But five shells is plenty, because I do have a plan.
Find the kidnappers’ base camp. Shoot from a hidden location. Flee with Genesis and her friends in the subsequent chaos.
The hard part will be deciding whether to aim for Silvana or Julian, in case I only manage one shot.
“You’re low on insulin, we’re both low on food,” Luke continues. “And if we hike much farther, we won’t make it back to the bunkhouse in time to meet the helicopter tonight. So if we’re going to press on, we have to head for the shore.”
I open my mouth to argue again, but he cuts me off.
“And if that doesn’t convince you, think about this: Silvana and Sebastián are almost certainly heading for the shore too. There’s no more convenient way for the kidnappers to get the supplies they need to keep themselves and their captives alive than by boat.”
I frown, resettling my bag on my shoulders. “Then why didn’t they march us straight to the beach in the first place?”
“Because they don’t want to be found. And they probably wanted to keep you guys disoriented.” He watches me for a second, letting me think it over. “This is our best bet, Maddie.”
He’s right.
“Fine.” I smile and toss my pack over my shoulder. “Lead the way north, Boy Scout.”
21 HOURS EARLIER
GENESIS
“¿Qué prefieres?” Sebastián asks as we pick our way through the jungle. His voice is low-pitched and smooth. It’s the voice of an announcer or a politician. A voice people will listen to. A voice like my uncle’s. Like my father’s.
“Bananas, if we can find them.”
“You’re in luck.” He strikes off to the east, clearly leading me some place he knows well.
Every step I take through this untouched patch of jungle feels like the ticking of a clock counting down to three p.m. To the moment my father will either let me die, or help these terrorists kill hundreds of innocent people.
I can’t let it come to that.
“Who are you?”
“Philosophically?” Sebastián laughs. “Or are you asking for my National Identification Number?”
“You’re not cartel.” I shrug. “Silvana, maybe. But not you.”
He holds out his arms and lets his rifle hang across his chest, showing off his uniform and his gun. “Do I not look the part?”
“You don’t sound the part. You’re not after money, and you don’t relish violence.”
He laughs again. “I bet you’re no fun to play poker with.”
We arrive at a small cluster of banana trees, each bent by a massive ring of fruit bunches so heavy they hang just feet from the ground. Several of the bunches have gaps, where someone’s already picked the fruit.
Sebastián studies the clusters, then breaks off two bananas. He holds them out, letting me choose.
“You’re an activist, aren’t you?” I select the ripest, but it’s still greener than any I’ve ever seen in a store. “You’ll pick up a gun if you have to, but you’d rather fight with words.”
He breaks open his banana and it’s perfectly ripe on the inside, in spite of the green peel. “What would you fight with, Genesis Valencia?”
Every weapon at my disposal. But I can’t show him that.
“If I have to fight, I’ve made a mistake somewhere along the way,” I say as I peel my banana.
“That’s because you’re privileged. If you wind up somewhere you shouldn’t be in life, it’s because you took a wrong turn. For most of us, someone else is behind the wheel.”
“I didn’t put myself here.” I spread my arms to take in the jungle and the entire hostage situation. “Someone else is driving this time. You’re driving. You’ve been watching me since the night I got to Colombia.”
“And how did that happen, Genesis? How did you wind up in Cartagena?”
“I—” I stare at him, stunned.
“That was your wrong turn.” He breaks off the end of his banana. “You could be in the Bahamas right now.”
“How the hell did you know that?”
Sebastián just watches me, biting into the fruit.
“Nico?” My grandmother would have told him as soon as I agreed to come visit, so he could help her get the house ready. “Is he in on this?”
Sebastián shrugs. “We all play a part. Whether we know it or not.”
“And my dad’s part? I told you, you can’t just fly a bomb into—”
“And I told you we don’t want a plane.”
“But that’s the fastest—” My mouth snaps shut as I think it through. Planes are the fastest way into the United States, though airports do have a lot of security and vigilant customs inspections. “You want a ship.”
His smile is grim. Like he’s reluctantly proud of me. “I told Silvana you’d figure it out.”
Blood rushes to my head as I fight panic. “What port?” I demand. “Where is Silvana sending her bombs?”
He gives me a bleak shrug. “What does that matter?”
“Sebastián, we can stop her.” I stand straighter, and we’re almost eye to eye. “I know this isn’t what you want. You don’t have to kill people to send a message.”
He drops his banana peel on the ground and crosses his arms over his chest. “You have a better idea?”
I fight through exhaustion and hunger, grasping for a clear thought. I’ve never felt so desperate or out of my element. “I know cash isn’t what you’re after, but money can do a lot of good. A lot of money can do even more. You could start a foundation to help disenfranchised farmers get a new start. Or establish scholarships for their kids. Or fund a series of free clinics. Or build houses for the poor.” Before he died, my uncle worked for a non-profit that did all of those things.
“Those are Band-Aids for bullet wounds, Genesis. Until the US stops interfering, Colombia’s problems will persist.”
“Okay, then take out a bunch of ads, to educate the American public.” I feel like an auctioneer, trying to sell him all the right words before time runs out. “Or back a US politician dedicated to your cause. My dad does that all the time, for issues he thinks are important.”
