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The inquiries of the Peruvian police would take days. I didn’t have days. My cover was blown. I was screwed if I stayed in this country. I ran them a story that the two characters from Colombia had come into my room with guns and started asking all sorts of questions about the Japanese ambassador, Hector arrived, pushed one out the window and shot the other while taking a mortal wound himself.

The story would work if they wanted it to work. They had uncovered an assassination plot and a local boy was the hero.

I told them I was registered under the United States Witness Protection Program and now I had to fly the coop on the first flight out. They weren’t down with that at all. But they also didn’t want to mess with the FBI.

A signed statement, a videotaped statement, a fake contact address later, and I was all set to go.

It was too late to get a reservation now, but I