by Matt Rogers
Torres laughed. ‘Even if I could get that done — which I can’t — you think they’ll listen to us? America will crush us like an insect if we start talking like that.’
‘No they won’t. There are threats, and then there are threats. You’ll make an international scandal out of it. The States have enough bad PR right now. They don’t need any more negative press. You’ll threaten to blast it into every foreign newspaper — brazen U.S. forces storm a consulate in direct violation of the laws surrounding diplomatic missions. That’s a scandal if I’ve ever heard one. And you’ll tell them you know the identities of the men you’re protecting. Members of the black operations community, a world that America desperately wants concealed behind closed doors. Are you remembering this? I won’t repeat myself.’
‘Our President will never do something like that for me. I know many people, but not him.’
‘Who knows him, then?’
‘César Vásquez.’
King raised an eyebrow, like, You’d better start explaining before I put a bullet in you.
Torres said, ‘He’s twice the magnate I am. And he grew up with the current President. They’re brothers, just not by blood. He owns half of El Salvador. I own … considerably less than that. But enough.’
‘You know Vásquez?’
‘Not personally. He won’t do this for me. You’ll have to persuade him yourself.’
‘I can do that. Where is he?’
‘Next door.’ Torres grimaced. ‘He’s my neighbour.’
86
It wasn’t exactly the calm before the storm.
No calm, only tension.
But Slater stayed disciplined and waited, despite Alonzo’s protests. From outside there came the noise of pure chaos. Sirens and shouting in every direction. Slater was aware of the bureaucratic nightmare that would be unfolding. Two cartel sicarios executed in the middle of 5th Avenue, right next to a skyscraper that doubled as a black site. The NYPD response was inevitable, just as it would be inevitable for the black-ops pushback. The last thing the secret world wanted was undue attention. A crime scene right next to their Manhattan HQ was far from ideal. Then there’d be the investigation that would need suppressing — where had the sniper rounds come from that had killed these men?
What’s worse, the incident had probably been captured in dozens of video recordings on witness cellphones.
The new age.
It would all be murky and unclear and eventually the suppression would succeed as public interest waned — such is the nature of the twenty-four hour news cycle — but until then it’d be a mess.
Slater liked messiness.
If there was anywhere to hide in plain sight, it was Manhattan. This tiny landmass was so densely packed with buildings and flooded with civilians that it’d take some nuance for a hit team to go door to door, sweeping for signs of Slater and Alonzo, without getting recorded by witnesses.
First there were cordons that needed to be established, but Slater had worked for these people his whole life. He could almost see inside their heads. He knew what they’d do.
They’d send a preliminary team to clear the nearest buildings. It’d be a rush job, but sacrifices had to be made.
So he waited.
Alonzo sat with his back against one of the metal inventory racks. Slater stood across from him, leaning against the opposite rack.
Through the adrenaline, Alonzo found a clear head. ‘This is insane.’
‘We go now, we’ll be spotted,’ Slater said. ‘I want the first team incapacitated because that puts them on the back foot. They’ll be forced to respond. So they’ll either send in everything they’ve got despite the fact it’ll be trending on Twitter in minutes, or they’ll pull way back. Either way, we can capitalise.’
Alonzo breathed out, composing himself. Sometimes he forgot Slater was right at home in these scenarios.
Finally he turned his attention to unknowns. ‘How did you get in-country?’
‘Cártel de Texis.’
A small smirk played at the man’s lips. ‘You’ve come full circle, then. Using America’s enemies against them.’
‘Don’t start with that shit.’
The smirk vanished. A pause, then, ‘That’s not how I meant it.’
‘I know,’ Slater said. ‘But the head of Texis — a brute named Garcia — tried to get under my skin with that. I was holding him hostage with information, so he was forced to help me. But he still tried to crush me verbally, tried to take my soul. He said things I didn’t imagine he was capable of admitting. Spoke of his own monstrosities. Told me I was no better than him.’
Alonzo said, ‘That’s why you didn’t shoot to kill when you got me out of that convoy.’
Slater said, ‘I made sure of it. Those two decoys … I made it explicitly clear they couldn’t hit anyone when they emptied their weapons. Not civilians, not operatives. That’s why you heard a whole lot of noise but didn’t see any blood. They shot windshields, side panels, even fired into the air. Nothing aimed at living, breathing targets.’
‘And they died.’
‘They’re cartel scum.’
Alonzo said, ‘How long are you going to keep this up?’
Slater shrugged.
Alonzo said, ‘It won’t last forever. And it doesn’t matter what they say about you. I’m sure it’ll make headlines, an incident this public. What’s the media going to say? You were a patriot before you sided with the “bad hombres” to kill American troops. That’s what they’ll say.’
Slater didn’t look up. His insides gnawed at him. He slammed a fresh magazine into the HK45CT, hard enough to bruise his fingers.
He said, ‘I know who I am.’
Alonzo said, ‘And those close to you know the truth. That’s all that matters. Out there, everyone can hate you. It’s who you are behind closed doors, away from all the attention. That’s the key.’
