They were so vulnerable, surrounded by thirty miles of lake in one direction and fifty in the other, the mountains of Venezuela the only sight of land they had. And the three flimsy walls—two of which were only three feet high— and bamboo roof with gaping holes would provide little shelter from the coming rain. Maggie settled against a wide beam, her bare feet peeking out from khaki cargo pants, her white T-shirt sticking to her skin, as Dan tried again in vain to get a call through to the pilots or Miami. Nothing. He finally stopped pacing, trying various spots for satellite reception. “We’re stuck.” “Maybe Javi will come back for us in the morning,” she suggested. “Maybe whoever paid Javi to strand us out here will come back and try to kill us.” She shot him a look. “I realize you’re wired to think that way, but who knows we’re here?” “Whoever knows about the fortunes, and gave us bogus information. Ramon could have been lying about reading the clues. Con and Lola could have cooked up the whole thing to get us off their backs.
