Chance recognized that Jenny was changing the subject. His shoulders sagged.
“Fire away,” he said.
“There was a very rich and powerful sultan with a beautiful daughter who had reached the age of marriage,” she began. “Obviously, the sultan wanted only the best possible husband for her, so he devised a clever test for potential suitors. Pass the test, and win the hand of his daughter.
“The sultan had a giant aquarium in his palace. It covered an entire wall and was filled with dozens of exotic fish from the seas that encircled his vast kingdom. ‘Why is it,’ the sultan asked the suitors, ‘that if the fish have weight, that when you remove them all from my water tank, the weight of the aquarium does not change?’
“The suitors all set to solving the problem. One young prince studied water displacement, and determined that the amount of water displaced by the fish weighed the exact same amount as the actual fish themselves. The sultan dismissed him. A second suitor developed a mathematical formula that proved the fish were essentially weightless in the aquarium; therefore removing them had no effect on the overall weight of the tank. He too was sent home.”
“So what’s the answer?” Chance asked. “Why does the weight of the tank not change when the fish are removed?”
“That’s what I’m asking you,” Jenny said.
“Am I the suitor in this story? And you’re the fetching princess?”
Jesus, Chance, have some self-respect. Embarrassed, he quickly took a sip from the canteen.
“You’re not getting off that easy,” Jenny pressed. “What’s the answer?”
Chance looked up at the canopy over their heads. The skies were clearing.
“The sultan is lying,” Chance said. “Removing the fish does reduce the weight of the aquarium. By exactly the same amount as the weight of the fish. It was a trick question. He was testing them.”
A crack of a smile appeared on the corner of Jenny’s mouth. “Very impressive, Chance. I didn’t—”
A scream pierced the clearing. Chance jerked his head up just in time to see Kate leaping into the air. “Snake!” she cried.
A yellow snake was curled up beside her, coiled at her sudden movement. It was perhaps two feet long, thick and fat, with sharp protrusions that looked like horns jabbing out over two black eyes. It was an eyelash viper, one of the most venomous snakes in Central America. The snake was so bright that it seemed impossible that nobody had noticed it until it had brushed up against Kate’s bare leg.
In one instantaneous and effortless maneuver, the biker they called Snake leapt to his feet, grabbed his mud-streaked machete, and slashed down at the striking viper. The blade cleaved through the snake’s body in one strike, leaving the head and the tail twisting and curling in its death throes on the jungle floor.
It took a full three seconds before everyone caught their breaths.
“Thank you,” Kate said, her hand pressed to her thumping chest.
“Don’t mention it,” Snake said.
“Is that why your nickname is Snake?” she asked.
“Nickname?” he deadpanned.
“Time to roll out!” Bigfoot suddenly yelled.
Chance stood abruptly, thankful to be moving again. The viper had mercifully given him a reason to extricate himself from his embarrassing conversation with Jenny. He quickly moved to join the others.
“Wait,” said Jenny.
“We need to go,” Chance said. “We can finish this conversation later, if we have to.”
They did not reach the highway before nightfall. They had advanced barely a dozen kilometers. That night, Chance was the first to hunker down to sleep, anxious to avoid another awkward exchange with Jenny.
He just wanted to be home. But no one could sleep. The group lay in a circle around a fading fire, turning restlessly, kept company by a cacophony of insects and other night creatures.
“Will somebody please shut those damn bugs up!” Chance couldn’t tell who yelled out, it could’ve been any one of them. They were all feeling the same thing. The tension was suffocating.
Suddenly, a soft humming filled the night air. For a moment, Chance thought it was the gentle call of another insect, but then the humming changed tone, and it was obvious it was human-made. Another moment later, and Chance realized it was Wolfie.
Wolfie’s tone rose and fell in a rhythm that Chance recognized but could not place. He closed his eyes, let the sounds calm his frayed nerves. He could hear the song soothe the others too, and soon, the gentle sounds of sleep filled their circle.
Wolfie stopped.
