100 Hours
Page 44
“That’s not what I . . .” Luke sounds like I just punched him, and the blow hurts me too.
“Look, let’s just forget it ever happened, okay?” I say as he jogs to catch up with me. “I never kissed you.”
His hurt expression hardens into anger. “Good. Because I never wanted you to.”
I push guilt to the back of my mind. He doesn’t mean that, but he should mean it. If I’ve learned anything from Genesis, it’s that anger is much more productive than pain.
16.5 HOURS EARLIER
GENESIS
“Sebastián?” Silvana demands. “Start talking.” The entire base camp goes still. Óscar turns off the radio, leaving nothing to fill the silence but croaks and hoots from the jungle, and I swallow my disappointment. I’m desperate for news from Miami as my father’s deadline draws closer.
“I don’t answer to you,” Sebastián says, and we all turn to watch the tense volley of power. “When my boss tells me to make the demands, I’ll make the demands.”
“No money, no distribution channel,” Silvana growls. “That was the deal.”
“And maybe it still would be, if you actually had a distribution channel.” Sebastián points in my direction without looking at me. “So far all you have is one-third of the leverage that was supposed to make Hernán Valencia cooperate.”
“She’s plenty,” Silvana snaps. “Hernán still has three and a half hours, and he will respond by the deadline. And so would the others, if you’d called in the ransoms. Wainwright alone is worth a fortune! Make the calls, Sebastián.”
Sebastián shrugs. “You can tell Moreno that he doesn’t get his money until Hernán agrees—”
“¡Cállate!” Silvana cuts him off with a glance at me. But finding out she works for Gael Moreno, head of the infamous Moreno cartel, is no real surprise.
The part I can’t quite wrap my head around is that Silvana and her boss aren’t behind the plan to ship bombs to the United States. They’re just in this for money.
The bombs are all Sebastián.
16 HOURS EARLIER
MADDIE
“Hey, Tim, what’s your ETA?” a staticky voice calls from the two-way radio clipped to Luke’s waistband. I freeze, clutching a thin branch to help keep myself from sliding downhill. Luke goes still on my right, his eyes wide.
We’re so close to the beach we can hear the waves crash over the shore.
“They can’t hear us if we don’t push the button, right?” I whisper.
“Right.” His voice is so soft I can hardly hear him. He hasn’t come within two feet of me since our fight, and I don’t know how to safely breach the gulf between us. Or even if I should. “But if they’re close enough for us to pick up their signal through the dense vegetation, they might be able to hear us stomping around out here. Depending upon the range.”
I let go of the branch with exaggerated caution, just in case.
“I’m about half an hour out,” Tim replies through the static and there’s something about his voice.
“I don’t think they’re the kidnappers,” I say, and Luke shushes me with one finger pressed against his lips. “They sound American. Maybe they can help us.”
Luke pulls the radio from his belt. His thumb hovers over the button on the side. “Should I say something?”
I stare at the radio, frozen in fear. They might be dangerous even if they’re not with the kidnappers. But they might end up saving our lives.
“They could move out of range any second,” Luke reminds me.
Finally I nod. “Say something.”
Luke brings the radio up to his mouth.
“Have you guys seen Moisés?” that first staticky voice asks.
Adrenaline shoots through me. I snatch the radio from Luke’s hand before his thumb can press the button. He stares at me, surprised. “What—?”
“They’re working for Silvana and Sebastián,” I whisper.
He frowns. “But they sound American.”
“I know,” I murmur. Why would Americans be mixed up in a kidnapping in the middle of the Colombian jungle?
“Haven’t seen him since yesterday morning,” the other voice calls over the radio. “Why?”
“Silvana sent him on an errand yesterday, and he never came back.”
“Silvana’s thugs are her own problem,” Tim says. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
The radio goes silent.
I stare at Luke. “What the hell is going on out here?”
15.25 HOURS EARLIER
GENESIS
A long, slim afternoon shadow falls over me, and I look up to find Silvana heading my way with a folding metal chair under one arm. In her free hand, she carries a half-empty bottle of aguardiente and a plastic shot glass. She unfolds the chair next to my stump and takes a seat. “Okay, princesa.” She pours a shot, then sets the bottle on the ground between her feet. “You and I are going to have a nice, civilized chat.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“¿Por qué?” She offers me the shot, and when I shake my head, she drinks it herself, then follows it with a swig of water. “Only your papi can call you princesa?”
I hold her gaze. Like any predator, if she sees weakness, she will pounce. “How do you know my dad?”
“We go way back. Professionally and personally.” Her raised brows imply things I don’t even want to think about.
“You’re lying.” My dad recognized her on the phone, but that doesn’t mean they were ever involved.
Silvana turns sideways in her chair to face me, one arm stretched out over the metal back. “He takes his coffee with cardamom and canela, like his mami always made it. He sleeps in satin boxers. And he’s a very generous man, when he’s happy.” She leans forward, eyeing me in the flicker of the nearest fire pit, and cruelty shines in her dark eyes. She’s tuned in to my pain like a dog on the scent of prey. “I know how to make him very, very happy.”
