Escape Out of Darkness (Maggie Bennett 1)

“Unlike Van Zandt and his ilk, I have no intention of interfering with the internal politics of countries other than my own,” she said in a lofty tone of voice. “What you do is your concern.”

“Gracias,” Castanasta said ironically. “And you needn’t worry—the money does not come from your government, it comes from private sources.”

“Sure it does,” Mack drawled.

“So what do you want from us? I trust you don’t expect us to be couriers, bringing the money back to you.”

“No, senora. In return for directions to Chicaste we only want you to pass a message along. They will send one of their men back to us.”

“And we should trust you?” Maggie questioned, irony deep in her voice.

“You have very little choice, senora.”

“I have Lieutenant Mendoses. I only have your word for it that he wants us dead.”

“You trust Lieutenant Mendoses even less than you trust me, and rightly so,” Castanasta said with a fair amount of acuity. “You know I’m right. We could have killed you this afternoon, and we didn’t. What guarantee do you have that Mendoses will grant you the same?”

It was unanswerable. Maggie sat there, still and watchful, her expression giving none of her inner uncertainty away. It would be a shot in the dark, a blind choice that she could only hope was the right one. Common sense told her to trust neither group, but common sense also told her that they would never find Van Zandt without trusting someone. And her instincts, instincts that so far hadn’t played her false, told her Castanasta was the lesser of two evils.

She turned to look at Mack, wishing there was some way she could communicate with him. His eyes met hers, and he gave her a short, understanding nod. “Better the devil you know,” he said in the tone of one agreeing with her, and s

he had to wonder how he could read her mind so well after so short an acquaintance.

She turned back to Castanasta. “All right.”

“It is settled, then. At what time were you to meet with Mendoses?”

“Eleven.”

“We will meet at seven-thirty at Parque Central. Too early for the ACSO to be up and about,” he said with a sneer. “I will provide a Jeep, guns, food, and maps. Better than what Mendoses could come up with, I promise you. You will be out of Tegucigalpa before they even realize you are gone.”

“Sounds delightful,” Maggie murmured. There was a sudden knocking at the door, and the speed with which Castanasta went for his gun was impressive enough that Maggie knew she could have stood little chance against him had he decided to move against the two of them.

A voice behind the door called out “room service” in Spanish, and this time Maggie really could smell the chicken.

“Relax, General,” she said, sliding off the dresser and moving toward the door. “It’s just dinner.”

Reluctantly, he reholstered his pistol. “One can never be too careful in this part of the world, senora,” he murmured. “I will leave the two of you to your meal. Until tomorrow.” He passed the white-jacketed waiter without a second glance.

The two of them watched in silence as the dark-skinned, polite young man set a table for them, all neatness and flourishes and deferential silence. Maggie stood there, her appetite completely vanished, wanting nothing more than to have a chance to talk with Mack, and still the young man lingered.

“Gracias, gracias,” she said finally, shooing him away when he was about to open the wine Mack had ordered. She stuffed a wad of pesos in his hand. “Basta, gracias.”

The young man nodded, smiling his friendly open smile as she pushed him toward the door. She was just about to shove him through when his body suddenly turned stubborn, and he turned that smiling, innocent face on her. “Watch out for Castanasta,” he said in perfect, unaccented English. “He is not much better than Mendoses.” And then he was gone.

Maggie stared after him, momentarily numb with surprise. She contemplated racing after him, but he was gone before she could gather her wits around her.

She closed the door behind her, shaking her head. “Damn,” she said. “I’m beginning to get very confused.”

“Beginning?” Mack echoed. “Who the hell was that, anyway?”

“CIA, I presume,” she said, pushing away from the door. “Did you order this much?” The table was filled with enough covered dishes to serve half a dozen people.

“I didn’t think so. Maybe my Spanish isn’t as good as I thought.” He leaned forward, tipped the cover of one of the dishes, and smiled. “Now this is a meal I can enjoy.”

Resting on a clean white napkin was a large handgun, army issue, neat, efficient, with no frills. Just a straightforward killing machine, Maggie thought as she picked it up. “What else did he bring?”

“Another gun, ammunition,” Mack announced, uncovering the dishes one after the other. “Maps, papers, what looks like car keys. And chicken, thank God.”