gestured to the hills. “Very beautiful up there. When I was a boy we would go on long walks on the weekends. My father, he was, how do you say it? Very much into looking at the birds.”
“A bird-watcher,” said Taylor.
“Yes,” said Luis. “So he knew all the different kinds. We would walk for hours through the forest, watching. He had a notebook that was passed down to him by his father, to record all the sightings. My job was to record the different types as we saw them. It was my favorite time with my father.” Luis looked wistful as he peered up at the dark mountains.
Taylor asked, “How old are your children?”
“I have a boy who is ten, and a girl who is eight.”
“It must be hard for them.”
Luis nodded. “Yes, señora. But the worst thing is, this is all they know. They do not remember when there was enough food. They do not understand that it is not normal for no one to trust anybody. For there to be bars on every window, chains and locks on every door.” He added, “They have almost never been out at night.”
Brodie was getting depressed just listening to this. He asked, “How’s the rest of the country?”
“Some parts are the same as here. Some parts… maybe better. Maybe safer. Maybe more food… Some good people have taken control in the villages and the small towns. But the sickness… the evil spreads from here.”
Sounded like the zombie apocalypse. The battle between men and monsters who had once been men. Brodie had seen this descent into chaos in Iraq—a postapocalyptic breakdown of society, a quick transition into lawlessness and murder. Every man for himself. Very scary. He asked Luis, “You want to get out of here?”
Luis hesitated, then replied, “This is my country.”
“Not anymore, amigo.”
“I want my country back. It will happen.”
“If you change your mind, let me know and I’ll see what I can do with the embassy.”
He didn’t reply.
“Did Mr. Worley ever mention this to you?”
“He… said I was not eligible for an American visa. I would need to be a political refugee. An opponent of the regime.” He forced a laugh. “That is half the country.”
“Right.” Brodie had seen this with Iraqis who worked for the Americans. They were men marked for death, and there had been vague promises made by the U.S. State Department to help them emigrate. But most of these people did not get visas, and many were murdered by one insurgent group or another whose only common cause was a hatred of the American infidels and their Iraqi lackeys.
Iraq was not Venezuela, but the idiots in the State Department sounded the same. And Worley, who actually worked for the Pentagon, sounded like a lying shit. All Worley had to say to get Luis and his family out of here was that Luis, a loyal embassy employee, had been threatened with arrest by the regime.
The world was truly going to hell. Brodie had good job security.
Taylor, who had obviously taken a liking to Luis, said to him, “You should think of your wife and children. Let us know if you decide to leave. We may be able to help.”
“Thank you, señora.”
“Meanwhile,” said Brodie, “do what you can to make Venezuela great again.”
Brodie saw headlights in the sideview mirror. He reached for his pistol as the car came up fast in the lane next to them. It was a large SUV, which Luis said was probably armored. It rocketed past them and disappeared down the dark road ahead, and Luis made the sign of the cross.
Brodie flashed back to his night patrols through Sadr City, one of the most dangerous quarters of Baghdad, where no vehicle was on the road without heavy armor. Back then he had the benefit of an armored Stryker with a mounted .50-caliber M2 machine gun in case things got interesting. But now, he and his two-person crew were traversing nighttime Caracas in an old beater, armed with three pistols and a jeweled cross for divine protection.
They arrived back at the El Dorado without incident a little after 8 P.M. Luis went through the security check at the gate, then pulled up to the front entrance.
Brodie gave Luis three American twenties. “Thanks. You did good.”
“Too much, señor.”
“Hazardous duty pay.”
Luis forced a smile. “That is every day here.”
“Right. Tomorrow you get combat pay. We’re going to Petare.”