Page 5

Mia

All I can hear in my head is “ For someone of your means, I can’t believe you’ve never travelled outside the US .” There are many things that Ashlee enjoys giving me a hard time about, but as her words play on a continual loop, I feel like I’m being pecked at by a bird with a rather sharp beak.

Especially since I haven’t torn my face away from the plane’s window. Watching the city grow smaller below us is stunning; it’s almost enough to make me temporarily forget about the danger that my dad is in. Or the anxiety I’m experiencing once we land in Colombia, not to mention the worry that is settling heavy in my stomach.

So, I may not have been a globetrotter. Luckily, I did have a passport because I had stepped foot in another country. “ Niagra Falls on the Canadian side doesn’t count as international travel, boo .” It was one of the last things Ash said to me before we headed to La Guardia.

It's fine. I am happy with my little world and the life I’ve made in New York. But what does my immediate future hold?

The unknown of it all scares the crap out of me. Colombia could be exciting, beautiful even. But when I pry my eyes from the window and see Dillon’s muscular arm next to mine, I am appreciative of Ashlee. For calling Midas. For having the foresight when I didn’t. For knowing that regardless of how this situation unfolds, I’ll be safe. Or as safe as I can be.

I recall Dillon’s reaction with Esther and how he swept the penthouse thoroughly and I know without a doubt that I’ll be fine. With him. With the team. With their expertise and skills.

In the small confines of the private jet, each guy is preoccupied. Midas and Dillon are on their laptops. Phantom is cleaning his handgun on the polished teak table. Blaze is rummaging through what appears to be a first aid kit, while Legion is pushing buttons on a device that looks like another sat phone. There’s very little chatter, but their presence is comforting.

It was sheer luck to find the seal and it’s hidden meaning. For a moment, I honestly thought we were at a dead end and wouldn’t find anything that would lead us further. The thought wraps barbed wire around my heart, squeezing it tightly. My dad needs me. His life is in jeopardy and the only thing that will keep him alive is the knowledge I possess. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him. He’s my dad, my only living parent. My blood. I’ve been under pressure before, but exams and work deadlines are nothing compared to the fact that I hold his fate in my hands. It’s a tough pill to swallow.

I only hope that I can stay sharp. I run through a logical assessment. The seal undoubtedly points us to Colombia. But what about once we’re there? The Bat Man figure is Guztá, that I know. I also know that they made their civilization high in the mountains. In the jungles of Colombia.

I’m not sure if the physicality of traipsing through dense jungle terrain daunts me more than the FARC guerrillas and drug lords that still roam the area, or the flora and fauna. I may not be a world traveler, but it doesn’t take a genius to know that South America is riddled with venomous snakes, insects and predators like jaguars. No pressure.

The Guztá site, like Machu Pichu, has been excavated. Once discovered in the early seventies, it took archeologists a week to uncover the astounding landscape. With an annual rainfall of over ten feet, the Guztá tribe were ingenious in their landscaping designs. Terracing was a common practice. Large, flat sections of the hilltops were designed with smaller sections in graduated “steps” or “terraces.” Grooves were carved around the outer edges and the result allowed the rain to run directly and efficiently away from the site, acting as a modern-day gutter system.

And, somewhere in the ancient city will be the next clue.

I don’t want to think of the alternative.

I’m jarred out of my thoughts when Dillon says, “The flight is eight hours. If you want to sleep, I’d suggest doing it now.”

I yawn at his suggestion automatically. “Excuse me,” I say when the yawn has receded. “I think I might…” Until now, I haven’t realized just how exhausted I am. There’s not much I can do for the duration of the flight, so I give in to the weightiness of my eyelids.

I sleep, but not for very long. My body gave up the fight, but my mind never turned off. I pictured my dad bloodied and bound. Scared. Unable to buy his way out of this. Every kidnap scene from movies I’ve seen plays out in my head, flashing its harsh reality like little punches to my heart. It’s horrifying.

I wake suddenly, thankful for the light in the cabin. The darkness bred too many scenarios I’d rather not envision.

