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over the aft rail. The water was cool and ran strong. I pushed off first and grabbed the netting. We made our way along the netting toward the shore until we were just a few yards away. The two men waited nearby and I suppose they saw us even through the darkness, though I didn’t have time to check. The net was nylon, but the knife was sharp enough.
    “Keep a tight grip. We’re going to swing out. Try to keep your legs in front. Let them hit the rocks first,” I said.
    “I’m ready,” he said.
    I cut the last piece of the net and immediately we were pushed downriver, holding on to the net, which acted like a swinging gate. I was in front and took the brunt of the bumps. The net had just extended fully when I heard Dan yell, short and sharp. I grabbed him.
    “My ankle.”
    “Hold on to me.” The net was going to swing us toward the opposite shore. Flares dropped light through the canyon again. I let go of the net and pulled Dan with me into the current. In-stantly, I tumbled and lost hold of him. He shot out ahead of me. I let the water take me without fighting it. Dan rolled and floppedthrough the chute like a rag doll. I went after him wildly. At that moment, for the first time ever, I worried that Dan might die, and suddenly I was frantic at the picture before me. I was not ready for him to die. I struggled forward and managed to grab Dan’s collar. We were around the bend and past the worst of the rapids. We paddled to the shore and pulled ourselves onto the rocks.
    Dan couldn’t stand without support. “I’d be better off in the water,” he said.
    “They’d be all over us.”
    “They won’t kill me. Not yet. I’m not sure about you, though. You should go.”
    “Get on my back.”
    He laughed, but after he limped along for a few yards, I asked again and he gave in.
    The helicopter set down on the plateau and the flares had gone out. I didn’t see the rafts coming through the rapids yet. The men on the shore weren’t visible in the dark, either. I stumbled along to a spot where the shoreline widened. I set Dan down and went along the rock face, hoping to find a path that would lead up the cliff side. It was a useless gesture in the dark. The whooping of the helicopter blades and the rumble of the rapids conspired with the dark to blot out my senses so I felt like I was the subject of an experiment like the one the Marines once put me through to see how I handled stress. I stumbled my way back to Dan. He was propped against the rock wall, legs bent, looking comfortable, like a guy who drifted away from a party for a little quiet time. His head fell to the side. I was too late reacting. Two men grabbed me from behind. I felt the needle go into my neck.

10.
    W e haven’t talked about the money.”
    “I don’t want to know.”
    “I was never a violent man. Have no instinct for it. There have been times when I just forgot that slugging someone or threatening to was an option, just like some people forget to lie. You gotta know who you are. Remember that. Not just right now, but the past, too. Remember that. Don’t expect much from me.”
    “I stopped expecting anything from you a long time ago.”
    He tried to chuckle, but it sounded more like a cough. “I guess you did.” The effort at conversation exhausted him again and he fell silent. He might have been sleeping; I couldn’t tell anymore because his breath was always labored from the beatings. His eyes were swollen shut. The cell had two cots and a concrete floor. No window. The walls were thin. I could hear the interrogations and the beatings and Dan’s relentless, futile attempts to charm the jailers or trick them, whoever they were. I never saw anyone’s face. Two men wearing masks would open the door, enter, kick me orthrow me to the ground or, if I attempted to resist, inject me, then grab Dan and take him out. No one ever said a word to me. Periodically, a man would drag me to a toilet then drag me back. When I tried to piss on him,