The woman cursed and loudly farted. Wincing, the driver pulled over to the curb and put the gear lever in Park. The woman started yelling. The driver turned around in his seat, reached behind Merrill, and opened the rear door. He grabbed the woman by the neck and threw her out onto the sidewalk. He stepped on the gas again while the door was still open, braked and closed the door. He pulled a purse up from the floor, and tossed that out Merrill’s window, barely missing Merrill’s nose. “El Centro.” The driver said proudly.

“American Consulate,” Merrill said, thinking that O’Malley would be saying, “Welcome to Colombia!”

The driver attempted to repeat “American Consulate.” It was clear he didn’t know what it meant. Merrill got out one of the hundred dollar bills and studied both sides. Benjamin Franklin. Independence Hall. He pointed to the building and said, “American Consulate.”

“Cambio?”

“Consulate.” Merrill ran the tip of his finger in a circle around the building. “Where Americans are.”

“Ah, si. Americanos.”

Merrill sat back. He was thinking of O’Malley again; what he had learned from O’Malley. The streets were full of people. But Merrill dared not slow down in his chase after Amy. If anything, he wanted to go faster. For the first time, Merrill did not know where Amy was, or which way she was headed.

The driver turned off the boulevard. Here the buildings looked very old, unlike anything he had ever seen in the United States. There were more people, of all ages. Merrill and the driver passed a café with a few bare tables out on the sidewalk, turned another corner, and stopped across the street from a doorway in which a black U.S. Marine in khakis stood at ease. “Americanos,” the driver said. Merrill handed him the hundred dollar bill. The driver shook his head as he grabbed the bill. “Mucho mas.”

Merrill had a plan, if he could only communicate it. “Give me some change. Whatever you have.”

The driver shrugged.

“Money,” Merrill said. He held his hand to the side of his head. “Money for telephone.”

The driver nodded and gave him a handful of coins. He pointed to one of several the same size and said, “Telefono. Uno.” He held it up as if to put it in a slot. “Uno.”

Merrill nodded. “Thanks,” he said. By the weight of the coins, he had just done a hundred-to-one trade. He got out of the cab and crossed the street as the cab roared away. The Marine kept his eyes front. Merrill said, “Good evening, Marine.”

“Evening, sir.”

“Could you give me the telephone number here —”

“Unless it’s an emergency, sir, we’re closed until nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“No emergency,” Merrill said. “I want to have it, just in case.”

From the pocket of his blouse the Marine produced a fresh, crisp business card.

“What happens in the event of an emergency?”