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was in the Venezuelan government, and well placed at that. More important, as
far as McKendry was concerned, the man s furtive glances and calculating stare
showed him to be in a security field police, military, or something even more
useful.
 Don t think of it as leaving you, Rodolfo. Keene rolled ther and lengthened
the vowels.  Think of us as lost sheep and know we ll find our way home.
McKendry stifled a laugh and thought, not for the first time, that his partner
should have been in movies.
Keene went on,  But who is your friend here? We haven t had the pleasure. He
thrust his hand toward the official.
Rodolfo responded as the perfect host.  Ah, my manners. Terris, Joshua, this
is Juan Ortega de la Vega Bruzual,ministro de la seguridad . Juan, these are
my friends whom I told you about.
Señor Bruzual s lips twisted up on one side of his face.  My pleasure, he
said, shaking first Keene s hand, then McKendry s.
Music blared from the sound system as more scantily clad dancers rushed onto
the stage behind them. Keene leaned in and shouted,  We can t hear ourselves
think here. Why don t you join us in our suite for a nightcap?
McKendry considered that a very good idea, now that Rodolfo had finally
brought in someone who might have information for them, or at least
suggestions on how to proceed. He noticed that Rodolfo seemed very pleased at
Keene s offer and motioned his muscle man to clear them a path out of the
nightclub, but Juan Ortega touched the star s arm and gestured back toward the
table where he had been sitting.  But my own guests, Rodolfo. I can t simply
desert them. The minister looked genuinely stricken, then brightened.
 Perhaps& I hate to impose, my friend, but could you entertain them until I
return?
Well maneuvered, McKendry thought, nodding good night to his former employer,
who bravely went to join Señor Bruzual s guests.
The ride up in the glass-enclosed elevator was fast and filled with chitchat
between Keene and Señor Bruzual. McKendry, lacking their obvious gift for
inane chatter, kept silent.
When they reached the suite, one floor below the top of the towering hotel,
the minister got right down to business. While Joshua poured drinks, Bruzual
said,  I can tell that you are not men of leisure, that you would prefer to be
direct. I have heard of your interest in Green Impact. Why do you seek this
terrorist group?
 We re actually only interested in one of their members, Selene Trujold.
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McKendry took a scotch and water from Keene. No reason to beat around the
bush. Bruzual had been apprised of their search.
 Well, the Venezuelan said, sipping his own drink,  Selene Trujold is not
just a member of Green Impact, she is the leader.
McKendry didn t want to get sidetracked.  That complicates things a bit. I
suppose now you re going to tell us that Green Impact is no longer operating
from the Maracaibo Basin.
Bruzual s lip twitched up into his crooked smile, but instead of answering, he
asked,  Why do you seek Señorita Trujold? He sipped his own scotch, obviously
savoring it. During the headiest days of the oil boom, Venezuelans had
consumed the highest per-capita amount of fine scotch in the world, and their
taste for it had not declined despite higher tariffs and import restrictions.
McKendry nodded to Keene, who said,  We re working with Oilstar. She may have
information about a sensitive& item stolen from Oilstar s labs. We re here to
recover it.
The security minister nodded.  I have had a task force keeping an eye on Green
Impact s troublesome activities for many years. For the most part, their
terrorism has amounted to nothing more than an annoyance. However, two months
ago their former leader was found shot along with several security guards at
the site of an attempted sabotage in Cabimas. None of the guards had fired
their weapons.
 A week later, we received reports of sabotage campaigns in the east led by a
woman. Our information shows that Green Impact has gone at least as far as
Maturín, and it is said they have an encampment in the Delta Amacuro.
Keene looked at McKendry.  Just like Frik thought. Not far from Oilstar s
operations between Trinidad and the Venezuelan coast.
 That is all I can give you. Bruzual downed his scotch and stood up.  It s
been a pleasure, gentlemen.
McKendry stood and extended his right hand.  Thank you, Señor Bruzual. We will
return the favor.
 Just bring me Selene Trujold s head. One of those dead guards was my nephew.
As the door closed behind the Venezuelan, Keene grinned.  You pack, he said.
 I ll see about getting us a ride. Should I bring an Enya CD for mood
music?Orinoco Flow , maybe?
 Very funny. McKendry grimaced at Keene, pulled out his suitcase, and started
to pack. His friend was well aware that Terris had turned down a lucrative
assignment with the New Age star because he couldn t stand to listen to her
music.
Keene chuckled.  I didn t think so, he said, and picked up the phone.
12
Sitting directly behind the pilot of the Cessna they d hired to fly them from
Caracas to Maturín, McKendry had a clear view of the gray ribbons of pipe
forming stripes through the woven tapestry of green and brown and tan that was
the coastal range. The pipelines delivered crude from the rich Orinoco oil
belt in the south over the mountains to refineries in Puerto La Cruz and other
cities to the north, on the Caribbean coast.
From his seat, he couldn t see the vast central plains and forests of the
Venezuelan interior, but from Keene s bored expression and constant attempts
to find something to talk about over the growl of the engines, he knew there
couldn t be much excitement down there.
McKendry instead used the time to review their plans. The pattern of Green
Impact s movements made it clear that Selene was attacking targets of
opportunity as the terrorists relocated for their campaign against Frikkie and
Oilstar. The obvious place for them to hide was the maze of the Orinoco Delta,
which lay due south of Trinidad on the east coast of Venezuela. The delta, a
vast fan of swampy streams and dense jungles that covered nearly eight
thousand square miles, emptied into the ocean across more than a hundred miles
of coastline.
The northwestern curve of the delta fan flowed into the Gulf of Paria where [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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