“Hey, hey, you’re awake.” Blaze sits across from me, alight with giddiness.

“I am…” I say cautiously. Dillon is nowhere to be seen, but the rest of the guys are where they were when I drifted off.

Blaze is chewing gum and pops a large bubble. He grabs a bag on the seat next to him and asks, “Have you been vaxxed for yellow fever before?”

“That’s a hard no,” I chuckle. I almost retort with, Did you hear Ashlee give me crap for never leaving the country? but I swallow it.

He extracts a pair of latex gloves, snapping the second with emphasis. “This won’t hurt a bit…”

“Uhhh…”

“Take it easy,” Dillon says. He resumes his place next to my seat and shoots Blaze a nasty look.

“What?” Blaze acts affronted, but not surprised. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Perhaps you could give her a quick rundown, instead of cornering her without an explanation.” Under his breath Dillon says dipshit and it makes me smile.

I sit up straighter, smoothing my shirt. “No, I understand,” I tell the men. “Are there any side effects?”

“Nothing more than the possibility of a mild headache, aches or a low-grade fever,” Blaze informs me.

Goody. I remember the last time I got a tetanus shot and I thought my arm was going to fall off from the pain.

As if reading my mind, Dillon says, “It doesn’t hurt like certain shots; there’s no burning.”

“I’d prefer to have given this to you weeks ago, but obviously that wasn’t an option.” Blaze now has the needle in his hand, tapping it and squeezing out any air bubbles.

I changed before we left New York and I’m happy that I’m wearing a tank under a loose linen button down shirt. I remove my arm, if not a little reluctantly—I’m not a fan of needles—and I offer it to Blaze.

“Just, uh, don’t let me see the needle go in, okay?” I sound like a child and I hate it. “I-I…just let me know when you’re about to do it, okay?” Uncontrollably, my voice rises an octave. Turning my head, I focus on the stitching on the cream leather headrest.

The coolness of the alcohol swab is enough warning that I’m seconds away from a sharp object piercing my skin. God, could I even do this? Trek through Colombia? Walk amongst fanged snakes, bite-happy bullet ants or spiders that inject potent neurotoxins.

“What kind of food art do you make?” Dillon is next to me, but his voice seems distant, much farther than his proximity.

I don’t have to think too hard. “Well, mostly anything,” I tell him. “Sometimes I spend time looking for inspiration on Pinterest, but mostly, I can see a design in a particular piece of food rather easil—” I yelp, feeling the pinch of the needle in my skin.

“Sorry, don’t hate me. You were chatting and I didn’t want to interrupt.” Blaze has the decency to look sheepish at least.

“Ow. Is it out? Is the needle out? It’s not in my arm anymore?”

Dillon and Blaze are the epitome of calm. “It’s out,” Dillon says, placing a small Band-Aid over the dot of blood forming.

He must have taken it from Blaze, because I hear him muttering, “I’m supposed to do that…It’s not like I’m the medic or anything…”

I make a small windmill motion with my arm after it’s back in my sleeve. “That wasn’t too bad,” I say.

From his seat, Blaze bends forward with a slight bow. “I’m known for a quick delivery,” he responds studiously. It might be the first time he’s shown absolute seriousness. It doesn’t suit him.

“All the ladies know you’re good for a quick delivery, too.” Legion eyes his brother from the opposite end of the cabin, and everyone but Blaze is laughing. “What? You left yourself wide open with that one…”

There’s still such youth in Blaze’s features and they pinken with Legion’s teasing. The tips of his ears grow red and I know he’s holding back.

Standing, I look to each guy and say, “Please, don’t hold back on my account. I understand that you want to exude professionalism, but we’re going to be in close quarters and situations that are stressful. Being ourselves, I think, would be paramount to a successful time. Besides,” I point out, “with Ashlee as our common connection, we’re practically friends.”

“But—” Midas interjects.

“—There’s no ‘but’, not when I’m the one paying you.” With that, I head to the back where the restroom is and freshen up. But not before I hear the hearty You’re a dick, Legion come from Blaze.

There it is…

Much better.

“Senora, por favor.” The customs officer points to my bag. “Open it.”

