But Tower wasn’t done. “Cruz, I’m looking at you now. Don’t get too familiar with Sister María. If she starts buying something from you every day or spends too much time chatting with you, Sánchez’s men are going to get suspicious. They’re not idiots. They might move the hostages, and then we’ll be starting from scratch. Don’t tell her anything else. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s almost sixteen-hundred hours. There’s no point in talking again in an hour. Let’s check in tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred.”
The meeting ended.
Jones chuckled, got to his feet. “He set you straight, brother.”
“Yeah, well, I probably deserved it.”
“He let you off easy.” Segal stretched, grinned. “I’d have fired your ass.”
“Hey, Segal, how do you say ‘fuck off’ in Hebrew?” Chuckling, Dylan walked to the window, took a seat, and began his watch.
* * *
Gabriela washedthe bowls that had held tonight’s portion of beans and rice, ignoring Pitón’s drunken ramblings, her mind on her brief conversation with the American spec ops guy.
We’re here to free you and the other hostages, Sister. Don’t be afraid.
She’d never been so happy to see US military personnel. At the same time, she’d been astounded. She knew what was at stake—not just her life and the life of the hostages, but the relationship between the US and Venezuela.
If US troops were discovered on the ground here…
She ought to have realized right away that they were spec ops. It wasn’t just their physiques—all that muscle. It was also the neat haircuts, their awareness of their surroundings, the way they carried themselves with that hard edge one only saw in special operations guys. But the real giveaway ought to have been their low prices, as if the money weren’t important.
The black market in Venezuela was ruthless.
The man she’d spoken to, the one with the gray eyes, had called herSister. That meant the Agency hadn’t broken her cover and she needed to remain Sister María Catalina. The Agency must be trying to protect their string of assets, from the Reverend Mother Beatrice in Peru to Gabriela’s contacts here. If it got out that the religious sister who was abducted with two US journalists was an Agency officer, the diplomatic fallout would be terrible—and good people would die.
“Eh, Hermana!” Pitón walked up behind her. “I asked if you’re a virgin.”
On her knees, she was vulnerable, so she stood. “What happened to make you so hateful? Pitón isn’t your real name.”
“He’s Eduardo,” one of the men called out.
Sniggers.
“You were baptized Eduardo, but now you go by Pitón. Why?” She willed compassion to fill her voice, not the loathing she felt for him. “Who was so cruel to you, Eduardo?”
He grabbed her by the arm, ducked down until his face was inches from hers, his breath reeking of alcohol, his skin unwashed, his fingers biting into her arm. “You need to speak to me with more respect.”
She looked him straight in the eyes. “If you want my respect, you must earn it.”
“I could order my men to rape you. By the time we’re all done, not even Christ would want you.”
She refused to show fear. “Nothing you can do to me could change who I am. My strength comes from God. Besides, your boss would punish you.”
“You’re drunk, Pitón.” Topo moved cautiously toward them, clearly afraid of the bigger man. “Leave her alone!”
Pitón released her, staggered back, drew his pistol—and waved it at Topo. “Shut up, you stupid—!”
BAM!
Gabriela gasped, watched in horror as Topo crumpled, blood bubbling from a bullet hole in his throat, his glasses flying.
“I didn’t mean to shoot! The gun just went off!”