pocket and unfolded it. She pointed to a section in the northern end of Petare that she’d circled in pen. “This is the July Twenty-Fourth neighborhood.” She moved her finger down to an area toward the center of the slum. “And this is the original historic core of Petare, which actually used to be its own city. There’s an old pink cathedral there, which is probably the church Al Simpson described.”
Brodie looked at the map. The old quarter was almost a straight shot east from the Marriott, going by way of a road that passed the Francisco de Miranda Airport. “We’ll start by following Simpson’s route, then work our way north toward July Twenty-Fourth.” He added, “We’ll do a recon, and also see who responds to our presence, and how.”
“And who are we? What’s our story?”
“We are Clark and Sarah Bowman, the stupidest fucking tourists that ever lived. Maybe you’re looking to snap some poverty porn to punch up your Instagram.”
“That’s horrible.”
“Yeah. Sarah Bowman completely sucks.”
“And who is Clark?”
“Clark is looking for a break from his banal life. And maybe he’s thinking about getting into some trouble tonight, minus his wife.”
Taylor suggested, “Maybe she likes trouble too.”
Brodie wasn’t sure that would fly. This city might be a hotbed of corruption and murder, but it was still a traditional Catholic, patriarchal country. Would the men who bought and sold women also accept them as… voyeurs? Or customers in a ménage, as they did in Bangkok? Brodie said, “We’ll see.”
Mateo returned with their parakeet omelets, which were, thankfully, just chicken eggs scrambled with tomatoes and scallions. Pretty good. “Get the recipe for the O Club.”
They ate quickly, paid the bill, and headed for the door. If Luis had come to his senses, he wouldn’t be waiting for them.
“Let’s make an arrest today,” said Brodie.
“Also, let’s try not to get shot or kidnapped today.” She added, “And let’s not shoot any mules.”
“Not funny, Taylor.”
* * *
They walked outside and saw Luis’ jalopy idling in the hotel’s roundabout. Brodie commented, “My bullying worked.”
“Or,” said Taylor, “Luis is brave and loyal.”
“Or he just needs the money. Or he’s reporting to Worley.”
“How did you become so cynical?”
“It’s an act.”
“Had me fooled.”
The doorman opened the rear door and Taylor got in. Brodie climbed into the front passenger seat. Luis greeted him with a strained smile. There was no Joropo music playing.
Brodie gave Luis a rundown of their plan to drive by the Marriott and then through the old quarter of Petare before heading into the July 24th neighborhood.
Luis asked, “Are you armed today?”
Brodie replied, “We are. And you?”
“Sí. Always.”
They drove out of the security gate and down the leafy streets of Altamira.
Luis informed his passengers, “The National Guard sets up checkpoints around the slums, and sometimes you do not see them until it is too late. They are mostly looking for guns and drugs brought in by locals. But they also stop foreigners, so we must hide our weapons.” He assured them, “I have a special compartment for this.”
“If we’re stopped, we’ll bribe them,” said Brodie.
Luis shook his head. “They will possibly not be bribed. A few of them are not corrupted, and the ones who are would probably choose to put you in jail until your embassy pays a big fine.”
Brodie didn’t think Worley had that in his budget. So… should they keep their guns on them? Or try to hide them in Luis’ special compartment which was probably not so special? He wished Luis had mentioned this last night. In any case, they had to avoid a stop-and-search. “We’ll keep our guns, but you need to avoid the checkpoints.”
Taylor said, “Scott, we have no right to expose Luis to this.”
Brodie asked Luis, “Are you okay with this?”
Luis didn’t reply, and clearly he was conflicted.
Taylor said to him, “Pull over.”
Luis pulled to the side of the road.
Taylor said, “Thank you, Luis.” She asked, “Can we get a taxi to Petare?”
“In the day, yes.”
Brodie asked, “Can we get a taxi out of Petare?”
“No.” He added, “And a car and driver to Petare is difficult.”
“Okay,” said Brodie, “take us to a car rental agency.”
Luis did not reply, but pulled his gun and said to Brodie, “Please open the glove compartment.”
Brodie looked at him, then opened the glove compartment.
Luis leaned over, dropped his gun into the black, felt-lined compartment, and closed the door—then reopened it, revealing that the gun was gone. He said, “Just like in a magic show. Yes?”
“You are truly a magician,” said Brodie. He unhooked his