“Brodie?”
“Yes, sir… Well, we’re fairly sure we found the brothel.”
“Good work. And?”
“And we’re going back tonight when it’s open.”
“I’m glad to hear you’re respecting the posted hours of a whorehouse that specializes in child prostitution. Where are you now?”
“At the rooftop pool.” He added, “Waiting for Ms. Taylor.”
“That should be interesting. But shouldn’t you be doing something productive?”
“I should be, but I decided to call you instead.”
“Good one, Scott. When’s your efficiency report due?”
“Next month.”
“I’ll start on it today.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Shouldn’t you be staking out this suspected brothel?”
“That’s not easy, Colonel. Bad neighborhood, gringo-free zone, controlled by a colectivo—a political gang with ties to the regime.” He added, “Taylor and I were run off and told not to come back.”
“Okay… but you’re going back.”
“Correct. We’ve hired the embassy driver who picked us up at the airport. He’s armed and reliable, and he and Taylor will wait outside while I go in. I have a description of the interior from Simpson, and if it’s the right place, I’ll see if Captain Mercer is there, and if he is, I will make the arrest.”
Dombroski did not respond for a few seconds, then said, “The brothelwill have security and they will probably kill you if Mercer doesn’t kill you first.”
“Do you think I need another plan?”
“I think you need another brain.” Dombroski suggested, “Okay, go in, verify it’s the right place, and see if you spot Mercer. If you do, exit quickly and take him down when he leaves. If you don’t see him, stake it out and wait to see if he shows up. If you have no luck, repeat all that for the next… let’s say four or five days and nights. If no luck, think about bribing people in the brothel. You may get a tip. If not, it’s over. Come home.”
And that was the reason he rarely called Colonel Dombroski. He should have trusted his instinct, but Taylor liked to call home. “Colonel—”
“That’s an order.”
“Ten days.”
“Six.”
“Okay… but—”
“The trail is already cold, Scott. Mercer is not so stupid as to return to a place where he was spotted by an old Army buddy.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Just in case Mercer is stupid. Or arrogant. You’ll see tonight.”
“Right.” Brodie thought about telling Dombroski about their encounter with the National Guard, and the possibility that word had reached Mercer that two gringos were looking for him, which would lead Dombroski to conclude that Captain Kyle Mercer might be planning an ambush or a kidnapping at the whorehouse. And he might be right. Dombroski, for all his pushing and prodding of his agents, was at heart a cautious man. One might say a man who was concerned about the safety of his agents. Dombroski was caught in that age-old military bind of producing results while also producing as few casualties as possible. A good commander knows when to order an attack, when to dig in, and when to retreat. It’s not an easy job.
“Brodie?”
The waiter appeared with a beer on a tray, which he put on a side table, and Brodie said to Dombroski, “Hold on—I’m getting a tip.” He signed for the beer and added a nice tip to the bill. “Gracias.”
