Though Kate had no illusions the intel she’d intercepted was completely accurate, she hoped for Aiden’s sake they’d pick up on his trail at the bar where he’d last given a verbal check-in. It had been seven months. Perhaps someone would remember him. In a small town, someone looking like Aiden would make an impression. He didn’t look like a local and neither did she or Connor. Maybe someone in Mangrove would know where the Armed Revolutionaries had set up their camps. Connor was wearing a blue, nondescript ball cap over his hair and Kate had tied a bandanna around hers. It didn’t hide her blond hair completely, but it made it less noticeable. The bus was a remnant of the eighties, rust around the wheel wells and bumper, paint chipped and scratched from the sides, and the cloth seats worn to threads, silver tape around the seams. The air-conditioning didn’t work and the small rectangular windows were opened. It was a hot, humid day and the wind wasn’t cooperating to cool the inside of the vehicle.
