CHAPTER NINETEEN #2
“May I have your license and credit card, please?” She’d given the fake license a cursory glance and handed it back to him. Then she’d tapped some keys on her keyboard, swiped the credit card with no issues, and handed that back to him.
“We are currently in a drought warning. In an effort to conserve water, we ask that our guests reuse their towels, if at all possible. If you are amenable, please hang your towels and the cleaning service will know not to leave any fresh ones.” She droned through her speech like a woman who had recited it countless times before.
“Checkout is at noon. However, if you need a later checkout time, please let us know in advance or you will be charged for an additional night’s stay.
Continental breakfast is from 5 a.m. until 11 a.m. in the lounge area to your right.
Coffee and water are available throughout the day. ”
She’d handed him a small folder with his keycard inside.
“You are in room 135. Go back out the front door, turn left, and go all the way to the end of the walkway.” She pointed in the general direction. “There is Wi-Fi in the room, and the access code is written on the inside of the keycard holder.”
He could tell she’d been curious as to why a man who looked like he could afford the finest accommodations would be staying at such a …
humble establishment. His aloof demeanor indicated he wasn’t a guy who engaged in small talk, so she’d wished him a good day and walked over to make another pot of coffee.
Rodrigo reached for his comb and ran it through his hair.
He placed the comb back in its designated spot in his bathroom bag and brushed his hands across the shoulders of his jacket.
He tugged gently on the edges of the cuffs of his button-down shirt, leaving one inch visible at his wrists.
He flipped off the light and left the bathroom.
He grabbed the key fob from where he’d placed it on the dresser and slipped his sunglasses from the inside pocket of his sports coat. After a last look at the room to ensure he hadn’t left anything of importance behind, he slid on his sunglasses and headed out.
Hot air beat against him the second he opened the door. He looked forward to the slightest reprieve darkness would bring.
He unlocked the car and climbed behind the wheel. The inside of the car felt like an oven, and the steering wheel was too hot to touch. So he turned up the AC and waited until he could pull out of his spot, then he drove toward the main road.
Turn left onto Marberry Drive. The disembodied voice of his GPS came through his phone.
The blinker click-clicked as he waited for an opening. Waiting for traffic was something he never had to do back home in Colombia, and sitting here truly tested his patience. Finally, he was able to pull out, and he followed the directions given to him.
About thirty minutes later, after a quick stop at one of the local mini markets, he was driving through what appeared to be a typical middle-class suburban neighborhood. The houses were not large, but all displayed pride of ownership, as indicated by their well-kept yards and homes.
In one hundred feet, turn left, and your destination is on the right.
Before he got to the end of the street, he pulled over to the curb and put the car in park.
He glanced around to ensure no unwanted eyes were watching and reached over to grab the plastic bag from the passenger seat.
He dumped out the baseball hat he’d purchased at the store.
After another quick look around, he yanked off the tag, sized the hat to fit his head, then put it on.
Rodrigo flipped down the visor to check his appearance and tugged the bill of the cap down a bit more until only the lower part of his face was in view.
He put the car in gear, checked over his shoulder, then pulled onto the street.
Your destination is on the right.
Rodrigo tugged the bill of his cap down further and hunkered down in his seat.
He was careful to maintain a steady, lawful speed as he made his way closer to her house.
There was a pickup truck in her driveway, and a large man with a tool belt ambled out of the garage and dropped the tailgate to grab something from the back.
Right behind him, a dog jogged out of the garage, some breed of shepherd, if he had to guess. From the way the animal carried itself, its attentiveness, and the type of vest it wore, he assumed it must be a service dog of some kind.
As he got closer to the house, the dog turned from the man at the truck—his demeanor alert and rigid—and stared right at Rodrigo. The dog’s attention remained laser-focused on him.
Rodrigo continued past the house and looked in the rearview mirror.
The dog had moved and now stood on the other side of the truck and continued watching him.
Not much rattled Rodrigo, but the way that dog stared at him was disconcerting, as if he’d sensed something suspicious about him.
He turned left at the end of the small street, drove a few houses down, then did a three-point turn to face the direction he’d just come from. He pulled up to the curb in front of a house, parked, but kept the car running so the air-conditioning would remain on.
After waiting for fifteen minutes, he pulled away from the curb, turned back onto her street, and noticed the dog and the man were no longer outside. So he slowed to a crawl and observed the house carefully.
An older man, in faded jeans and a black T-shirt with a motorcycle on the back, stood on a ladder at the corner of the house.
Rodrigo couldn’t see what he was working on, but he’d bet it was a security camera.
The woman and her daughter were nowhere in sight.
Were they out for the day, or had they gone into hiding?
He picked up his phone and input a number he’d memorized.
After three rings, the man picked up.
“Yes?” His voice was no more than a whisper.
“I need information about our mutual friend.” Rodrigo had been cultivating this contact at the NSA ever since he went to school in America.
“Hang on a second,” he said, and there were hurried footsteps in the background. “I have to go outside.”
Rodrigo waited.
“Now is not a good time.” He sounded frantic, scared even. “Somehow, Burke found out there was a leak in the agency.”
“But he does not know it was you, correct?” It would be a problem for Rodrigo to lose this contact.
“I have no fucking idea!” There was a pause. “Look, everyone within the agency is being watched and monitored. We’re all under a microscope these days.”
“But it was my understanding that you had already downloaded all of the pertinent information from our friend’s file,” Rodrigo said. “Therefore, you most likely already have the information I am seeking.”
“Fine.” There was a long, frustrated sigh. “What is it you need to know?”
“I want to know about every piece of property he owns.” Rodrigo continued, “I don’t care what it is, I want to know about it. And then I want you to send it to the email address we have been using in the past.”
“I can’t access that information from here, so I’ll have to do it from home later,” he said.
“That is fine,” Rodrigo said. “I am a patient man.”
“You should receive it around eight o’clock.” His contact sounded less nervous, knowing he wasn’t going to have to dig through the NSA’s secured system again.
“Thank you, and I will make sure you are compensated accordingly for taking such a risk.” Rodrigo’s payments to him had put two of his children through college.
They ended the call, and he made his way back to the hotel.
Before long, he would know exactly where to find the man responsible for his brother’s murder and for the shadow of shame it had cast upon his family.