“So,” Alex said at length, turning to her former boss and breaking the ice, “normally when we meet you tell me ahead of time what’s on your agenda.”
“Well, first I wanted to know how you might be feeling, how you were recovering,” Collins said. “God knows, you’ve been through hell and back, haven’t you?”
“The answers are ‘okay’ and ‘okay,’ ” she said.
“So I see,” he answered.
“I appreciated the flowers and the notes. And the calls. Honestly, I did.”
“The least I could do. I know how horrible it must have been,” he said. “I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least mention it.”
“Thank you. I’m trying to move on.”
“Is the government seeing after you?” Collins asked.
“To the extent that they ever do,” she said. “There are some wrinkles.”
“Anything I can help you with? I know the president personally, plus both of the current New York senators.”
“I’ll be okay,” she said with a sigh. “It’s just going to take me some time.”
“What are you planning to doing with yourself other than meditate, haunt art galleries, and go to Yankee games while you’re in New York?” he asked.
“It depends how long I can use your son’s apartment. Very generous of you, by the way. Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“He’s away on one of his missionary visits?” she asked.
“Yes. We have a few places around the world, as you know. He’s in Brazil right now. Rough posting. He brought it on himself. It’s the work he wants to do.”
She smiled.
“Okay,” he finally said. “Let’s talk about why you’re here. ¿Qué tal tu español?”
“Buenísimo. Excelente. Hablo muy bien todavía. ¿Y por qué?” Very good. Excellent. I still speak well, I think. Why?
“How do you feel about some travel?” he asked.
“To where?”
“South America. A trouble spot.”
The waitress arrived with the fruit and the rolls. Alex appreciated the breather. Mini-Danishes and mini-croissants. Collins offered the plate to Alex before taking anything himself.
A noisy group of women, tourists, moved into a nearby table. One of them noticed Collins and nudged her acquaintances, a celebrity sighting in Manhattan.
“I know it’s only been a few months since Kiev,” he said. “That can seem like a short time or a long time. Do you think you’re ready for something new?”
“I’m ready to listen,” Alex said.
“Then I’m ready to make you an interesting offer,” he answered. “Have you ever been to Venezuela?”
“A couple of times. When I was with the Treasury Department.”
“Caracas?”
“That and Maracaibo.”
Collins drew a breath and began. “I need someone to fly down to Venezuela and troubleshoot a problem for me. Someone who’s good with people, speaks the language fluently, has good instincts for trouble, and most of all someone I can trust.”
“I’m flattered.”
“First class airfare, the proper support and security when you get there. Just meet some people, assess what’s going on, come back, and report to me.”
“Sounds easy,” she said. “It couldn’t possibly be.”
“You’re right. It won’t be. I’d guess it would take you maybe a month to properly complete the assignment. I’d pay you twenty thousand dollars for the month, plus expenses. You’d need to go almost immediately. Sorry about the weather conditions this time of year. It’s brutally hot.” He smiled. “You’re going to think you died and went to the wrong place. How’s that sound? Miserable?”
“I’m still listening,” she said.
“For almost five years, I’ve been financing a group of Christian missionaries who have been living among a large tribe of primitive indigenous people,” Collin explained. “They’re in a village named Barranco Lajoya. It’s a very remote area south of the Orinoco River in the Guayana region. Very rugged area in the southeastern quadrant of the country, not far north of the border with Brazil. Not that there are signs posted in the jungle. Most of the region doesn’t even have accurate maps yet.”
“What are they doing, the missionaries?” she asked.
“They import medical care and are also trying to bring electricity to the area. They also support the local churches. Methodists, Episcopalians, and a cross section of evangelicals. Americans mostly, some Canadians, several others. Our people have also learned the indigenous language. It’s mostly an Indian dialect, but with a lot of corrupted Spanish. They’re translating the Bible into the indigenous language. That way they can bring the good news to the people. If they want it.”
“Commendable,” she said.
“I like to think so,” he said. “My gift, if they choose to accept it. Look, it’s not even that big an operation. The costs on the ground are quite minimal. I think my whole budget on this is maybe two hundred thousand dollars a year. Maybe two twenty-five. Small stuff.”
“For you, maybe.”
“Granted, for me. I’ve been blessed in my life, so I try to pass it along while I’m still on this earth. And this is also a pet project, you understand, translating the Bible into a new tongue. I’m convinced it’s helping the people who are there, and the missionaries like what they’re doing. I’d like to keep things going in the right direction.”
“So what’s the problem?” Alex asked.
“Well, after some considerable early success, we’re being sabotaged. A lot of our work gets undone. There seems to be an effort coming from somewhere to discourage our people and drive the missionaries out of the country.”
“That’s unusual, isn’t it?”
“Very. Most countries in Central and South America encourage missionaries even if they don’t like them. They bring dollars and provide social services the governments are unwilling or unable to provide.”
“ ‘An effort coming from somewhere,’ ” Alex repeated, thinking back a beat, framing Collins’ own words. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. Caracas. Washington. Maybe Havana.” He paused. “There are a few ragtag guerrilla organizations in the area, but the army keeps them in check.”
She sipped her coffee. “So interference with missionaries doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s South America. It’s Venezuela. It doesn’t have to.”
Collins produced a sealed manila envelope and handed it to her.
“Obviously, your ultimate job is to report back to me on where the problems are coming from. And what we can do about it, if anything.”
She nodded.
“The Venezuelan government is hostile to us right now, as you know, I’m sure. And the country is almost as lawless as Colombia, next door.”
She nodded. “I’ll take your file with me today,” she said. “Whatever is in it, I want to give it some thought.”
“Fair enough,” he said. He paused, then added, “I should mention one or two more things. Right up front.”
She waited. From the nearby table, the tourists had stopped staring. They turned their attention to the menus.
“I sent someone down there seven weeks ago,” Collins said. “A security man named Diego. Former marine. A very good man. Someone set him up with a mobile phone that was rigged as a bomb. In a hotel bar in Caracas. When he used the phone the first time, he was-how did they say it locally?-decapitado.”
A pause. “So someone’s playing for keeps.”
“Someone doesn’t want us there, for whatever reason. And I fear that some of my missionaries and their villages are coming into the line of fire, too.” He paused. “You’ll need to wear a gun for protection. God forbid that you ever have to use it. But as I said, it’s a rough area. Jungle cats. Poisonous bats. A lot of snakes.”