with her, so Warrant Officer Taylor found herself in conversation with seven Venezuelan hookers who were probably filling her in on the job requirements.
Brodie watched Emilio listening and smiling; then Emilio said something about Señora Bowman, and the ladies looked at Brodie, so Emilio must have told them that the gentleman was the señora’s husband. Or maybe her pimp. Emilio then motioned to Taylor, and Brodie heard the word “desnuda,” which made the women laugh. Brodie guessed that the asshole had told them that he’d seen Señora Bowman in the nude, and that they had some competition. Or something equally funny.
By now it was clear to Brodie that Emilio was at best a sociopath who enjoyed tormenting people, and at worst he was a smiling psychopath, and anything might set him off—which was good to know. The icy cold guys were hard to kill. The psychos were subconsciously suicidal. The true psychotic, however, was a dangerous combination of both—cold, calculating, fearless, and cunning. Like Kyle Mercer.
Brodie was concerned about Taylor’s physical condition. He didn’t know how far they’d be walking, and she needed to cool down, so he called to Emilio and motioned to the shower and to Taylor. Emilio seemed to be considering this—another eye-fucking opportunity—but he glanced at his stolen watch again, and shook his head. He shooed the ladies away, then motioned to Brodie and Taylor to follow.
Brodie wondered which of these trees Mercer had used to gut Carmen’s rapist. If they’d brought Carmen with them, she could have pointed it out. Also, the girls could have a reunion.
The path was wide enough for Brodie and Taylor to walk side by side, and Taylor put her arm through his. The five chaperones behind them didn’t seem to care.
Taylor said in a low voice, “Those girls seem… taken care of. They said the men were under orders from Señor Kyle to be good to them.”
Brodie had no reply.
“So maybe… I can tough this out…”
He hoped so. But those girls were pros, and they were there more or less voluntarily. She was being conscripted. But Maggie Taylor had enough on her mind, so he said, “I think this was just Emilio having fun with us.”
“Silencio!”
“Ask this asshole where we’re going.”
Taylor hesitated, then called out to Emilio. She translated his reply: “We asked to see Señor Kyle, and Señor Kyle wants to see us, so we should be happy.”
“This is what we came to Venezuela for.”
Taylor had no response.
They turned onto a path that Brodie recognized as the one they’d taken from the fishing platform, and within a few minutes he saw the river through the trees, then the platform ahead. As they got closer, he saw a man sitting at the green table, his back to them.
Emilio again checked his watch and picked up his pace, urging them to keep up.
Apparently Señor Kyle was on a tight schedule and ran a tight ship.
They approached the narrow bamboo ramp that led to the fishing platform, and Brodie could see the man at the table more clearly, though he still hadn’t turned around. The man was wearing a tight olive-drab T-shirt, and he had dirty blonde hair, so—racial profiling aside—he was probably a gringo. And it was most probably Kyle Mercer. In fact, the man raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes, and Brodie saw the ouroboros tattoo on his muscled biceps. With his other hand, he was drinking a bottled water. Mercer seemed relaxed, and hopefully he was having a good day. But not for long.
Emilio held up his hand to Taylor and Brodie, and they stopped about twenty feet short of the platform and exchanged looks. Taylor whispered, “Our boat is still there.”
“Good. We’ll get Mercer onboard and go.”
Emilio stepped onto the ramp, which made a sharp squeak, and Kyle Mercer glanced over his shoulder and motioned Emilio onto the platform. Emilio did the quickstep and positioned himself in front of Señor Kyle, like a general’s adjutant about to announce a scheduled visitor.
Brodie noticed that Emilio didn’t salute, so apparently el comandante didn’t require it. They spoke for a few seconds; then Emilio motioned for Brodie and Taylor to come up on the platform.
Again they exchanged glances, then moved up the path to the narrow ramp.
Brodie said, “Rank before beauty,” and walked with long, deliberate strides, followed by Taylor.
Apparently Mercer was going to speak to them together, which was not the way any cop interrogated multiple suspects. Or even how you interrogated POWs. Divide and conquer. But Kyle