More footsteps in the hallway. Carmen stared at the door to the room, then at Brodie’s AK leaning against the wall. She asked, “Where you get that?”
“Dick’s Sporting Goods.”
Carmen seemed confused by that. She was now looking at Luis’ battered face as he started pacing nervously between the door and the far wall, and she was putting together the fact that these two guys had already raided the Hen House before coming into this room.
She said, “If Carlo find out I’m talking to a yanqui about Señor Kyle, he’s gonna kill me.”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.” His witness was getting jumpy. Time to cut to the chase. “Do you know where Señor Kyle is now?”
She nodded. “Sí. I went with him.”
Brodie leaned forward in his chair.Jackpot. Witnesses often bury the lede. “Where did you go with him?”
“The jungle.”
“What jungle?”
Carmen shrugged, took another drag. “I don’t know, the fucking jungle.”
“When was this?”
“Same night as General Gomez, who leave thirty minutes after he comes. Then Señor Kyle comes out and tells me he paid Carlo to take me on a trip for a week. Sometimes I have clients, you know, like, rich guys, who pay extra to take me to a hotel or wherever overnight. But he says a week, we’re leaving Caracas. Won’t tell me where.”
“And what did you say?”
“It’s not for me to say. Guy wants to pay for seven days, twenty-four hours, and you say no? Then I’d be fucked. Also, you know, I liked him.”
She said that last part as if her opinion of Señor Kyle had since changed. Brodie asked, “So you went to the jungle?”
“Sí. We fly. I collect my things, we get in a car with a driver and go to La Carlota Airport.”
“Where’s that?”
“It’s, like, in Caracas. Not far, small airport. The official name is Francisco de Miranda.”
Brodie nodded. That was at least one hunch confirmed.
She continued, “We got to the airport. I’m excited, I never leave Caracas before. We get on a little plane with a pilot and he takes off. I don’t know where the fuck we’re going and Señor Kyle is very quiet.”
Señor Kyle was sounding like the strong, silent type. “What kind of plane was it?”
Carmen shrugged. “Like a plane. A little plane.”
“Jet? Propeller? One engine? Two?”
Carmen thought for a moment. “Two propellers.”
“How many seats?”
“Six, I think.”
“Make of the plane? An airline name?”
She shrugged. “Why would I give a shit about that?”
“Good point. Continue, por favor.”
“Okay. So we are flying for maybe an hour and a half, and we land in Ciudad Bolívar.”
