Kitabı oku: «Exit Strategy», sayfa 4

Without waiting for a reply, he turned to face east, bowed slightly, and took in a long, slow breath. Then he exhaled and told Miranda, “From the stomach. Shoulders loose, eyes front. As evenly as you can. Try to match the metronome, but don’t worry about it. Don’t worry about a thing. Just breathe and follow my movements. Clear your mind of anything else.”

“Got it.”

She could see from his grimace that he didn’t think she was giving due respect to his ritual, but she didn’t care. While she appreciated the obvious physical advantage to any form of exercise, she didn’t put much stock in the supposed psychological ones. No meditation for her, or finding her chi, or any of that nonsense. If she wanted to tone her mind, she’d read a book.

“Inhale for eight beats. Exhale for eight beats. Repeat that pattern two more times. For the fourth full breath, inhale for sixteen beats—”

“Sixteen?”

“Right. Three sets of eight, one of sixteen. Then start again.”

She wanted to object—to remind him she wasn’t a pearl diver or mermaid, and couldn’t possibly inhale for sixteen beats of that stupid metronome—but he was already beginning to move and breathe, so she joined him reluctantly. It was tough to match even the eight-count beat, especially when paired with the movements. They were typical of any good martial arts form, but done so slowly and meticulously, impatience soon flared in her arm muscles as she tried to follow him. Meanwhile, she had to gulp for air every time she tried to make it through a sixteen-count breath. She probably would have just quit, but Ortega was handling it so effortlessly, her pride wouldn’t allow her to give up, so she persevered.

In the distance, a bird was chattering like crazy, and even though she tried to ignore it, her brain was cataloguing the sound, trying to identify the type. Not a crow. A hawk maybe?

Concentrate, Miranda. He said make your mind a blank. Forget about the stupid bird!

Her muscles were aching as they reached a part of the routine where he barely seemed to be moving at all. Their right arms were outstretched fully to the side, their left arms straight out in front of them at chest level. Their left legs were lifted off the ground, bent at the knees, with their right legs offering the only support. Then Ortega rocked forward, so that all of his weight was on the ball of his foot, and she decided he was right about one thing. These exercises were good for balance!

Would you clear your freaking mind for just one stupid minute! she chastised herself. Then she closed her eyes and listened to the metronome, ignoring Ortega completely. She continued to move, as slowly as possible, but switched to the form from her tae kwon do class. It was a little easier now, and now the eight-count breathing felt almost normal. In fact, in a strange way it felt better than normal.

She wasn’t quite sure when the ache left her arms, or the sounds left her ears, or her mind started to relax. She only knew that when it all came together, it was perfection. A moment outside of time, outside of space, outside of herself, yet intimate, at the very core of her being.

Then she lost it, and almost lost her balance in the process. Gulping for air, she opened her eyes and realized that Ortega was standing right in front of her, his face inches from hers, staring at her with open curiosity.

She knew her cheeks were reddening as she backed away from him. Then she admitted, “That was interesting.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d get there the first time.”

“I almost didn’t. Then I closed my eyes, and it all came together.”

“Closing your eyes is key,” he confirmed.

“Then why didn’t you tell me to do it?”

“I knew you’d figure it out on your own. That’s part of what makes it key,” he added with a wink.

“Whatever,” she drawled, intent on returning to their former nonrelationship. “Did Kell really teach it to you?”

“He taught me the breathing part. I added the movement. For me, that definitely enhances it. The more you practice, the sooner you’ll find the right combination that works for you. Learn to recognize the sensations—the flow—so you can get there without consciously trying. Then it’ll last as long as you want.”

Miranda bit her lip, wondering if he knew he was beginning to sound like every sex manual she had ever consulted.

“The trick is, don’t rush it,” he continued, his voice low and reassuring. “Sure, you want to get there, but the idea is to let it happen naturally. Relax. Enjoy the movement. The breathing. When it’s time for it, it’ll come. And it’ll definitely be worth waiting for.”

“Good to know,” she said, cutting him off before her cheeks got any hotter. “Now what about the Brigade? Are you going to help us or not?”

His chuckle acknowledged the abrupt change in mood. “I told you, SPIN can do it on their own. This is just Kristie’s scheme, and I’m not falling for it. You shouldn’t, either.” His smile warmed. “She’s a good friend and I care about her. But she needs to respect my wishes.”

