“So now we’ve got a third option,” Maggie said, reaching for the neatly folded paper and opening it. “We can go with the ACSO, the RAO, or the CIA.”
“More alphabet soup,” Mack said, digging into the chicken. “I hope you don’t mind if I start without you? I’m starving.”
“Go right ahead,” she said absently. “I think we go with the CIA. This is from Bud Willis.”
“Who’s Bud Willis?”
“Ex-CIA. A friend of Van Zandt’s, stationed down here. Doing his bit to help out bloodshed wherever he can find it,” she said bitterly. “He’s in Chicaste, and says he can get us to Van Zandt.”
“You believe him?”
“He’d have no reason to lie. He doesn’t give a damn who does what as long as he gets paid. He’ll get us to Van Zandt, all right, if I offer him enough money.”
“Sounds good,” Mack said, his strong white teeth making short work of the roasted chicken. And then suddenly he stopped eating. “You know, I just thought of something,” he said, dropping the half-chewed bone back on his plate.
“What?” she inquired absently, holding the map in one hand and her own piece of chicken in the other.
“I must be building up quite a tab with Third World Causes, Ltd. I have a comfortable amount of money, but I don’t know how far it’s going to go.”
Maggie grinned. “I never thought of that. Maybe I should have Beverly in the front office send you a bill before we go any farther. We can just stay put until you pay the first installment. I’d better warn you, I’m pretty expensive. I don’t want you fainting when you get the bill.”
“I think I’ll manage. What if we get back and find I’m broke?” He retrieved his chicken leg.
“Then you’ll have to work it off,” Maggie said. “I think my mother needs her pool cleaned. That should take care of part of my consulting fees.”
“Speaking of consulting—who do we trust, Maggie? I agree with you, I think we should go with the CIA. That’s what Van Zandt is, so it should give us a bit of a head start. Unless you want to reconsider the Bay Islands.”
“Later. We’ve got to cross our fingers that our search will end in Chicaste. Then we can think about lying on a beach somewhere.”
“Yes, boss. I hate to tell you, but I’ll be thinking about it anyway.”
“So will I, Mack,” she said. “So will I.”
It was a different white-coated waiter who retrieved the empty dishes, one who spoke no English and lacked their previous waiter’s innocent smile. Maggie tipped him heavily in her relief.
Mendoses expected them at eleven, Castanasta at seven-thirty. The maps were skillful and well-marked, and they decided to leave in the dead of night. “In which case,” Maggie said, “we should get some rest even if we can’t sleep. The main part of our journey is on what passes for highways down here, so we’ll be able to navigate with a flashlight.”
Maggie continued, “We go first to Danli, which seems to be a good-sized city. Then to El Paraíso, and then through the jungle to Chicaste. We’re supposed to be hunters, which will account for our guns and our going to out-of-the-way places.”
“What are we supposed to be hunting with handguns?”
“Apparently there’s lots of game in the area.”
“Like what?” he demanded suspiciously. “Nice, harmless stuff like foxes and rabbits, I hope.”
“And doves, though they’re out of season.”
“Doves? Who the hell would shoot doves?”
“It’s a major sport down here.”
“Okay, so they’re out of season. Anything else lurking in the underbrush besides CIA and rebels?”
“They’re the most lethal, I expect. We may run into a few wild boar.”
“What?” Mack’s raw voice managed a semblance of a shriek.
“Not to mention pumas, jaguars, and wild turkeys.”