Ortega chuckled. ?If you knew this man, you wouldn?t have to ask.?
?Good.?
?I take it this is a trap-and-destroy operation.?
?You take it correctly,? Meredith said.
?We haven?t discussed payment.?
Meredith said, ?Satisfaction of a job well done should be payment enough.?
?So you
14
Ortega hung up, sat in the high-backed chair on his veranda, sipping green tea and digesting his conversation with Major Meredith Cornwall. It had been his understanding that she?d resigned her commission with US Army Intelligence. But her army rank had only been a cover anyway. She?d always done the grunt work for the CIA. Everyone knew it. Still, it had been a long time since Ortega had heard from Meredith. A ridiculous rumor had circulated years ago that she?d retired to the Midwest someplace to squirt out babies and play house. Probably a cover story of some kind.
Ortega was tempted to run a check on her. He didn?t like the idea that Meredith might be using him for some freelance project. Still, one didn?t go looking for trouble with the Company. They came to you. That?s how it worked. It would be simpler and safer to do what Meredith wanted. Then she?d go away, and Ortega could get back to his own business.
And Ortega?s business was extensive, underground networks covering much of Texas and Oklahoma. He?d come up the hard way from El Salvador, doing odd jobs for the Company when they didn?t want to leave tracks. He?d been rewarded by being allowed to set up shop in the United States. The Company had asked favors of him less and less frequently. He?d all but assumed they?d forgotten about him. But then came Meredith?s phone call.
He hit the intercom button on his phone.
A female voice: ?Yes, Mr. Ortega.?
?Veronica, I want you to get Enrique Mars on the line. Tell him I have something.?
?Just a moment.?
Ortega considered what he was about to do. Unleashing Mars wasn?t exactly what Meredith had asked of him. But he could perhaps resolve the matter for her quickly and get her out of his life.
He looked at the name he?d scribbled on the Post-it note and almost felt sorry for Andrew Foley, whoever he was. Enrique Mars was about to rock his world.
* * *
Nikki Enders washed down three Aleve with a swig of Bacardi and Coke. If she stayed reasonably medicated, the throb in her wrist remained tolerable. She looked over her cards at Tonya Cornwall. ?It?s your turn, Mother.?
?Give me all your sevens.?
?This isn?t Go Fish, Mother. We?re playing gin.?
?Nothing for me, dear. You go ahead.?
Nikki raised an eyebrow. ?What??
?You have some gin if you like.?
Nikki shook her head. ?No, I meant?How?s the scarf coming, Mother??
?Oh, the scarf!? Tonya put her cards down, picked up the knitting needles. She immediately fell into the clicking rhythm. ?You?re father?s going with the envoy to Moscow next week, and I want it to be ready for him. It?s below zero this time of year.?
