“We want you to work for him. Ingratiate yourself to him. Gain his trust. Get to know his operation.”

“And then stab him in the back?”

“Figuratively speaking, yes. Of course a man like that deserves a real knife in the back.”

“I gotta tell you, Russ, I’m having a hard time believing some of this. How can he be such a bad guy when he’s so good to me? Why would he be nice?”

“Maybe it’s your good looks and charm, Dan.”

I scoffed.

“I mean it. For some reason he likes you.”

“Ridiculous.”

“Okay, then maybe it’s because there are things you could get done that he can’t. You’re squeaky clean. Not on Interpol’s radar or the FBI’s or the DEA’s. You’re white. That helps in this country. The police tend to give Westerners a pass where they don’t for the locals. Like at the airport. Customs.”

“You want me to be a double agent? I’ve never even held a gun. Do you think I’ve trained as a spy?”

“Let’s not exaggerate, Dan. You’re not going to be a spy. You’re going to be a snitch.”

“You ever thought of going into the recruiting business? If so, don’t.”

“Look, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But you really only have to do what Smets asks you to do. Then, when we contact you, you tell us.”

“So no danger in this for the snitch?”

He lit a cigarette before answering. “There are risks,” he said. “You’ll want to be careful not to arouse his suspicions.”

“How do I accomplish that?”

“For one thing, you stop sleeping with his girlfriend.”

It was distasteful enough to consider turning Willy over to the authorities. He’d never done me wrong. But I’d done him dirty on several occasions. I’d counted them—fifteen in all—and could tick off the day, the hour, and the positions involved. It was a regular Kama Sutra of betrayal, and it was all seared into my memory.

But as bad as stabbing Willy in the back might have seemed an hour earlier, it now came with the charming title of “snitch.” Couldn’t wait to put that on my résumé. Why did Harlan have to be so fucking honest? Couldn’t he have let me have my double-agent fantasy?

“Well?” he asked. “What do you say?”

“I say no. I’m not a snitch. If you can’t get Willy Smets the honest way, with all the resources and wall-climbers and pretty blondes you have, I’m not going to help you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

SUNDAY, JULY 20, 1975, 10:51 P.M.