full of arrival stamps, and the books themselves were made to look worn. Brodie had not yet had the pleasure of visiting the Bahamas, but Clark Bowman had.
Taylor slipped the passport into her pocket and remarked, “I’d never take my husband’s last name.”
“Clark took your name, Ms. Bowman. He’s very progressive. His favorite food is quinoa and he loves cats.”
“I hate cats.”
“Clark is okay with that.”
They both clipped their holsters on their belts. Brodie was usually not armed while on overseas undercover assignments, since getting caught with a piece was often more trouble than it was worth. But this was different. Kyle Mercer would not be taken willingly, and asking the local police to detain him was not an option.
They took a few hundred dollars from the stacks of bills and put the rest into a combination-lock safe in a cabinet under the TV. Brodie set the combo to the same numbers he’d used on his wall locker through basic and advanced infantry training, and at Camp Victory outside Baghdad. He did this more out of habit than anything else, though being as he was still alive, maybe he ought to consider those his lucky numbers.
They opened up the backpack from Worley and stuffed their pockets with some bolívar notes of indeterminate value; then Brodie tossed the backpack into the cabinet next to the safe. If the maid felt like helping herself to an extra tip, she was welcome to it.
They had left Mercer’s classified file back at Quantico, but Taylor had made a few copies of Captain Mercer’s file photo—a posed portrait of him in his dress green uniform and green beret from his time before joining Delta Force—that she had hidden between the pages of a paperback novel in her bag. They each put a copy in their wallet.
Brodie powered up the sat phone. He found a single number listed in the contacts that he assumed was for Worley, and they both programmed the number into their personal cell phones as well. He hoped they wouldn’t need Worley’s number until it was time to get them out of Venezuela once Mercer was in custody.
“What did you think of Colonel Brendan Worley?” asked Brodie.
“He’s not really an Army attaché,” replied Taylor.
“No. But it’s good cover. He’s got diplomatic immunity through the embassy, and an official reason to be in contact with people in the Venezuelan military.”
“He’s been here too long. You can smell that on people.”
“That was the rum.”
Taylor took a bottled water from the minibar and sat cross-legged on the couch. She took a sip, looked out the sliding glass doors leading to the balcony. A sheer curtain ran across the doorway, catching dancing patterns of mottled sunlight through the palm leaves. Birds squawked in the distance. “It’s actually beautiful here.”
Brodie opened a beer and took a seat on the couch across from her. “Is this your first time in South America?”
Taylor nodded. “Until now, my first and only time out of the States was a government-funded trip to Afghanistan. And I guess Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany—to get the shrapnel dug out of me. But I don’t really count that. I didn’t even get to have a beer.”
“I’ll make sure our next assignment lands us in Munich in time for Oktoberfest.”
Taylor smiled. “You’re well-traveled.”
“It’s always for work, so you’re not there in the same way. Last time I tried to take a vacation was to Hawaii two years ago. I couldn’t relax. I just felt like I needed to find someone to arrest.”
Taylor smiled again. “Solo trip?”
“Ex-girlfriend.”
“What happened to the poor girl?”
“She was uptight. Or maybe I was. I dump bad memories once a week on trash day.”
“If only it was that easy.”
Brodie asked, “So how did a hillbilly from Tennessee learn to speak Spanish so well?”
“If you understood Spanish, you’d know mine isn’t that good, but it’s enough to get by. I had a TA at Georgetown who was from Madrid. He taught me.”
“Did he give you an A?”
“Yeah. But the class was in English literature.” She smiled. “The Spanish lessons were a side thing.”
Brodie smiled in return.
Taylor finished her water and stood. “I’m going to wash the plane off me.”
“Me too. Meet you in the lobby.”
They went to their separate rooms. In his bathroom Brodie found a notice from the hotel, in Spanish and English, gently reminding the well-paying guests that there was a water shortage, a paper shortage, and a soap shortage, so please conduct yourselves accordingly. It didn’t say you could use bolívars