words, except for the one on top. The top folder was marked “Transport Log” in Spanish.
The colonel caught her looking and pushed the folders aside. He picked up Glenn’s photo, examined it, then lifted his gaze to hers, his expression unchanged. “Your information is incorrect.”
Okay, here came the stonewalling. She’d expected it. “Can I ask if you keep an arrest log?”
“Certainly, señorita.”
“Could you double-check for March first? Just in case.” She smiled. “Then if he’s not there, I can cross this off my list of things to check and move on to the next item. I’d really appreciate the help.”
The man turned to the outdated computer in front of him, his eyes on the small, gray monitor that extended a foot in the back. His fingers picked out the keys on the keyboard one by one.
When the computer beeped, he turned the bulky monitor toward her. “See for yourself.”
She ran down the list of names. A Hitler Ramírez, a Mussolini Contreras, a Kennedy Briceño, and two Elvises, among other names of historical figures and pop cultural icons, made her do a double take. Apparently, Venezuelan naming conventions leaned toward the famous and exotic instead of the traditional.
But the name she’d hoped to see wasn’t there.
“Perhaps he was processed on the following day?” Since he’d been picked up in the evening, after dinner.
The colonel began another search. He didn’t turn the monitor back toward him, so she could watch. He was running a general search for “Danning, Glenn” for all dates. She didn’t understand the full error message when it popped up in the middle of the screen, but she did understand the most important word: ilocalizable . Unable to locate.
The man leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry, señorita. I wish I could help. We value tourists. My job is to keep everyone safe. Perhaps Mr. Danning left the country to continue his vacation in Brazil or on one of the islands?”
She held back a groan. The islands seemed to be everyone’s hobbyhorse, pushing the problems outside the borders. But before she could ask the colonel why Glenn would have decided to travel on without his luggage, without checking out of his hotel, a knock on the door interrupted them.
When a guardsman stepped inside, the colonel strode over to talk to him. They exchanged words in hushed, rapid Spanish.
Her language skills weren’t good enough to catch any of it, but Roberto watched them closely, even leaning toward them a little. Maybe he would share with her later.
She half turned, as if still looking at the computer screen, but reached for the stack of folders on the desk and opened the one on top, the transport log. She surreptitiously snapped a picture with her phone then turned the page and snapped another photo, but she didn’t get to page three. She had to close the folder and turn back as the colonel headed back to them.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, señorita?” He stepped back behind his desk.
Tell me the truth. But since the National Guard refused to acknowledge ever having seen Glenn, she couldn’t do much here for now. She thanked the man for his help, then walked out with Roberto.
“Did you catch any of what he was talking about with the guardsman?”
“An issue with some upcoming military parade.”
All right, so they weren’t going to gain much useful information here today. She’d just have to push on another front. She was going to find Glenn—wherever he was, whatever shape he was in. She refused to think that she might be too late.
“I think I’d like to see those parking garage security videos, after all,” she told Roberto as they drove out of the guarded parking lot.
“Not a problem.”
And it wasn’t. In less than half an hour, they were sitting in a small meeting room at Salazar Security Services.
Miranda watched the grainy footage on a wall monitor. Her heart rate picked up as Glenn stepped out of his rental car, tall,
The colonel caught her looking and pushed the folders aside. He picked up Glenn’s photo, examined it, then lifted his gaze to hers, his expression unchanged. “Your information is incorrect.”
Okay, here came the stonewalling. She’d expected it. “Can I ask if you keep an arrest log?”
“Certainly, señorita.”
“Could you double-check for March first? Just in case.” She smiled. “Then if he’s not there, I can cross this off my list of things to check and move on to the next item. I’d really appreciate the help.”
The man turned to the outdated computer in front of him, his eyes on the small, gray monitor that extended a foot in the back. His fingers picked out the keys on the keyboard one by one.
When the computer beeped, he turned the bulky monitor toward her. “See for yourself.”
She ran down the list of names. A Hitler Ramírez, a Mussolini Contreras, a Kennedy Briceño, and two Elvises, among other names of historical figures and pop cultural icons, made her do a double take. Apparently, Venezuelan naming conventions leaned toward the famous and exotic instead of the traditional.
But the name she’d hoped to see wasn’t there.
“Perhaps he was processed on the following day?” Since he’d been picked up in the evening, after dinner.
The colonel began another search. He didn’t turn the monitor back toward him, so she could watch. He was running a general search for “Danning, Glenn” for all dates. She didn’t understand the full error message when it popped up in the middle of the screen, but she did understand the most important word: ilocalizable . Unable to locate.
The man leaned back in his chair. “I’m sorry, señorita. I wish I could help. We value tourists. My job is to keep everyone safe. Perhaps Mr. Danning left the country to continue his vacation in Brazil or on one of the islands?”
She held back a groan. The islands seemed to be everyone’s hobbyhorse, pushing the problems outside the borders. But before she could ask the colonel why Glenn would have decided to travel on without his luggage, without checking out of his hotel, a knock on the door interrupted them.
When a guardsman stepped inside, the colonel strode over to talk to him. They exchanged words in hushed, rapid Spanish.
Her language skills weren’t good enough to catch any of it, but Roberto watched them closely, even leaning toward them a little. Maybe he would share with her later.
She half turned, as if still looking at the computer screen, but reached for the stack of folders on the desk and opened the one on top, the transport log. She surreptitiously snapped a picture with her phone then turned the page and snapped another photo, but she didn’t get to page three. She had to close the folder and turn back as the colonel headed back to them.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, señorita?” He stepped back behind his desk.
Tell me the truth. But since the National Guard refused to acknowledge ever having seen Glenn, she couldn’t do much here for now. She thanked the man for his help, then walked out with Roberto.
“Did you catch any of what he was talking about with the guardsman?”
“An issue with some upcoming military parade.”
All right, so they weren’t going to gain much useful information here today. She’d just have to push on another front. She was going to find Glenn—wherever he was, whatever shape he was in. She refused to think that she might be too late.
“I think I’d like to see those parking garage security videos, after all,” she told Roberto as they drove out of the guarded parking lot.
“Not a problem.”
And it wasn’t. In less than half an hour, they were sitting in a small meeting room at Salazar Security Services.
Miranda watched the grainy footage on a wall monitor. Her heart rate picked up as Glenn stepped out of his rental car, tall,
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