“What was that?” Chance asked.
“Autumn,” he said. “One of Verdi’s Four Seasons.”
“That’s a far cry from Guns ‘N Roses.”
“Not really. You ever heard “November Rain?” That’s as classical a piece of music as anything Verdi ever composed.”
“Music is your thing.”
“Yeah. It’s kept me out of trouble more times that I can count. Lying here in this jungle, listening to those buys, just reminded me of Verdi. Most everyone can recognize the Four Seasons concertos, but most people never really listen. He was so slick about his music, because if you listen really closely, you can hear a dog barking, flies buzzing, and even the crackle of warm winter fires. His music literally transported you to the seasons. It just seemed like everyone needed that right about now.”
A moment later, Chance finally slept.
Late the following morning, they finally reached the road.
They came upon it unexpectedly. One minute they were in the root-choked jungle, muddy and tired, and the next they were standing on a pockmarked sweep of empty pavement. The road stretched to the horizon in both directions. To Chance, it felt almost surreal to step on concrete for the first time in almost four days.
Bigfoot bellowed to the skies, his arms outstretched. He and his crew slapped each other on the backs, hugging, laughing. “Holy shit!” Bigfoot said. “We did it. We did it!”
Chance and his friends were no less ebullient. The paved road, the Pan-American Highway, meant they were one step closer to civilization, closer to a phone, closer to home.
They didn’t linger. It felt great to finally find the highway, but it felt even better to speed down the pavement at 70 kilometers per hour, wind pelting their grinning faces. If there had been anyone else around, they surely would’ve made a freakish sight: five leather-clad bikers and five muddied and bedraggled stowaways, screaming at the top of their lungs on the most remote highway in the world.
The town of Meteti provided the first sign of civilization. It was a small place, an oasis in an otherwise dense jungle. There were a few scattered homes, a dirt soccer field and a few dusty Nissan pickup trucks. But it also had a bank, a small cafe and a one-pump gas station. After several restless nights in the Gap, the amenities of Meteti passed for luxury.
The café was little more than a squat concrete square, with a hand-painted sign reading Restaurante Dona hung beside a swinging door. They parked their bikes in a row outside the cafe and trudged inside. They were famished, but there were not enough seats inside to accommodate all of them at once. Ten travelers apparently constituted rush hour in Meteti. A young woman shooed them back outside to a pair of picnic tables in a patch of shade. They ordered — the menu only had one dish, rice and chicken — and Bigfoot treated to a round of Balboa, the local brew.
“You’ve earned it, boys and girls,” Bigfoot said. “Bottoms up.”
Chance tentatively took a sip, and immediately spit it out, much to the delight of the bikers.
“Oh, my God,” Chance gagged. “That is awful.”
“You are all young yet,” laughed Bigfoot. “Beer is an acquired taste.”
Across the street, the Meteti branch of the Mercantil Bank Panama was housed in a dumpy green structure, not much bigger than the small restaurant. A sign posted in the window indicated there was an ATM inside.
Chance had promised Bigfoot compensa
tion for letting them come along, even if it was only for their fair share of the food and drink. While they waited for their hot food, he excused himself from the table and headed across the road to the bank. No need to look both ways here, Chance said.
He made it to the far side of the paved road before he stopped cold. At that precise moment, the bank door swung open and two men dressed in black emerged.
Desmond and Scarface.
TWENTY-THREE
“There is no need to run,” said Desmond. “And perhaps more importantly, there is nowhere to run.” The killer pulled back a flap of a black trench coat to reveal the handle of a pistol tucked into his waistband. Scarface showed his weapon too. He had upgraded to a gun.
Chance glanced over his shoulder. None of the others had seen the two killers yet. Their food had arrived and they were laughing and eating and drinking. Bigfoot’s deep voice boomed.
This is impossible, Chance thought. How had they found them? They were literally in the middle of nowhere, over 3,000 miles from the escape room. There was no way they could’ve been tracked — no one had cell phones to trace. Nobody in the world knew where they were.
