS position.
Gabriela crawled up beside him, her wet clothes muddy, mud caking her shoes and her hands, a streak of mud on her cheek. “Is the coast clear?”
“For now.”
The land sloped upward, trees growing thicker around them, offering them cover from people, but not from drones.
They reached the top of the rise—and froze.
¡Puñeta! Fuck!
Below them were at least twenty men, all armed, rifles pointed at them.
Dylan dropped his M4, raised his hands, rage burning white-hot through him.
A tall, overweight man in a Hawaiian shirt stepped forward, a grin on his fleshy face. “Welcome to Colombia.”
* * *
At the sightof Sergio de Anda Ruiz, Gabriela’s heart hit her breastbone—a thud of terror. She let her training carry her, slipping into the personality of Sister María once again, allowing her fear and her shivering to work for her. “¿Son policías? ¿Son católicos?”Are you police? Are you Catholic?
Snickers.
Ruiz smiled. “Sí,Hermana.”
She sank to her knees, crossed herself, and began to pray, her body still shivering from her swim in the river. “Mary, Mother of God, I thank you for my deliverance.”
She went on, words of thanksgiving spilling from her lips in a rush, until Ruiz walked up to her.
He tucked a finger beneath her chin, lifted her gaze to meet his. “You are safe with us,HermanaMaría. We have been searching for you.”
“I knew help would come.” She took his hand, kissed it. “Gracias, Señor.”
He tilted his head, frowned at her black eye. “Did he do this to you?”
But Gabriela couldn’t cause Dylan any more suffering. “N-no,Señor. Pitón did when I r-refused to lie with him. That one k-killed him.”
Ruiz lifted her to her feet. “We have many questions for you,Hermana. We’re taking you home. Bring him.”