Five times now she’d identified men in the crowd who she knew-absolutely knew — would be her contact, only to be disappointed as they glided past her to either meet someone else, or to get a drink, or to do whatever else they did instead of proving her right.
She needed to settle down. If she made eyes at any more men, she was going to get thrown out on the suspicion of being a prostitute.
Without conscious thought that she was doing it, Brandy repeatedly stroked the envelope she’d been dispatched to deliver, tracing her finger along the line where the flap sealed against the paper back. She’d been unable to contain her curiosity on the plane, and while in the lavatory she’d sneaked it open to take a look inside. She wasn’t at all surprised by what she’d found. What did surprise her was how little emotion she felt when she realized that because of her actions people would soon be dead.
Commotion to her left drew her attention to the front door, where one of the soldier-policemen seemed to be having a dustup with someone. When she craned her neck for a better angle, she nearly laughed out loud when she realized that the other side of the confrontation couldn’t have been more than twelve years old. If she wasn’t mistaken, it was one of the boys she’d seen trying to score on the tourists just a few minutes ago. Poor kid probably tried to pick the wrong pocket and got caught.
Did they cut off people’s hands for stealing in Colombia, or was that somewhere else in the world?
Brandy tired of watching the show, but as she was turning back to her drink, the strangest thing happened. The policeman stood straight and looked directly at her. Then he pointed.
She instinctively turned in her seat to see who was standing behind her. No one. Her stomach flipped.
She turned back around, and sure enough, the man in the green camouflaged uniform was walking right toward her. He had the urchin with him, his fingers clamped on the boy’s ear. The kid walked cockeyed with oversized strides to keep up.
Brandy felt an inexplicable urge to hide the envelope. She couldn’t do that, of course, because it would call attention to the very thing she was trying to conceal. What on earth could be going on?
The officer brought the boy close enough that they could speak softly. “Excuse me, senorita,” he said in a heavy enough accent that she could barely understand his words. “Are you…” He let go of the boy’s ear, and gestured for him to complete the question.
The boy cleared his throat. “Hello, Mrs. Chalmers,” he said in far better English than his escort.
Brandy stiffened in her seat, her skin electric with chills. That was precisely the sign she’d been waiting to hear. Her mind raced for the countersign. Jesus, don’t blow it now. “Hello, Peter,” she said. “How is Aunt Consuela?” It had seemed like such an odd patter when she was memorizing it, but now she realized that the boy had been part of the plan from the beginning.
“She is ill,” the boy said. “She wants to see you.”
That was it. The entire countersign had been completed. The chances of it being an accident-that a random conversation could follow the same pattern-were zero. But what was she supposed to do now? Just hand the package to a boy?
The kid seemed to be reading her mind because he glanced at the package, and then very subtly shook his head no. Without moving his head, he eyed the policeman.
“You know this boy?” the officer said. “He is bad boy. Very bad boy. Thief.”
Oh, great. Now she was going to have to pay a fine for him or something. “No,” she said, hoping that her smile looked genuine. “He’s a friend of mine.”
The cop looked very confused. “He is friend? Esta un amigo? ” Apparently he thought it might make more sense if he heard it in Spanish.
Brandy nodded and smiled more widely. “ Si. Yes. He’s my amigo.”
Definitely a cop, Brandy thought, not a soldier. He was examining her. “But you not from Colombia,” he said.
Oh, shit! She drew a quick breath, and her heartbeat doubled. Truly, she was not cut out for this line of work. What was she supposed to say to counter that?
The kid took care of it. He darted the two-step distance that separated them and sat on her lap, wrapping his arms around her neck. “Don’t let him hurt me,” he said a bit too loudly, drawing attention from others in the lobby. “He hits me and kicks me. Don’t let him!”
The move startled Brandy, but nowhere near as much as it startled the cop. He seemed keenly aware that he was being watched.
“We’ll be okay,” Brandy said to the officer. Then she gave a little wave to the others in the lobby. “Really, we’re fine.”
The cop hesitated, but in the end had little choice but to slither away.
When it was just the two of them again, the boy released his death grip and eyed Brandy’s chest. “Nice boobies,” he said.
A laugh escaped her throat before she could stop it. “ What? ”
He pointed. “Boobies. A-okay.” He gave a thumbs-up and beamed a brown-eyed smile.
She laughed again. “Why, thank you.”
“Can I see them?”
“No!” Brandy felt herself blushing as she glanced around the room to make sure they weren’t still being watched. “How old are you?”
“I’m eighteen,” he said.
Uh huh. “In that case, I’m seventy-three and way too old for you.”
The boy gave a resigned shrug. “Okay. You need to follow me.”
Brandy scowled. “To where?”
He nodded to the envelope. “To where that needs to go.”
The boy stood and without looking back, started walking back toward the main door.
Brandy struggled out of her chair, bumping the table and spilling some of her drink. “Wait!” she yelled at a whisper. Who the hell was this kid? By the time they reached the door, they were walking together, and the boy seemed more than happy to be holding her hand.
Her hours in the air-conditioning had allowed her to forget just how impossibly hot it was outside. She’d worn cotton capris and a lightweight blouse, thinking that they would fit the bill for “dressing for a warm climate,” but she realized after just one block of walking that she in fact did not own a wardrobe that would make this kind of peanut butter-thick humidity anything but oppressive. She was sweating, for heaven’s sake! That’s okay when you’re in the gym, but out here on the street it was humiliating. She was soaking her blouse. And just what are you supposed to do with a sweat-soaked blouse when you’re in a foreign country?
Two blocks away from the hotel, they turned right to head farther away from the water and the breezes it provided. “Where are we going?” she asked again.
The boy shot a smile over his shoulder. “Not far. We’ll be there soon.”
“What’s your name?”
“Soon,” he said, pointing to a spot somewhere up ahead.
As the water fell farther away and the temperature rose, so did the terrain, and there was nothing subtle about the hills. To think that she’d thought Rome was exhausting! That was like a basketball court compared to these hills.
Brandy tried her best to keep up with the boy who was her guide, but he inevitably pulled away-in one case as far as a half block ahead-before turning around and waiting for her. She felt an odd urge to apologize to the kid.
Farther still, and higher still. The street started to take on that old Europe look with narrow roadways and unbroken walls of building facades. Fifteen minutes into their sojourn, Brandy began to have second thoughts. The neighborhood was not a place where she would feel comfortable walking alone, and the presence of a twelve-year- old who featured himself a real man did nothing to make her feel safer.
Come to think of it, what kind of fool follows a kid whose name she doesn’t even know? For all she knew, she was being set up for a mugging or a kidnapping. But if that had been the case, how would he have known the signs and countersigns?
No, this was the real deal. What had Jerry Sjogren called it? Tradecraft. This was real tradecraft-the life of a covert operator. And let’s be honest, it didn’t get a lot better than this.