Find the kidnappers’ base camp. Shoot from a hidden location. Flee with Genesis and her friends in the subsequent chaos.
The hard part will be deciding whether to aim for Silvana or Julian, in case I only manage one shot.
“You’re low on insulin, we’re both low on food,” Luke continues. “And if we hike much farther, we won’t make it back to the bunkhouse in time to meet the helicopter tonight. So if we’re going to press on, we have to head for the shore.”
I open my mouth to argue again, but he cuts me off.
“And if that doesn’t convince you, think about this: Silvana and Sebastián are almost certainly heading for the shore too. There’s no more convenient way for the kidnappers to get the supplies they need to keep themselves and their captives alive than by boat.”
I frown, resettling my bag on my shoulders. “Then why didn’t they march us straight to the beach in the first place?”
“Because they don’t want to be found. And they probably wanted to keep you guys disoriented.” He watches me for a second, letting me think it over. “This is our best bet, Maddie.”
He’s right.
“Fine.” I smile and toss my pack over my shoulder. “Lead the way north, Boy Scout.”
21 HOURS EARLIER
GENESIS
“¿Qué prefieres?” Sebastián asks as we pick our way through the jungle. His voice is low-pitched and smooth. It’s the voice of an announcer or a politician. A voice people will listen to. A voice like my uncle’s. Like my father’s.
“Bananas, if we can find them.”
“You’re in luck.” He strikes off to the east, clearly leading me some place he knows well.
Every step I take through this untouched patch of jungle feels like the ticking of a clock counting down to three p.m. To the moment my father will either let me die, or help these terrorists kill hundreds of innocent people.
I can’t let it come to that.
“Who are you?”
“Philosophically?” Sebastián laughs. “Or are you asking for my National Identification Number?”
“You’re not cartel.” I shrug. “Silvana, maybe. But not you.”
He holds out his arms and lets his rifle hang across his chest, showing off his uniform and his gun. “Do I not look the part?”
“You don’t sound the part. You’re not after money, and you don’t relish violence.”
He laughs again. “I bet you’re no fun to play poker with.”
We arrive at a small cluster of banana trees, each bent by a massive ring of fruit bunches so heavy they hang just feet from the ground. Several of the bunches have gaps, where someone’s already picked the fruit.
Sebastián studies the clusters, then breaks off two bananas. He holds them out, letting me choose.
“You’re an activist, aren’t you?” I select the ripest, but it’s still greener than any I’ve ever seen in a store. “You’ll pick up a gun if you have to, but you’d rather fight with words.”
He breaks open his banana and it’s perfectly ripe on the inside, in spite of the green peel. “What would you fight with, Genesis Valencia?”
Every weapon at my disposal. But I can’t show him that.
“If I have to fight, I’ve made a mistake somewhere along the way,” I say as I peel my banana.
“That’s because you’re privileged. If you wind up somewhere you shouldn’t be in life, it’s because you took a wrong turn. For most of us, someone else is behind the wheel.”
“I didn’t put myself here.” I spread my arms to take in the jungle and the entire hostage situation. “Someone else is driving this time. You’re driving. You’ve been watching me since the night I got to Colombia.”
“And how did that happen, Genesis? How did you wind up in Cartagena?”
“I—” I stare at him, stunned.
“That was your wrong turn.” He breaks off the end of his banana. “You could be in the Bahamas right now.”
“How the hell did you know that?”
Sebastián just watches me, biting into the fruit.
“Nico?” My grandmother would have told him as soon as I agreed to come visit, so he could help her get the house ready. “Is he in on this?”
Sebastián shrugs. “We all play a part. Whether we know it or not.”
“And my dad’s part? I told you, you can’t just fly a bomb into—”
“And I told you we don’t want a plane.”
“But that’s the fastest—” My mouth snaps shut as I think it through. Planes are the fastest way into the United States, though airports do have a lot of security and vigilant customs inspections. “You want a ship.”
His smile is grim. Like he’s reluctantly proud of me. “I told Silvana you’d figure it out.”
Blood rushes to my head as I fight panic. “What port?” I demand. “Where is Silvana sending her bombs?”
He gives me a bleak shrug. “What does that matter?”
“Sebastián, we can stop her.” I stand straighter, and we’re almost eye to eye. “I know this isn’t what you want. You don’t have to kill people to send a message.”
He drops his banana peel on the ground and crosses his arms over his chest. “You have a better idea?”
I fight through exhaustion and hunger, grasping for a clear thought. I’ve never felt so desperate or out of my element. “I know cash isn’t what you’re after, but money can do a lot of good. A lot of money can do even more. You could start a foundation to help disenfranchised farmers get a new start. Or establish scholarships for their kids. Or fund a series of free clinics. Or build houses for the poor.” Before he died, my uncle worked for a non-profit that did all of those things.
“Those are Band-Aids for bullet wounds, Genesis. Until the US stops interfering, Colombia’s problems will persist.”
“Okay, then take out a bunch of ads, to educate the American public.” I feel like an auctioneer, trying to sell him all the right words before time runs out. “Or back a US politician dedicated to your cause. My dad does that all the time, for issues he thinks are important.”
