“He didn’t seem happy with my new career choice.” She thought a moment and continued, “He seemed to be trying to decide if he needed to be charming or not so charming. I mean, I could see right through him. Then he wanted to… be intimate. I said no, I was still recovering—I wore shorts so I could show him my scars, which were still purple and gross… I wanted him to see this, and I wanted him to understand that I was not the impressionable girl he’d known.” She looked at Brodie.
“I understand. What I don’t understand is the purpose of you inviting him to your apartment.”
“He invited himself.”
“All right, but a public place might have been better.”
“I wanted to show him I wasn’t afraid to be alone with him.”
Brodie nodded.
“After Afghanistan, there’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Right. But I hope you had a gun handy.”
“I did.”
“Good. So… who broached the subject of Mirabad?”
“I did. I told him I thought he’d used me, and that the information I’d given him about Mirabad led to what happened. I thought he was going to tell me I was crazy, or that he found out that it was the Taliban that did it, but he dropped the charm and told me if I ever said anything about this to anyone, I would be jeopardizing an important wartime strategy, and that if there was an investigation, the Agency would prove from my written reports that I knew exactly what I was doing, and that if people were indicted, I would be one of them. And not only would he not protect me, he would testify that I was an active participant in Operation Flagstaff, and that I was not the dumb, clueless girlfriend I was claiming to be.” She seemed to be getting angry at this recollection and continued, “He said if he was going down, then I was going down with him. And that I was looking at five to ten years in a federal prison.”
Brodie nodded. The old CIA would have just thrown her out a high window. They’d really gone soft. He asked, “How did you respond?”
“I told him to leave.”
He was happy to hear that Trent didn’t get laid. “And did he?”
“When I say leave, I mean leave.”
“I’ll remember that.” Her mommy should have given her daddy the same choice instead of blowing him away. Maggie Taylor, however, was an officer and a lady, though she was also probably only one hillbilly gene away from pulling a gun on her cheatin’, lyin’ skunk of an ex-lover.
“What are you smiling at?”
“Was I? Must be the rum. So he left. Did you hear from him again?”
“No.”
He wanted to re-ask the question, to get the right answer, but his cell phone rang and he saw it was the Apex number, so he took it. “Bowman.”
Ms. Muller said, “I can confirm your flight, Mr. Bowman.”
“Wonderful. I was afraid my wife’s credit card was maxed out again.”
“Please be at Francisco de Miranda Airport no later than two forty-fiveA.M. for a three-fifteen departure. Captain Collins will meet you and your wife at Hangar One. He has both your cell phone numbers if there is a problem.” She gave Brodie Captain Collins’ cell phone number and alsoadvised him that he could call the Apex eight hundred number if he couldn’t reach Captain Collins on his cell.
“You are most efficient, Ms. Muller.”
“Thank you.” She further advised him, “Captain Collins will be flying a Cessna Turbo Stationair HD, and he will file a flight plan to Kavak with a fueling stop at Ciudad Bolívar, so you should be landing at Kavak at dawn—about six-fifteenA.M.”
“If you were a bird-watcher, you’d know how exciting this is.”
“Yes, sir.” She continued, “May I confirm that Captain Collins is staying overnight in Kavak, and that you will take care of his lodging and meals?”
“And I’ll buy him a drink.”
“May I also confirm that you and your wife will return to Caracas, before noon on the next morning?”
There was no way he and Taylor were going back to Caracas, but he replied, “Correct.” He’d have to persuade Captain Collins to fly them across the border into Colombia. Money was a good persuader. So was a Glock.
