Lauren was swept up in the joy, laughter and playfulness of the fifteen or so children. They were all barefoot, red mud splattered all over their short twig-like legs and calloused bare feet as they tugged and pulled at her hand. First, she stopped and gave each of them a piece of candy, delighting in their eyes shining back with thanks. And then, the two oldest boys, probably ten and twelve, grabbed her hands, tugging her forward, pointing excitedly toward the edge of the village.
Where were they going? What did they want to show her? Lauren saw a number of women by their huts. They smiled and waved to her. It felt good to be welcomed and Lauren pulled her hand free from one boy and waved back. She turned her attention back to the children, and saw that they were leading her behind a large family-sized hut. There was a path there that led into the jungle. It had to be the other feeder line. The one they had not walked today.
Several children raced ahead, their hair flying, calling out to her in their Quechua language that Lauren couldn’t understand. They went up a steep slope, everyone sliding and slipping in the red mud. The children laughed. Three of the girls got behind Lauren, pushing on her butt to help her up the steep hill. The boys tugged even harder on her hands, helping her to make the ascent. At the top, they were all looking very excited. The trio of girls who stood on the flat path, gestured for Lauren to hurry forward. She nodded and grinned. These kids were up to something, their excitement infectious.
Lauren noticed that the woody vines that normally didn’t allow anyone to walk through the jungle were non-existent in this area. She could see into the dark jungle full of trees, most of the ground free of bushes. Wondering if the villagers had removed the ground cover over time, Lauren realized that one could move quite easily across this litter-free jungle floor. Because not much sunlight could reach the ground of the jungle, few plants grew there. Instead, the earth was covered with decaying leaves, much like the hill they would put up the sniper hide on tomorrow morning.
The children became very enthused, their little voices reaching high pitches as they called to her. They rounded a slight curve. There, on the path, was several blooming orchids that had been blown out of overhanging trees last night by the gusty winds from the thunderstorms that had rolled through the area. One little girl knelt, gesturing for Lauren to stop and come look at them.
“Ohhhh,” Lauren said, smiling as she halted, kneeling down, “these are beautiful!” and she scooped one orchid in bloom up into her hands. The children surrounded her, wriggling like happy puppies, their faces alight and beaming. Lauren looked at the huge white orchid with its long, leathery, oval leaves. She saw a lot of roots still gripping onto what looked like bark and moss from where it had lived on a branch of a tree above them. Looking up, because the children were pointing that way, she saw several more of the same type of orchid still clinging onto the tree by the path.
One child took her hand and pushed it toward her. Another kept pointing at her nose, trying to tell Lauren to smell the flower she held.
“Okay,” she told them, laughing, “I get it.” And she lifted the huge white orchid with its purple lip up to her nose. The fragrance reminded Lauren of a heavy vanilla scent. Closing her eyes, she sighed, inhaling the scent deep into her lungs.
Suddenly, Lauren felt the grip of man’s hand on her shoulder, fingers digging in, holding her right where she was.
The children all gasped. Some cried out. They scattered away from Lauren
Dropping the orchid, Lauren jerked her head up. Her heart plunged. The Russian drug running leader, Tamryn Volkov had his pistol pointed at her temple, grinning down at her.
“So,” he whispered triumphantly, “we meet again, eh? Stand up!”
The children ran screaming back down the path toward the village.
A second man appeared out of the dark jungle, short brown hair, as tall as Alex, with his dark blue eyes narrowed on her. He quickly removed the pistol from her belt and frisked her roughly for any other weapons.
“Hurry, Morozov!” Volkov snapped. He jerked a look over his shoulder. “Those brats will alert everyone.”
Lauren gasped, her heart pounding in her breast. How? How did they find her? She felt Volkov’s hand dig painfully into her shoulder. “Scream and you die,” he snarled.
Morozov pulled out a pair of plastic flex cuffs, quickly binding her hands in front of her. Next, he took out a dirty green rag and pushed it into her mouth, tying its corners behind her head. “Let’s go,” he snapped, gripping her arm, jerking her forward.
No! God, no! Lauren wasn’t going down easily. The instant Volkov lowered his pistol, she whirled on her left boot, her right leg arcing up, catching him in the chest, flinging him backward off his feet. He grunted. The pistol flew out of his hand.
She head Morozov curse and swung around. He lunged at her. She snapped her booted foot upward, slamming it into his chest. He let out a loud, “oofff,” and staggered backward, falling.
Now! Lauren turned, racing, slipping and sliding down the trail, heading back toward the village. Her nostrils flared as they drank in huge draughts of air. The mud slowed her. She heard pounding boots coming up behind her, catching up with her. No! No! One of them tackled her from behind. Lauren slammed into the ground, striking her head on an exposed root. It was the last thing she remembered.