A/N: Just to clarify, I have never been to Colombia. All I know about this situation is what I have read in the news and books, which probably has some stuff wrong and I'm sure doesn't cover all sides of the story. Any errors are my own, and I hope no one is offended by anything I may write. Also, as always, I don't own any of the characters and all that disclaimer jazz.


Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear. —Ambrose Redmoon


Jane sat in the Division One Cafe and pushed her bunny rabbit pancakes around on her plate. It had been an incredibly slow week for homicide, and as loathe as Jane was to admit it, she was bored.

And to make matters worse, her best friend was out of the country. It figured that the one week they would actually have had the time to spend some time together outside of work, Maura wasn't even here.

Angela walked up and refilled her daughter's glass of orange juice, glancing reproachfully at the uneaten food on Jane's plate. "Do you want me to make you a hamburger, sweetheart?"

"No, thanks, Ma." To appease her mother, Jane forced herself to eat a bite of one of the bunny's ears. "Pancakes are great," she said through a mouthful of food.

Raising an eyebrow at Jane's manners, Angela asked, "When was the last time you talked to Maura?"

Jane sighed. Sometimes it felt like her mother could read her like a book. She missed Maura, and Angela knew it. "We talked on Skype three days ago. She said the classes are going well, and she was going to go visit a nearby village the day before yesterday. Seems like she's having a grand ole time."

Angela smacked her daughter in the shoulder with the dish towel she was holding. "Jane! You shouldn't pout. It'll give you forehead wrinkles."

"Ow!" Jane yelped, although it was more out of reflex than any actual pain. "I'm not pouting! I just wish she hadn't decided to go, that's all. Who spends their vacation time in Colombia, anyway?"

Angela patted Jane's arm and nodded. "I know she's doing a good thing, going down there to teach classes to their medical examiners...but I just wish she didn't have to go somewhere so dangerous!"

Jane smiled, and squeezed her mother's hand. "Don't worry so much, Ma..." She smirked a little, "It'll give you forehead wrinkles."

Angela laughed and shook her head. "You want a cup of coffee, sweetheart?"

"No thanks, Ma," Jane said as she stood up from the table. "I should get back upstairs and get started on that backlog of case reports. I'll call you later about dinner."

She turned to leave the cafe and saw Korsak hurrying inside, his face grim. For a moment, she thought maybe they finally had a case...but as he came closer, she realized that whatever this was, it was much bigger and more personal than a simple murder.

"Jane," Korsak said, "There's a problem."

Her heart plummeted when she heard his next words.

"It's Doctor Isles. She's missing."


It had been a hot day; so hot they had rolled down all the windows in the car to let in the breeze and fresh air. The drive was pleasant, and the view of the sun going down over the mountainous jungle had been breathtaking.

They were taking a risk, driving back to town so late. The local doctor had asked them to stay the night, but Maura wanted to start early the next morning with her students, identifying a set of remains pulled from underneath a shed, and Don Julio had agreed. Raul, their driver, had seemed the most nervous, but they were making good time, and he relaxed as they passed the midway point.

Don Julio was telling stories and making them all laugh so hard that Maura had to ask him to stop, for fear that Raul would crash the car over a cliff. Don Julio, the older soft-spoken administrator for the medico-legal complex, could be outrageously funny if anyone stopped long enough to listen. He had personally chosen Raul for their driver, and Maura was glad that he had. Raul was quick to smile and laugh, polite without a hint of machismo, and most importantly, a careful and attentive driver.

That had been two days ago. Or was it three? It was hard for Maura to keep count of the days. It already felt like half a lifetime. Had it really been less than a week?

Less than a week since their car had been forced off the road by two jeeps filled with paramilitary men armed with AK-47s.

Two of the men had wrenched open Maura's door, pulled her out, and shoved her to her knees on the road. Don Julio was shouting, trying to tell the men who they were. Her wrists had been tied behind her, and the last thing she saw was the same being done to Don Julio before a black sack was thrown over her head.

She felt herself being thrown into the jeep, shoved down into the floorboard of the backseat. There was more shouting coming from the direction of their car...Raul, she thought...and then she heard three quick shots from an AK-47, and an explosion that could only have been their car going up in flames. She squeezed her eyes shut, and choked back a sob, wishing desperately that she could cover her ears with her hands.

Three men climbed into the backseat, their heavy boots resting on her shoulder, hip, and thigh, pinning her to the floorboard. Then they took off into the jungle, Maura's head bouncing painfully against the floor of the jeep.

The whole thing had taken about 90 seconds. She'd say this for her captors: they were efficient.

About an hour and several dozen bruises later, the jeep finally slowed to a stop. She was yanked out of the jeep by her ankles, and the hood was ripped off. She was in a paramilitary camp, a clearing filled with half a dozen ramshackle buildings, stacks of ammunition, and soldiers sitting around smoking and cleaning their guns by the light of kerosene lamps. All of them looked at her, and a few let out whistles and catcalls as she was ushered through the camp.

She caught sight of Don Julio for the first time since the raid, and she breathed a sigh of relief that he appeared unharmed. They were shoved toward the smallest building, and one of the soldiers opened a padlock on the door.

The building was simply constructed, with four posts sunk into the the ground at the corners, and rough-hewn planks making up the four walls between them with a thatched roof above. Each of the sunken posts had a length of chain padlocked around it. Maura and Don Julio were taken to the corners at the far side of the building. One of the soldiers held Maura against the post while another bent, pulled up her pants leg to expose the top of her boot, and wrapped the chain tight around her ankle. He padlocked it in place and both men stepped back. Another two had done the same for Don Julio, and when they were finished they left their captives alone, padlocking the door on their way out.

Maura, trembling slightly and in shock over the sudden turn of events, looked at Don Julio. The older man sunk to the floor, looking frightened, but also calm and almost resigned. When Maura had asked how he could be so calm, he smiled sadly and said, "This has been a threat for all of my life, Doctora. It is a sad fact of life in my country, and one we are trying desperately to change. I suppose I'm lucky that I made it this long without it happening. I'm only sorry you were caught up in it as well."

Still shivering despite the heat, Maura lowered herself to sit on the dirt floor as well. She leaned back against the post and tried to calm her breathing. "What happens next?" she asked quietly. "Ransom demands?"

Don Julio nodded. "This is the paramilitary version of fundraising. The rebel groups kidnap people, and ransom them back to their families and governments for money to buy more guns, ammunition, and supplies. If we are lucky, we will only be here a few days, maybe a couple of weeks."

Maura frowned, "And if we aren't lucky? I've read accounts of people being held prisoner by these groups for years."

Don Julio only sighed in response and said, "Perhaps we should try to get some sleep."

There was no comfortable way to lie down with her hands still tied behind her and a chain locked around her ankle. Not to mention her mind was still racing, and her autonomic nervous functions were still in overdrive from the rush of adrenaline. She leaned against the post as best she could and tried to calm her body with a meditation technique. Breathing deeply, she felt her heart rate begin to slow. Finally, she felt herself drifting off to sleep, but her dreams were filled with gunshots, fiery cars, and skeletal remains digging their way up from underneath the shack in which she slept.