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“El Chulo.” I arch an eyebrow.
“Right.” Do I sense the slightest bit of relief? Is he not upset I know he’s CIA? “How much did you pay him?”
“You don’t deny knowing him?”
“Answer my question and maybe I’ll confirm it.”
“Twenty-thousand dollars.”
He whistles. The sound’s sweet music to my ears because the awkward moment between us seems to have passed. “Ten grand would have done it.”
“If you help me, it’ll be worth every penny.”
“Can’t.”
I grind my teeth together.
“My boss has trust issues. The Bastard doesn’t like information being leaked. He’ll kill you and me both.”
“You shouldn’t joke like that. I worked in places where people were as expendable as a politician’s latest whim.”
“Who says I’m joking.”
I frown.
He laughs, and this time the sound of it grates on my nerves. I feel like I’m the brunt of a joke, the punch line delivered in a language I can’t speak.
“You really hell-bent on redeeming yourself because of some tool named George?”
I drop my hand, breaking contact as a flash of pain washes over me. How do I make him understand? Those smug executives telling me they have no interest in covering a hard, albeit realistic, look at Aleppo falling. Like little Christiana’s life was worthless and the deaths of innocent people were unworthy of attention?
“Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong puts you at risk, you know that?”
“Let’s say I’m driven to do a good piece of work and leave it at that.”
He rubs his beard and gives me an undecipherable look. Like I’m a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit into the picture. Like he’s as confused by me as I am by him.
“Feck’s sake,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You got me. I’ll do you a good turn. Just remember I did so out of kindness.”
I exhale sharply. “Thank you. This means a lot.”
“There’s an older woman in Acapulco who sells fresh tortillas from a small yellow stand by the beach. It’s two blocks away from the warehouse.”
“Yes. I’ve seen her.”
“Next time you’re in Acapulco, ask her for the special of the day.”
“The special of the day. Okay. That’s code for something else, I suppose?”
“Correct.”
My grin slips, though, as, in one fluid move, he pushes off me and onto his feet. I roll up to sit. “Where are you going?”
“To fetch a Johnny.”
I roll my eyes. “Translation, please,” I call after his retreating back.
“Condom.”