Miranda wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or not, but Ortega’s attitude actually did seem more centered. More balanced. Had the breathing routine really mellowed him that easily?

In any case, there was no doubt that she was feeling unusually calm. All of the anger and hurt that usually accompanied any thought of him had dissipated, and she was able to respect what he was trying to say. Trying to do. Yes he was flawed—more flawed than most, or at least, his flaws were more dangerous—but he was trying to minimize the danger, both to himself and to others.

“Maybe it would help if you gave Kristie a timeline for when you’ll be ready to talk to her again,” she suggested carefully. “She misses you, Ortega. She says you taught her everything she knows. You’re practically a hero to her.”

“Kristie doesn’t just want to talk. She wants to drag me back into the intelligence racket. But that environment is poison for me. I’ll never go back to it.”

“Which means there really isn’t any way I can convince you to come back with me and head up the anti-Brigade team?” Miranda squared her shoulders. “Can I ask a different favor then?”

“Sure. Anything.”

“Can you at least talk to me about the time you spent with Kell?”

“I was thoroughly debriefed. Haven’t you seen the file?”

“I read every word, but I still have questions.”

Ortega seemed about to refuse, then he said, “I’ll get us a couple of bottles of water. Then you can ask me whatever you want. Then we’ll eat. Then we’ll go through the routine again.”

She tilted her head to the side, trying to fathom why he wanted her to stay for such a long time. Guilt? Loneliness?

More manipulation? No, that didn’t seem to be it.

Settling on loneliness as the most likely culprit, she murmured, “Do you really stay here alone all the time? You never go into Reno or one of the smaller towns?”

“I go down the hill about once a month. To stock up mostly. And to remind myself there are other people in the world. I’m trying to get centered, but not self-centered, so socializing with strangers fits right in. And I haven’t completely cut myself off from friends and family. We keep in touch by e-mail. The problem with Kristie is, she doesn’t just want to keep in touch. She wants me to return to my old life.”

Miranda smiled. “She thinks you’re lonely. If she knew you were socializing, especially with women, she might be less obsessed with rescuing you.” She grimaced then asked, “That’s what you meant by socializing, right? Women?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed with a laugh. “That’s what I meant. But you’re the first woman I’ve had here at the cabin. And the only woman I’d want here.”

Miranda eyed him coolly. “Did you say something about a bottle of water?”

“Yeah,” he said, dropping the flirtation without protest. “One bottle of water, coming right up.”

They sat under a pine tree, sipping water and munching on apple slices, while Ortega told her the story of his adventure in South America with Carerra and Kell. In some respects it tracked the information in the file almost word for word, but occasionally, she got a glimpse into the ordeal that no file could ever effectively convey.

“The most important thing to remember about Jonathan Kell is that life dealt him a bizarre hand. A brilliant scientist who wouldn’t hurt a fly and only wanted to do good. Yet so plagued with fear—fear of virtually everything—that it paralyzed him socially and professionally. That allowed the drug company to take enormous advantage of him. To use his brilliance, but when Kell needed them to pay the ransom, they just cut him loose. His greatest fear—abandonment—was confirmed that day. Abandoned by his employer and associates. And also abandoned by his country.”

“His country saved his life. You were CIA and you came through for him.”

“Kell knew I was there on a completely different mission. He was grateful to me personally, but not to the U.S. It infuriated him on my behalf that they didn’t send someone to rescue me. I tried to explain to him that they couldn’t do that, since my op didn’t exist officially. I also told him they figured if I was still alive, I’d find a way to escape on my own.”

“Small comfort when they’re torturing you daily.”

“I was trained for that. Kell wasn’t.”

“That’s one of my questions,” she admitted. “I get why they couldn’t break you. But why didn’t Kell—a civilian with phobias—just answer their questions?”

“He did. They thought he was holding out on them, but he wasn’t. He tried to tell them about his research, but they were interested in something else that his company was rumored to be developing. Believe me, if he’d known about it, he would have given them every detail. But he says the rumors were just that. Rumors. Or maybe it was another company doing it. There were dozens of little research groups in the rain forest in those days, looking for million-dollar cures.”

“Poor guy.”

“They’d bring him back to the cage convulsing with fear. It was chilling. They used electrodes on him, and whips, but it didn’t take them long to realize all they had to do was come near him and his brain exploded with images ten times worse than anything they could imagine doing to him.”

