Colonel Enrique hid between two palm trees near the Santa Isabel International Airport, and watched the jet cruising down through the blue equatorial sky. “Here comes Lieutenant Smith, exactly on time!”
He adjusted his sunglasses, then tugged down his floppy golf hat, secure in his tourist disguise. He wore pants made of material most often seen on sofas and a windbreaker with the name of a bowling league silk-screened on the back.
Enrique turned to his burly companion who wore plaid shorts, black socks and penny-loafers in which he had discreetly tucked copper ruble coins.
Ivan said, “I’m sure he suspects nothing—Americans are used to winning prizes and getting free luxuries. It is all a daily part of their decadent, dying civilization. Make no mistake, Enrique: once, religion was the
