“And I get to call the tune.”
“You get to hum along.” He reminded her, “Our original assignment was to find and arrest a fugitive—”
“That has changed.”
“Okay, but—”
“I hope you learned something from that shit-show at the Hen House.”
“I did, which is never go into a whorehouse without a gun.”
“I think you missed the bigger lesson, Scott, which is don’t walk into an armed enemy camp without a battalion behind you.”
“Right. Look, I’d like nothing better than to see Kyle Mercer hog-tied inthat back seat with a mango stuffed in his mouth. But I’ll settle for a fix on his camp.”
“Good. So we’re clear on the mission.”
“We are.”
“No fantasies about capturing Kyle Mercer.”
“I have a new fantasy.”
Taylor looked at him but didn’t reply. Then she said, “If we get out of here alive… I’ll make you a nice dinner.”
“Looking forward to that.” So all he had to do to fulfill his fantasy of sleeping with Maggie Taylor was to get them home alive. She knew how to cement a deal.
He watched Collins peeling off money from a wad of cash, paying for the fuel. He also noticed that Collins had a cigarette in his mouth—standing right next to theNO FUMARsign. That idiot was going to get them killed before they got a chance to get themselves killed.
Brodie sat back and finished his juice. It was quite possible that Kyle Mercer had been briefed by now about the Hen House—by radio, sat phone, or messenger—and that Mercer and his armed thugs might be staking out the Kavak landing strip, waiting for unwelcome company. Well, that would put a quick end to this assignment.
Taylor asked, “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m just thinking that Kyle Mercer could be waiting at the Kavak airstrip to see who arrives on the next plane from Ciudad Bolívar or Caracas.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Bowman are arriving for bird-watching.”
“Will that turkey fly?”
“We will see.”
“Yes, we will.”
CHAPTER 40
They were about an hour and a half out of Tomás de Heres, and for most of that time Taylor had had her eyes closed, leaving Brodie to read the Helm Field GuidesBirds of Venezuelaon Taylor’s tablet. Most birds, he discovered, were not monogamous. He must have been a bird in his previous life. Maggie Taylor must have been a scarlet macaw who mated only once a year.
The refuel at TDH had taken longer than expected—like most things in Venezuela, except death—and it was now almost 8A.M. The sky was cloudless and the sun was well over the horizon, lighting up the terrain, which was heavily forested now with not much evidence of human habitation.
Collins announced, “Kavak is about fifteen minutes.” He asked, “You still want to do some aerial sightseeing?”
Brodie called out, “We do.”
Taylor opened her eyes. “What’s happening?”
“Kavak, fifteen minutes.”
She nodded.
