Brodie opened a beer and took a seat on the couch across from her. “Is this your first time in South America?”
Taylor nodded. “Until now, my first and only time out of the States was a government-funded trip to Afghanistan. And I guess Landstuhl Medical Center in Germany—to get the shrapnel dug out of me. But I don’t really count that. I didn’t even get to have a beer.”
“I’ll make sure our next assignment lands us in Munich in time for Oktoberfest.”
Taylor smiled. “You’re well-traveled.”
“It’s always for work, so you’re not there in the same way. Last time I tried to take a vacation was to Hawaii two years ago. I couldn’t relax. I just felt like I needed to find someone to arrest.”
Taylor smiled again. “Solo trip?”
“Ex-girlfriend.”
“What happened to the poor girl?”
“She was uptight. Or maybe I was. I dump bad memories once a week on trash day.”
“If only it was that easy.”
Brodie asked, “So how did a hillbilly from Tennessee learn to speak Spanish so well?”
“If you understood Spanish, you’d know mine isn’t that good, but it’s enough to get by. I had a TA at Georgetown who was from Madrid. He taught me.”
“Did he give you an A?”
“Yeah. But the class was in English literature.” She smiled. “The Spanish lessons were a side thing.”
Brodie smiled in return.
Taylor finished her water and stood. “I’m going to wash the plane off me.”
“Me too. Meet you in the lobby.”
They went to their separate rooms. In his bathroom Brodie found a notice from the hotel, in Spanish and English, gently reminding the well-paying guests that there was a water shortage, a paper shortage, and a soap shortage,so please conduct yourselves accordingly. It didn’t say you could use bolívars for toilet paper, but that was implied. Brodie doubted that many of the El Dorado’s well-heeled guests actually followed the hotel’s request, but his years as a soldier had taught him the virtues of austerity and he made his shower brief.
As he was getting dressed, his cell phone rang. The screen read:Unlisted. He answered the phone.
“Hello?”
“Is this Mr. Bowman?” asked a male voice in heavily accented English.
“It is.”
“My name is Raúl. I am given this number by our mutual friend. Will you like to meet?”
“Maybe.”
“Museum Plaza. Off Avenida Libertador. Nine in the morning tomorrow. I will be wearing a yellow shirt with collar, white baseball cap, and white shoes.”
“We need to meet today,” said Brodie.
“This is not possible, Mr. Bowman.”
“Make it possible, Raúl. And I’ll make it worth the trouble.”
A long pause. Raúl sounded like the kind of guy who was used to calling the shots.
“Okay, seven o’clock,” said Raúl. He added, “You will not approach me. You will follow me.”