And yet, here the pair stood. Glaring at Chance in the center of the desolate roadway. Desmond and Scarface. Guns brandished. Come to finish the job.
They each took a stride forward, and Chance retreated on his heels.
“What do you want from us?” Chance asked. “Why are you doing this?”
Desmond said, “You don’t really need to know or understand any of that. It’s all over now.”
“What’s over?” Chance pleaded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Desmond grinned, exposing a row of perfectly white teeth. He looked to his left, down the long road that stretched into the jungle hills. “This is the end of the road,” he said. “For you and your friends.”
The bank door suddenly slammed open behind the killers and they turned. A man was waving something at them, speaking in rushed Spanish.
Chance turned and bolted back to the restaurant. He didn’t pause to see if the killers were following him, he knew they would be. He braced himself for gunfire, hoping the distraction had bought him a few precious seconds.
He started shouting even before he reached the picnic tables.
“Run!” he screamed, waving his arms frantically. “They’re here! Everybody needs to get out of here!”
Nine heads turned at the sound of Chance’s voice. Tahoe’s eyes widened immediately — she was the first to see the killers. She scrambled out from the picnic table, barking instructions. Bigfoot rose from the table slowly. Snake, too. They were an imposing sight. And they weren’t about to run anywhere.
Chance reached the table, out of breath.
“Whoa, slow down, buddy,” said Bigfoot. “What the fuck are you going on about?”
“I don’t have time to explain,” Chance said. “But remember those guys trying to kill us? They’re here. I don’t know how, but they found us.”
“Impossible,” said Bigfoot. “No way they found you in all of this.”
“Look, they’re going to be here any second. They’ve got guns.”
“You mean, these guns?”
It was Desmond. He stood beside Scarface, guns aimed directly at Chance and his friends. They were fewer than 20 feet away.
Slowly, Bigfoot and Snake stepped from the picnic table and assumed protective positions between the gunmen and the others.
“Chance, grab your friends and go inside,” Bigfoot said calmly, his eyes locked on the gunmen. “We’re going to have a private conversation with these two gentlemen.”
Chance nodded, then gestured to the others to follow. Tahoe, Wolfie, Kate and Jenny backed slowly toward the cafe. Flicker, Snake, Fats and Cyborg stood stoically beside their leader.
“Our issue is not with any of you,” Desmond addressed Bigfoot. “I would advise you not to involve yourselves in our business.”
“Advice noted,” Bigfoot said. “Now I’ve got some advice for you: Put your little guns away and get the fuck out of here.”
Chance and the others slipped inside the restaurant. He gestured frantically at the woman, who took one look at the scene outside before she and the cook bolted for the back door. Chance ducked down beneath an open window and peered outside.
“I can appreciate your noble attempt at protecting these kids,” Desmond said. “But I’m afraid it is all very much misguided. I am sorry to inform you that I will be unable to accept your kind suggestion.”
Bigfoot and his friends had formed a rough semicircle facing the two gunmen, a human wall standing between the killers and the cafe. Chance watched without breathing. He felt a hand clamp down on his forearm. It was Jenny.
“You’re not going to hurt anyone,” Bigfoot said. “Not today, not here.”
Desmond coughed out a short laugh. “We have come a long way, and though I would love to stand here and continue our conversation, I’m afraid we don’t have the luxury of time.”
“Well then we’ve got ourselves a problem,” Bigfoot said. “And now we’re going —”
He never finished his sentence.
Desmond and Scarface fired simultaneously. Five clean shots, execution-style. Five bodies dropped like lead weights onto the dirt.
Bigfoot. Snake. Flicker. Fats. Cyborg.
Kate could barely muffle her cries.
And before he could restrain himself, Chance found himself standing, half-staggering toward the door, his hands clasped to his head. “Noooo…”
The gunfire immediately drew onlookers from across the street. But as the locals approached and saw the gunmen, they scurried into the closest building. In an area wrought with drug and militia violence, their sense of self-preservation was well honed.
