Patrick had believed her, but she wasn’t sure about the soldiers. Even now, two days later, Gina could see it in the soldiers’ eyes: they wanted her dead. Even Benecio, who had snuck Gina an energy bar a few times, looked at her differently. Gina concluded the only reason she was still alive was because Patrick had ordered the soldiers to leave her alone. But those orders were subject to reversal, as Patrick had told her, “If you try to escape again, I’ll turn you over to them.”

Gina wasn’t sure what they had done with Guillermo’s body. She guessed they had buried it somewhere nearby. Most Bolivians were Roman Catholic, and there was a good chance that not far from the drug lab there was a cross sitting atop a jungle grave.

On that note, it turned out the drug lab wasn’t their final destination. From there, their journey had continued through the forest. They had set out early the morning after Guillermo’s death. A few hours later, when they stopped to rest, Patrick discovered that the satellite phone was missing. Gina was relieved when Patrick blamed Bill for the missing phone, screaming at him, “Well, you were the last one to use it!”

Two hours earlier, when they had stopped to make camp, El Jefe was once again carried into her tent. Gina was out of saline bags, and to keep him hydrated, she began shooting water down his throat with a syringe.

Gina pulled back the plunger on a syringe and filled it with water. She elevated the man’s head with one hand, then put the syringe in the man’s mouth and pushed in the plunger, sending half an ounce down the man’s throat. Gina repeated this three times, then she heard a soft creak outside the tent.

Footsteps.

She stiffened. Maybe the soldiers were going to kill her anyway. Was this it? Were they coming for her now?

Unless . . .

Gina whipped her head toward the back of the tent. She waited for the tip of a blade to peek through the nylon of the new tent—Patrick had made her swap out the tent she’d cut the large flap in with one of the soldiers’ tents. But no blade appeared, and the footsteps retreated, perhaps their owner had reconsidered his plan, or maybe it had just been one of the guys relieving himself.

After blowing out the breath she had been holding, Gina refilled the syringe. She moved behind the man and was elevating his head when she saw a stain begin to spread on the man’s tan pants.

Had El Jefe been in a hospital, he would have a catheter inserted into his bladder to remove the urine, but without one, his body was forced to relieve itself on its own. This was only the second time that it had happened in the five days Gina had been his caretaker.