Transcript
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Narrator (John Hopkins) (0:45)
It's 4pm on September 12, 2003. Somewhere deep in the mountains of northern Colombia, A group of people follow the ridge above, a deep jungle, filled, gorgeous. There must be around 20 of them, marching single file, heads lowered against the rain, trooping along in a neat, orderly procession. The group is a strange mix. Some are tourists, bewildered, nervy, unfamiliar with this terrain. Others are dressed in camouflage and wielding assault rifles. It's the men with the guns who hold dominion over the confused, frightened holidaymakers, who have little choice but to silently follow orders. That is, until suddenly one of the tourists breaks rank and darts lightning quick from the line. Matt Scott's plan is simple. Get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible.
Matt Scott (1:48)
I thought, let's go, and just kind of pushed off.
Narrator (John Hopkins) (1:51)
With one last glance over his shoulder at the armed guard walking behind him, Matt hurls himself off the ridge in a desperate bid for freedom. The side of the gorge is alarmingly steep, practically sheer, uncovered in a mixture of vegetation and loose, gritty scree. Matt slides feet first, sending up a fine spray of mud and gravel as he skids on his backside. If there are gunshots behind him, he can't hear them. His ears are filled with the roar of rushing blood and the fizz of adrenaline. The mountains across the valley become a blur as he accelerates, letting gravity take the reins, not daring to slow down until he's outside the range of a bullet. But even if he wanted to slow down, he couldn't. His body violently jolts and judders over the rocks, grating and scraping, the friction tearing his trousers and cutting into his skin. An attempt to steady himself with his hands shreds the skin from his palms. Having escaped from his kidnappers, Matt is now in serious danger of sliding to his death. He flails, throwing out his hands in the hope of finding something to grab hold of, but the weeds uproot in his fingers, the undergrowth comes away from the ground like torn paper ribbons. And then with a horrible, gut wrenching lurch, the gradient drops away beneath him. The slope has steepened into a vertical cliff. And suddenly Matt isn't sliding at all. He's falling.