“Do you remember what the other project was? The one in the rumors?”

Ortega nodded. “They called it Night Arrow. Something that made arrows fly straighter, according to Carerra’s men. Not a product you’d ever need,” he added admiringly.

She smiled. “Not much call for that in modern warfare anyway, is there?”

“Right. Unless they could apply it to bullets or torpedoes or whatever. It always sounded like a pipe dream to me. And to Kell. Benito Carerra claimed there were legends of warriors who anointed their arrows with certain magical potions that made them superior or invincible, but aside from the numerous poisons available down there, most potions were just religious concoctions designed to give confidence to the warrior and create fear in the enemy.”

“So they kept torturing the poor guy.”

“It was brutal. Carerra was such an asshole. I mean, torturing me was one thing. I came after him. But anyone could see Kell was harmless.”

“You didn’t just come after him, you used his wife to do it.”

“So he was the victim?” Ortega laughed. “I guess that makes sense from your point of view. You probably wanted to torture me yourself after what I did to you.”

“Which was basically the same thing you did to Mrs. Carerra. What was her name? Angelina?”

“It was hardly the same,” Ortega protested.

“Really? You slept with her to advance an objective. Sound familiar? Anyway,” she said with a sigh, “back to Kell. Everyone assumes he’s useful to the Brigade because of his phobia research. Do you agree?”

Ortega nodded. “Our military has spent decades—and millions—trying to find ways to inhibit fear in a soldier. To promote fight-over-flight as a response. They’ve had success, but the results are always short-lived and the side-effects fairly extreme. Kell probably found something safer or more effective.”

“And he would rather sell it to the Brigade because he hates the United States?”

Ortega nodded again. “He’s a fairly gentle guy, but if they convinced him they found a way to take down the U.S. and big business—his two enemies—that would definitely motivate him. He used to rant about that kind of thing when we were imprisoned together. Revenge fantasies masquerading as political theory. Poor guy,” he added sadly. Then he asked Miranda, “Any other questions?”

“Just one.” She gave him an apologetic smile. “You’re the founder of SPIN. The original spinner who taught Kristie everything she knows.”

“What’s your point?”

“You said she has enough information already to figure out who the Brigadier is. So? Doesn’t that mean you could do it, too? Do you have any theories? Any leads you can give us?”

“I never said she had enough information to figure it out,” he corrected her. “Just enough to plan an op to infiltrate the group. Not through Kell—he’s too suspicious and way too bitter to trust anyone—”

“Anyone but you.”

“Kell’s grateful, but not stupid. He knows I was with the CIA. If I showed up at his place wanting to have a beer and talk about old times, he’d know I was investigating the Brigade.” He arched an eyebrow. “As I was saying, Kristie can develop a strategy. She has all the information I have, plus she knows which top-notch agents with the right expertise are available, what their skills are, and who the other three Brigade members are. All she has to do is sit in her cubicle and work her magic.”

“I agree.”

He stared. “You do?”

“Yes. You’d be a huge help to her, but she can do it alone. And you’re right. Kell’s not stupid. The whole idea of your contacting him was a bad one, which means Kristie really was just using it as a way of luring you back.” She scrambled to her feet. “Thanks, Ortega. I’ll show myself out.”

“Wait! You promised to have a meal with me.”

“I did not.”

He gave her a disarming smile. “We’ll spear a couple of fresh trout in my stream and cook them over an open fire. Then we’ll do the breathing routine again.” Standing, he stepped close to her and murmured, “You’ll like it, Miranda. And I think I can get you there faster this time, now that we’re in synch.”

This time, there was no mistaking the sexual undercurrent to his words. And strangely enough, she was responding. She really wanted to get there faster this time!

He was manipulating her again. Only this time, she could handle it, thanks in part to the calm, centered feeling his relaxation routine had given her. In fact, she might just be able to do a little reverse manipulation.

So she suggested sweetly, “You catch the fish. I’ll practice the routine alone. I’ll feel less self-conscious that way. Then we’ll have that meal. And then, I’ve really got to go. I want to fly out at a decent hour.”

As always, Ortega backed off quickly. “Good plan. I’ll just change and get my spear.”

She watched him go into the cabin, returning in just a few moments in cut-off jeans and a muscle shirt. As she had suspected, his body was one gorgeous muscle after another, lean and tanned and irresistible.

