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full recovery?
    “Furthermore,” Gordon continued, with a steady eye on Lucy, “given the humanitarian nature of your cover, you won’t be able
     to carry any weapons or any overt communication devices of any kind,” he added apologetically.
    Her mind flashed back to the last time she’d had her gun taken away from her.
Oh, no.
    “The FARC are going to march you deep into the jungle,” Gordon added, causing her to break into a sweat. “They’re going to
     strip you of everything but your underwear and boots. Any weapons or cell phones you might try to conceal would be discovered,”
     he explained.
    Lucy’s lips began to tingle. She could sense Gus’s growing tension as he glared down at the table, refusing to meet her gaze.
    “You don’t have to take this assignment if you’re not ready, Lucy,” her supervisor added, no doubt aware of her diagnosis.
     “But Barnes and Howitz are your colleagues. I thought I’d give you first bite at this since you’d worked in-country with those
     two.”
    Lucy angled her chin at him. “Of course I’m ready,” she scoffed, aware that Gus was finally looking straight at her. “Is that
     the reason Lieutenant Atwater is accompanying me?” she asked, with sudden insight. “For my protection?” If she was going to
     get her moxie back, she had to do this on her own without a freaking babysitter.
    Her supervisor frowned. “As it happens, Lucy, a squad of SEALs from Gus’s team has already deployed to Bogotá. They’re assigned
     to the Joint Intelligence Center at the American embassy, where they’ve been gathering intel. Those SEALs are going to track
     your progress via microchips implanted under your skin. Your job is to discover, if you can, the coordinates to the camp where
     Howitz and Barnes are held, keeping in mind that the FARC tend to relocate every couple of weeks. When the UN negotiations
     fail—which we expect to be the case—the SEALs should have enough data to drop in and wrest our boys out by force.”
    “How can I pass on data if I can’t carry a cell phone or radio?” Gus chimed in, his tone inscrutable.
    “
We,
” Lucy corrected him, earning a piercing glance. She cocked an eyebrow at him.
    “We’ll cover that shortly,” Gordon promised. “In addition to finding Barnes and Howitz, I want you to make a full report on
     the FARC’s present circumstances. The Colombian army says they’ve cut off the rebels’ supplies and killed off their leaders
     and it’s just a matter of time before they disintegrate completely. We want to know if that’s the case. Go ahead and open
     your envelopes,” he added with a nod.
    With an uncharacteristic tremor in her fingers, Lucy untied the flap and reached for the passport inside. As she cracked the
     cover, she assimilated her new identity with a shiver of excitement and a renewed sense of calm. This was a familiar process,
     the feelings of taking on a new identity, fraught with nuanced details, first internalized and then worn like a second skin.
    The name beside her photograph was Luna Delgado de Aguiler, born in Valencia, Spain. The pages of her passport, heavily stamped,
     indicated extensive service to the United Nations. According to her bio, she was an associate human affairs officer working
     and living in New York City, married to Gustavo Aguiler, a human rights officer.
    “You and Gus will be traveling as a married couple,” Gordon added, confirming her sudden stab of suspicion.
    Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. She glanced across the table and found Gus scowling in concentration at his passport. Thankfully,
     there was no ring on his left hand, nor any telltale sign that he had ever worn one. At least she wouldn’t be treading on
     another woman’s turf, not that it would matter if she were.
    They were professionals with a job to do. It wouldn’t make a lick of difference if he was married or not.
    Gordon turned and gestured to the Colombian branch chief. “Stokes, why don’t you