on the subject. “Let me tell you a story. About a month ago, a Venezuelan-American comes into the embassy consulate section looking for a replacement for his U.S. passport that he says was stolen. Stolen by whom? asks the consulate officer. How was it stolen? So the guy says he’s a U.S. resident, a musician, and he came back to his home country to record some folk music or whatever, and to see his family. He’s driving one night in a borrowed car, and he’s pulled over by a police car on a lonely road. To make a long story short, the two policemen take everything he has, including his car and all his clothes, and leave him naked on the side of the road.” Worley paused for effect and said, “If he’d been a woman, they’d have also raped him. As it was, he told us he thanked God they didn’t kill him.”
Brodie and Taylor exchanged glances. Well, that answered the question. Brodie asked, “Did he file a complaint with the Civilian Review Board?”
Worley laughed, then said seriously, “The police are worse than the criminals, if that’s possible. Stay away from them.”
“Lima Charlie,” said Brodie, using the military phonetic alphabet. Loud and clear.
“And then there’s SEBIN, the domestic Intel people. In a way they’re worse than the police, because they’re actually good at their jobs. Don’t get on their radar.”
Brodie said, “We passed the Helicoide on the way in.”
Worley nodded. “That’s one of their facilities, mainly a prison. Their main headquarters are in another building closer to the city center. Offices up top, torture chambers in the basement. The locals call the building La Tumba. The Tomb.”
“Subtle.”
The waiter returned with Brodie’s drink, and he sipped it. Smooth and not too sweet. Definitely a more complex and pleasant profile than the Bacardi 151 he used to shoot in college.
Worley reached for a large backpack next to his chair and slid it toward them. “Some local currency. Good for buying an arepa on the street or for wiping your ass when your hotel runs out of toilet paper. Venezuela is not quite at the wheelbarrow full of cash to buy a loaf of bread stage of third world inflation, but they’re getting there. That whole bag of bolívars was worth about twenty bucks as of a few hours ago.”
“We’ll spend it fast,” said Brodie.
“Needless to say, don’t use the landlines here. This hotel especially is going to be tapped by the government. Your cell phones will probably work in the hotel, but coverage is very limited around the city and getting worse, and also susceptible to eavesdropping if you’re relying on the local carriers. There’s a satellite phone in the briefcase that will work pretty much anywhere with open sky. There’s also a thumb drive with a VPN client you can install on your laptops if you need to connect to the hotel Wi-Fi. Gets around all the government censorship and firewalls, no one can eavesdrop, and if anyone tries to trace your IP address they’ll think you’re in Miami.”
Brodie raised his glass. “Enough of these and I’ll think I’m in Miami.”
Worley laughed, looked between them. His smile faded. “So what makes you think he’s here?”
“We had a tip,” said Brodie.
“A sighting?”
Brodie didn’t reply.
Worley’s piercing eyes shifted between the two of them. “He’s a hell of a big fish.”
“He is,” agreed Brodie.
“But this is also a big pond,” said Worley. “I know the city. So if I can help you find this SOB, I will.”
Brodie regarded Colonel Worley. The guy was definitely a spook, but a different breed of spook. He was still military, and Mercer’s desertion and betrayal probably pissed him off on a personal level. Brodie said, “He was spotted in a brothel.”
Taylor added, “We think it’s in Petare.”
Worley took one last drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out in an ashtray next to him. “That doesn’t narrow it down much.” He added, “It’s a very big slum.”
“Maybe you know someone,” said Taylor.
“I know a lot of people,” said Worley. “But they don’t hang around slum whorehouses.”
Brodie wasn’t sure he bought that. A guy like Worley worked the system, and the system didn’t function without the bottomfeeders.
“I’ll give you a hypothetical scenario,” said Brodie. “I’m a visiting dignitary from someplace where you, Colonel Worley, need a contact or a favor. I’m known to have certain, specific predilections. Let’s say underage girls. So I need someone who can direct me to the right place and also keep quiet. Except,