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“And then?”
“Somewhere you’ll be able to use that Spanish of yours.”
“How’s yours?”
“Fluent, actually.”
“In that case, you won’t have any trouble understanding what I’m about to tell you.”
Calmly, she recited the crudest, vilest Spanish insult she could bring herself to repeat. The gray man in the gray suit only smiled. “Phillip always said you have quite a mouth on you.”
This time it was Magdalena who lashed out without warning. Her blow opened a small cut in the corner of his eye. He wiped away the blood with a linen pocket square.
“Get on the helicopter, Ms. Navarro. Otherwise, there’s a shallow grave in your future.”
“Yours, too, I imagine.”
Tyler Briggs opened Magdalena’s door and escorted her to the waiting Sikorsky. Five minutes later they were headed across the EastRiver. Before them stretched the working-class neighborhoods of Queens and the suburbs of Nassau and Suffolk counties. That slender riotous island, thought Magdalena.
She checked her Cartier. It was 7:50 p.m. At least she thought it was. The damn watch kept lousy time.
