“Okay…” So obviously the National Guard guys had dutifully reported to MBR-200, who were the real power around here. Brodie regretted his impulsive decision to flash Mercer’s photo, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time. On the positive side, it had apparently shaken some apples from the tree. And here he was in the right place—though at the wrong time—looking down the barrel of a gun, answering questions about his undercover mission.
“You now piss me off.” The man steadied his aim.
“Hold on, Pío. I’m looking for Captain Kyle Mercer to question him about why he deserted from the American Army.”
Pío seemed to be processing that, then said, “Who say he desert?”
“The American Army says.”
“He was a brave soldier.”
“He was. Then he deserted. Ran away.”
“He was a prisoner of the Taliban.”
“Right. After he ran away.”
Pío relaxed his aim a bit and asked again, “Who are you?”
Clark Bowman, insurance salesman? Not anymore. “I am an American Army investigator. I need to speak to Captain Mercer.” Brodie asked, “Do you know where he is?”
“He is gone, man.” Pío reminded Brodie, “It is me who asks the questions.”
“Right. Fire away. No—I mean—”
“Shut up.” Pío looked at Brodie, and Brodie could tell that Pío was trying to decide if he needed to kill Brodie or take him somewhere else for further questioning, or maybe turn him over to someone else for revolutionary justice.
Brodie was concerned about Luis, but to show concern would give the MBR guy another card to play. He was also concerned about Maggie Taylor sitting alone in the car not far from here. But Taylor could take care of herself, and by now she realized that Luis was overdue and that something had gone wrong in the Hen House. He hoped she had followed orders and driven off.
Brodie asked, “Can you get a message to Captain Mercer for me?”
Pío smiled for the first time. “Sí. The message will be that you are dead.”
“That will not make Señor Kyle happy. He will want to talk to me.”
Pío nodded. “Sí. He will want to kill you himself.”
“Probably. So—”
“Shut up, man.” Pío got into a firing stance again and aimed the barrel of the gun at Brodie’s crotch. “Now you tell me where your lady is, or I take off your cojones.”
“If I tell you, I have to kill you.”
“Qué?”
Brodie rolled off the chair, pulling it with him, and thank God the lamp plug pulled out of the socket, throwing the room into pitch darkness. He saw the flash of the Beretta and heard the sound of the bullet buzz over his head as he pulled the nail file out of his pocket, shoulder-rolled toward the second flash of the barrel, and thrust the file upward into what he hoped were Pío’s balls. He connected with something and heard Pío scream, then heard him crash into the wooden door behind him. Brodie stayed low and delivered left and right blows to the guy’s gut and crotch until he heard and felt Pío slide down onto the floor; then he followed up with a roundhouse punch toward Pío’s head that missed in the dark, then a pile driver left that hit its mark somewhere on Pío’s face. He heard Pío grunt, then silence.
The gun was still in play, either in Pío’s hand or on the floor, and since he didn’t know, he had to kill Pío the old-fashioned way with his hands. He found Pío’s head with his left hand, pulled back on his hair, and delivered a powerful punch to the man’s throat, crushing his windpipe.
Brodie scrambled across the carpet and found the electrical cord, then located the socket with his hand and pushed the plug in. The lamp, which was now lying on the pink carpet, lit up, and Brodie spun toward the door.
Pío was still sitting on the floor with his back to the door, and the gun was in his hand. Pío’s face was a mess but his eyes were open, staring off into space, his chest heaving as he fought for air.
Brodie stood and moved toward him, keeping his eye on the gun. He reached down to pull it out of Pío’s hand, but Pío saw him and moved the gun away, then tried to raise it.
Brodie said, “Here, let me help you.” He pulled the Beretta out of Pío’s hand, put the silencer to the side of his head, and fired a bullet into Pío’s brain.