As the taxi approached the El Dorado, Gustavo said, “If I go throughthe security, the guards want a tip from me.” He added, “What you call a shakedown.”
Taylor sat up and said, “Pull over. We’ll get out here.”
Gustavo pulled over. Brodie paid the fare in bolívars,sintip, and said to Gustavo, “You need to tell the guards to go fuck themselves.”
“Señor?”
“This whole country needs to stop putting up with this shit.”
Gustavo had no response.
Taylor took Brodie’s arm and led him toward the gate, saying, “Sometimes you surprise me when you get angry at social injustice.”
“I surprise myself.” He added, “My parents were hippies. Peace, love, and justice. Must have rubbed off.”
“I won’t tell.”
Back in their suite, they sat in the living room across from each other, eating junk from the minibar and drinking the local high-octane cola, which might have been made with the real thing.
Brodie asked, “Okay, what’s your take on Colonel Worley?”
Taylor thought a moment. “He’s a drunk. But we need him, and I believe in the end he’ll come through, despite his posturing.”
Brodie nodded. Cases involving Intel or Special Operations tended to get complicated because in those worlds there were lots of valid reasons to keep secrets. So when Brodie ran into deceptions and obstruction—which would normally hint at criminal wrongdoing—he knew these lies and refusals to provide answers were just a part of doing business. As Brendan Worley made clear. Brodie said to Taylor, “He advised us to go home.”
“He’s the one who should go home. He’s burned-out.”
“I think he’s concerned about what we could discover if we had Captain Mercer in our custody. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Colonel Worley’s military Intel people were also looking for Mercer now that they know he’s here.”
Taylor thought about that but didn’t reply.
It often happened that the spooks and the cops were looking for thesame suspect, but for different reasons—and to deliver different methods of justice. Intel guys generally didn’t have the power to arrest, as Brodie had reminded Worley, and that left the Intel people with two choices: turn the suspect over to the CID or FBI, or kill him. Actually, there was a third choice: Intel people were infamous for offering deals to scumbags who belonged in jail. They called it “turning a guy around,” “making him a double agent,” and all that crap. It sometimes worked in that world of smoke and mirrors, but Brodie found it distasteful. Criminals, spies, and traitors belonged in jail. Not on the payroll. In any case, if Worley and his friendswereactually looking for Kyle Mercer, they probably weren’t looking to recruit him—they were possibly looking to shut him up permanently. But why? The answer to that question was the answer to why Captain Mercer had deserted.
Taylor finished her cola and a handful of nuts and suggested, “Let’s go over the plan for tonight.”
“You want a plan?”
“Just for laughs, Scott.”
“Okay… I’ll be entering the whorehouse with the assumption that Kyle Mercer is probably not going to be there. So I need to find the opportunity to question people who are there regularly, but who are not motivated to protect Señor Mercer.”
“You mean the girls who work there.”
“Correct.” He explained, “I’m going in as a john, and I want an English-speaking hooker with whom I can discuss Venezuelan culture.” He added, “A girl of legal age.”
She looked at him. “Okay… sounds…”
“Somebody has to do this, Maggie.”
“Is Luis going in with you?”
“Yes, I need a translator. Just in case they don’t have an English-speaking hooker.”
“I see you’ve thought this out.”
“I’m thinking out loud.”
“Are you thinking you’ll go into a room with this girl?”
