Detour

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To Sara Anne Freed, a remarkable editor and an even better human being, who took a chance on me, for which I’ll be eternally grateful.

I’d like to thank Richard Pine, a remarkable agent, Rick Horgan for his editorial wisdom, and Larry Kirshbaum for getting into the trenches with me. Also, all my Colombian friends who took the time to tell me where I screwed up.

PROLOGUE

It’s an old saying. An adage. A reassuring word to the wise. Or actually, to the scared. It’s meant to mollify, to calm, to show one the utter silliness of their thinking.

You say it when someone’s frightened to do something.

To travel, for instance.

To ride the rails. Hop a plane. Charter a boat.

To scuba dive. Jet-ski. Rollerblade. Balloon.

They’re frightened a terrible something will befall them, that they’ll set out to experience an enjoyable afternoon, a day, a vacation, a life, but instead, they’ll end up dead.

And what do you say to them?

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