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Her recollection of the explosions the night before tempered her optimism. She had to find another way to Bogotá—one that did not entail crossing the Orinoco River like last time, as she had no desire to travel through the terrorist-occupied jungle to get there.
What if she was stuck here? The thought deeply dismayed her, for she would surely lose her teaching job, starting in just three weeks. On the other hand, if Amos felt like she’d abandoned him and Simon, there wasn’t much point in returning until her condo was available again since she now had nowhere to live, apart from imposing on her sister. But, no, she couldn’t stay here, not with her visa soon to expire.
She kissed Mateo’s cheek before slipping past him out of the bed. “Let’s wash up and dress.” She needed to talk to Peter. Surely he would have ideas to get her out of the country.
Minutes later, she found Peter and Amanda seated at their small kitchen table. Sunlight streamed through the window behind him, but the rest of the home was cloaked in shadow, reminding Grace that there wasn’t any power. How would she charge her phone?
“Good morning,” they said simultaneously.
Peter stood and pulled out a chair for her, knowing she would keep Mateo on her lap. “Come, have a bite to eat, though our choices are few without a fridge or a stove.”
Amanda had sliced up bananas, oranges, and mangoes, arranging them artfully on a platter, but the only thing with which to pair the fruit were crackers.
“I’m afraid all we have is instant coffee,” the kind lady offered, “and you’d have to take it black.”
“Just the fruit is perfect. Thank you.”
As Peter blessed the food, gratitude welled up in Grace. Thank goodness for people of unwavering faith like this dedicated couple, like her twin sister, even Amos. Why couldn’t she be more like them?
“I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done,” she said when the prayer ended.
Peter cut her off. “There’s no need for that, Grace. Let’s just concentrate on getting you both safely out of the country.”
“Well, I won’t be flying out of Ayacucho.”
“Not after those explosions last night, no. I’ve thought of another way, but it’s not without risk.”
Grace eyed Mateo’s profile while wondering how much he understood. He was trying to fork up a slice of mango, which kept sliding across on his plate. She turned back to Peter. “What is it?”
“There’s a bus that runs from Ayacucho to the central station in Caracas, where you could catch another bus that goes to the Caracas Maiquetía Airport. Yesterday the busses were still running. If that’s still true today, it leaves at 10:00 A.M. from the plaza in front of the cathedral.”
Grace’s heart pumped faster as she checked her watch, then remembered to wind it. “We’ll leave within the hour, then. How much fighting has there been?”
Peter shrugged. “Honestly, locals have welcomed the Rebel Army with open arms, so there’s been very little fighting this far south. From what I can gather, the situation is different up north, where the National Army has squelched protests for years. I can’t guarantee your safety, Grace. That’s why I’m going with you.”
She looked up sharply from her watch. “No, you’re not. Your place is here with Amanda. You’ve done enough for me. I’m not letting you risk your life.”
His wife spoke up. “Grace, a single woman really shouldn’t travel alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have Mateo. And if you pray for me, then I will have God’s blessing.” As the words left her mouth, she realized she believed them. God would listen to the Doyles’ prayers; she was sure of it.
Peter heaved a long sigh before nodding. “As you wish, Grace. Eat up now. Amanda will fix something for you to take on the road. Then you, Mateo, and I will swing by the school so you can charge your cell phone. I’ll leave you with some phone numbers to call in case you run into trouble.”
CHAPTER16
The turbulence in the UH-60 helicopter made conversation impossible. The helo whipped and jerked as it skirted the tropical depression sitting in the Western Caribbean. With the aircraft carrier stuck smack in the middle of it, however, there was no way to avoid flying through the storm. Metal creaked and rivets strained. Amos wondered, as he gripped the straps of the harness holding him onto the bench seat, whether they would even make it to Venezuela alive, let alone whether he could talk Jake into sharing Zorra’s contact information. She hadn’t buried her comms yet.
Following a particularly jolting drop, the helicopter stabilized and the thumping, groaning noises abated. They were through the worst of the storm. He unlatched his harness and lurched across the cabin to sit next to Jake.
“Sir,” he began as he buckled himself in, “Zorra isn’t the only American in need of recovery.”
Jake slanted a jaundiced look at him, making it clear he was tired of Amos bringing up the matter.
“Against my counsel, my…friend, Grace Garrett, has gone to Venezuela by herself to bring her boy home.”
The CIA-SEAL sat back against the padded seat, crossed his arms, and said nothing.
“What if,” Amos persisted, “she and the boy were to find their way to Caracas? Couldn’t they call Zorra before she buries her comms? Couldn’t we retrieve all three of them?”