We landed in Santa Marta no more than twenty minutes ago. And though the guys gave me a quick rundown about customs, it’s still my first time.

“Sorry,” I say, but dutifully, I unzip the bag while the man begins to rummage through my belongings.

“?Qué hay aquí?”

He’s pointing to a small container with a blue Ziploc lid that I do not remember packing.

Heat rushes up my neck, adding to the dampness at my nape. Am I in trouble? Why is it so hot in here?

I remove the container and open the lid. By now, each guy has gathered around Midas along with a few bored airport staff.

Once the lid is removed, laughter from behind me (mostly from Blaze) erupts like elephant toothpaste. The officer has no such reaction.

Inside is clay. I asked Ashlee to pack it for me; I had no idea what we’d be finding here and I didn’t want to be without it if I needed it. The Colombian jungle didn’t boast a Michael’s or a Hobby Lobby.

When I look at how Ash packed the clay, or rather how she formed the clay, the stickiness at the back of my neck begins to pool. Apparently, she had time on her hands when I was scrambling to pack proper clothes, because the clay, in all its glory, has been sculpted into a man’s thigh. Complete with a gun in a thigh holster. The one time I disclose to her that I find thigh holsters hot…I make a mental note to throttle her when I get back.

We are cleared and under Legion’s guide, we pile into two separate small SUVs. The guys split up: Midas with Legion and Blaze, and Phantom is with Dillon and I.

I settle in the back seat and note the temp on the rearview mirror: 32?C. The ninety-degrees accounts for the sweat that has formed at my lower back in addition to my neck. The AC kicks into overdrive. The cool air feels delicious as I tie my hair back and take off my linen shirt.

Then it occurs to me, I have no idea where we’re going or what the game plan is. I bite my bottom lip, waiting for Dillon and Phantom to finish the conversation they’re having. Everything has been so rushed, it’s absurd that I haven’t taken a moment to think beyond a few minutes at a time. It’s like I’m on a treadmill, but someone else is in control of the increasing speed.

Dillon catches my eye in the rearview, tilting his head in question.

“What’s the plan? I mean, yay! we’re in Colombia, but what now?” I feel foolish for not having asked earlier or even had the mind to be a part of the planning process.

It’s Phantom that answers me. “We’re heading to our lodgings.”

“Oh.” That makes sense I suppose.

“The idea is to get settled for the night, get a good night’s rest, and hit the ground running in the morning.” Dillon’s explanation makes me question what time it is. I can no longer go off my hunger to gauge the time of day. The clock on the dash says it’s close to five in the afternoon. I check my phone. 4:53PM. Being in the same time zone as New York never occurred to me.

“Okay.” It’s all I can muster at the moment. Everything, especially the lack of sleep is compounding, piling up like a stack of weighted blankets atop me.

The rest of the drive isn’t long, and I spend it looking out the window. The road is two lanes, and even though I know the Caribbean Sea is to my left, I can’t see it. Not before too long, urban expansion leaves us, replaced with lush vegetation that begins to dominate the land and creep over the power lines in an almost fully formed canopy. The sky is a deep azure, the clouds are a blinding white, and the foliage is so verdant I now understand the appeal of intense color palettes in design. Who wouldn’t want to incorporate this in their home? It’s stunning and cheerful.

I’m happy Dillon knows what he’s doing. Behind the wheel he’s relaxed, driving with his left hand while his elbow is propped against the bottom of the door’s window. Occasionally, people on bikes pass, mothers with children cross in front of us, and others on motorbikes weave in and out of the lanes like the lines don’t mean anything.

Ahead of us, Midas pulls onto a side road that takes us in and out the palm trees and up and down hills. Thatched roofs come into view.

Dillon parks. “Our humble abodes, folks.”

Gathering my belongings, it isn’t until we’ve rounded the vehicles that I see exactly where we’re staying. Circular huts with pointed roofs are revealed between oversized leaves and fronds. Stone paths between each structure guide the way along with a small sign indicating the way to the restaurant and huts one through seven to the left, and eight through fourteen to the right.

