Page 105 of Hit Man

“Someone in need of information.”

“Just a second.” There’s a long pause on the other end. I think I hear a door closing, before she comes back onto the line. “El Chulo charge you through the nose for my number?”

I grin. “A small fortune. Is it worth it?”

“Depends on the question,” she smoothly replies. Quick. Smart. I like this woman.

“Two questions.”

I raise my eyebrow at the sound of her sigh. “Two questions answered if I can ask two myself.”

“Deal. Does Fahder know about the uranium shipment?”

“No.”

I frown. “So Mendoza is running this operation?”

“Wrong.”

“Dios mío. Then who is?”

“That’s three questions.”

“Mierda.”

“Are you CIA?” she asks, as curious about me as I am about her.

“I’m no one,” I reply, repeating one of TORC’s mantras.

“And I’m Kate Middleton. Never mind. I was simply wondering if you worked with that fine piece of beef.”

I release a long mental sigh. McDuff is up to his old tricks again, I see. “Piece of beef?” I ask, playing dumb. Clearly, he told her he works for the CIA.

“Yeah. Corned beef. Hate the stuff.”

She is talking about McDuff. When did they meet? I wonder. “Can’t really say. Sounds nasty, though,” I smoothly reply. As much as I hate a pint of stale Guinness, no way would I sell him out.

“Tell him when you see him that he’s an asshole.”

I snort.With pleasure.She’s definitely has had an up-close and personal encounter with my colleague. Interesting . . .

“The uranium is shipping out of Acapulco on Saturday. Did you find out where it’s headed?” I asks.

“Still three questions.”

“Fine. I hate corned beef. Can’t stand the stuff. Now a fine steak . . .”

“Cork.”

“Cork?” I repeat. “Ireland.”

“I know. Ironic. Is there any other?”

“Fucking Irish.”

“Goddamn Irishmen,” she adds, clearly exasperated by McDuff. Good, a little good-cop bad-cop in play.

“Did Mendoza organize the shipment?”