Slater said, ‘You think they’ll go public with it?’
‘If they think it’ll get to you. If it’ll make you flustered, make you make mistakes, flush you out.’
Slater said, ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. I think I’m done with this concept of countries. No country is all good or all bad.’
Alonzo said, ‘That’s right.’
‘You knew this,’ Slater said. ‘You’re a smarter man than I am. You knew it and you still worked for the secret world.’
‘You think they’d let me out?’
‘I got out. King got out.’
‘With my help. And I might be smarter than you two, but I’m not tougher. You two got out by the skin of your teeth, and you went on a ballistic rampage to do it. I can’t even shoot a damn gun straight.’
Slater said, ‘Then maybe this is full circle. Maybe all this crazy shit had to happen so you ended up with us.’
Alonzo went to respond, then deemed it better not to. All he did was give a slow nod.
Slater met the man’s gaze. ‘You should have told us how you really felt. We would have gone to hell and back to get you out, bring you with us. Like I’m doing now.’
Alonzo’s smile was sad. ‘I knew I didn’t have the spine to survive alongside you four. I met you and King in New York, remember, when the city went dark. I saw who you were at your core. Surrounded by madness, you were both so still. Calm as ice. Despite what people might think, that’s rare even amongst trained killers. And now … well, now I guess I don’t have a choice. If we make it out, I’ll find out whether I have the spine or not.’
‘Want to know our secret?’ Slater said.
‘Sure.’
‘We feel the same way you do. Courage isn’t an absence of fear. The next time you think you have no spine, take the leap anyway. It’ll be painful, but you’ll figure it out. Then on the other side you’ll be a little better. A little more experienced. That’s how you end up as foolish as us.’
‘Not foolish,’ Alonzo said, shaking his head. ‘Far from it. You’re the bravest man I’ve met.’
The back door smashed in.
Armour-clad silhouettes stormed through the entry point they’d created with a battering ram.
Slater was on them before they could take in their surroundings. The troops hadn’t expected resistance right away, and he took advantage of it. He threw himself into their midst, crashing an elbow into a throat, pivoting and jabbing the barrel of the HK45CT into the next.
He wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point he pulled the trigger. He realised his life hung by a thread, and decided to survive.
That was it.
The next thing he knew, he’d emptied his clip with surgical precision.
A hit team of four SF operatives lay dead at his feet.
This time, he felt all the turbulence of killing.
He thought he’d been immune to the emotions, but these men were American soldiers. They’d been given the orders to break down a certain door and kill whatever was on the other side. They’d been fed bad intel, and they’d paid with their lives. Was that their fault?
Slater didn’t know.
He wasn’t going to hang around to figure it out.
All he knew was that if he hadn’t acted, he and Alonzo would be dead.
His own life wasn’t important. Alonzo’s was. The man was a real hero. He’d stayed in a job and a life he hated without a word of complaint, so others could do what he himself couldn’t.
True selflessness.
Slater met Alonzo’s terrified gaze and said, ‘Now it’s full circle.’
He grabbed a few plastic packages off the shelves, then hustled the man out of the back room, deeper into the department store.
87
The mansion was eerily quiet.
King said, ‘Use your normal phone, then. Start dialling.’
‘What do I say?’ Torres asked.
King pushed the gun harder into Torres’ forehead and knelt down so he could look the man directly in the eyes. ‘You figure that out.’
‘If I tell him I want to visit, he’ll be suspicious. Even if I tell him it’s something we’d better discuss in private, he won’t believe me. For the last year I’ve only spoken to him over the phone. Smuggling you in with me will be close to impossible.’
‘I can handle it myself. You just tell me how to get past his security.’
‘You don’t. He has triple the security measures I do. And he makes it so they’re airtight, so there’s no leverage anyone can hold over any of his team. They’re as bulletproof as it gets. Look, you’re the tactician here. I need you to plan this. I can’t even fucking think straight…’
He trailed off as he realised the extent of his sorry state. Urine-soaked Versace robe, face stained with blood and saliva, cheeks drained of colour. He was a wreck.
King knelt quietly beside him, keeping the gun steady against Torres’ head.
He couldn’t think either.
Time was running out.
Then Torres’ eyes brightened. He said, ‘Those girls.’
‘What?’
‘When I freed you from that military base. Those two women you were with. Are they still around?’
King pressed the barrel harder into his skin. ‘What’s it to you?’
‘No, no,’ Torres stammered, eyes wide. ‘Not that. You think I’d insult you at a time like this? Listen, César is a ladies man. Do you know what I’m saying? And it’d be perhaps the only believable reason I’d call him this late at night.’
King said, ‘Call him. Whatever you need to say, say it.’
‘They’ll have to go in…’
‘They’re operatives,’ King said. ‘Just like me. They’ll handle it.’
Torres reached slowly for his robe pocket. ‘My phone.’
King nodded.
He withdrew it, clutched it between white knuckles, and clenched his teeth.
King said, ‘What?’
