A half hour later, they heard footsteps in the outer office. The plank door opened and several people filed in—Señora Velasquez; Father Gomez; Dr. Huerta; Pepe, the mechanic; Señor Alvarez, the restaurant owner; and the two farmers who had volunteered to dig their graves. Father Gomez said, “Do you know what happened?”

“Yes,” said Remi.

Señora Velasquez unlocked their cell, and they all walked through the office, where Sam’s and Remi’s backpacks sat. Dr. Huerta went to his office two doors down the street and returned with a wheeled stretcher. He wheeled it across the street to a spot below the hanging body of the mayor. He and Sam held the rope taut while one of the farmers produced a knife and cut the rope so they could lower the mayor onto the stretcher. They lifted the stretcher to straighten the legs, covered the mayor with the blanket, and pushed him to Dr. Huerta’s infirmary. Many of the townspeople followed them in and others stood outside.

Inside the office, Remi said, “Is there a regional government to handle this?”

“Not one with troops,” said Father Gomez.

“The police?”

“You saw them,” said Dr. Huerta. “They were the ones trying to arrest you for smuggling drugs after you fought the killers who attacked you on your last visit.”

“Then it has to be the national police in Guatemala City,” Sam said.

Dr. Huerta said, “I just spoke with them on my satellite phone. They said they would send an inspector to take our statements next month, two months at the latest.”

“One inspector?” Sam said.

“Yes.”

“Oh, by the way,” said Father Gomez, “I brought you these.” He took the two pistols and two spare magazines out of his coat pockets and handed them to Sam and Remi.

“Thank you,” said Remi.

“Your car is ready too,” said Pepe. “No charge. I’m sorry for what we did to you. Maybe when you’re back in the big world, you’ll tell people we weren’t so bad.”