Maracaibo, Venezuela, February, 2078, Tuesday…

Simon Multani's Spanish was not the best of his many languages but it was good enough to pass as a gringo tourist. He and another CIA agent, Cindy Boxer, got off the plane in Maracaibo as Mr. and Mrs. Eisberg looking very much the part of inept tourists.

They had followed Sergio Battaglia's trail to the Venezuelan metropolis.

The drive to the hotel was memorable only because of the humidity. The air conditioning of the taxi could not keep up with it. The hotel, on the other hand, was too cold for Cindy. As soon as they got to their room she got a sweater out of her suitcase and put it on.

"Well, Frau Eisberg," Simon said in German, "you look strange in that summer outfit and a sweater. Where are you going to put your guns?"

Cindy put a finger to her lips. She began to move around the room, checking for bugs. She came up with three and was fairly confident that she had found them all.

"It took you three days to get the name right," she said. "And then you start talking about guns. You don't belong in the field, Herr Eisberg!"

"Sorry. I didn't give away anything in the taxi, did I?"

"No, you were too busy sweating. Go take a shower."

"Good idea." He took off the splashy colored shirt, revealing a middle-aged hairy chest and beer belly.