Mexico City, Benito Juarez International Airport.
The blazing afternoon sun scorched the tarmac, and the air shimmered in the heat waves.
If you urinated, it would sizzle...
Bramo stepped off the private jet.
He carried only a simple leather travel bag, while two black "Cadillac" cars were parked beside the gangway with three upright men in plain clothes standing by.
One of them approached, "Mr. Bramo, please get in the car. The Leader sent us to pick you up."
Bramo nodded, "Thank you."
Then he got into the car.
Inside the car, the air conditioning was strong, and Bramo leaned back against the seat, watching the suburbs of Mexico City speed past outside the window.
He was well aware that Victor had brought him here for reasons beyond just his niece and nephew's birthday.
The birthday might be an excuse, a reason for him to "naturally" cross the ocean to come here.
There must be something else they want from him.
Adults rarely act on whims; they often have no choice.
