Andy led us through the jungle thirty meters to a hacked-out clearing where his colleagues had gathered near a large boulder. Nearly as tall as myself and twice as wide, it was covered with circular and concentric carvings. Someone had traced the rock carvings with white chalk, and the etched grooves stood in stark contrast to the dark gray of the large boulder.

There were seven people in the group. From the plane ride, I recognized the Egyptian archaeologist and the two cameramen. The ex–Special Forces duo were thick, and their hands hovered over sidearms strapped to their waists. The remaining two individuals could have passed for Diego’s parents.

I couldn’t help but notice that Jonathan Roth and his production assistant were MIA.

“What the bloody hell?” said the taller soldier. His head was shaved, though he had several days of stubble, and he had a goatee headed toward a full beard. “Where’d you lot come from?”

The camera and a large boom mike pointed in my direction. It felt like I was back doing a press conference at the Seattle Police Department, and I slid into character. Though to be fair, instead of a nice suit and perfectly coifed hair, I looked like a grizzled mountain man who had come down with a severe case of chicken pox.

I said, “Thank you all for coming.”

The two soldiers shared a quick “Who the hell is this guy?” glance.

I cleared my throat to offer up some credentials. “My name is Thomas Prescott. I was a homicide detective and a contract agent with the FBI’s Violent Crime Unit for several years.”

Both soldiers relaxed their hands above their guns.

I spent the next several minutes detailing Gina’s phone call and abduction, then I detailed how Vern had arranged my hitched ride with the documentary crew.

Holland nodded at Vern and said, “You’re the guy who helped with the permits for the lidar mission and the archaeological survey.”

“Damn right,” Vern said with a smile. “I flew the survey as well.”

Suddenly everyone was shaking hands. The older Bolivians introduced themselves as Alejándro and Bernita. The cameramen were Sean and Darnell.

After we shook hands, Rix said, “Sorry about the rude welcome party.”

“Not a problem,” I said. “Perfectly understandable, given the circumstances.”

After introductions were complete, at Holland’s urging, I picked up where I’d left off in my story. Both soldiers perked up when I reached the part about the drug lab.

Holland asked, “How many narcos?”

I said, “We saw three, but shortly after we got there, one of them left on a four-wheeler piled high with bricks of cocaine. Long story short, Gina wasn’t in either of the shacks, and we were quickly surrounded by a small army. Luckily, Vern knew the Colombian boss from—”

I turned to Vern, not sure how to describe his relationship with the Colombian narco.