Just look away, she counseled herself, amused that sex was lurking so stubbornly at the edges of her mind. She definitely needed to do the breathing routine again if she had any hope of maintaining balance with Ortega looking so good.

She turned her attention to the metronome, winding it gently, then setting it on the bench, while her host lifted his spear off its hook on the side of the cabin and disappeared into the trees toward the sound of the stream, calling over his shoulder, “Don’t think. Just breathe.”

“Okay,” she called back, but her mind wasn’t on the metronome. It was on the cabin. This was her chance to take a look around without Ortega knowing about it. She didn’t know what she hoped to find, but she knew Ortega was a man of many secrets. Many lives. Many lies.

What would it hurt to just double-check that equipment, to make sure it was just a security system, Internet access and satellite television, as he had implied, and not some sort of espionage game being run under the pretense of retreating from the world?

She scooped up the empty water bottles from the bench to use as an excuse if he came back and found her in the house. Then she slipped through the back door and into the living room to examine the high-tech equipment.

Chapter 4

S he was almost disappointed to find that Ortega had apparently been telling her the truth. His computer and video equipment, while ultrasophisticated, was not anything a wealthy or connected civilian couldn’t get their hands on. Did that mean her host was just what he claimed to be: a good guy with a tendency to go wrong, but not really bad deep inside?

Miranda wasn’t quite ready to conclude that yet, so she took a moment to glance at his books, tapes and DVDs, just in case a suspicious theme presented itself. She found instead a very eclectic and engrossing collection—just the sort of items one might expect to find on a spinner’s shelves.

She was just about to admit defeat when she saw an empty tape container in front of the VCR.

Let’s see what you’re watching these days, she told her host as she picked up the box and read the provocative label: Surveillance Video.

For a guy who’s been out of the game for a year, you’ve got some strange viewing habits, Ortega.

After a quick peek out the back window to ensure he was still busy, she checked to see that the tape was in the player. Then she turned on the TV and pressed the Play button. A grainy black-and-white image appeared, and for an instant, Miranda was simply confused by the low-tech quality of the recording.

Then realization shot through her and she stared in disbelief at the image of herself and Ortega, chatting and flirting—or more accurately, drooling over one another—while waiting for the elevator in the lobby of her apartment building.

Oh, God…

She punched the Stop button, her stomach knotting with disgust and self-loathing every bit as fresh and intense as when she had first viewed the video on a forty-two-inch screen at Langley. It took every ounce of willpower not to rip the tape from the machine and tear it to shreds. Instead, she carefully replaced the carton, then pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes and forced herself to grasp the truth.

Ray Ortega wasn’t some sexy spiritual guru living in harmony with nature. Nor was he a top-secret mastermind running sophisticated black ops from a mountain retreat.

He was a pervert—a loser!—sitting alone in the middle of nowhere watching videos of Miranda to get his rocks off.

Somewhere in the distance, a metronome was sending her a rhythmic signal from outside the door, and while she couldn’t quite make herself breathe normally, it did help her pull herself together. Locating a pen and paper, she wrote:

Hey, Ortega, I decided to just get going. I’ve got all the info on you and Kell I need. I’ll pass it along to Kristie, and I’ll try to make her understand why you need to stay out of the intelligence game permanently. Thanks for teaching me the breathing routine, I’m sure it will come in handy, assuming they ever give me a decent assignment. I doubt we’ll ever meet again, so goodbye.

Then she grabbed her pistol from where she had left it on his kitchen table, shoved it into her knapsack, and hurried to the rented SUV. In seconds she was speeding down the mountain, still a little shaken up, but only because she had allowed herself to get upset over seeing the video again.

Or more accurately, over knowing Ortega watched it whenever he needed a cheap thrill. And since it was in the player, she could only assume he had watched it very recently. No wonder he had been so pleased to see her!

Well, Miranda, she told herself grimly, you wanted closure, didn’t you? I think you just got it.

When her plane touched down at 10:00 p.m., Miranda dialed the telephone number marked “SPIN—nighttime” in the Brigade file. Kristie Hennessy answered on the first ring, identifying herself as S-3. When she found out her caller was Miranda, she acted as though they were long-lost sisters. Then she gave her the address of her apartment and promised to have hot chocolate and cookies awaiting her.