‘You must forgive me for the way I’m going to talk. Otherwise … it won’t be believable.’
‘I don’t care,’ King said. ‘Just get it done.’
Torres nodded, but still looked reluctant. ‘Is one of them your wife?’
Close enough. ‘Yes.’
‘You must forgive me,’ Torres repeated.
King sighed. ‘I don’t have a lot of time here, Fabio. Make the fucking call.’
Torres dialled.
A tinny voice answered, snapping in Spanish. ‘Qué pasa?!’
King got the gist. What do you want at this hour?
‘Tranquilo, ’mano,’ Torres said. King kept the gun pressed to his head. He was a competent actor. Despite the stress, there was no trace of fear in his voice. Only seediness. ‘I’ve got a present for you.’
‘I’m busy.’
‘How busy?’
‘Get to the point.’
Torres silently winced, then plunged headfirst into his character. ‘I got these two American bitches, man. They’re new here. You should see them. They’re like goddesses. I’m telling you, ’mano, I never seen two hotter bitches in my whole life. Their chochas must be like sweet honey. And their faces … I’m talking supermodels, Victoria’s Secret, whatever. Cream of the crop. I was going to bring them here, but I thought I might send them over to you first.’
‘How much they charge?’
‘On me,’ Torres said. ‘On your brother Fabio.’
‘Then what’s it really going to cost?’ Vásquez grunted.
There’s always a price.
‘Nothing, my brother,’ Torres said, grinning, enveloped in the role. ‘I understand the pecking order. You eat first. Then the rest of us. You earned your spot. I’m only doing my part. As I expect those underneath me to treat me in future.’
‘You’ll ask for something down the line,’ Vásquez said, but his voice was lighter, less concerned.
If Torres really wasn’t demanding anything right now, and if these two whores were anything like how they were described…
‘I’m telling you,’ Torres said. ‘Best chocha in the world. They’ll do anything you ask.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘Try them.’
‘Send them over. I’ll have my international calls wrapped up within the hour. Wasn’t going to sleep tonight anyway.’
‘Of course, ’mano.’
‘And Fabio…’
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you. It’s been a stressful night. I need to let out a little anger. You think they’ll be okay with that?’
‘They might need some extra cash for that.’
‘No problem.’
Vásquez clicked off.
There was a beat of silence, then Torres slowly lowered the phone away from his ear. He looked forlorn as he glanced at King. ‘I’m sorry. For the way I spoke.’
King said, ‘Don’t be.’
He pulled out his own phone and dialled.
Violetta answered in a beat. ‘Did you do it?’
‘I need something from you and Alexis.’
‘Okay.’
‘It’s not going to be safe, but it’s the only way Slater will make it.’
‘It doesn’t matter what it is.’
King gritted his teeth and told her.
88
Slater and Alonzo stepped out into the street, wearing the fast-fashion garments they’d taken from the department store.
Jeans, jumpers, overcoats, scarves, sunglasses, hats.
It was a freezing morning. They didn’t look out of place. If they’d walked out the front doors of the department store, they would have been apprehended immediately, well within the temporary cordon the NYPD had established around the scene. Instead, Slater had consulted the schematics Violetta had downloaded, and used side doors and laneways and shortcuts to move five buildings down. It was only a few hundred feet from where they’d started, but there’s only so much of Manhattan you can shut down in peak hour without causing gridlock, so the established crime scene was small.
Slater gave thanks that all this had happened in
New York.
The enemy of the secret world is eyeballs.
But, in some ways, it’s also their strength. They had access to every digital eyeball in the country, and there’s no larger concentration of CCTV cameras than New York City. As soon as they stepped out into daylight, Slater knew they were operating on borrowed time.
He remembered what he’d told Garcia back in Jersey. ‘I’ll need one more thing once I’m in Manhattan. You have people there?’
‘I’ll make it happen.’
They hustled two blocks east on foot.
Slater watched the stationary traffic like a hawk, gaze darting from car to car.
None of them rang a bell.
Alonzo was doing the same thing. He said, ‘I don’t see it.’
Slater said, ‘Got to be here somewhere.’
If it’s not…
He didn’t want to think about that.
Then it was there.
A dark blue 2015 V8 Ford Mustang in awful condition. Dented fenders, stained windshield, one front headlight cracked, the glass like a spiderweb. It stood out in the black-grey fleet of luxury town cars that comprised the bulk of the morning rush around the Flatiron District. But it was the best Garcia could do, and it was certainly better than nothing.
It was the sort of car you bought if you never had a spare dollar in your life, then suddenly happened upon a lot of cash, but you kept all the old tendencies regarding how much care you took with your possessions. Which was exactly what had happened to the guy behind the wheel. He was a thin pale redneck who looked like he consumed a decent amount of the product he dealt on the street corners. One of Garcia’s low-level street dealers, brought in from middle America.
The guy hunched closer to the windshield as he identified Slater from the description Garcia had fed him, and Slater saw his straw-coloured hair fall forward in a bowl cut over his forehead.