A sour lump rises in my throat. I’m going to be sick.
“Look, let’s just forget it ever happened, okay?” I say as he jogs to catch up with me. “I never kissed you.”
His hurt expression hardens into anger. “Good. Because I never wanted you to.”
I push guilt to the back of my mind. He doesn’t mean that, but he should mean it. If I’ve learned anything from Genesis, it’s that anger is much more productive than pain.
16.5 HOURS EARLIER
GENESIS
“Sebastián?” Silvana demands. “Start talking.” The entire base camp goes still. Óscar turns off the radio, leaving nothing to fill the silence but croaks and hoots from the jungle, and I swallow my disappointment. I’m desperate for news from Miami as my father’s deadline draws closer.
“I don’t answer to you,” Sebastián says, and we all turn to watch the tense volley of power. “When my boss tells me to make the demands, I’ll make the demands.”
“No money, no distribution channel,” Silvana growls. “That was the deal.”
“And maybe it still would be, if you actually had a distribution channel.” Sebastián points in my direction without looking at me. “So far all you have is one-third of the leverage that was supposed to make Hernán Valencia cooperate.”
“She’s plenty,” Silvana snaps. “Hernán still has three and a half hours, and he will respond by the deadline. And so would the others, if you’d called in the ransoms. Wainwright alone is worth a fortune! Make the calls, Sebastián.”
Sebastián shrugs. “You can tell Moreno that he doesn’t get his money until Hernán agrees—”
“¡Cállate!” Silvana cuts him off with a glance at me. But finding out she works for Gael Moreno, head of the infamous Moreno cartel, is no real surprise.
The part I can’t quite wrap my head around is that Silvana and her boss aren’t behind the plan to ship bombs to the United States. They’re just in this for money.
The bombs are all Sebastián.
16 HOURS EARLIER
MADDIE
“Hey, Tim, what’s your ETA?” a staticky voice calls from the two-way radio clipped to Luke’s waistband. I freeze, clutching a thin branch to help keep myself from sliding downhill. Luke goes still on my right, his eyes wide.
We’re so close to the beach we can hear the waves crash over the shore.
“They can’t hear us if we don’t push the button, right?” I whisper.
“Right.” His voice is so soft I can hardly hear him. He hasn’t come within two feet of me since our fight, and I don’t know how to safely breach the gulf between us. Or even if I should. “But if they’re close enough for us to pick up their signal through the dense vegetation, they might be able to hear us stomping around out here. Depending upon the range.”
I let go of the branch with exaggerated caution, just in case.
“I’m about half an hour out,” Tim replies through the static and there’s something about his voice.
“I don’t think they’re the kidnappers,” I say, and Luke shushes me with one finger pressed against his lips. “They sound American. Maybe they can help us.”
Luke pulls the radio from his belt. His thumb hovers over the button on the side. “Should I say something?”
I stare at the radio, frozen in fear. They might be dangerous even if they’re not with the kidnappers. But they might end up saving our lives.
“They could move out of range any second,” Luke reminds me.
Finally I nod. “Say something.”
Luke brings the radio up to his mouth.
“Have you guys seen Moisés?” that first staticky voice asks.
Adrenaline shoots through me. I snatch the radio from Luke’s hand before his thumb can press the button. He stares at me, surprised. “What—?”
“They’re working for Silvana and Sebastián,” I whisper.
He frowns. “But they sound American.”
“I know,” I murmur. Why would Americans be mixed up in a kidnapping in the middle of the Colombian jungle?
“Haven’t seen him since yesterday morning,” the other voice calls over the radio. “Why?”
“Silvana sent him on an errand yesterday, and he never came back.”
“Silvana’s thugs are her own problem,” Tim says. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
The radio goes silent.
I stare at Luke. “What the hell is going on out here?”
15.25 HOURS EARLIER
GENESIS
A long, slim afternoon shadow falls over me, and I look up to find Silvana heading my way with a folding metal chair under one arm. In her free hand, she carries a half-empty bottle of aguardiente and a plastic shot glass. She unfolds the chair next to my stump and takes a seat. “Okay, princesa.” She pours a shot, then sets the bottle on the ground between her feet. “You and I are going to have a nice, civilized chat.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“¿Por qué?” She offers me the shot, and when I shake my head, she drinks it herself, then follows it with a swig of water. “Only your papi can call you princesa?”
I hold her gaze. Like any predator, if she sees weakness, she will pounce. “How do you know my dad?”
“We go way back. Professionally and personally.” Her raised brows imply things I don’t even want to think about.
“You’re lying.” My dad recognized her on the phone, but that doesn’t mean they were ever involved.
Silvana turns sideways in her chair to face me, one arm stretched out over the metal back. “He takes his coffee with cardamom and canela, like his mami always made it. He sleeps in satin boxers. And he’s a very generous man, when he’s happy.” She leans forward, eyeing me in the flicker of the nearest fire pit, and cruelty shines in her dark eyes. She’s tuned in to my pain like a dog on the scent of prey. “I know how to make him very, very happy.”
A sour lump rises in my throat. I’m going to be sick.
