Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [55]
25
SAN JOSÉ, COSTA RICA
PARQUE MORAZÁN
SATURDAY, AUGUST 19
2:59 P.M.
Twenty-two-year-old Miguel Estrada stood across the street from the outrageously pink Del Rey Hotel in central San José and watched the gringos with disgust. They’re turning us into a nation of whores and pimps, he thought.
It was lightly raining, as it often did this time of year in San José. Estrada stood under a canopied doorway with several others, waiting for the rain to stop. In front of the Del Rey Hotel, American, Canadian, and German men laughed drunkenly, clutching lewdly at the buttocks of the prostitutes working as waitresses. It was all Estrada could bear to watch.
He’d read that government officials were cracking down on the sexual traffic for gay men and children, but from what he could see, nothing was being done about traditional prostitution. And in the open like this! Something needed to be done, or Costa Rica would be perverted beyond recall.
The rain stopped, and people began moving away. Estrada walked another block, then turned to his right, entering a doorway beneath a sign that read in English FLAMINGO MASSAGE. Gloria, the regular counter girl and the owner’s current girlfriend, was sitting at the counter. “Hello, Miguel. Rosa will be out in a few minutes. Have a seat.”
The spare waiting room was empty so Estrada sat by the door. He glanced at the same garish travel posters he’d seen countless times before. Four minutes later, a loud American in a florid shirt with a grin on his face emerged from behind a curtain. “You take care now, honey,” he said to Gloria as he walked out, ignoring Estrada. A few minutes later Rosa emerged. Spotting her boyfriend, she came over and tried to kiss him.
Estrada turned his face away. “Don’t. I know what you do back there.”
Rosa was twenty-six years old, with a Nordic look not uncommon to native Costa Ricans. She and Estrada had been dating for three months. “What do I do you don’t like?”
“You know.”
“I give massage, Miguel. That’s all. I’m not a puta. If you don’t like it, don’t come around.”
He sulked for a moment, then said, “I need to use the computer.”
Rosa glanced at Gloria, who was reading a magazine. “Why don’t you use the one at home? You spend all your time on it anyway.”
Estrada smirked. “Not for this, trust me. It will only take a minute. Please.”
Rosa shrugged. “Hey, Gloria. Miguel wants to use the computer for a minute, okay?”
Gloria glanced up from her magazine. “Sure. Don’t get caught.”
Miguel walked passed Gloria into the office. The computer was on and connected to the Internet. Slipping a disk from his pocket, he sat down and inserted it, clicked RUN, then waited three minutes as instructed. When he was done, he removed the disk and returned to the waiting area.
“Okay. When will you be home?” he said to Rosa.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Later sometime. See you then.” Again she tried to kiss him and again he turned his face.
As Estrada walked out, Gloria said, “You should get a new boyfriend. That one’s trouble.” She placed a piece of chewing gum on her wet pink tongue and pulled it into her mouth.
“He’s cute,” Rosa protested, who preferred a boyfriend without a job, as they were less trouble. “Anyway, if I didn’t support him, he’d starve. He’s too skinny as it is.”
“How was he?” Gloria said, meaning the customer.
Rosa laughed as she lit a cigarette. “Quick. We’re going to need more condoms.”
26
FAIRFAX COUNTY, VIRGINIA
SATURDAY, AUGUST 19
9:51 P.M.
George Carlton had been with the CIA for eleven years in 1999, when he was given the opportunity to travel to the Middle East.
Company policy was that when managers reached a certain level and possessed a specified tenure, they should travel. The idea was to broaden horizons and give them the chance to put faces to the names they saw in so many reports. The more personalized the operation of the Company was, it was believed the more likely managers would exercise caution when making decisions that could impact lives. These junkets, as they were called at Langley,