Vern told the soldiers we worked for the DEA, which I’m guessing was the only reason that an hour later we were still alive.

Apparently, Bolivia had evicted the United States Drug Enforcement Agency from their country a decade earlier because of some offhand remarks by the then US ambassador. Regardless, the soldiers weren’t stupid enough to think they could kill two United States DEA agents and their in-country liaison without hell raining down on them.

The men, now numbering twelve—a third four-wheeler had arrived minutes after the first two—smoked and took turns holding us at gunpoint. The three us where sitting on the ground, leaning against the side of one of the shacks.

“Sorry, guys,” I said to Vern and Diego. “It looks like I was off by about ten soldiers.”

“It’s not your fault,” Diego said. “They must have another operation close by.”

Vern wasn’t nearly as forgiving, which might have had something to do with the soldier who punched him in the face when Vern refused to answer his questions.

Vern rubbed his left cheek with his hand and moved his jaw from side to side.

“Anything broken?” I asked.

He glanced in my direction but said nothing. He did, however, wave one of the soldiers over. Vern said something to the soldier in Spanish, and the soldier nodded. He then drew a pack of smokes from his pocket, pulled one out, lit it with the cigarette in his mouth, and handed it to Vern.

Evidently, every man deserves a last smoke before he dies.

Vern thanked him, then took a long inhale. He held it for a few seconds, then blew it out. “Oh, God, I missed that,” he said with a sigh.

“You gave it up?”

He turned to me, then, deciding to end his silent treatment, he said, “Old lady is fine with the occasional cigar, but she made me give up cigarettes when we got married.”

“What’s her name?” Though Vern had mentioned a wife, he’d never said her name.

“Isabella.”

I turned to my right and asked Diego, “What about you? You got a girl?”

“Sí, sí,” he said with a dimpled smile. “And dos niñas.”

He pulled out his wallet and showed me pictures of his two little girls. They were both in pink dresses and as cute as any two kids I’d ever seen.

“Why did you take this job?” I asked him. “Didn’t you know how dangerous it would be?”

“This job pays more than two years I make as guide.” He paused. “I want best for my girls.”

This silenced the three of us, each of us coming to terms with the people we would never see again. For Diego, it was his wife and two girls. For Vern, it was Isabella. For me, it was Lacy and Clark.