I’m hit with a warm breeze that billows my tied shirt from behind me and fills my nose with a briny scent. I inhale deeply, unsure if this is one of the first times I’ve indulged in such fresh air.

Midas tells us that we’ve got huts three and four. We wind through the footpath and around the other structures until we reach the bottom of a basin. And it’s then that the view hits me. An uninterrupted vista of the coastline is no farther than a few hundred yards before us. The breeze off the ocean keeps the tree tops in a constant yet gentle sway and the recurring roll of each wave brought in by the tide hypnotizes me on the spot.

Phantom, Blaze, Midas and Legion all walk past me, unaware of the beauty before us.

And then I feel the heat from Dillon as he comes to stand beside me. “Nothing like the city, is it?” He seems to understand the reason for my reverence in this moment. His voice is lowered, gentle.

“Nothing. It’s breathtaking,” I whisper. Above, a brightly colored bird flies low before landing in a tree. This place is so far removed from anything I’ve ever known or seen or experienced. It’s enough to make me promise myself to leave my bubble. To step out of my comfort zone. To see the world.

It’s Dillon that coaxes me from the pathway and inside the hut. I’m surprised to see a queen bed against the curved wall, a small but functional looking bathroom to the left, and shutters for every window. Every one of them is open, allowing the space to be filled with the air off the water.

“Down the outside stairs is an open-air lounging space with a hammock and views of the beach.”

I turn around to face Dillon. He stands with one of my bags, looking no less worse for wear. Does he ever get tired?

“Sounds lovely,” I say.

“I’ll, uh leave you to it. The guys are just in the next hut over there,” he tells me, motioning with a flick of his head. “There’s a restaurant on site. Is an hour enough time before we reconvene?”

I nod a yes. Dillon doesn’t break eye contact with me.

“I’ll just take this and get settled.” I go for my bag that he’s still holding.

“Right. Sorry…”

“See you in an hour,” I say, suppressing a yawn.

He dips his head, thinking better of lingering.

I don’t need a full-time babysitter, and I almost expect him to give me some push back about not letting me out of his sight.

But rather than turn left out of the door to the next hut, he turns right and goes down the stairs. I hear the groan of the hammock under the floorboards as he gets comfortable.

It makes me smile.

Regardless of Ashlee’s shenanigans with the clay, I do feel bad that I haven’t at least let her know that we all made it here safely. I grab my phone to send her a quick text before heading down for dinner.

We made it. All good. We’ll discuss the clay when I get back.

Bubbles show on the screen.

It’s about time. If you weren’t with Adam, I’d have called the authorities by now. Oh, and you’re welcome ;)

Talk soon.

After pulling my hair back in a low ponytail and maybe putting a little mascara on, I call it good.

It’s a short walk to the restaurant. Turns out it is the closest building to the beach.

I find Midas, the brothers and Phantom at the table already. I hadn’t seen Dillon when I took the footpath here, but a moment later, he appears and takes a seat across from me.

Blaze looks around the restaurant. Overhead fans with palm fronds for blades move the air around the space while the bar faces the ocean. “You know, this place is pretty cute,” he says, stretching his arms over his head.

The guys don’t let it slide.

“Yeah, it’s super cute,” Legion says in a higher pitch.

“Remind me to add it to my Pinterest mood board, will ya?” Dillon adds.

Phantom does a decent job of not spitting out his beer.

Eventually, we each order before Midas starts in on business.

“So, Mia.” I place my napkin in my lap and let him know I’m listening. “You mentioned the Guztá site.”

I nod. “Yes, I think it makes the most sense to start there, given what we found on the seal.” Despite the confidence I feel with my decision, my posture slumps.

“Hey, why the long face?” Legion asks me.

“Yeah, after you found the seal, your energy was…” Blaze makes an explosive gesture with his hand.

I sigh. “Well, before I came down, I was Googling the site. And it’s not easy to get to on a good day, or even the dry season. The hike will take around a week, up a fifty-two-degree incline… I know you guys are fit, and I might be alright, but we don’t have that type of time. We’re so close but so far.”

