If I had known for certain that these were the guys who had abducted Gina, I would have had no problem turning them into colanders, but I wasn’t certain.

Far from it.

So I sent the shot high up in the air. It did the trick, and both men quickly threw up their hands.

“¡No dispares! ¡No dispares!”

I’m guessing their shouts translated to Don’t shoot! or Don’t kill me! or I just pissed myself!

“Tell them to kick their rifles away,” I said to Diego.

He translated, and both men kicked their rifles several feet in our direction.

“Ask them where the doctor is. The one they fucking kidnapped.”

Diego shouted at the two men.

They glanced at one another, then yelled something back at Diego.

Diego said, “They say they don’t know anything about any doctor or any kidnapping.”

I almost believed them. That is, until I heard the banging and screaming coming from the smaller of the two huts.

I ran to the wooden shack and pulled at the door. There was a heavy steel lock and it wouldn’t budge.

“Gina! Gina, can you hear me?”

I put my ear to the soft wood. I could hear banging and soft moaning.

She was in there, and I was guessing she was tied up. And possibly hurt.

I walked to the closest narco and grabbed him by his thick black hair. I dragged him over to the hut and shoved him into the door.

“Tell him to open it. Now!”

Diego shouted at the man. He fumbled for a key in his pocket and tried to slide it into the lock. His fingers were shaking, and I snatched the key from him and pushed him aside.

I slid the key in the lock, and it turned with an audible clunk.

I flung the door open.

It was dark and musty.

There was a figure moving in the corner.

“Gina!” I shouted.

The figure bleated in reply.

It was a goat.

≈

The goat jumped to its feet and ran out of the hut.

I exited the hut in a daze—still trying to process how I could have confused the sounds of a small white goat with the sounds of a grown human woman—when two four-wheelers skidded out from the brush. Both four wheelers had a driver plus three men hanging off the sides, each carrying an automatic rifle.

They screeched to a halt in front of Diego and Vern and shouted, “¡Suelta el arma! ¡Suelta el arma!”

Vern, Diego, and I dropped our guns to the ground.

The narco whose hair I’d grabbed walked toward me, picked up my shotgun, then rammed the butt of it into my solar plexus.

I groaned and dropped to my knees.

When I recovered, I glanced up. Vern and Diego were both on their knees with their hands held above their heads.

Vern shook his head at me and said, “Great scouting job, asshole.”

≈