Free The Twelve by William Gladstone

think it was a big joke.
    â€œRelax,” he said. “This is just what they’re trained to do. No one is actually going to shoot us.” He smiled, and they climbed into the vehicle.
    It only took five minutes to reach the military barracks, the largest military outpost in all of Yungas. More than four hundred men were stationed there, but at that particular moment there seemed to be a lot fewer on hand.
    When a young lieutenant greeted them upon their arrival, Max asked him where the rest of the men were. The lieutenant explained that they were hot on the trail of the final members of Che Guevara’s rebels. The entire region had been closed to foreigners the very day he and Rolf had jumped on the banana boat—something they hadn’t known, thanks to the media strike. Upon hearing this news, Max and Rolf shared worried glances but said nothing.
    The lieutenant was a well-groomed young man with an easy air. He practically apologized for being there, while all the senior officers had joined with the general in the expedition to round up the last of los banditos aquellos. After all, he said, there would be glory in making these final captures.
    He explained that they had no formal jail, so he would have Max and Rolf placed under guard in the officers’ quarters, where they would spend the night. He further informed them that they would be dining with him and the general’s wife that evening, since that would be the most convenient way to keep track of them.
    Given their sombreros and gaudy blankets, he seemed to think that they were actually who they said they were—tourists who had wandered off the beaten track and had managed to avoid thirty-nine separate checkpoints, completely unintentionally.
    But it was a hard story to believe, and since all of the senior officers were off-site, he had no choice but to wire Section 5—the highest security section of the Bolivian central army headquarters in La Paz—and ask for orders.
    He said he would let them know their fate at dinner.
    ***
    On the drive over, Rolf had noticed that there were some beautiful clay tennis courts, no doubt reserved for the use of the officers. He goaded Max into asking if it would be all right to play some tennis later that afternoon. Seeing no reason to object, the lieutenant granted permission.
    As a result, a short time later they had two guards chasing after the tennis balls—serving as ball boys as if they were at a tennis club—while two others kept machine guns trained on Max and Rolf to ensure that there would be no attempt at escape.
    Later that evening, over one of the most delicious meals Max had ever eaten, with pleasant conversation from the general’s wife, the lieutenant told them where they stood.
    â€œSection 5 doubts the veracity of your story,” he revealed. “They have asked me to send you to La Paz tomorrow morning, so they can question you properly. As long as your story checks out, you have nothing to worry about.”
    â€œWell, we certainly aren’t spies,” Max confirmed anxiously.
    â€œI know that,” the lieutenant acknowledged. “I will be sending Raul with you as your guard, on the 6:00 a.m. bus to La Paz. The bus will be free, but you will have to buy your own food along the way.”
    With that, he rose.
    â€œI have enjoyed our dinner together and hope all goes well in La Paz,” the lieutenant said.
    As they left, Rolf shot Max a wry look.
    â€œWow, this is even cheaper than the $2.00 we paid to get here,” he commented. “You can’t beat a free ride!”
    Max was less certain that this ride was really going to be free, but he smiled and remained in good spirits.
    He found it difficult to sleep, however.
    ***
    The bus ride proved to be much more comfortable than the banana boat had been, and there was a small town where they stopped and had lunch. They were given an opportunity to choose from baby mountain trout swimming