Hijoeputas. Fuckers.
Dylan kept his face impassive as if he had no idea what they were saying, but he’d be dead before that happened.
And what are you going to do to stop them?
Goddamn it!
He wasn’t used to feeling powerless or facing a no-win situation.
They must be back in San Antonio del Táchira now. A left. Another left. A right. Then the van went up a hill, made a sharp left—and stopped.
“Everyone out. We’re going to wait for Sánchez here. Make sure this bastard doesn’t get away. Don Sergio will blow your brains out if you do.”
The side door of the van opened, and the men piled out, dragging Dylan with them into the pouring rain.
Five muddy vehicles. The Land Rover.
There was Gabriela, still with Ruiz, disappearing into a grand hacienda.
“Move!” one of the men shouted in English, giving Dylan a shove.
They followed their boss indoors, Dylan’s gaze meeting Gabriela’s for just a moment, the trust he saw there giving him strength.
“Take him to the basement.” Ruiz shut Gabriela in what looked like an office, then walked over to his men. “Interrogate him, but remember, he must be able to speak. He must be able to confess on camera. Do not kill him or leave him unconscious or incapacitated. Our partner wants his prize whole.”
Down the stairs they went, rage holding the worst of Dylan’s fear at bay. He wasn’t a fan of pain, but he wasn’t going to let these assholes break him.
Gabriela’s life depended on it.
17
Gabriella sat in what looked like an office, still wrapped in her blanket, trying to focus on her interrogation and not what they were doing to Dylan downstairs. She needed to keep her mind clear and her emotions in check. She was sitting across from one of the most dangerous and most wanted criminals in the world.
She couldn’t afford to slip up. “He came upon us in the street. Pitón put a gun to my head. But that one shot him and then forced me to hide with him in the basement of an apartment building.”
Ruiz watched her, a predator trying to decide whether she was his pet—or his prey. “What is his name?”
“He never told me. He said it was better for me not to know. He wished me to remain silent, which isn’t hard for me. He spoke only Spanish to me, Spanish with what sounded like a Cuban accent.”
“Did he force you to abandon your vow of chastity?”
“No, señor, he didn’t touch me. He didn’t try to lie beside me. But even if he had, the sin would be his alone. If a religious sister is raped—God forbid—the sin lies only with the rapist. Because it was not her choice, her vow is intact, and she is still chaste.”
Ruiz clearly found that answer boring. “Why didn’t he let you go after he killed Pitón? Why did he keep you with him? You’re Venezuelan. He must want something from you.”
Gabriela channeled all of the tension inside her into her answer, allowing her eyes to fill with tears. “He told me that he couldn’t let me go because I’d seen his face. He said he needed a hostage in case he was caught, but he promised to let me go when we reached Colombia. I was afraid he would kill me after we crossed the river, but then you were there.”
Ruiz seemed to consider this. “Did you like your life at the Mission?”
She gave him a sad smile. “Oh, yes, Señor. Mother Narcisa is a godly woman. With God’s help, we fed many hundreds of hungry people. Father Alberto worked hard to get the food we needed. I was doing God’s will there.”
“Do you know where that food came from?” Ruiz was trying to find out what she knew about the shipments.
“No, señor, but God provides.”
“Iprovide, Hermana. That food came fromme, my gift to my Venezuelan neighbors.”
Did he realize what he’d just admitted? She had it now. She had the proof she needed—straight from Ruiz’s bragging mouth.