Nick loosened the cowling with a screwdriver, praying that he’d finally found the problem. If it was the fuel line, though, his life had just gotten a lot more complicated—as if that were even possible. He didn’t have time to be stuck in the middle of the jungle with nowhere to go for parts and no radio access on the eve of a presidential election that, according to Chad and Natalie, had a good chance of ending in disaster.
He glanced back at the plane. Not that he couldn’t fix the problem. Three years flying bush planes through the jungle had prepared him for just about anything, but clogged fuel lines always meant more complications, something he wasn’t in the mood for. It had already taken one miracle to land the plane. It was going to take a second to get it out of here.
With the cowling off, he cut the safety wire and shot up a prayer as he checked to see if the fuel was still getting to the filter.
Bingo. He’d been right.
Forty-five minutes later the plane was good to go. He grabbed his logbook from the cockpit and scribbled a few notes in the margin for the mechanic back in Kasili. As he wrote, an envelope slid out from the back of the logbook and landed on the floor.
Nick picked up the letter, staring at the return address, then shoved the envelope back into the logbook. At twenty-one, his reaction had been to run away. Some days it seemed as if he was still running.
Still looking for a way to buy your redemption, Nicholas Gilbert?
Shoving away the thought, he jumped down from the cockpit, focusing instead on a swarm of luminous butterflies hovering over the tail of the plane. Beyond them the trees, in a stunning array of greens and browns, were covered with orchids and creeping vines. The jungle never ceased to amaze him.
He took a swig of the small water bottle Natalie had left him. It was here, among the familiar noises of the jungle that he’d made his peace with God. For the most part. Amy’s letter managed to dredge up those doubts and drag him back to a time he wasn’t sure he was ready to revisit.
The roar of a vehicle yanked him from his thoughts. He certainly wasn’t expecting company, and whoever it was probably meant more trouble than a blocked fuel line ever would be. He moved away from the plane.
He was right. A jeep pulled up with three men carrying rifles.
Nick frowned. Apparently there was one thing he wasn’t prepared for. A vehicle full of government soldiers and automatic weapons.
Setting the water bottle on the tail flap, he decided to take the friendly approach, a diplomatic tactic that had saved him more than a time or two when dealing with the authorities. “Morning, fellows. Hope you’re not looking for a ride, because I’ve been having a bit of engine trouble.”
The three men, wearing military garb, jumped from the vehicle, quickly bridging the distance between them in long, booted strides.
The tallest took an extra step toward him. “Where are they?”
Nick held up his hand. “Now wait a minute, fellows. No hellos, or how are you—”
He was cut off with a sharp blow to the jaw. He hit the ground with a hard thud, air whooshing from his lungs. Okay. So they didn’t appreciate his sense of humor.
Struggling to catch his breath, he rubbed his jaw and forced himself to stand back up. He hadn’t survived four years as an Air Force pilot to be taken out by a bunch of bullies in some godforsaken jungle. And while three rifles might put him at a disadvantage, he wasn’t ready to surrender.
“I’ll ask you one more time: where are they?”
Nick folded his arms across his chest and tried to look confused. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The two Americans’ traveling from Kasili to Bogama on a private plane that never made it to Bogama.”
“I don’t—”
The soldier hit him again. This time on the left temple. Stars exploded in his head, and he blinked his eyes and tried to refocus. He decided to play it straight. “I was with a couple who left from here for the capital a few hours ago, but I haven’t heard from them since. My radio’s down, and I don’t have anyway to contact them.”
Nick ducked as the man swung the butt of his rifle. He felt the deafening crack against his temple…then nothing.