here to do. For every anti-regime person that Kyle Mercer killed, Brendan Worley’s reputation in Washington as a man who could clean up the shit and advance American interests was diminished. And that was Kyle Mercer’s mission—to diminish the man, to destroy his mystique, and to kill his spirit before killing the man himself. In fact, a simple killing was too good for Brendan Worley—it would be better if Mercer put him in the Chapel, and watched him die slowly.
Mercer was aware that several of his men were stealing glances at him in the dimly lit mess hall, so he resumed eating. If it wasn’t Worley who’d sent the two Americans to Petare, then who was it? He had to assume that Simpson had reported his Kyle Mercer sighting in the Hen House. Therefore the Army’s Criminal Investigation Division would have sent agents to Caracas to investigate and make an arrest. Mercer was sure that the CID would have made contact with the American Embassy as a matter of protocol, and for logistics and backup—it was the only way they could operate in a hostile country. And if that was the case, the CID agents would by now have made the acquaintance of Colonel Brendan Worley, an Army man working for Defense Intelligence, and also the resident expert on Captain Mercer. But would the CID or its agents know that? Maybe not. And maybe Worley would not tell them. But Brendan Worley would make it his business to host the CID agents who’d arrived in Caracas, and he would definitely want to be looking over their shoulders, because Brendan Worley was as guilty as Kyle Mercer. Actually, more guilty. As was the late Ted Haggerty. Like the people on the SEBIN kill list, if you worked with or for Brendan Worley, you paid with your life. And that would include any CID agents who were looking for him.
His thoughts turned back to Ted Haggerty. If Haggerty had gotten a message to Worley about his Kavak trip, why hadn’t Worley acted on it? Two possibilities: Haggerty had not gotten a message to Worley, and had impulsively chartered a flight to Kavak, intending to report when he got there. Had SEBIN found a sat phone on Haggerty and taken it before turning him over to the Pemón? Mercer should have pressed Haggerty on this, but as he’d learned in Afghanistan, information gotten under duress was unreliable and often led you astray. It was best to just assume the worst, which in this case was that Haggerty had reported to Worley—or to his own CIA station chief at the U.S. Embassy—and that the Intel people at the embassy were waiting for another report—and still waiting. Or maybe Worley was taking his time planning his mission to Kavak. Or… the mission was now underway, and Worley was close. Mercer thought about what kind of mission it would be. An air strike from a carrier in the Caribbean? A Predator drone strike? Or maybe a ground operation launched by U.S. forces in Colombia? Maybe they’d send a Delta Force team to kill him. That was the only thing Kyle Mercer really worried about, because there was no one else on the face of the earth who could kill or capture Kyle Mercer.
Mercer drank from his water bottle and stared out through the mosquito netting at the dense rain forest. He felt safe here, though he could move his camp easily enough. That’s what soldiers did. Don’t get too comfortable. Home moves around, and you move with it. On the other hand… if you stay put, the enemy you’re trying to find will save you the trouble by finding you.
And finally, how did Haggerty know to begin his search for Kyle Mercer at Tomás de Heres, and then fly to Kavak? Probably it was just as Haggerty said—good Intel work coupled with the usual sobornos, bribes. This was how Captain Mercer himself had accomplished his missions in Afghanistan. Intuition helped, and so did a little luck. It was both of these things that had saved his life in the ’Stan—saved him from being killed by the Taliban, and at the last minute, saved him from being killed by his friends.
Mercer finished his water and looked at his men through the haze of cigarette smoke. They were what the Army called a motley crew. Men from different cultures and countries and different walks of life who had taken different paths to Camp Tombstone.