“Then it’s a good thing I have a connection down here.” Midas sits back and crosses his arm, not explaining anything further.

Dillon fills in the blanks. “We won’t be hiking.”

“Oh?”

“We’ll be taking a helo,” he supplies matter-of-factly.

“But we can’t land there. It could compromise the site!” My voice is a low shrill and it surprises even me.

Phantom leans back nonchalantly. “You’ll be rappelling in. With Legion, myself and Blaze.”

The table grows silent, waiting for my reaction.

“What about you guys?” I ask, looking at Dillon and Midas.

“I’ll be grounded, intercepting any data that Legion finds,” Midas says. “And Archer will be piloting the bird.”

Oh.

“The helo can only hold the pilot plus four passengers. You’re a nonnegotiable choice, and Legion specializes in geo-tracking, Phantom is a sniper, and well, after Blaze’s phlebotomy show, he’s obviously the medic of the group,” Dillon tells me.

Blaze blows a rather loud raspberry, garnering our attention. “Phlebotomists draw blood, dumbass. I’m a medic.”

“Semantics.” Dillon is unperturbed. “We each have our own skills. Less we forget that I’m the one with the logged flight hours, kid…” He takes the opportunity to wink at me, and I see Blaze make a fist at his side. It is too easy to get under his skin, and Dillon and the others enjoy taking full advantage of it. It’s entertaining.

“Anyway,” Legion interrupts, “it appears that we’ll have the site to ourselves. It’s the offseason for tourism—”

“—And I checked with the archeological database and work visas have expired until next year,” Dillon says. The fact is supplied so fluidly I almost don’t catch the ambiguity that “checked” most likely means “hacked into”.

“In all seriousness,” Midas says, “the group makes the most sense based on everyone’s skills.”

“Understood.”

Our food comes and we all grow quiet, devouring the frijoles rojos and bandeja paisa. The weight of tomorrow sinks in with each bite I take. I’ve tried indoor rock climbing once. My foot slipped and I hung suspended in the air in my harness. I was six feet from the floor. And terrified. How the hell was I supposed to be lowered from a moving helicopter?

I’m mostly quiet the rest of the meal, turning over thought after thought. Seal. Guztá site. Helicopter. Seal. Guztá site. Helicopter. And why was I surprised to learn that Dillon can fly? Why did that even enter the rotation of ideas spinning on a hamster wheel in my brain?

To my surprise, the guys begin yawning. So they are human .

“Probably best to get some shut eye,” Midas says.

The guys form a line, walking out of the restaurant. I take up the rear, attempting to appreciate the scenery—anything to get my mind off tomorrow.

Dillon walks me to my hut while the others retreat to theirs for the night.

“I’ll be downstairs, so if you need anything…”

“Dillon, you can’t sleep in a hammock all night,” I say.

“Slept in much worse,” he states.

I look at him wholly, noting his roughened features, the forming parenthetical grooves around his eyes, the scar on his arm… “I don’t doubt it, but please. Wouldn’t you be better off over there?”

“One bed, remember? The hammock will be a blessing not having to share a space with those guys.” He quirks his mouth, attempting to ease my worries.

“I feel really bad that I’m taking up an entire hut and there’s five of you left to share the other,” I say.

“Don’t. There weren’t any others available, and like me, Midas and Phantom will take the hammocks while the brothers can fight over the bed.” He shifts his weight. “Apologies in advance if you hear them squabbling like kids at camp.”

“Noted.”

Dillon looks around the space with a critical eye. “Best to keep the shutters closed to stave off the bugs.” I’m about to point out that they won’t have anything to keep the bugs away if they’ll be sleeping outside, but he cuts me off. “Don’t worry. We’ve got mosquito nets.”

“Oh. Alright,” I say feebly. “Well, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight, Mia.”

I watch as he leaves, the door shutting softly behind him. This time I don’t hear the groan of the hammock, but soft voices speaking below me.

With a full stomach, fatigue hits me like a ton of bricks. Remembering the shutters, I go around the room until I’m on the last set.

Dark storm clouds on the horizon are the last thing I see before crawling into bed.