“We’ve interacted a couple of times. He seems like a decent enough fellow,” Gayle said with a little shrug. “And he’s not corrupt, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Actually no, since you said he’s Peruvian intelligence, I was more interested if your NOC is intact?” Nisha said.

“Yeah, I think so . . . no indications to the contrary. And to preserve the trust, I notified him of your visit this morning, which is why I’m letting you know in case he’s waiting for us at the hangar.”

“Well, we appreciate that, Gayle. Thank you,” Jed said with an easy smile and a quick glance back at Nisha.

“Have you been to the scene yet?” Nisha said, asking the question they were all dying to know the answer to.

“No, but one of my missionaries, Dagan Meier, was in the village when it happened. He’s there now and you’ll be able to interview him,” Gayle said. “And the answer to your next question is no, Dagan is not an asset—he’s an actual GGM missionary. So please question him accordingly.”

“Roger that,” Jed said, loving her efficiency and no-nonsense approach. “Thanks for the heads-up.”

He’d only known her twenty minutes, and he decided he already liked this spook.

The drive from the hotel to the hangar was the minibus ride all over again, with Gayle fighting traffic and narrowly avoiding a half-dozen close calls with crazy local drivers. When they finally arrived at the airfield, Jed spied a handsome thirtysomething Peruvian dude standing beside the helicopter.

“I assume that’s Campos?” he said, looking sideways at Gayle.

“Yep,” she said.

The helo, which Jed recognized as a UH-1H Super Huey, was rated for crew plus eight, so unfortunately there was plenty of capacity in the passenger compartment for Señor Campos to tag along.

Lucky us . . .

Gayle drove straight up to the helo and parked on the tarmac. Jed and his teammates climbed out and let their CIA escort take the lead with introductions, which she did with perfectly executed awkwardness.

Campos greeted each of them in turn with a smile and a firm handshake, settling his attention on Jed. “No offense, but you do not look like missionaries,” the counterintelligence agent said with a wry and knowing grin.

Jed smiled back while trying to read the man’s thoughts, which, to his dismay, were in Spanish. “That’s because we’re not,” Jed said, handing Campos a business card. “We specialize in security and private investigation services. We’ve been hired by GGM because of the potential liability and PR fallout from this situation.”