“Could it be a doghouse? A pen?”
After a moment, the Nicaraguan said, “Yeah. I think you’re right. Most people, if they have coops, don’t put them right by the house. That’s gross. It’s probably for a dog.”
Court scanned some more. “Didn’t hear a dog barking when we got here. Your boys hear a dog?”
The Nicaraguan made a call on his radio, received an answer. “No sign of dogs present on the hill.”
To Juan Carlos, Court said, “There’s like…no movement in that house up there at all. That look right to you?”
“Maybe the homeowners are out of town.”
Court took his eyes out of his binos, turned to the agent. “Like…on vacation? South of France, maybe?”
Juan Carlos sighed at the sarcasm. “These are red bean fields all around here. Maybe they go sell their crops at the produce markets in Chinandega or Managua. Must have left their dogs with someone, or taken them along.”
“Did your guys check the houses out?”
“I ordered them to stay out of sight when they got here. But they’ve been watching the windows. Curtains haven’t moved. No vehicles.” He looked to Court now. “We were given this location about ten minutes before your plane landed, we didn’t have time.”
“I know, amigo. We’ve all been handed a shit sandwich here.”
Court saw that the curtains were either canvas or burlap or some other type of heavy fabric. His FLIR wouldn’t be able to detect heat signatures inside the buildings.
He didn’t like it, but he also knew these locals had been rushed into this op much the same as he had.
One of Juan Carlos’s men called over the radio, letting them know a vehicle was approaching. Soon Court saw a dark blue Nissan Versa sedan without headlights on pulling off the road onto the drive, heading towards the restaurant.
The pickup facing it flashed its lights two times, and the Versa pulled to a stop ten yards away from it.
The Tacoma’s truck lights turned on as the car door opened.
A woman in a gray tank top and dark pants stepped out, and she raised her hands over her head, her eyes squinting into the headlights.
Both Court and Juan Carlos looked her over through their binos, even though they were only twenty-five yards away from her.
Juan Carlos said, “That her?”
Court rose. “Cover me.” He moved onto the restaurant grounds, past a few picnic tables, and came up on the left side of the woman, who was still facing the pickup.
He recognized the woman code-named Caprice, and he knew she spoke English, but still, he said, “Buenas noches.”
She lurched in fear, not having heard him approach. Quickly, he said, “It’s okay. I’m from the USA. Sent down to bring you in.”
She turned to him, and he stepped up to her and frisked her quickly. Her body felt unbelievably tense. Muscles tight from head to toe, a slight quiver in her arms and hands, a rocking in her legs. When he was done, he waved to the pickup.
The headlights turned off.
In the darkness now, he said, “You sure you weren’t followed?”
“No. I mean, yes, I’m sure.”
“Tell me everything you did since you called your case officer last night.”
“I took the bus from Managua, changed in León. Arrived in Chinandega this afternoon and rented a car. Went to a movie. Stopped at a restaurant, ate in my car, watching the road.
“I waited two hours, like I was instructed. No one passed. Then I came here.”
“Good.” Court scanned the road, the hill. “I’m to ask you why you think you are burned.”
