Any Minute Now by Eric Van Lustbader Page B

nurses’ station, which was, Orteño noted, still as quiet as the grave. He paused in front of one of those meaningless prints seen in every mid-level hotel room in the Third World.
    With hands clasped behind his back, he said, as if to himself, “I wonder who picks out these things? Some anonymous drone sitting in some dusty back office somewhere, paging through catalogs of this crap.” He grunted. “But he must have an eye for it, don’t you think? I mean, not a single one of these prints ever looks out of place.”
    He turned abruptly and addressed Orteño. “This is what I want you to do for me, Felix. Be this print on the wall—the print that blends in so completely that no one gives him a second thought or look. Think you can do that for me?”
    The cold and squirmy thing in Orteño’s stomach that had announced itself at St. Vincent’s appearance began to move, and it wasn’t from the crummy hospital food. “Eyes and ears, is that it?”
    The sun seemed to shine on St. Vincent’s face. “Precisely.”
    â€œReport to you.”
    â€œMe and me alone,” he nodded.
    â€œWhat are you looking for?”
    â€œAnything,” St. Vincent said. “Anything out of the ordinary.” He approached the bed again, but this time did not bother to sit. “Your last brief had a breach, Felix. A rather serious one, I’m afraid. Was it NSA or Universal Security Associates?” He bent forward slightly in order to emphasize what he said next. “We need to get this thing under control, pronto. Get me?”
    â€œI do. But there’s not enough money in the world.”
    â€œI appreciate that, Felix, more than you know,” St. Vincent said mildly, “but there’s a very bad apple hidden somewhere. You and I are going to make applesauce of it, get me?” He smiled. “In any event, money doesn’t enter into this equation.”
    â€œYou’re asking me to spy on my own people.”
    â€œI’m asking you to help me ferret out a traitor.”
    Flix’s eyes narrowed. “Work for the NSA?”
    â€œDoes that matter? Since you already do, albeit indirectly.”
    Flix laughed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
    St. Vincent nodded. “Point taken. I’m head of Directorate N. You can look me up.”
    â€œAnd Directorate N is…?”
    â€œCounterintelligence,” St. Vincent said a bit too quickly. “What d’you say? Are you prepared to come to the defense of your country?”
    â€œI do that on every brief my team undertakes.”
    â€œOf course. I didn’t mean to underplay your current role in America’s foreign policy. I’m merely asking you to take one more step.”
    Flix chewed this over for a while. “What you’re proposing … if along the way my friends get hurt…?” He let his words fade out. Then he shook his head. “No.”
    â€œYes, I understand. USA is rather a closed shop, to say the least. A man like you, loyal to the bone, I imagined you’d turn me down. That, in itself, is good to know. A man venal enough to betray his fellows will easily betray his new master.”
    Orteño bristled visibly. “I don’t have masters.”
    St. Vincent said nothing, seeming lost in contemplation. Then, appearing to start out of it, he said, “But you do have a sister.”
    Orteño stiffened.
    â€œHer name is Marilena, yes.”
    It wasn’t a question. Orteño didn’t say a word; he was scarcely able to draw a breath.
    â€œAnd Marilena has a son, Leo. He was nineteen two days ago. I know how close-knit Latino families tend to be. Yours is no different.” St. Vincent sucked in his cheeks again. “I must remember to send him a present.”
    â€œYou’re not—” Orteño fairly choked on his words. “Are you threatening my nephew?”
    â€œGood god, man,