Miranda was actually in need of something stronger, but still, she was amazed and pleased at the reception. She had been thinking about this mission—studying the file for the entire plane ride—and she needed to discuss it with someone. Anyone. But most particularly with a spinner. So she took a cab straight to Kristie’s apartment without bothering to go home first.

The spinner answered the door on the first knock, as though she had been lurking on the other side for hours.

“Miranda! Thank God.” Grabbing her guest by the arm, she pulled her into the living room. “I was beginning to think you got lost.”

“Thanks for inviting me over at this late hour—”

“Are you serious? I’ve been dying of curiosity ever since you called. Tell me everything. No, wait! Do you want something to eat first?”

“I’m fine.”

“Perfect. Come and sit. Tell me everything.”

Miranda took a seat on the couch, while the spinner sat on the coffee table directly in front of her, her blue eyes alive with anticipation.

“It’s not good news, you know,” she warned Kristie.

“Was he horrid? Will—I mean, Director McGregor—thinks he’s a head case. He didn’t do anything crazy, did he?”

“No, of course not.” Miranda bit her lip to keep from laughing. “I thought he was your best friend.”

“He is. I adore him. But that doesn’t mean you have to.” Kristie eyed her hopefully. “Do you?”

“Are you nuts? He is a head case. But the visit wasn’t a total waste.” She leaned forward, eager to share the plan she had developed on the plane. “Did you know I’m claustrophobic? I mean, is that in my psych profile?”

The spinner grimaced. “You lost me.”

“You’ve seen my psych profile, right? I’m a little claustrophobic. Which means I have something in common with Jonathan Kell. A link to him.”

“Miranda?” Kristie cocked her head to the side, her expression sincerely confused. “What happened with Ray?”

“He’s fine. I promise. Don’t worry about him anymore.”

“I want details.”

“Okay.” Miranda shrugged. “During the day he communes with nature. At night, he watches X-rated footage of yours truly. He’s happy as a perverted clam.”

Kristie’s blue eyes had widened. “X-rated footage?”

“The alibi video,” Miranda explained with a laugh. “He labeled it ‘surveillance tape,’ but a better title would have been ‘Nude Dupes on the Loose.’” She gave Kristie a sympathetic smile. “He’s a head case, just like your boss said. But the good news is, he and I talked a lot about Kell. And I had time to study the file on the plane. I’m convinced you and I can crack this case—come up with the Brigadier’s identity—between the two of us.”

“Pardon?”

Miranda laughed again. “I’ve got my confidence back. Courtesy of Ray Ortega. Finding out that he’s got demons—lots of them—made it easier for me to let myself off the hook. All we have to do now is make the CIA see that I’m not a screwup. For that, I need your help.”

When Kristie just stared at her, she added gently, “He’s not coming back. Maybe not ever. But definitely not soon. He honestly doesn’t trust himself to make wise choices. I actually respect that part of him, by the way. I’m not so sure about the porno videotape stuff, but even there, I’m willing to cut him some slack.”

Kristie cocked her head to the side. “You don’t hate him anymore?”

“I don’t feel anything, actually. He’s a part of my past. Finally. Now all I have to do is impress my superiors, and life is good.” She smiled to ease the blow of the next statement. “I need your help with that. You’re a spinner, I’m an operative. Get me in to see Kell, okay? I’ll take it from there.”

Kristie opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it and took a look around the room, presumably for allies. Then she murmured, “What do you mean? Get you in to see Kell? Alone? That’s not possible. We promised to try to get you on the team—”

“On the team, I’ll be relegated to a supporting role. That won’t get me out of escort duty. I need something spectacular. Something SPIN-worthy.” Before Kristie could protest, she explained, “I’m claustrophobic—that’s right up Kell’s dysfunctional alley. I’m a former lover of Ray Ortega, Kell’s idol. And I’ve got a freakish amount of sex appeal for a person who’s never had a decent relationship. That works for all guys. How much raw material do you need?”

Arching an eyebrow, she added firmly, “Spin me something daring. Something wild. I promise I can handle it.”

Two hours later, Kristie was pacing the floor, while Miranda half dozed on the couch, muttering again and again, “You’re overthinking it. Just get me into Switzerland. I’ll do the rest.”

The spinner’s bloodshot eyes flashed. “I don’t care what Ray told you, I don’t have enough information!”

“Then forget Kell. Target one of the other Brigade members. That’s what Ortega was suggesting, you know. He said Kell is way too suspicious to fall for something like this.”

