Fabián throws the girl off the bridge. Her hair lofts up like futile wings and she plummets as Fabián grabs the little boy and in one easy swing tosses him over the railing. Adán forces himself to look. The children’s bodies plunge seven hundred feet, then smash onto the rocks below. Then he looks at the Orejuela brothers, whose faces are white with shock. Gilberto’s hand shakes as he shuts the suitcase, picks it up and walks shakily back across the bridge. Below, the Río Magdalena washes away the bodies and the blood.
