Page 30 of The Lost Guardian

Santiago rolled down his window and threw up on the side of Ali’s rental car.

9

Santiago spent every second from the parking lot through security in a state of heightened anxiety, imagining the million and one ways that all of this could go horribly wrong.

He could be on a no-fly list.

The cops could be waiting for him at the airport.

Bernardo Torres’s men could be waiting for him at the airport.

He could have suffered a psychotic episode brought on by stress (and possibly genetics) and hallucinated all of it.

The plane could go down. Santiago was nauseous at the thought of it.

Even when he managed to convince himself that they would get to Lima in one piece, there was still the after to consider. How was he meant to find an old Incan tomb, lost to time?

Santiago twisted his necklace nervously as first Ali, then he passed through airport security. When his passport scan failed to trigger any flashing red sirens and he wasn’t tackled by TSA, he breathed a little easier.

When they arrived at their gate, there was no sign of mustachioed Leo or his scrawny companion, Mario. Santiago’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. Ali lowered herself into a chair and crossed her ankles.

Despite her casual stance, Santiago couldn’t help but notice the slight clench in her jaw. Her eyes scanned the room, up and down the rows of travelers, then back again in a continuous sweep.

Santiago sat next to her, placing his pack at his feet and checking the area for any signs of danger.

“I don’t see anyone,” he told her, bouncing his leg up and down.

“Good,” Ali answered. “Hopefully that means Torres’s men will have to wait for the next flight.”

Santiago surveyed the hallways around their gate until a pointed cough interrupted him. Turning in his seat, he saw a middle-aged blond woman glaring at him.

“Do you mind?” she asked, and Santiago realized his juddering leg was shaking the entire row of chairs.

“Sorry!” he said, jumping up out of his seat. Ali didn’t even spare him a glance.

Santiago paced, but when the suitcases and backpacks in their row kept getting in his way, he sat back down, willing his jittery nerves to settle.

He thought about buying himself a cup of coffee or a tea just to have something to do, but what if Torres’s men found him while he was out of Ali’s sight? What could he do against them?

Finally, over a crackling loudspeaker, the flight attendants called the groups to board. First those who needed extra assistance, then group one.

“Ready?” she asked, returning from the bathroom wearing a comfy-looking two-piece set in deep purple.

He hastily scooped his pack from the ground.

“Yeah, ready,” he croaked.

Ali led them through the gate, the attendant scanning her phone and wishing them a nice flight. Inside the jetway, Santiago felt his feet grow heavier with each step. By the time they reached the front, his heart was thumping so intensely, he worried it might be audible.

He took a shuddering breath and crossed the threshold to his least favorite place on earth: an airplane.

The air was stuffy and hot as a miserable Santi made toward economy class. He felt a pull against the top handle of his pack.

“Ungh!” he wheezed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ali asked him, relaxing her grip.

“Um, to our seats?” he responded, motioning toward the end of the plane.