Kristie shook her head. “It has to be Kell. I feel that in my bones. And I love the claustrophobia angle, but I need more. I need Ray.”

A phone rang at that moment, and Miranda drawled, “Maybe that’s him.”

The spinner frowned. “Who would call this late? It’s not my operative phone, and Will’s too polite to call after midnight unless it’s an emergency.”

Miranda glanced at the identification screen. “It’s a 213 area code.”

“Oops!” Kristie sprang for the phone and punched the speaker button. “Will? Hi.”

“Hey, beautiful. Did I wake you?”

“Even if you did, I’d never complain,” she assured him. “Is everything okay?”

“That depends on what you’re wearing,” the director’s sexy voice told her.

As Miranda bit back a smile, Kristie insisted, “This isn’t a good time, Will. I’ve got something boiling on the stove.”

“At midnight? Just as well, since this is partly a business call. Have you heard from Miranda Cutler?”

Kristie winced. “Why do you ask?”

There was a long silence, then McGregor—Director McGregor—said, “Because I’m in charge. And because I’m concerned about her. And because Ortega called me a few minutes ago, asking if she’s okay.”

“Well…” Kristie gave Miranda an apologetic shrug. “In that case, good news. She’s right here. Miranda, say hello.”

“Hi, Director McGregor.”

The silence was much longer this time. Then he muttered, “What’s going on?”

“Everything’s fine,” Kristie insisted. “Miranda’s plane got in late, so I told her to come here. That’s okay, right?”

“Of course. How did it go, Miranda?”

“Ortega and I had a very cordial exchange.”

“He said you disappeared without saying goodbye. He thought it was going well, then suddenly, you were gone. So he asked me to follow up.”

“I left him a note,” she replied coolly. “It was clear he wasn’t going to help us. He did his best to brief me about Kell. That’s why I came to see Kristie. But I didn’t see any reason to hang around. I can’t believe he called you,” she added ruefully.

“He feels like crap about the way he and Jane Smith used you. He was worried he blew it again. I promised to check on you, and now I have.”

“Right.” Miranda smiled in relief while motioning to Kristie to pick up the receiver. “I’ll give you two some privacy now—”

“Wait, Miranda.” McGregor’s tone had become businesslike. “I’m supposed to keep your superiors informed. I’m going to honor our agreement and ask that you be assigned to the anti-Brigade team, but that won’t happen for a few days at least. Should I tell them you’ll report for duty tomorrow morning, pending new developments with the team?”

“Miranda’s exhausted, Will,” Kristie interrupted. “Can’t you tell her supervisor I need her for a few more days? To debrief her properly once she’s rested?”

“She visited Ortega for less than four hours and you need days to debrief her?” McGregor protested, but his tone was teasing. “What’s going on, Goldie?”

Miranda waved her hand for Kristie to keep silent. “Director McGregor? Ortega told me the same basic story that’s in the file, but the nuances are intriguing. I want to be sure I communicate them to Kristie while they’re fresh in my mind.”

“Fine. Check in with your interim supervisor—”

“My what?”

“Sorry, I thought you knew. Your regular team leader didn’t know anything about Ortega and the alibi situation, so when we asked to borrow you, the agency reassigned you temporarily. To a guy named Bob Runyon. He apparently knows the whole story.”

Miranda winced. “He’s the one who broke the news to me after Jane Smith was apprehended. I’ll check in with him and let him know what’s going on.”

“Excellent.” McGregor’s tone softened. “It sounds like you did a great job, Miranda. I’ll be sure the powers-that-be hear about it. And when it’s time to put the team together, I’ll use my best efforts to get you on it.”

“Thanks. Good night, sir. I’ll just get that boiling pot off the stove while you two say goodbye.”

Kristie picked up the receiver. “McGregor?” She listened for a few moments, then murmured, “Me, too. ’Night.”

Miranda gave her a teasing smile after the call had been disconnected. “Lucky you.”

“I know. That’s why… Well, never mind.” Her tone became brisk. “What’s the story with Bob Runyon? Your reaction wasn’t positive.”

“He’s a pig, but I think that will work to our advantage.” She paused to join in Kristie’s laughter, then added, “I’ll go see him tomorrow and convince him to give me a couple of weeks off. Plenty of time to make round trips to South America and to Switzerland.”