The Deserter - Nelson DeMille Page 0,43

Over there.”

A short, thin man in a yellow polo shirt and white baseball cap ambled out of the park and into the center of the plaza. He checked his cell phone. At 7 P.M., Brodie and Taylor stepped into the plaza.

Raúl saw them. A policeman in a light blue uniform walked between them, heading toward the street. Once he was out of view, Raúl nodded to them, then began walking toward the exit of the plaza.

Brodie and Taylor followed. They caught sight of Raúl’s yellow shirt as he turned onto the sidewalk that ran along the wide boulevard in front of the museums. The lack of pedestrians, along with Raúl’s bright shirt, made it easy to see him at a distance.

They followed Raúl onto a narrow side street that was dark and empty, lined on either side with nondescript modern tower blocks without any street-level storefronts. None of the streetlights came on. A few motorbikes drove past, but otherwise it was desolate. Up ahead, they spotted a single business with its lights on. As they got closer they saw a lit-up plastic sign bearing the Burger King logo. Just as they reached it, the lights on the sign flicked out. Inside, Brodie saw a manager hastily closing up, racing against the unwritten curfew that was imprinted in the heart and mind of every Caraqueño.

Ahead of them, they saw Raúl pass a tall office building. He turned and looked back at them, then rounded a corner. They followed.

Brodie asked, “Did you ever think about how you’d fare in a zombie apocalypse?”

“Hasn’t everyone? Personally, I’d off myself.”

“Really?”

“You see these movies where people are running for their lives from these decaying monsters, and then they get away and try to have a normal life for about five minutes before one of those brain-eating bastards pops up out of nowhere. I wouldn’t be able to live with that anxiety.”

“I thought you were a fighter. Silver Star, right?”

“Yeah, in a real war, with real people who die and stay dead.”

“Good point. But—”

Taylor grabbed his arm. “Wait.”

A white sedan with a blue seal reading POLICÍA drove slowly through the intersection up ahead. The car rolled to a stop in the middle of the intersection, and Brodie could see the dim silhouette of a cop in the driver’s seat, looking around. There was another cop in the passenger seat.

The car turned and drove down the street toward them.

Brodie grabbed Taylor’s arm and pulled her behind a column in front of an office building just as the driver flicked on his high beams.

The police car rolled slowly down the street. Brodie ran through their options. If they had been spotted, they would be confronted. The best-case scenario would be a belligerent shakedown. The worst case would be the cops finding the guns on them.

The car inched closer. Given how empty the street was, Brodie figured he and Taylor could light these guys up and beat feet. If they had to. And, recalling Worley’s story about the Venezuelan-American visitor, maybe they had to.

He had Taylor pressed against the column, and there wasn’t enough space between them to slip a credit card. So while Big Brodie was gaming how to get them out of this situation, Little Brodie was misinterpreting the inputs and stirring awake, which was really unhelpful.

The police car was now almost next to them. They were concealed in shadow as the high beams struck the column in front of them.

The car kept driving, and Brodie and Taylor slid around the column to remain in darkness. Another moment passed… then the driver gassed it and continued down the block.

They remained frozen behind the column for another minute as they listened to the car disappear down the street. Little Brodie was continuing to behave in an unprofessional manner, as was his nature, so Brodie took a step back from Taylor and looked down the dark street. No sign of the cop car.

He turned to Taylor, who was looking at him. The hint of something had passed between them, and it could only mean trouble for this mission, not to mention their careers.

Brodie cleared his throat. “That was close.”

“Yeah.” She looked down the street in the direction they had been walking. “We lost Raúl, but I think I can see the tower from here.”

They continued down the dark street, both aware that they were alone in a dangerous and lawless city, on a dangerous and unlawful assignment, with no backup except each other.

CHAPTER 18

The Tower of David, a.k.a. the Finance

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