Code Name: Camelot (Noah Wolf #1)(67)

He didn’t bother to unpack, preferring to live out of his suitcases while he was there. He peeled off a couple of the sticker microphones and put one in the sitting room and one in the bedroom.

“Okay, let’s test these. Neil, if you can hear me, give me a call.” His cell phone rang less than thirty seconds later. “Okay, they’re working alright, then?”

“I can hear you better through my monitor than I can through this phone,” Neil said. “I wouldn’t give you gadgets that don’t work, boss. Trust me.”

“I do trust you, Neil, I just don’t always trust technology. You wouldn’t believe the things that failed us in the field when I was in the Army.”

“Oh, yes I would,” Neil said. “Everything the Army got was built by the lowest bidder. The nice thing about our outfit is that they don’t have a budget. When I ordered the top-of-the-line, that’s what I got.”

“Okay, I guess that makes sense. Good job, I’ll talk you later.” He hung up without another word.

He checked the time and found that it was only eleven, and decided to wait until early afternoon before going down to Eduardo’s. That left about three hours to kill, and since he wasn’t hungry, he decided to take a nap. He set an alarm on his phone, stripped off his shirt and shoes, stretched out on the bed, and was asleep in seconds.

The alarm went off, and he rolled up to a sitting position. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, stretched once, then went to the bathroom to freshen up. When he came out, he dug in his suitcase for his deodorant, used it lavishly, then slipped his shirt and shoes back on. He took three hundred dollars in cash from his stash in the suitcase, make sure he had his wallet, passport and room key, then left the room and went downstairs to find a taxi.

“Si, Se?or?” The driver asked as he climbed into the backseat.

“I want to go to Eduardo’s Tavern, do you know where that is?”

The driver looked confused. “Eduardo?”

“Eduardo’s Tavern,” Noah said. “49936 Avenida de la Fuentes.”

The drivers face lit up with a big smile. “Ah, si,” he said, “Eduardo, si, Eduardo!” The little man turned to face forward, shoved the car into gear and roared out of the parking lot onto the street.

Noah was forced to hold on to the safety handle over the door to the backseat, but he managed to smile as he did so. He knew that Mexican taxi drivers were much like those in other countries, and drove like maniacs so that they could hurry back to get another fare. That was the only way they could make a decent living, especially in areas with poor economies, such as Mexico.

Noah caught the driver’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Habla Ingles?” he asked, and the driver’s face lit up again.

“Si, Se?or,” he said. “I speak very good En-gleesh!”

“Good, good,” Noah said. “I want to stay at Eduardo’s Tavern for three hours, tres horas, you understand?”

“Si, three hours, I understand!”

“Okay, you come back and get me in three hours, and I will give you one hundred American dollars. You come back for me then?” He held up a one-hundred-dollar bill and let the driver see it.

The man was nodding so vigorously that he could barely even speak, but Noah understood that he was promising to be back in three hours. He drove even faster the rest of the way, then slid to a stop right in front of Eduardo’s. “Three hours! Three hours, I be back,” he said, as Noah handed him a twenty-dollar bill, which was about twice the fare on the meter. The man’s smile looked like it was going to split his face.

“That’s right, come back in three hours,” Noah said. “One hundred American dollars.” He got out of the car, and wasn’t surprised when it sped away as quickly as it had come. Noah turned and looked at the door to the tavern, squared his shoulders and walked inside.





TWENTY-THREE

The man behind the bar, Noah knew from photographs he’d been shown, was Eduardo Hernandez. The two of them stood there and looked at each other for a moment, and Noah tried to give the impression that he was nervous. He walked slowly toward the bar, carefully keeping his hands in plain sight.

Eduardo spoke, in very clear English. “Can I help you, my friend?”

Noah smiled, continuing his nervous act. “Oh, good, you speak English? Man, that’s a break for me, because I don’t understand a whole lot of Spanish. Listen, my name is John, John Baker, and I’ve been—well, somebody told me this might be a good place to come to, if I wanted to maybe buy some stuff.”

Eduardo started laughing. “It’s a good place to come to, if you want to buy beer or tequila, or pussy. Those we got, and lots. Whatever else you might be looking for, maybe somebody who comes in can help you, I don’t know.”

Noah went with him, trying to make it look as though his nervousness was fading. “Okay, okay, I gotcha,” he said. “Listen, can I get a beer?”

Eduardo grunted, and pointed at a bar stool, so Noah climbed up on it and sat. A moment later, a small bottle of Budweiser was set in front of him, and Eduardo said, “Fifteen dollars.”

Noah’s eyes jumped up to Eduardo’s, in a classic double take, but then he shrugged and pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket. He handed it over and said, “Keep the change.”