Bryan sputtered off in the Ford, leaving Karl and Maya alone in the parking lot.
“What now?” Maya asked.
“Now we go in and meet our guide,” he answered.
A couple of drops of rain started to fall on them. By the time they got to the door to the small office and went inside, a torrential downpour was hammering the area.
Karl set his duffle bag down and glanced about the small office, which contained a large map of Venezuela on one wall. Scattered around the room in no logical pattern were a number of desks and old metal file cabinets. The place could use a makeover, Karl thought. There were also no humans around. There was a cat that came running and swirled in and out of Maya’s legs as it purred loudly.
“Someone has a new friend,” Karl said.
Maya seemed paralyzed. “I’m not a cat person.”
“Really. I would have never guessed.”
“What does that mean?”
“You have cat-like features,” Karl said. “You even move like a cat yourself. Your eyes are feline.”
“That’s called make-up, Karl.”
Suddenly a toilet could be heard flushing behind a door on the far end of the temporary building. Then a very short Hispanic man with a significant beer belly came out with a newspaper under his left arm. His spotty beard made Bryan’s look like a lumberjack.
“I wouldn’t go in there for a while,” the chubby man said, smiled, and shook his pendulous head. It was as if his cranium was so heavy his neck couldn’t quite hold the weight. Then the man held out his right hand and introduced himself as Juan Ruiz, vice president of new development for Antigua Petroleum.
Karl tried to remember if he heard the man wash his hands. Probably. They shook and Karl gave the man his Canadian name.
“Karl Konrad. With a C or a K?”
“K.”
“Right. That’s what the Agency said. And you are?” he asked, reaching his hand out to Maya.
She shook and said her name.
“You didn’t take your husband’s name?” Juan asked.
“Not yet,” she said. “I’m still not sure.”
“Interesting,” Juan said. “Let’s take a look at the map.” The oil man waddled to the map and pointed to areas with the highest concentration of pins. “The president and CEO of our company is a former Air Force fighter pilot. I understand he served with the current CIA director. Which is why I was told to show you around the country. This is the Orinoco Belt.”
“It covers much of northern Venezuela,” Karl said.
“That’s right. This is the largest oil reserves in the world. Forget Saudi Arabia. This is the real oil Mecca.”
“What’s the plan?” Maya asked.
Juan shrugged. “You tell me. I was told to take you wherever you want to go.”
“We start in Caracas,” Karl said. That’s what his orders indicated.
“Great,” Juan said. “Have you been watching the news? The place is a shithole. People are rioting in the streets. Not exactly a place for gringos. You speak Spanish?”
“I do,” Karl said.
“You could pass,” Juan said. “But she looks like she’s straight out of central casting for a Russian hottie.”
Maya smiled. “Thanks. I think.”
“We’ll be fine,” Karl said. “You just get us there and show us the lay of the land. We’ll take it from there.”
“Why can’t they just use someone already here?” Juan asked.
Good question. Karl said, “I’m guessing they already know all the players in place.”
Juan shrugged and shifted his head to have them follow him. They went outside and got into a white company Toyota SUV. Then he drove them out of the oil complex.
When they got out to the perimeter road, Karl leaned back in the front passenger seat to view through the side mirror. Then he turned back to speak with Maya, but was actually viewing the car sitting on the side of the road with two men inside. This car, a dark green Ford Fiesta, now pulled out onto the road, following them. For now, Karl said nothing.
When the Bolivarian National Intelligence Service (Servicio Bolivariano de Intelligencia National) or SEBIN first got word from the Russians that they needed to look into a couple of people entering the country illegally, Arturo Garcia wasn’t sure if he believed the Communists. He and his partner, Javier Torres, had driven all the way from Caracas and got to the small pier in Punto Fijo just as that vehicle picked up the young man and woman at the curb. Which was strange enough, considering the woman was dragging what appeared to be an airline carry-on bag. Yeah, the Russians at least had this one thing right. Then, when the car dropped the two travelers off at the oil company compound, Garcia knew something wasn’t right. All oil company employees in Venezuela came through Caracas with official sanctioned paperwork and visas.
Now, Garcia sucked on his newest vape, a smooth blend of apple and caramel. It was not as enjoyable as his normal cigarettes, but his wife had made him stop smoking recently for health reasons. Of course, this led to at least ten pounds of flab in his gut. How healthy was the extra weight?
“What is that smell?” Torres asked from the passenger seat.
“Flavor,” Garcia corrected. “Apple and caramel.”
Torres shook his head. “You give up one addiction for a second. Those still have nicotine, you know.”
He knew. And thank God he didn’t have to give up everything. “It’s a better form of nicotine, Javier.”
His partner laughed. “Just like your wife’s new vibrator is a different form of cock. They satisfy the same. You should watch out, or she will find out you can be replaced by rechargeable batteries.”
“Funny man. Nothing can replace the big Garcia.”
“Not all women like a massive boa constrictor.”
Garcia smiled. “I guess your girlfriend would agree with that.”
“I get the job done.”
“One way or another.”
“Exactly.” Torres shifted his head toward the car they were following. “What do you think that woman up there likes?”
“No idea. The man she is with is a good-looking guy.”
“If you like the hard body types,” Torres said.
“What woman doesn’t like that?”
Torres shrugged and then said, “I don’t trust the Russians.”
“No, shit!” Garcia said in agreement. “Was that man who briefed us SVR or GRU?”
“No clue. Does it matter? He was scary.”
“Javier, he should be afraid of us. He is in our country. People disappear into the jungle here all the time. Get swallowed up and eventually decompose like a fallen tree.” He took in a long draw on his ceramic vape stick and let out a stream of harmless vapor.
Torres said, “Where do you suppose they’re going?”
“It looks like they might be heading toward Caracas,” Garcia said.
“Why not just take a normal flight to the capital?”
That’s what Garcia had been thinking since they got this assignment. This might be bigger than anyone understood. These could be assassins brought in to kill someone. But who? He said, “That, my friend, is the question of the day.”
Following the two cars nearly a mile back, the driver of a silver Chevrolet Aveo leaned back in his seat and tried to find a radio station that played classic rock, but all he was finding was local junk.
“Let me deal with that, Sergei” Polina said. “What do you have against the local music? It’s sexy.”
“It’s annoying, Polina. Perhaps you are too young to understand this.”
The two Russians had followed the two Venezuelan officers from SEBIN all the way from Caracas. But they were never in fear of losing those men, since they had placed a tracking device on their car before leaving The Tomb.