His young colleague with a unibrow and a thick black mustache started to ask the man in the chair a series of questions. But Sergei could only order a beer and some food in Spanish, so most was lost in translation. What was not lost was the fact that the mustached man was quick with his leather-gloved strikes. The long-haired man in the chair took the blows to the side of his head like a second-grader in a Stalinist school.
Arturo Garcia, vape stick in his pocket now, pulled them deeper into a corner and said, “We can talk here.” Since their only common language was English, they used that for their communication.
Sergei’s eyes caught the camera in the corner of the room, and realized this was not the best place to be open about an operation. “It smells like piss in here. Let’s speak in the corridor.”
“As you wish.” Garcia slapped his hand on the metal door and a guard opened it for them.
The guard went into the room to help with the interrogation.
Out in the corridor now, which did not contain cells, but only a couple of unused interrogation rooms, Sergei and Polina took up positions on either side of the Venezuelan.
“Who is your man Javier beating up?” Sergei asked.
Garcia said, “One of the leaders of the street protests. Business is good. They’re Canadians.”
Sergei’s eyes shifted toward the room with the man screaming for help. “Him?”
“No. The couple you had us follow from Puerto Fijo.”
“They’re Canadian?” Polina asked. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded paper, handing it to Sergei.
On the paper was two copies of passports. Two familiar faces. Maya and Karl. Karl Konrad, born in Fredericton, New Brunswick. Age 26. Perhaps. But Sergei guessed this passport was a lie for the man from Murmansk.
“Where are they staying?” Sergei asked. Of course, he already knew this, since they had followed the Venezuelans, who had followed Karl and Maya.
“A nice hotel a few blocks from here,” Garcia said. “I have two of my best men watching it to make sure they do not leave.”
“Good work,” Sergei said.
More screams echoed from the interrogation room. Sergei guessed they piped the screams into the cells of the other prisoners for ambiance. At least he hoped so.
“Do you want us to bring the Canadians here for a little discussion?” Garcia asked, a hopeful grin across his smug face.
“No,” Sergei said. “We will deal with them.” He checked his watch and realized he needed to get going. “You need to call off your men watching the hotel.”
Garcia looked confused. “Why?”
“Because it is no longer necessary,” Sergei said. “Just do it. I will explain later.” Of course, he would never explain. He would feed his Venezuelan hosts only what he wanted them to know.
Pulling out his phone from his pocket, Garcia quickly called off the guards from the hotel. When he was done, he said, “I don’t understand, but it is done.”
“Thank you,” Sergei said. Then he shifted his head for Polina to follow him out of the torture chamber, the sounds of the radical street protester screaming for his life.
Maya was just about to leave the hotel room, when her phone buzzed quietly. She checked the screen and felt some relief. Before leaving, she glanced over her shoulder at Karl sleeping soundly in the king-sized bed. She was filled with angst and concern, but knew she had a job to do for the safety of the both of them.
She slipped out the door and made sure it did not slam behind her. Then she quietly stepped down the corridor toward the elevator.
By the time she got to the street, it was ten minutes to midnight. She walked a block to Avenida Francisco de Miranda, a major downtown city street. Even at this hour, cars buzzed by, along with buses. Those moving from bar to bar wandered down the sidewalk, speaking loudly about something. She saw the bar ahead and slowed her pace somewhat. Then she came to a stop and turned around, as if concerned about someone behind her. Although she had been trained to avoid tails, she suspected that her training was not as good as actual Agency officers.
She checked her watch and realized she was right on time for her meeting.
Maya could see inside the windows of the bar, which was not that busy. Her contact was in the back, across from the bar, sitting at a half-booth in a corner. He raised his chin when he saw her come through the door.
She sat in a chair across from him and tried to smile.
“Any problem leaving your friend behind?” Sergei asked in Russian.
“No. We made love and he went right to sleep like a baby.” She knew that would dig him perfectly, since he had been trying to get her into bed since the moment they met six months ago.
Sergei simply smiled and said, “Canadians?”
She shrugged. “No visas required in Venezuela.”
“Good idea.” He hesitated long enough to order each of them a shot of vodka. Then he continued, “What has the man from Murmansk told you so far?”
This would take some finesse, she knew. The truth could sink her relationship with Karl. A lie would surely be discovered eventually. So, she needed to walk the tight rope of credulity. “My friend is very secretive.” Not a lie.
“You must have some information for me,” Sergei probed.
“He made a phone call from the bathroom,” she said.
“Did you pick up on the conversation?”
She shook her head. “Afraid not.”
“Then he must be on to you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Why make a phone call in secret?” Sergei asked.
“Perhaps he didn’t want to wake me.”
“You said he fell asleep after you fucked him.”
“After the phone call he fell asleep,” she said.
The waiter brought two shots of vodka and set them on the table in front of each of them. Sergei handed the man money and waved his hand to keep the change — less than one U.S. dollar. They each picked up the shot, stared intently at each other, and then downed the vodka.
“This is not good Russian vodka,” she said.
He shook his head. “Cheap export. Sorry. Back to your friend. What does he know?”
“Why does it matter?” she asked.
“You don’t see the full picture,” Sergei said. “You were with this man in Murmansk. How did he know to be at the pier at the precise moment to take that video? How did he know to come to Venezuela? These are questions that must be asked and answered, Maya. Do you understand?”
Yeah, she understood. But she needed him to say it. “No. Please explain.”
“This is bigger than you know,” Sergei said. “Let us say that this man could make our job more difficult here in this country. Even more importantly, we must know how he knows certain things. His methods. I assume he is in contact with his people at Langley in some way.”
“By phone.”
“His phone looks normal.”
She shook her head. “I believe it is one of those new smart SAT phones with crazy encryption.”
“We have not been able to break those yet,” Sergei admitted.
She knew this. Or at least suspected it, otherwise she would not have divulged this information. “That is all I know.”
“I don’t believe you. You probably know more than you think you know.” He paused, his eyes inspecting her body. “By the way, you look fantastic tonight.”
Here it comes, she thought. He would try to get her to sleep with him. “Where is Polina?”
“I am not having sex with her,” Sergei said.
“Why not. I would do her. She’s hot.”
His thick brows rose with that revelation, a smile turning up his thin lip.