Mercer powered up the phone, and dialed the only number in the phone directory. He put it on speaker and placed the phone on the table.
Brodie heard the ring, then the pickup. “Where the hell are you?”
Mercer said, “Buenos días, Colonel.”
There was a silence; then Worley asked, “Who is this?”
“Your worst fucking nightmare.”
There was another silence, and Brodie thought Worley had fainted or something. Then he said, “Where are Mr. Brodie and Ms. Taylor?”
“Right here, singing like birds to get out of here alive.”
“May I speak to them to see if they are alive?”
“Sure.” He covered the mouthpiece and held up the phone toward Brodie and Taylor. “Just say ‘Hello, asshole,’ loud and clear for Worley’s recording device.” He uncovered the mouthpiece.
Brodie, without putting too much enthusiasm in his voice, called out, “Hello, asshole!”
Taylor called out, “Hello…” She glanced at Mercer. “Asshole!”
Mercer got back on the phone. “Satisfied?”
“All right…”
“I’m impressed with their tracking skills. CID knows how to find people. DIA and CIA not so much. In fact, you’re all talk and no delivery. Just like in Afghanistan.”
“I will find you.”
“Not before I find you.”
“You know where I am. United States Embassy, Caracas.”
“That’s where you hide. You’re a ball-less wonder, Colonel. Same as in Afghanistan. You ever hear a shot fired over there? I did. Every fucking day.”
“You had your job, Captain, and I had mine. And mine is now to find you. And I’m close.”
“You were getting warm. Have you heard from Ted Haggerty recently? No? Well, I don’t think you will until you meet in hell.”
“Where is he?”
“I just told you.”
There was silence on the line. Then Worley said, “You’re a sick man.”
“I know I’ll be better when you’re dead.”
“That’s not going to happen, Captain.”
“If you have to die anyway, you should want to die in the line of duty with your phony reputation intact. That’s better than me spilling my guts about what you did.”
Worley, obviously thinking about the two witnesses who, though they were as good as dead, were not actually dead, replied, “I did nothing wrong, Captain. You did. And you will pay for that.”
“I’ve already paid for my sins, Colonel. It’s your turn. Sorry if I interrupted your day drinking.” He hung up and turned the phone off, then glanced at his watch. “What do you think, Scott? Traced?”
“I don’t know. Call him back and ask.”
Mercer was tuned out again. He said, as if to himself, “Could kill him easily enough in Caracas… but I need to kidnap him and torture him to death. Slowly. Maybe a day for every month I spent in Taliban captivity…”
