“Chopsticks!”
He faked amazement. “No!”
“It getsbetter.”
“I hopeso.”
“Guess where they werefrom?”
“China?”
She leaned forward and whispered, “Colombia.”
He kept his face impassive, but he was interested, all right. If it was coffee or fish meal he’d have been more intrigued—it was common practice among smugglers to hide coke inside strong-smelling commodities to put the dogs off. Chopsticks would be a new one on him. “Interesting.”
“So, what do you think is in thosecrates?”
“I’m guessingchopsticks.”
“Don’t you think it might bedrugs?”
“Everything coming into port gets checked. Dogs, random customs checks…you don’t just pack a bunch of drugs in a box and ship it to the U.S. Especially if you’re shipping fromColombia.”
“Darn. I hadn’t thought ofthat.”
He topped up herwineglass.
They ate at the kitchen table, but even so, the atmosphere was intimate. Jake cursed himself for opening wine. This was looking far too much like a date, rather than a debriefing. He’d wanted her relaxed and open, he just didn’t want anybody getting the wrong ideahere.
“Tell me about yourcoworkers.”
She listed names and physical descriptions until he was convinced she must have a photographic memory. More names and snatches of boring office conversation bombarded him until he lost track and just let her talk while he once more tried to figure out a way to get her to back off from the amateur spyshtick.
She hadn’t told him anything he didn’t know, except that, for some inexplicable reason, Oceanic was importing chopsticks from Colombia. “I thought they made chopsticks around here, from scrap wood chips or something,” he said, as soon as there was apause.
“Neville says it’s part of a new trade program to try and reduce the country’s dependence on drug income. South America’s climate grows trees much faster than ours. Did you know that cocaine is Colombia’s biggest export? Almost twice as big as coffee? That’s the largest legitimateexport.”
“Yeah. I knew that.” He swirled wine in his glass, thinking. “And Percivald told you allthis?”
“Yes. I also did a Googlesearch.”
Why would the pantywaist tell her that? It was the sort of thing an innocent businessman would say. Or a very devious one. Jake scowled. “What else did he tellyou?”
“Lots of things. Neville gave me a tour personally.” Jake heard the tiny note of pride in hervoice.
“Congratulations. Did he tryanything?”
Her color heightened. “Notexactly.”
His gut tightened. She wasn’t in Percivald’s league. If she got involved with that pervert, she could end up hurt, or psychologically damaged. “What do you mean, notexactly?”
“He flirted with me, Ithink.”
Jake let his tightened belly muscles relax. If a little flirting over the coffee machine had her this flustered, an all-out pass would have her racing home faster than her stiletto heels could carryher.
Of course.The obvious strategy to getting her out of Oceanic hit him like abullet.
“How do you feel about…you know…with Neville Percivald to get moreinformation?”
