guards held up a hand and approached the driver’s-side window, which Luis lowered.
“Tiene reservación?” asked the guard, peering into the car.
“Sí,” said Luis. He turned to Brodie and Taylor. “Your IDs?”
They pulled out their passports and passed them to the guard. He looked at them, then spoke into a small walkie clipped to his lapel that was attached to an earpiece. He read off their names, waited a moment as their reservation was confirmed, then handed the passports back and walked to a keypad next to the gate. He punched in a number and gestured them forward as the gate slowly opened.
They entered a circular drive, in the middle of which was a fountain ringed by tropical plants and flowers. Palm trees lined small patches of green lawn on either side of the drive, which led to a high-awning entrance. A smiling bellhop in his mid-fifties wearing a crisp maroon uniform approached the car as Luis pulled up. The bellhop opened the door for Taylor and she climbed out.
“Buenos días, señora. Welcome to El Dorado.”
“Gracias.”
Brodie and Luis got out, and the bellhop unloaded the bags onto a rolling luggage cart. Brodie checked his watch. Dombroski had given Colonel Worley their flight info, and they had landed on time. They’d lost a little time due to the shakedown at customs, but more than made up for it with the high-speed chase afterward. Worley should be waiting for them in the lobby.
Taylor thanked Luis, then exchanged a look with Brodie, who said, “Go ahead, I’ll be right behind you.”
Taylor followed the bellhop as he pushed the luggage cart into the lobby.
Brodie said to Luis, “Good driving.”
“Thank you, señor.” He eyed the dents and scrapes along the side of the Escalade.
“I’ll take care of that with the embassy,” Brodie assured him.
“Thank you, señor.”
“We’re going to need a driver later today,” said Brodie. “Are you available?”
“I can be.”
“What about the rest of the week?”
Luis looked less sure of that. “This might be possible. But the embassy car—”
“We don’t want this car. You have your own?”
“I do. But it is not so nice.”
“Perfect. What’s your day rate?”
Luis thought about this.
Taylor had mentioned that hyperinflation had driven Venezuela’s minimum wage down to the equivalent of two U.S. dollars a month—though any Venezuelan who was lucky enough to earn their wage in dollars did significantly better. “What does the embassy pay you?” asked Brodie.
“Ten dollars a day.”
“I’ll make it twenty. Plus a bonus if we’re in a shoot-out.”
Luis forced a smile. “Thank you, señor.”
“No need for the thanks. You’ll earn it.”
Luis took a card from his pocket and handed it to Brodie. “My cell and my home number.”
“Good. I’ll be in touch later. Meanwhile, ditch the suit. But keep the gun.”
CHAPTER 13
Brodie caught up with Taylor at the reception desk, and they checked in together, asking the clerk to have their luggage delivered to their suite.
They kept their overnight bags with them and walked into the lobby lounge, a tastefully decorated space with comfortable sofa chairs, glass cocktail tables, and scattered marble pedestals topped with vases of tropical flora. The lounge was mostly empty except for a few tourists speaking French, and a waiter who hovered nearby to take food and drink orders.
They spotted a casually dressed man in his fifties sitting alone in a far corner of the lounge. He held a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other. He did not look their way.
As they approached, he looked up but did not stand and offer his hand. He just nodded at the two chairs across from him. Brodie and Taylor took a seat.
Military attachés were usually officers and dressed the part, either in uniform or neat civilian attire. But Colonel Brendan Worley had the look and air of a guy who had long ago given up on caring about things like his appearance. He wore a large sweat-stained polo shirt, baggy khaki cargo pants that were blackened around the ankles by the layer of car exhaust and grime that clung to Caracas’ streets, and leather loafers that were literally coming apart at the seams. He had an unruly and thinning mop of strawberry-blonde hair and wore a pair of oversize thick-framed glasses. His piercing blue eyes were magnified beneath the large lenses and projected a sharpness and vitality at odds with his schlubby appearance.
“How was your travel?” he asked, in a way that made it clear he couldn’t care less about the answer.