Brodie stood. “I’ll call you tonight.” He added, “And don’t forget Luis’ family tourist visa.”
Taylor rose too, and said to their host, “The arrest of Captain Mercer is not the end of our mission. It is just the beginning of the investigation into the questions we’ve raised here.”
Worley replied, “You disappoint me, Ms. Taylor. I thought you were the rational member of the team.”
She continued, as per textbook, “You may be called upon in future investigations or judicial proceedings to provide truthful testimony in this case.”
Brodie couldn’t help but say, “Now he’s definitely not answering the phone tonight.”
Worley laughed, and so did Brodie. Taylor looked at both of them as if to say, “Men. The brotherhood of assholes.” She began walking across the sand toward the parking lot.
Brodie followed and caught up with her. “I thought we were going to do a group hug.”
She ignored that. “You shouldn’t have raised any of those questions with him. We need him tonight, and you antagonized him.”
“Me? You just told him he’d be called on to provide truthful testimony.”
“If he had a truthful thought in his head, it would die of loneliness.” She looked at him. “Scott… we need to leave this alone. We have enough to do here.”
“Then why did you bring up Afghanistan?”
“You were going to ask him anyway, so I did it in an indirect way. As we were taught to do.”
“I missed that class.”
They reached the parking lot and headed for what looked like the clubhouse where they could call a taxi.
Taylor said, “He gives me the creeps.”
“That’s what he wants to do. Look, I’ve worked cases where I butted heads with CIA guys, Army Intel, and spooks from other agencies. They go out of their way to make you think they’re doing you a favor by keeping information from you that could be dangerous for you to know. They invented the phrase ‘If I tell you, then I have to kill you.’ It’s ninety percent bullshit.”
“How about the other ten percent?”
“That’s the part that could get you killed. And on that subject, Brendan Worley thinks we’re the walking dead, so I wonder if there really is an aircraft waiting to take us out of here.”
She glanced at him. “You’re scaring me, Scott.”
“Hey, I scare myself sometimes.” He added, “As they say in the infantry, the best-thought-out battle plans fall apart as soon as the first shot is fired. Then you improvise.”
“Unless that first shot went through your head.”
“Never thought of that.”
They reached the clubhouse and Brodie said, “Ask for a taxi driven by a free-market capitalist.”
She went into the building and Brodie stood in the sunlight, watching the gulls over the water. Well, they’d stirred the shit a bit, and he could picture Worley on the phone with the appropriate people, saying something like, “This guy has made some connections. He and the lady need to be spoken to when they get back to the States.” Or Worley might say, “But don’t worry about them. They’ll probably get themselves killed tonight.”
Well, given the choice between being read the National Security Act by some assholes in a basement in Washington or getting into a shoot-out in a Caracas whorehouse, he’d pick the shoot-out. It was quicker and less boring.
Taylor came out of the clubhouse. “Taxi in five minutes.” She added, “I asked for Ramón from Teletaxi.”
“You’re a pain in the ass, Maggie.”
“Life’s a pain in the ass, Scott.”
Especially if you don’t get laid, don’t get your man, and get killed in a whorehouse. Could be worse, though. He could be raising rhubarb.
CHAPTER 27
Teletaxi arrived, but Ramón was not driving.
Brodie said to the driver, “El Dorado Hotel.”
The driver, Gustavo, like his colleague Ramón spoke English and commented, “One night in that place would cost a working man a year’s salary.”
Brodie said to Taylor, “This is going to be a long ride.”
Gustavo asked, “Are you Americans?”
“Canadians.”
“I do not see many Americans in Caracas.”
“They don’t know what they’re missing.”
“Do you enjoy my country?”
Brodie replied, “What can I say about Venezuela that hasn’t already been said about Cuba or Nicaragua?”
Gustavo thought about that, then asked, “You are here for business or pleasure?”
“A little of both.”
“Good. You must go out of Caracas and go to the south where are the jungles.”
“It’s on our itinerary,” Brodie assured him. “Venezuela—to know her is my destiny.”
“Sí.” Gustavo, who obviously got his news from the same source that Ramón did, said, “If the Americans invade us, we will go to the jungles. Venezuela will