Cristo handed him the business card. “Calvin West has returned.”
“West?” Solaris glanced at the card, surprised. His mind processed the implications. “Here?”
“He accompanied the Cutting woman.”
“So your inside source was right.” Solaris nodded, satisfied. “She came. Did she bring the MONGREL prototype?”
“We’ll see soon enough.”
“West was MI6 until last year. Now, I believe, he is some sort of diplomatic liaison between London and Washington, D.C. Why is he involved?”
“It does not matter. He is an unexpected opportunity,” Cristo answered. “You’ve been given another chance at West. Don’t screw it up again. Understand?”
“I will take care of it,” Solaris replied, pleased. “What about Jason Marsh?”
“Marsh is not your concern,” Delgado retorted. “Find West. When you’re done, bring the woman to me. If she’s
decided to visit her ex-husband, I will find out why, and how
I can use her presence to my advantage. Then I’ll dispose of her. You can do what you please to West. Just make sure of the impact. On both of them.”
“I will.” Solaris pocketed the card. “But if West let you know he was here, there’s a good chance he has already set a plan in motion.”
“You act as if I should care,” Cristo said arrogantly, then walked away with a wave of his hand. “Just do your job this time, Solaris. I won’t tolerate another failure.”
Chapter Six
Shacks rose above the city of Caracas. Some burrowed into the hillsides while most balanced precariously on toothpick stilts. Painted in a rainbow of dingy pastels, they turned the slant of land into an eerie chessboard of light and shadows.
“Your sense of fashion and mine are quite different, Cal. But I’m learning to appreciate your style.”
Julia stepped from the rented Jeep. She wore a black Lycra top and matching pants. Both fit like a second skin and were surprisingly comfortable.
Flecks of broken glass and torn papers flashed dimly in the spattering of yellow streetlights.
“Just stay focused. This isn’t a place where you want to get distracted.” Cal cast a sideways glance, his eyes resting a few moments on her freshly scrubbed features, the short ponytail, before skimming over the soft curve of her backside. “Or be distracting.”
“Dutifully noted.” Ignoring the flash of heat in her belly, she sidestepped the path of one particularly erratic rat that scampered across the narrow dirt road. A scurry of shadows burst from a nearby garbage pile. Revulsion slid up her back, worked the knot between her shoulders. “Who are we meeting?”
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