Desmond approached the motionless body of Bigfoot, and kicked him gently with a polished black boot. Scarface checked the others, looked back at Desmond and shook his head. Satisfied, Desmond turned toward the café and locked eyes with Chance.
Jenny gasped. “We need to get out of here,” she whimpered.
“I’m thinking,” Chance said. “And I need to ask you a question first. Are you somehow involved in this?”
“What are you talking about, Chance?”
“Your notebook, Jenny. I saw your notebook. What was all that stuff you wrote? It looked like you’ve been watching me. All of us.”
Jenny stood up. “We don’t have time for that right now.”
“Get down! They will see you!”
“They already know we’re in here,” she said. “They’re coming, there’s no stopping that. We need to leave. Now.”
“We’re just going to run?” Wolfie asked. “Out the back, into the jungle? That’s our big plan?”
“No,” said Jenny. “That’s not the plan.”
Before Chance could move, Jenny strode to the front door, and with only a fleeting glance over her shoulder, marched outside into the bright sunlight.
Chance moved to follow, when he felt something hold him back. Wolfie and Tahoe grabbed him by both elbows.
“We can’t just leave let her go out there,” Chance protested.
“It’s too late,” said Tahoe. “She’s already there.”
She was right. Jenny was striding toward the two killers, her hands raised.
“Out the back,” Wolfie said. “Let’s go.”
Chance staggered backward, pulled by his two friends. The last thing he saw before being yanked into the small kitchen and into a storage room was Jenny slowly lowering her arms. But Desmond and Scarface, holding their guns, did not.
Jenny, what are you doing?
Chance and the others dashed through the back of the cafe to a narrow alley lined with overflowing trash cans. Two ravens flew up into the air, startled by the human invaders. They inched their way along a low brick wall, Wolfie in the lead. He peeked around the corner of the building, paused, and then moved forward.
They were on the side of th
e building when they heard the gunshot.
Chance surged forward, shaking off hands that tried to restrain him. Wolfie and Tahoe held fast to his arms. No, Kate mouthed. He wrenched free of their grasp and lurched to the front corner of the café. Carefully, he peered around the corner.
Desmond and Scarface stood over Jenny’s lifeless body, guns at their side.
Chance collapsed to the ground, his back pressed against the wall of the restaurant. Sobs suddenly wracked his body. He forced himself to stop shaking, and muffled his cries with the palm of his hand. He knew that the slightest sound would betray their location to the killers.
Jenny was gone. Jenny.
He vaguely noted voices. It took a moment for the words to come into focus. “We can’t stay here,” Tahoe was saying. “I know it hurts, but you’ve got to stuff that all back inside right now. Right now, we’ve got to get out of here.”
Unseen hands helped Chance to his feet. He knew Tahoe was right. But he couldn’t seem to find the muscles to power his own legs, or move his mouth speak. It was if Jenny’s death had shut down all of his physical and mental capacities.
Jenny.
What had she been trying to do? Reason with the killers? Or had she sacrificed herself to save them? Or was it something else?
A hard palm slapped his cheek. The pain roused him.
Kate grabbed his head with both hands. “Snap out of it, Chance. We need to go. Now.”
Chance’s mind cleared. He nodded.
Wolfie peered around the corner, signaled for the others to follow. When they crawled into the front, there was no sign of Desmond and Scarface. Chance guessed they had followed them into the cafe. The killers would quickly pick up their trail out the back and around the side. They had maybe 30 seconds.
Jenny’s body lay on the ground, just 10 feet away, near the front doorway. She was face down, her legs splayed awkwardly. Chance took a step toward her, then another. He could vaguely hear Wolfie call out to him, but the words were little more than a muted murmur, distant. Jenny’s lifeless form drew him inexorably forward.
He fell to the ground beside her, and placed a hand on her leg. He choked back another bout of sobs. Behind him, there was a sudden revving of a motorcycle engine. That jolted him back to reality.
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