Page 21 of Maddox

“Thank you, Marta. Lunch was wonderful.Eres un excelente chef.”

Marta blushed. “I’m no chef, Miss Douglas, but it is an honor to have you and your colleagues stay with us.”

She nodded and headed into the kitchen. We’d been lucky to have a sponsor for our stay in El Salvador. Marta and her family had been extremely helpful in providing us with lessons about the past and what they knew about the plight of the abandoned children.

“You guys ready?” I asked the others as I grabbed my duffle bag holding a few essentials as well as the bag I’d prefilled with treats, toys, and some candy. The orphanage we were visiting was by far the one hardest hit by poverty we’d highlight.

There were also rumors several girls had disappeared just before being aged out. As usual, everything was unsubstantiated.

“Yep. I’m good.” Kyle Abbott was not only my longtime cameraman, but he was also my friend. After we filmed the last segment, he’d upload the footage tonight. As long as the satellite link held.

The video portion of the work we’d done would highlight all the good work the orphanages had done through the years. If the shadowy information was provided, I’d pen another scathing article later.

“I’m ready. Let’s do this,” Mark chimed in. As the guy who did most of the grunt work on our trips, I was shocked how eager heremained no matter the danger, heat, cold, or issues with bugs and snakes we were forced to endure.

“We need to be careful,” Maria told us. “There are new reports of soldiers checking for traitors.” As the producer, Maria kept track of everything going on, including the climate of the people. This was a dangerous mission, more so based on my personal bias regarding the brutal cartels. I’d made no bones about my hatred during various interviews and reports I’d given over the years.

However, this was important to me. Something I had to do.

Yet she was even more nervous after our trip to the bar the night before.

With the crime rate and disease taking such a horrific toll, thousands of children were all alone, forced to grow up in less than stellar conditions. I truly did hope to help them.

A significant reason was also because of the brutal cartels who had all but taken over the beautiful old city. The crimes were horrific, murders reaching numbers never seen before. Who was to suffer the most? Precious babies.

In my research leading up to the trip, I realized other reporters had attempted to identify corruption including involving the children, several disappearing. That’s why we needed to be extra careful today.

In reading between the lines, it would seem additional concerns had raised red flags with the military and various government officials during the last few years. More so the last thirteen months. No other reporter had gotten close to exposing Alfaro, six gunned down hours after stepping off a plane.

The fact we’d made it this far kept the rush of adrenaline flowing.

Even though the danger was real, increasing every day.

“I got it,” I told her. “We only have the last orphanage to visit before we can make the return trip.”

“That is it,” Maria said. “Then we are going home.” She’d made no bones about the fact she was nervous.

I appreciated her friendship, tutelage, and her continued counsel on operations and my lackluster love life. She’d grown up in the environment, which was one reason she’d become invaluable. I’d learned to trust her instincts.

After heading out of the house, I glanced up at the tumultuous sky. The rain had kept us from getting an earlier start. Thankfully, the orphanage was only a few kilometers away. We could get what we needed in a couple of hours and be back before dark.

The last thing you wanted to face was the jungle in the middle of the night.

We hopped into the Jeep, Mark driving, and took off. Another warning we attempted to heed to was to remain quiet while traveling in certain areas. This was one of them.

We had a single weapon and that was borrowed from Marta’s husband. When we arrived, the danger level had been much lower. We were all worried and in truth, the last thing I wanted was to remain here any longer than necessary.

Mark followed the mapped-out route, which did take us down an isolated pathway through the tropical environment.

By the time we reached the other side, my shirt was damp from the humidity. Forget a hairstyle. I’d twisted it into a ponytailand that’s what would appear on camera. Forget makeup and primping.

I laughed and noticed a group of buildings just up ahead. As always, a tight knot formed in my stomach any time we visited a nursery. It didn’t matter about the country and how nice the location. I always felt sick.

Everyone who worked with me knew why and while it was a subject I’d rarely talked about, my colleagues had accepted my determination to bring awareness to a subject few people truly understood.

Even in the United States, orphanages were cold and bleak, especially for the children who were never adopted. Living out a life behind what felt like prison bars shaped a person in ways no one understood.

I did.

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