Excerpt of Ignore the Pain by J.L. Greger

"CHAPTER 15: SARA AT EL ALTO AIRPORT IN BRAZIL

It was a rougher than usual landing, or so it seemed to Sara in the
rickety wheelchair/gurney. In the reclined position, she felt every
jolt as the plane lumbered down the runway after what seemed like a
fast decline. The plane slowed to make a turn and stopped suddenly.

It had hardly stopped when Sara felt something slam into the plane
slightly behind her. She guessed at the rear exit. She could hear
yelling outside the plane.

The pilot boomed over the intercom. “Passengers are to stay in their
seats until the seat belt sign comes off.” A pause. “Even in business
class.”
She heard the curtain slide open. Someone was yanking at the ties
that had stabilized the chair during the landing. She could see
nothing. A comatose patient doesn’t ask question. She remained
silent. Lew was there. She could hear his heavy breathing, almost
snorting. Obviously, he’s nervous. The cart began to roll.

“Stay with the cart and do what you’re told.”

She wasn’t sure if Marge was speaking to her, Lew, or both. She heard
muffled noises from behind the closed door. A cold blast of air.

Marge whispered, “Good luck.”

The gurney rolled forward and hit something hard, maybe the edge of
the door. Suddenly she wasn’t being rolled. The gurney was being
lifted first at her feet and then her head. She was glad that Lew had
strapped her in around her hips and her waist. Wow. She was flying,
or at least it felt that way. First down, then level, finally up. It
was chilly and breezy. The pace seemed rapid. She heard a door slam.
Suddenly she felt warm air.

“I don’t know if I can keep up.” Lew was panting loudly.

An unidentified raspy male voice said, “Dr. Lewis, here’s your
immigration cards. Give them to that Bolivian immigration official.
Don’t give details. Say she’s comatose. He’ll take care of the rest.”

She guessed she was in a big, empty room. There was an echo. Someone
leaned toward her. She could feel his breath on the sheet by her ear.
“Stay quiet, no matter what.” It was the same rough voice as before.

A few feet away she heard muffled conversation. She was flying again.
They were carrying her through a quiet corridor. A thud. Grating
noises as metal slid over metal.

Abruptly the noise of a crowd surged around her. She felt small bumps
to the gurney several times. She was being pushed, not carried,
through a crowd. The ride was jerky; she swayed as if she was on a
back of a camel - a hot, sweaty camel. She had the mad urge to pull
the sheet off her sweating face.

Cool air again. They stopped. She could smell the exhaust of a
running car engine. Snapping noises, probably from folding up the
wheels of the gurney. She felt her back hitting something hard. She
was slid forward so hard and fast that she bounced back against the
restraints, like an echo.

The vehicle, probably an ambulance, lurched off. The vehicle stopped
abruptly, screeched off, and stopped apparently waiting for some sort
of gate to open. They appeared to merge onto a major highway. The
ride was smooth, seemed fast, without major turns. No one spoke, but
she could hear heavy breathing and smell sweat, could be hers.

Someone pulled the sheet off her face. She was looking at a fiftyish
man with short dark hair. His tanned face was sun-lined. His black
eyes were hard. His general appearance, even with a white shirt,
matched his voice – rough.

“Sara Almquist, you have been kidnapped.”

Sara wanted to scream or cry, but decided it was best to show no
emotions. She felt the spoon in her hand. She could move her arms,
but she thought any action now was useless. Maybe an opportunity
would come.

The man smirked. “We got good info on you. You do okay under
pressure.”

He pulled the top sheet off. And loosened the straps about her hips
and waist. “You might as well sit up. The ride will seem smoother.”

She was in an ambulance. A second man in the ambulance wore a
uniform. She thought it was from the U.S. Marine Corps. He pointed at
the rough man. “Xavier Zack, better known as Xave, has a weird sense
of humor. You’re safe. I’m Marine Lieutenant Dick Smith. We’re on
your way to the U.S. consulate in La Paz, actually in El Alto.”