We loaded up in the bed of a small, battered pickup truck that looked about as reliable as Champion Security’s last three receptionists had been. I shot Carter a disgruntled look and shoved in next to him. “This is a bad idea.”
“Maybe so. But we’re doing it.”
We were on the edge of town in three seconds and bumping up a narrow, unpaved mountain road five minutes later. It seemed like we drove through the trees forever, but I knew from experience distance wasn’t as great as it seemed when you were traveling slowly on an unpaved road.
“Did you ask how far this place was before you jumped in a stranger’s vehicle?” I asked Carter under my breath.
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters. They could be taking us across the border into Colombia.”
“I’m not,” Marisol said. “I am taking you to Las Grutas. It is only five kilometers.”
I leaned forward so I could see around Carter. “Doesn’t grutas mean caves?” I didn’t wait for a response before I elbowed the stupid doctor. “She’s taking us to the caves. That doesn’t sound sketchy at all.”
“Not sketchy. At least, not the part where my abuela lives.” Her wobbly smile wasn’t reassuring.
“I’m beginning to think Marisol speaks English,” Carter muttered.
I ignored the Carternapping woman and focused on the doc himself. “Could you not at least have asked a few simple questions first? Like, ‘Hey, stranger, what town are we headed to, and is your sketchy friend going to return us after?’ Or, ‘Can you wait a sec while I message HQ and let them know we’re traveling deep into uncharted territory?’”
He shrugged.
I glared at Marisol again. “You’re taking us back to Gelada after we see your abuela. Do you understand? No setting up a clinic in your village or whatever. The doctor’s program doesn’t allow—”
“How did you learn English?” Carter asked Marisol in the same friendly tone he used to put nervous patients at ease. “You’re far away from a city out here.”
“La antena parabólica,” she said with a laugh. “American television channels.”
“Satellite dish,” I said to Carter. The truck bounced hard enough to bruise my spleen.
They talked happily for what seemed like ten hours. I spent that time trying desperately not to think about the feel of Carter’s hot naked body beneath mine and the sharp gasp he made while coming against me. That simple frot had been hot as fuck, and I couldn’t help but replay it in my mind on a dirty, mesmerizing loop.
Stop thinking of fucking your principal.
According to my watch, it was actually closer to forty-five minutes by the time the pickup pulled into a cluster of small buildings. We’d gained a little altitude, and the trees had opened up to reveal earthen buildings with clay tile roofs. The area in front of the buildings was paved in stones, which didn’t make the ride any smoother.
The few people out and about craned their necks to see who Marisol had brought back with her. Before pulling up outside of a small house that had been painted pink once upon a time, Marisol repeated her thanks to Carter in both Spanish and English until he’d finally said, “No mas, por favor,” with a kind smile on his face.
She led Carter into the building while I grabbed our supplies and followed. Just before stepping into the dim light of the building, I took another look around the hillside village. Several pairs of eyes were watching us, which was no surprise, but I noticed a teenage boy turn and begin to run up a mountain path as if going to tell others of our arrival.
As soon as he turned his back to me, I saw the familiar outline of a handgun under his T-shirt. He clearly had a holster on the waistband of his ratty cargo shorts. Why was he armed?
I’d done plenty of research about this part of Venezuela before leaving on the trip. As much as I hated being on a babysitting job, I still took my job seriously. That included mission prep which necessitated location intel, multiple evacuation plans, background checks of the principal people Dr. Rogers would come in contact with, and keeping critical information and communication devices close at hand.
Doctors Across Continents had assigned Carter to Gelada, which was located on the edge of the Andes mountains. It was a good two hundred kilometers east from the border of Columbia, where 80 percent of the world’s cocaine supply was produced. Venezuela had its fair share of drug trafficking, but I’d made sure there was no cartel activity anywhere around here before I’d approved the Gelada assignment. Champ had even reached out to a contact at the DEA for the latest intel on the area and verified that all the known cartel members with ties to the region were currently operating out of Caracas or elsewhere.