JET - Escape: (Volume 9) Read Free

economy that was the byproduct of communism.
    Matt nodded groggily, and Hannah stirred beside him. Jet motioned to the primitive rudder. “You take the helm. Pull in anywhere that looks good. How’s she doing?”
    “She feels a little hot to the touch, and you heard her coughing. She’s definitely coming down with something,” Matt said, half-standing as he moved in a crouch to the stern and took the tiller from her. Jet edged forward and sat next to Hannah and then laid a cool hand on her forehead.
    “Not too bad,” Jet murmured, as much to herself as to Matt.
    “She’s been through an awful lot,” Matt whispered.
    “Yes, she has. We all have. But we have to keep moving. We don’t know who’s after us, only that one of the cartels is helping them, which means it’s not safe anywhere in Colombia.”
    “It has to be because of the diamonds. Nothing else makes sense.”
    “Maybe, but knowing that doesn’t help us. We have to get to either Ecuador or Venezuela. Panama is out of the question after what I went through there. The police will be looking for me for a long time.”
    “Venezuela is hostile to the U.S. – I vote for Venezuela,” Matt said. “If it’s the agency after us, they’ll have a hell of a time getting any help.”
    “True, but it’s also way too unstable to live there, Matt. I’ve been to Venezuela. It’s always been dangerous, but I hear it’s getting way worse.”
    “We’ll talk to Carl and see what he can do for us. Maybe one of the islands? Aruba?”
    “Too close for comfort. This all started for me on Trinidad, remember?”
    “That’s right. I keep forgetting.” Matt pointed at a spot on the bank. “Let’s hear what Carl has to say, and we can go from there. It’s going to be daylight soon, and if they’re still looking for us, the more distance we can put between ourselves and the monastery, the better…”
    “You can bet they’ll be looking. Whoever sent them is still out there. And don’t forget the shooter at the base of the mountain.” She hesitated. “We have to assume that even though we bought ourselves some time, they’ll figure this out eventually. By then we need to be anywhere but Colombia.”
    The boat drifted toward the river’s edge, and the wooden hull scraped on the rocky shore. Jet hopped out and pulled the bow further onto the spit of land, and Matt handed a still-slumbering Hannah to her before climbing out himself. She waited as he pushed the boat back into the current, and they watched it slowly float into the fog.
    Matt took in a small circle of stones surrounded by broken glass by the brush line and leaned into her. “Come on. We can take turns carrying Hannah. There’s a trail I can just make out by the fire pit. There’s probably a road somewhere close by.”
    Matt led the way, and after several minutes they climbed up a steep grade to a two-lane strip of asphalt. Near a far bend the first rays of dawn glinted off glass – a window set into a building, barely visible in the shadows.
    “We must be close,” Jet said.
    “Let’s hope so.”
    Twenty minutes later they were on the outskirts of town, the area all recently plowed fields, the air redolent of fresh earth and dew. A single cart drawn by a swayback horse bounced along the road. The farmer at the reins in faded coveralls looked ancient, his skin the texture and color of rawhide, a hand-rolled cigarette smoldering between his thin lips as he waved at them in passing.
    Day broke over a sorry collection of sorry dwellings arranged haphazardly around the town center, marked by a towering church spire. A few motors sputtered to life in the distance as morning in the rural river town began. Jet and Matt were surprised as they made their way toward the church – the primitive hovels transitioned into a neighborhood of stately two-story homes, and then into a commercial area, the architecture colonial, but the cars surprisingly new.
    “There’s more money here than I would have