The father shook his head. “Not that I am aware of. They must be well concealed.”

“Possibly. But I suppose that’s why they pay me. To find the difficult ones,” Casius responded.

“What about up north?” the nun asked.

He blinked. “Up north? Caracas?”

“Not the city. The jungle up north.”

Casius glanced at the father. So they had their suspicions of the north.

“We’ve heard occasional rumors of drug running farther north. I think the sister refers to those rumors,” the priest said.

Casius felt his pulse surge. “How long ago did you hear these rumors?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

“How long? They come sporadically.” The father turned to the woman. “Wouldn’t you say, Sister? Every few months or so.” She nodded, her eyes a bit too wide, Casius thought.

“Interesting. Farther north, huh? How far north?”

“Twenty miles or so. Wouldn’t you say, Father Teuwen?” the woman said.

“Yes.”

Casius looked from one to the other. “Well, I’ll definitely report it. Any unique details?”

They both shook their heads.

“I’m sorry, but what are your names?”

“Forgive me. Petrus Teuwen. And this is Sherry Blake. Sister Sherry Blake.”

Casius nodded. “It’s a pleasure meeting you,” he said. He turned and reached for the door.

SHERRY THOUGHT the man who called himself Casius knew more than he admitted and she thought to ask him about the assault on their mission. But the incident at the plantation occurred eight years earlier, and judging his age, he would have been too young to be involved with any agency at the time.

The longer she looked at him, the more she thought he resembled some outrageous drugstore action figure. Or one of those Wrestlemania wrestlers, snarling at the television cameras and flexing their muscles for the kids. Either way she had seen his kind before, and they had always made her cringe.

She saw the knife at his back as he turned. A large bowie shoved into his waistband. Casius could do more than observe, she decided. His image couldn’t have stood in greater contrast to the day’s discussion with Father Teuwen. A small knot of disgust churned in her belly.

The man suddenly turned back. “I’m sure you can understand my need for your silence,” he said evenly. “At least for the next day or two. Drug merchants aren’t well-bred men. They would think nothing of slitting your throats.”

He said it so casually, so evenly, that Sherry wondered again if he himself were a drug runner, lying to gain their confidence and planning to return later and do just that. Slit their throats. But that made no sense. He could have done it already.

Casius turned from them, stepped through the door, and was gone into the night. She let out a breath of relief.

“Do you believe him?” the father asked to her left.